The Minoan Cipher (A Matinicus “Matt” Hawkins Adventure Book 2)

by Paul Kemprecos

  “The Shrine portal is under guard,” he said. “A crew will move from one side of the Maze to the other. We’re checking security cameras as well. We’ll catch her.”

  Lily turned to the priestess. “Tell my lovely flowers to be ready in the sanctuary in one hour. Go!”

  Still mute from her damaged vocal cords, the priestess nodded, then she and the Prior disappeared down a tunnel leaving Lily alone. She was already enjoying the power that would soon be in her hands. The voices she’d been hearing had quieted except for the harsh cackle of the crone.

  Remember the prophecy.

  She is near. She must die.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  Kalliste was close to the exit portal under the Tripartite Shrine at the foot of a broad marble stairway. She sprinted up the stairs in her eagerness to escape from the foul place with its four-legged demons and red-eyed monster. Her exuberance almost proved her undoing.

  As she reached the top of the stairway and entered the dimly-lit interior of the Tripartite Shrine, she heard shouting. She ducked into the shadow of an alcove. Within seconds, a group of men in uniform burst through the doorway, dashed across the floor and disappeared down the stairs into the Maze. Kalliste crouched in a corner.

  Her escape must have been discovered. She forced herself to count to sixty, then she rose from her hiding place, folded the tablecloth that had been her comfort blanket and tucked it into the alcove. She cautiously approached the entrance.

  The wooden doors were wide open. She peered around the jamb and saw a pair of uniformed guards a dozen or so feet from the doorway. She yanked her head back inside. Time was short. When it was discovered she was not in the Labyrinth the search would be expanded to the castle grounds.

  She didn’t know what to do. If she made a run for it, she’d be cut down in an instant, but it would be better than the torture of waiting to be caught and killed. She was psyching herself up to make a quick dash when she heard the unmistakable sound of an approaching helicopter.

  She ventured a peek around the corner. The two guards had turned away from the door to watch the helicopter drop onto the landing pad. One guard started walking toward the helipad. Now or never.

  Kalliste stepped through the doorway of the Tripartite Shrine and began to run.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  As Salazar’s helicopter skimmed the castle’s crenelated ramparts and hovered in preparation for its landing, Chad peered down through a window and saw that the space enclosed within the castle walls was as empty as when he’d glimpsed it from the air with Hawkins. But when the helicopter landed and he stepped out the door with Salazar and his guards, he blinked his eyes in astonishment.

  Directly in front of him, barely fifty yards from where he stood, was a strange-looking building. The façade consisted of three towers, with the tallest in the center. Downward tapering columns supported raised plinths surmounted by horn-shaped sculptures. Standing on steel legs over the building was a huge tent-like structure made of pale green material.

  Salazar stepped up beside Chad. “What do you think of our little illusion?”

  “Amazing, but what is it?”

  “An example of octopus technology. It’s the latest in camouflage techniques. The roof is actually a system that includes light and temperature sensors. Color-switching controls adapt to changing light conditions the way an octopus switches color. The walls hid the castle’s interior for centuries, but we live in the age of Google Earth and prying satellite eyes. Walls are obsolete, no matter how tall they are.”

  “Very cool,” Chad said. “What’s with the funky building?”

  “Don’t let the priestesses hear you say that. They’ll cut your tongue out for denigrating the entrance to their most sacred site. This facade is called the Tripartite Shrine. It was built centuries ago to replicate the Knossos shrine that served as the entrance to the sanctuary of the Snake Goddess. The red on the back walls represents the Underworld, yellow is earth and blue is the heavens. The horns are the symbol of Poteidan, the Bull God. But enough of theology; we have work to do.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Salazar.”

  As he waited for an order, Chad took in his surroundings with the eye of a Special Ops team member. High walls. Portals in the base of the four towers. Tall steel doors. A couple of big SUVs. The drone sitting on its launcher. Points of possible threat. Points of possible escape.

  He was puzzled by the number of sentries. Only two. One was walking toward the helicopter while the other stayed near the door. Where the hell were the rest of the security guys Salazar had mentioned? The walking guard stopped suddenly and yelled. A woman had popped out of the entrance next to the shrine façade and was racing toward a castle tower.

  The guard nearest Chad peeled away and did a fish hook run that cut her off. She saw the maneuver and changed course. The guards adjusted their pursuit so that both were closing in on the woman. Salazar’s men joined the chase.

  The woman’s features were distorted with exertion, but Chad recognized Kalliste, Hawkins’ friend, who’d been kidnapped by the goons on Santorini. She’d been focused on her pursuers and didn’t see Chad directly in her path until she was around twenty feet away. That’s when Salazar yelled:

  “Don’t just stand there, you fool! Grab her.”

  Kalliste saw Chad standing in her way. She tried to veer off to one side, but momentum carried her into his waiting arms where she fought against his tight embrace.

  “Let me go!” she snarled.

  He put his mouth close to her ear. “Can’t do that, darlin’. They’ll shoot us both.”

  She continued her struggle. “I don’t care. Let me go, you bastard.” She was breathing hard and barely able to get the words out.

  He held her tighter. “I’m a friend of Matt and Calvin. Don’t give them an excuse to kill us.”

  She stopped fighting and their eyes locked for a moment before the guards pulled her from his grasp and dragged her to the shrine entrance. Chad experienced the same feeling of rage he had when Salazar’s men had killed his girlfriend. Hate for Salazar flowed through his veins like a mega-shot of adrenaline. He would not let the same thing happen to this woman.

  His skin crawled when Salazar came over, put his hand on his shoulder, and said,

  “Good work, Leonidas. If she’d gotten away, the ceremony would have been canceled.”

  “Who was that?” Chad asked, because it was a natural question Salazar would have expected.

  “Her identity is of no consequence. She’s an unimportant grain of sand whose escape could have brought our enterprise to a grinding halt.”

  “Where are those guys taking her?”

  “To a place men have seen only in their fevered dreams. Come with me, Leonidas. It’s time to introduce you to the Labyrinth.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  The inflatable boat carrying the two men was about a half mile from the castle when the beat of rotors shattered the night and the helicopter swooped over the castle walls. The five-horsepower motor was at full throttle. The swift current had given the inflatable an extra boost.

  Hawkins lay on his belly in the bow, his sharp eyes scanning the river ahead. The inflatable rounded a curve and in the light of the moon he saw the sluice gate cut into the side of the river bank.

  The landing had to go off without a hitch. There was no room for screw-ups. He pointed. “Pull in, Cal.”

  Calvin cut speed, pushed the tiller over and pointed the inflatable inland. Hawkins was on his knees, bow line in hand. He had to act fast. The current was drawing the raft sideways back into the river.

  Calvin goosed the throttle. Still not enough power to counter the pull of the current. They were sliding past the sluice gate. Hawkins stretched dangerously out over the prow. If he miscalculated and went into the river precious moments would be lost getting back into the raft. Setting up for another pass might even be impossible.

  With a practiced hand, he looped the line around the metal fram
ework that supported the gate. The inflatable fish-tailed to a jerking stop. He hauled on the line hand-over-hand. The inflatable bumped up against the gate. Hawkins secured the tie line with a clove hitch. Calvin tied off the stern line. The raft was snugged tightly against a rusty steel plate that could be moved up and down to control water flow. It was stuck in a half-open position, allowing water from the river into the sluiceway.

  Hawkins removed his night vision goggles and peered over the top of the sluice gate. The castle was a couple of hundred yards away. Floodlights pointed down from the top of the wall and illuminated the electrical fencing around the perimeter.

  He rolled out of the raft, crawled like a salamander up the muddy slope next to the sluice gate and lay belly-down on the grass, his eyes glued to the castle. If they’d been detected by cameras or sensors, all hell would soon break loose. When nothing happened, Hawkins whistled to Calvin, who passed up the waterproof bags and crawled up alongside him.

  They dragged their gear through the grass to the edge of the sluiceway on the other side of the gate. The channel was around five feet across, bordered on both sides by stone walls. They got into their dry suits, pulled two compact Draeger dive rigs from a bag and clipped them onto their harnesses. Unlike SCUBA, the closed-circuit rig didn’t emit bubbles and noise that could broadcast their location. The unit’s oxygen cylinder would allow them to stay down for hours.

  They used the oxygen flow to inflate the buoys attached to each bag, donned their masks, hoods, weight belts and flippers, then rolled over the top of the wall into the sluiceway. Hawkins almost gagged on the rotten odor rising from the stagnant water.

  “Whew! Smells like a swamp.”

  Calvin chuckled softly. “Hell, this is like a swimming pool compared to the bayou. You’ll get used to it.”

  Hawkins was unconvinced. He held his breath and pulled a gear bag into the water. The bag sank slightly but remained partly afloat. He released air in the lifts until the bag had neutral buoyancy and would neither float nor sink on its own. They adjusted the buoyancy in the other bags, clenched their regulators between their teeth and slipped below the water.

  Using powerful kicks of their fins, they swam to the bottom of the sluiceway. Hawkins glanced at his depth gauge. Five feet. He tapped Calvin on the shoulder and began to swim toward the castle. Light from the castle walls filtered down from the surface providing enough visibility for them to see their way. At the same time, the glittering reflection would screen them from probing eyes.

  The bags hindered their progress, but both men were strong swimmers. On land, Hawkins walked with a slight limp. Underwater, he was as agile as a dolphin. They followed the sluiceway, which ended in the moat, as Abby had suggested. They swam across the moat to the foundation to look for the opening that would have carried water from the sluiceway into the castle. The wall was blank. Hawkins swam to his right for several feet, then doubled back in the opposite direction. Still no opening.

  Had they got it wrong? He drew a question mark inside a square on the white wrist board. Cal nodded, then drew an arrow pointing up on his board. They were too low. Hawkins gave a few fin kicks.

  His fingertips grazed the slimy stones until he felt a hard edge and followed it around four sides with his hand. The rectangular opening was around four feet wide and three feet high. He flicked on the flashlight attached to his other wrist.

  The pencil thin beam picked out stone walls, a floor and a ceiling before fading into the murk. Hawkins had worried that the water pipe would be too small to navigate. He gave Calvin a thumb’s up signal and swam into the tunnel. If Abby had figured it correctly, the tunnel should lead to a cistern. He tried not to think that their entry strategy relied for the most part on guesswork, and the interpretation of lines drawn on an ancient document. If they hit a dead end and had to turn back, the consequences might be disastrous for Kalliste.

  The clang of the Draeger against the tunnel ceiling brought him back into the moment. He swam with slight fluttering kicks, trying not to stir up the silt, his hands extended in front of him like Superman in flight. Hawkins didn’t normally suffer from claustrophobia, but he was aware that the tons of stone pressing down directly over his head were held in place by walls erected centuries before.

  Turning his thoughts to Kalliste, he swam even faster.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  “It’s time to put your thespian skills to work,” Salazar said to Chad.

  The men were standing in the cool, torch-lit interior of the three-towered building Salazar had called the Tripartite Shrine. They had entered the cathedral-like precincts after Kalliste was whisked through the doors. She was nowhere to be seen. There was only Chad, Salazar and his four bodyguards. Salazar snapped his fingers. One of his men handed Chad a folded white cloth.

  “Put this on. It should be the right size,” Salazar said.

  Chad shook out the cotton robe. The hem and the round collar were embroidered with blue axe designs. He pulled it over his head and down past his knees. The robe fit snugly over his clothes and the shoulder padding he’d used to imitate Salazar’s physique.

  “Remove your mask,” Salazar ordered.

  Chad tossed the balaclava to the man who’d given him the robe.

  “The illusion must fool all the senses.” Salazar handed him a small bottle.

  Chad took the top off the bottle and almost gagged. It was the same sickly-sweet cologne Salazar favored. He thought how satisfying it would be to smash the bottle into Salazar’s nose and drive splinters of bone into the man’s skull. His joy would be short-lived. The guards would cut him down before Salazar’s body hit the floor. He had learned the value of patience in Special Ops and later as a contract killer. He could wait.

  He opened the bottle, patted cologne on his neck, and in his best imitation of Salazar’s silky voice, said, “Well, what do you think?”

  Salazar stepped back, folded his arms and gazed at his double.

  “Remarkable,” he said. “You will easily pass as me, especially in the dim light of the priestess sanctuary.” He handed Chad the ear plug that he had shown him back at the log cabin. “Slide this into your ear. You remember your instructions?”

  “Sure. Twist the button and press it three times when the ceremony ends.”

  “You forgot something.” Salazar barked an order to a man who stepped forward with the box that contained the bull’s head bomb. He reached inside the box for the rhyton and handled it to Chad. “You will place this on the altar and step aside. No one will pay any attention to you. All eyes will be watching the victim’s blood being drained into the rhyton.”

  Chad made a face. “Do they really do that?”

  Salazar’s liverish lips twisted into his reptilian smile. “The priestesses are what are known as Maenads, which means ‘raving ones’ in Greek. In their ecstatic frenzy they tear their victim to pieces and the life’s blood is passed around in communion. Don’t tell me you’re squeamish. You’ve seen people die before. As I recall, you helped a few into the afterlife.”

  “Yeah, but I never drank anyone’s blood. If you’re going to bust up the party, why not do it before they do the sacrifice and have their snack?”

  “These are dangerous people. I want to strike when the priestess and her followers are at the peak of their frenzy and will be most vulnerable. The victim is only a means to an end, and of no consequence in the greater scheme. She’s no different than any of the targets you’ve eliminated at my order.”

  There’s a big difference, Chad thought. His kills were always quick and clean. The death of Kalliste Kalchis was vital to Salazar for some reason, and that alone would make her worth saving.

  “Okay, Mr. Salazar. I see where you’re going.”

  “One more thing,” Salazar said. He removed an axe-shaped pendant from around his neck and looped the chain over Chad’s head.

  “Keep this with you at all times in the Maze. If you remove it, the Daemons will see that you enjoy an even more unple
asant death than the sacrificial victim.”

  Chad went to ask about the Daemons, but Salazar shushed him and cocked his head to listen. A faint piping sound floated up the stairway into the towered shrine.

  “The procession has begun. Go down those stairs and into the antechamber to wait for the priestesses. Do as you’re instructed and you’ll be fine.”

  He turned and strode from the shrine with his men. Chad listened to the eerie sound coming from the Maze. No going back now. He descended the stairway, moving slowly so he wouldn’t trip on the hem of his robe with a bomb in his hands. At the bottom of the stairs he paused and took a deep breath. Inhaling reminded him of how much he could use a joint. He squared his shoulders and went through the open entryway into a room around a hundred feet square. Scenes of bulls and acrobats and aquatic creatures decorated the turquoise-colored walls. He was facing a closed door. The flute music issued from two portals, one on his left; the other to his right. It was an atonal sound, off-key and without melody, and almost hurt his ears to listen to it.

  The sound of flutes grew louder. Chad expected the musicians to enter the antechamber at any second, but the two creatures that emerged simultaneously through the doorways looked as if they were stepping out of a nightmare. The muscular, vaguely dog-like animals were identical in appearance. They had narrow muzzles and boney faces that were almost at Chad’s eye-level.

  Each animal was at the end of a leather leash attached to a jeweled collar. The men holding the leashes had aquiline noses, their scalps were painted blue. They looked like clones of the men he and Hawkins had killed on the Cretan island of Spinalonga.

  The leashes must have been for decorative purposes because the long, sharp teeth lining the open mouths of the animals looked as if they could snap tethers of chain. The men let the creatures approach Chad on both sides. He tensed, but the dogs merely poked the hem of his robe with their long snouts, then sat back on their haunches and grinned at him. He had passed the sight and sniff test.