The Minoan Cipher (A Matinicus “Matt” Hawkins Adventure Book 2) (24 page)

The prophecy must be fulfilled. She is near. She must die.

She was starting to understand what the old priestess had told her. It had all started when the girl escaped thousands of years ago, never to be found. Through his daughter, the king still lived. Someone alive now carried the king’s seed, and until that person was killed—as the prophecy said must happen—one thing was very certain: The Mother Goddess would continue to hunger for blood.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The key to Kalliste’s house on Santorini was kept at a taverna owned by her cousin, who insisted that Hawkins and Abby have a glass of raki and a plate of local snacks called mezes. He peppered them with questions about how they knew Kalliste, the famous archaeologist, then said that his mother would open the house for them. They could hardly keep up with the skinny lady in the black dress and stockings as she scuttled through a network of narrow alleys to a small, tree-lined square and down a narrow set of stairs to the two-story house that looked like one marshmallow stacked on top of another.

They had flown into the busy tourist town of Thera and caught a cab to Oia, a quiet village at the westerly tip of the island. It had been a couple of years since Hawkins had been to the house to celebrate the end of the research expedition, and he was glad to have a guide, especially after the raki.

The old woman unlocked the turquoise-painted door and pushed it open.

“
Kali mera
,” she said, flashing a gold-toothed grin. “Sleep good.”

“
Kali mera efaristo,
” Hawkins replied. Good evening and thank you.

The old lady cackled like a happy hen, handed him the key and scuttled off.

“She’s a joyful old soul,” Abby said.

“I think she was waiting for me to carry you across the threshold.”

“You didn’t even do that on our honeymoon, Matt. You were too much in a rush to consummate the marriage.”

“Then I owe you one.” He picked her up, stepped inside and set her back on her feet.

Abby burst into laughter. “I never knew you Neanderthal types could be so gentle.”

They were standing in a large combination living room and kitchen. The white-washed walls were decorated with colorful Greek textiles and photos of Santorini’s famous cliff towns.

He led the way to the rear of the house, outside to a paved terrace. Below a wrought-iron fence, cube-shaped houses and domed churches were built into the dark gray cliffs that wrapped partially around the flooded caldera. Hawkins pointed to an island almost directly opposite the house.

“That’s Therasia. Off to the left is Nea Kamini where you can still see volcanic fumes that seep to the surface.”

“It’s breathtaking,” Abby said. “Is there any danger of another eruption?”

“It’s never really stopped erupting or shaking things up with earthquakes. A monitoring system should give plenty of warning for the next one. Let’s see if we can find a good spot for the sunset.”

They locked up the house. Hawkins shouldered the knapsack that had become part of him and they strolled through the warren of alleyways to the foundation of an old castle that was jammed with visitors gathered to watch the spectacular sunset. The fiery sun painted the sky red as it plunged into the Bay of Ammoudi. After the show, the selfie-snapping tourists boarded the buses for Thera. Hawkins and Abby stopped for coffee and made small talk, then headed back to the house.

Kalliste had arrived. Through the open window she could be seen bustling around in the kitchen. The pungent fragrance of garlic and oregano wafted on the breeze. Kalliste greeted them with a warm smile and hugs. She had picked up groceries on the way in from the airport and was cooking fish with tomatoes and onions.

A taxi dropped Calvin off around a half hour later. After a dinner washed down with a dry white Santorini wine, they gathered at the table.

Hawkins glanced around at his friends and he smiled. “I’m reminded of the scene in
Dracula
where Dr. Van Helsing pulls the troops together and spells out what they’re up against. Kalliste’s house is a lot more comfortable than a rat-infested old chapel, but the forces we’re dealing with are just as murderous as the old bloodsucker.”

“Damn it, Hawk,” Calvin drawled. “After all that garlic we had for dinner, no self-respecting vampire would come closer than a hundred miles.”

Laughter rippled around the table.

“Wish it were that simple, Cal. First of all, a question for Kalliste…or Calvin. Did you notice anyone on your travels that aroused your suspicions?”

“Got anything specific in mind, Hawk?”

“Yep. Tall, skinny guys dressed in black. They shave their heads and paint their scalps blue.”

“You serious, Hawk?” Calvin said.

“Deadly serious, Cal.”

“No blue heads in black,” Calvin said. “Just run-of-the-mill tourists on my flight.”

“The same with me,” Kalliste said. “Please tell us, Matt, exactly who and what are those forces that we’re dealing with?”

“First, let’s go over what we do know. A Minoan ship is discovered off the coast of Spain. Kalliste pulls together a survey expedition to check it out. Someone sinks the survey boat with missiles. A second survey indicates failed attempts to dive down to the boat going back centuries. Finally, helicopters come in and blast the crap out of the wreck site. Right so far?”

Abby nodded. “The helicopter part isn’t exactly eloquent, but it’s an accurate description.”

Hawkins asked Calvin to close the window shutters. Then he unzipped the knapsack, lifted out the treasure and set it on the table.

“Kalliste and I think this is similar in design to the Antikythera computer, but instead of computing the position of the stars, it is a language translator. Abby and I went to Crete to show this device to an expert. Before we could talk to him he was murdered by the blue-headed characters who chased us down.”

Calvin slowly spun the device around. “Looks like a prototype can opener.”

“You may be right, Cal, but this little can opener is worth killing over.”

“It’s not what it is, but what it can do,” Kalliste said. “I believe it can translate the Minoan script known as Linear A.”

“Why is that so important?” Abby said. “Who cares, outside of historians and linguists, whether the script can be translated or not?”

Speaking in a quiet voice, Hawkins said, “Someone does. Can we get this thing to work, Calvin?”

“I’ll give it a try.”

He got a plastic case out of his duffel bag and opened it on the table. The case contained an assortment of tools. Calvin took out a small but powerful flashlight and a magnifying glass attached to an extending handle. He examined the mechanism like Sherlock Holmes studying a spot of blood, then switched off the light and looked around the table.

“There is corrosion, but the gears are workable if we’re careful. Haven’t figured out the power driver yet. Probably had a crank arrangement. Gears are going to need a squirt or two of lubricant.”

“How long will it take to get it working?” Kalliste said.

“Can’t say. This gadget didn’t come with an operating manual.” Sensing her impatience, he added, “Maybe you can study the lettering, zero in on the linguistics capabilities while I figure out the mechanics of the device. Then we’ll compare notes.”

Hawkins and Abby volunteered to act as research assistants, jotting down the observations of the experts.

The front door of the house opened and the old woman stepped out into the square. She was bent over, talking to a hungry stray cat that was meowing loudly. Her eyesight was poor, but even with 20/20 vision she might never have seen the shadowy figure that emerged from the stairway leading down to Kalliste’s house.

Leonidas waited until she went back inside before dashing across the square to the door of his rental property.

He had hovered near a window that gave him a view of Hawkins and his friends clustered around a strange object. He couldn’t hear their voices clearly after the window was shuttered, but from the excited expression he’d seen on their faces, he could tell that the thing was very, very important.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Fueled by generous amounts of wine, the party was going full tilt. The actor who’d played the werewolf role got drunk, put his mask back on and growled at a woman sitting at a nearby table. With typical Parisian imperturbability, she asked if he was an American. When he said yes, she accepted his invitation to join the celebration.

Lily whooped it up with the rest of the Hidden History crew, but her thoughts were light years away. She had her hand resting on her purse and felt the vibration signaling a call. Pulling the phone out, she held it under the edge of the table. On the screen was the image of the Prior known as North. Each one of the Priors was named after the cardinal directions on a compass. The one named North was their leader.

She excused herself and walked outside to the relative quiet of the sidewalk. The smile left her lips and when she spoke her voice had a hard edge to it.

“Well. Do you have her?” she said.

“We’re in the apartment now. We came here immediately after your call but she was gone when we arrived.”

“Then you must wait until she returns.”

“I don’t think she will be coming back soon. Clothes are missing from the closet and drawers. We found no luggage.”

“Show me.”

The face disappeared and the screen showed a sofa and chairs in a living room. The camera spun slowly around, then the view moved into the kitchen and bedroom. The hangers were empty in the bedroom closet and spaces in the drawers showed where items had been removed. There was no sign of a toothbrush or hairbrush in the bathroom.

The camera phone moved into a small office. On the neat desktop were photos of Kalliste with her colleagues on a research vessel, and a picture of white, cube-shaped houses hugging black cliffs. The drawers were pulled open, but contained only office supplies. Of course, Kalliste would keep her files electronically and would have taken her computer with her. The face reappeared in the screen.

“Enough,” Lily said. “Go back into the bedroom and examine the pillows on her bed. Look for hair. Do the same in the shower drain.”

Less than a minute later, the voice came on again, “I found two long hairs.”

“Now go into the kitchen and place the hairs in a plastic bag. Bring the bag and its contents to me at the Cadiz Airport. I want you to carry it personally.” Lily clicked off and made a call to Salazar. “Send a plane to pick me up. I’ll need a helicopter in Cadiz, as well.”

“I’ll order an Auroch jet to Le Bourget right away,” Salazar said. “The helicopter will be at the Auroch corporate hangar. Anything further I can assist you with?”

“I’ll let you know.”

Lily went back to the party and stayed only long enough to excuse herself. She said the office called and assigned her to scope out a new assignment. She thanked the crew for its work, posed for photos with the French woman, who had donned the werewolf mask, and said she would see them back in New York. She took a cab to the hotel and asked the front desk to arrange for a limo to the airport while she packed.

Le Bourget Airport is used primarily for business aviation. The executive jet that landed minutes after her arrival was distinguished from the other corporate aircraft only by the stylized bull horns insignia of Auroch Industries on the fuselage. The jet taxied up to the limo where she was waiting. The jet kept its engines going while she boarded and an hour later it touched down in Cadiz. A tall thin figure dressed in black was standing near the Auroch hangar. He handed her the plastic bag as she walked to the helicopter.

The helicopter lifted into the air, headed east at two hundred miles per hour and soon approached its destination. Lily felt the tension slip away as she glimpsed the crenelated towers of the old castle looming like dragon’s teeth against the blue-black sky. The helicopter touched down inside the castle walls. Lily got out and strode across the courtyard under a translucent roof that had been built over a structure consisting of three towers, the tallest resting between the others.

Lily entered the door of the middle tower, walked through a dimly lit antechamber, then descended a wide set of stairs.

She placed the axe medallion hanging around her neck against the metal pad next to the doors to identify herself. When the doors opened, she stepped through into a passageway lit by electrical wall torches to a second set of steel doors and opened them with another press of her medallion on an ID plate. As she stepped into this new room and the doors silently closed behind her, she was enveloped by a sickly sweet odor of ancient decay. Anyone else would have retched, but Lily inhaled the miasma deep into her lungs. With each breath, she underwent a transformation.

The soft features of her face became rock hard. The corners of the lush mouth turned downward. The brow dipped into a shallow V. The warmth drained from her eyes. She elevated her chin at a haughty, uncaring angle and her long fingers curled into claws. The friendly, outgoing woman who had caroused with the film crew in Paris just a short time ago disappeared. In its place was a cruel caricature of herself.