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

by Paul Kemprecos

  “Evans uncovered the ancient capital of Knossos and the palace that had been at the center of a lost civilization. He called it ‘Minoan’ after its leader, King Minos, and named the two writing scripts Linear A and Linear B. Michael Ventris was an architect by training, but he deciphered Linear B. It was a close-knit community. Howard Robsham had been a friend of Ventris.

  “In the last year of his life, Robsham had come to Athens to read a paper at a conference of philologists, people who study historic languages. After the conference, he sailed to Crete looking for examples of the Minoan script known as Linear A. He heard about some inscribed tablets and tracked down the shepherd who had found them in what was apparently a cave shrine. Robsham negotiated the sale of more than two dozen tablets. A short time later, Robsham drove his car off a mountain road and died in the crash.

  “It was a double blow to Minoan investigation. In a strange coincidence, the same year, only months earlier, Ventris died in a car accident in London. What has come to be called the Robsham Collection was never found; it was presumed the tablets had been destroyed in the accident.”

  Hawkins put the book down and stared out the window at the shimmering turquoise sea. The accidental deaths of two major Minoan scholars was a strange coincidence. But what did it mean? Did it mean anything? He looked over at Abby, who had dozed off. He let his eyes rove over her perfect nose and lush lips. Many things had changed since their divorce, but he still thought she was the loveliest woman he had ever met.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered.

  He had forgotten that Abby had the hearing of a cat. She woke up, saw Hawkins looking at her, and said, “What did you say?”

  Hawkins pointed out the window at the black cliffs and crescent shape that distinguished Santorini from other Aegean islands. A moment later the pilot asked them to make sure their seat belts were fastened.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Paris, France

  The man splashed through the Paris sewers with a look of sheer terror on his handsome face. He would have run faster, but he was carrying an unconscious young woman over his shoulder and the dead weight slowed him down. In the other hand was a sputtering torch. He kept glancing over his shoulder, but the danger lay ahead. The creature that stepped out of an alcove and crouched in his path wore a ragged shirt and pants, and was standing on two legs like a human. But its face, hands and paw-like bare feet were covered with thick fur. The teeth that it bared as it uttered a low growl were those of a canine. With no other weapon to protect him, the running man thrust the torch into the creature’s face. It reeled and let out a loud howl, then turned and disappeared into the darkness.

  Someone yelled, “Cut!” and the tunnel was flooded with light.

  The woman slung over the man’s shoulder lifted her head, “Let me down, you brute.”

  He set her on her feet and squinted against the glare of floodlights.

  “Where’s Wolfie?”

  The creature walked into the light, and said, “Where do you think I’d be after you tried to set my whiskers on fire?”

  The woman laughed, “Poor doggy. You wouldn’t get such rough treatment if you didn’t jump out and scare people.” She went over and kissed the furry cheek. “Ugh. Smells like burnt plastic.”

  The young man grinned, “Sorry Wolfie. Didn’t mean to singe you. We’ll buy you some dog biscuits after the shoot.”

  The creature lifted the mask off his face to reveal another handsome actor. “I’ll settle for a Pernod, unless I have to do another take.”

  Lily Porter stepped out from behind the lights. “If this was Masterpiece Theatre that’s exactly what I’d do. The Hidden History channel is a cheapskate and we can’t afford to wreck another mask. But I think there’s room in the budget to celebrate the end of the shoot. Let’s put Werewolves of Paris in the can with style.”

  The three actors cheered, joined by the electricians and cameraman. No one liked working in the damp, smelly, rat-infested sewer system. The technical crew started to take down the lights and pack up the camera. Chatting happily, Lily and the actors headed for the ladder that would take them to the street. Yellow tape had been stretched on pylons around the manhole opening.

  Lily said she would meet them in a nearby brasserie after they had a chance to shower and change their clothes. She waited for the technical crew to emerge from below the street and filled the team in on the plans, then headed to the hotel to clean up.

  She showered for a long time, dried her reddish-blonde hair, and changed from her coveralls into a short leather black dress, high boots, horizontally-striped leggings and a waist-length black leather jacket. Lily was tall and slender and would have looked good in a burlap bag. She left the hotel and was walking to the brasserie when she heard her phone chirp. She put the phone to her ear and looked up the street.

  “I see you,” she said.

  The black Citroen sedan pulled up to the curb seconds later. A rugged-looking driver got out and opened the back door. She slid in beside Salazar who ordered the chauffeur to take them for a drive.

  “You should have told me you were coming,” Lily said. “I don’t like surprises.”

  “My apologies. I thought it best to meet in person and was on my way to your hotel. I heard from Crete. The news is not good.”

  “Don’t waste my time with unnecessary drama, Salazar.”

  “Then I’ll get right to the point. Hawkins has escaped.”

  “And the device escaped with him, I assume.”

  “As far as we know, it is still with him. It gets worse. Two of the Priors who went after him are dead.”

  Lily’s jaw hardened.

  “Tell me what happened. From the beginning. Omit no detail.”

  “Our informant told us that Hawkins was going to Crete to see Professor Vedrakis at Gournia. As you asked, I passed the information on to the team of Priors, who went there, killed the professor, making it look like an accident, and waited to ambush Hawkins, only to flee when someone started shooting at them.”

  “Did they see the shooter?”

  “No. He or she was hiding behind some rocks.”

  “Is Gournia where the Priors died?”

  “That came later. They followed Hawkins to the island of Spinalonga. A short time later, the Priors were found dead. The police believe that they fell down some stone stairways.”

  “What of the others in their team?”

  “The Priors, called North and South, stayed on the mainland to cut off escape. When they lost contact with the other men, they followed them to Spinalonga. The bodies of East and West had been found by then. Hawkins. He had escaped.”

  The temperature in the car seemed to drop twenty degrees. Salazar squirmed under the unrelenting stare. When Lily spoke again, her voice was harsh.

  “Priors are trained assassins, Salazar. They don’t fall down stairways. Was Hawkins alone?”

  “No. He was with a woman.”

  “Find out who she is. Where are the surviving Priors?”

  “Still on Crete, waiting for orders.”

  She thought for a moment about the crone’s comment back at the Paris sanatorium. How the descendant of King Minos was disturbing the equilibrium of the Way of the Axe. It had all started with Kalliste’s intention to identify the ancient shipwreck. It was Kalliste who brought Hawkins in, Kalliste who connected Hawkins to Vedrakis. It had been right in front of her eyes all this time.

  “Tell them I want them to go to Athens immediately,” she snapped. “Kalliste Kalchis has an apartment there.” She rattled off the address of the apartment building. “Make her tell them where Hawkins is.”

  “Should she be disposed of once she does that?”

  “No. Keep her alive. Now tell me about the status of the event in the United States.”

  “Good news there. The demolition team has the explosive charges in place. All is ready when you give the word. Nothing can go wrong.”

  “Things have been going wrong since the discovery
of the ship. This is too much to be coincidence. There are unseen forces at work here, Salazar.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The Mother Goddess is angry. She is warning us that she is thirsty for blood. The sacrifice must be of the highest order. No prostitutes dragged off the street as in the past.”

  The car had gone in a circle and was back where it had originally picked Lily up. She got out and watched it disappear into the Paris traffic. She stood there as if in a bubble that insulated her from the noise of the city. In that unnatural silence, the voice of the crone called from afar.

  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 d
own 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.