The Arkana Mysteries Boxed Set

by N. S. Wikarski

  “Then why include me? I actually know what I’m doing. If you want a greenhorn to handle security, then bring in a blind German Shepherd.”

  The old woman remained unflustered. She smiled sweetly. “You have been chosen to provide balance. I think one field-tested veteran will round out the team nicely.”

  Erik’s expression remained skeptical, but he held his peace.

  The other two were still glowing at one another under the conviction that their shared weakness was really a strength. They offered no further objection to Faye’s plan.

  “Now, let’s discuss strategy while I put on a pot of coffee,” Faye suggested.

  Cassie thought back to the previous evening when Faye had been able to sway an audience of two hundred to do what she wanted. This morning she had persuaded three antagonistic people to jump on a plane and retrieve lost relics for her. All that and she still had time to bake banana nut bread. “She’s good,” the pythia said to herself.

  Chapter 30 – Happy Hour

  It was a hot afternoon for mid-May. At least it would have been considered hot in Chicago, but this was Greece. A little seaside town in Greece called Pylos. Leroy Hunt was sitting alone at an outdoor café fanning himself with his Stetson hat. Three local boys strolled by and noticed his outfit.

  “Cowboy. Bang! Bang!” they said cheerily in passing.

  “Right back at ya, pardners,” Leroy replied affably. He made a mock gesture with his thumb and index finger simulating firing a gun. The boys laughed and moved on.

  Hunt briefly flashed on an image in his mind’s eye. He saw their smiles congeal into expressions of terror when he pulled out the Sig Pro pistol that was actually concealed in his shoulder holster. The thought amused him. He chuckled. Too bad he was minding his manners this trip. He was ripe for a little dust up, but he had to keep a low profile.

  He took another sip of liquor and considered his plight. A low profile was one thing, but he might as well be dead. He was bored out of his mind. No fun in trailing along behind Metcalf’s hangdog kid watching him scratch around in the dirt.

  Hunt rolled his eyes in disgust. So much for special skills. His talents were wasted on this trip. It was small comfort that he was getting paid handsomely to do nothing. He craved some action to get his adrenaline pumping, but it sure didn’t look like he was going to get any. A glorified babysitter was all he’d turned out to be. The next time that crazy old preacher man came to him with some work, he’d tell him where to go.

  In the meantime, his days were spent cooling his heels at every taverna between Thebes and Pylos while he waited for the kid to turn up something. He’d learned a few useful words in Greek though: Roditis, Retzina. Man, those Greek wines really packed a wallop. Almost as good as the shine back home, but ouzo was his favorite. It must be something like 160-proof. They even named restaurants after the liquor—ouzaria. It was a place where you could sit all afternoon and sip the stuff while they brought you snacks to go with it. Too bad they didn’t have any fried pork rinds. He couldn’t bring himself to eat calamari. The dish reminded him of boiled rubberbands in glue. He sighed and drummed his fingers impatiently on the table and then looked at his watch. Four p.m. The kid said he’d meet him here at four, but the little runt was always late. He beckoned the waiter to order another drink.

  This whole trip was screwy. When they flew into Athens, two of the Greek brethren showed up to whisk them off to a Nephilim compound out in the hills. Leroy took a pass and made them bring him back to a proper hotel. He wasn’t going to sleep in a place that felt like a mausoleum for the living. Same as the compound in Chicago. All stone floors and squeaky-clean silence. Besides, he figured Junior would be safe in the hands of his freaky fan club. They practically kissed the ground he walked on. They kept calling him “the son of the diviner.” You’d think he was Elvis the way they carried on. No, Leroy was sure Daniel was safe enough with them.

  The next morning, he went out with the boy and his groupies to the first site. It was a heap of old ruins, and they started crawling over rock piles like a bunch of dung beetles looking for their dinner. The day was hot and dusty. After a few hours, Leroy decided he’d had enough of being sunburned and parched. He went to find the nearest taverna and did the same in every town they’d searched since.

  So far nobody even remotely shady or suspicious had showed up to throw a monkey wrench into Junior’s plans. Per the instructions of the old man, the local Nephilim had gotten Leroy his favorite type of hand gun, so he didn’t have to try smuggling one into the country. Not likely he was going to get a chance to use it though. Hunt felt it was safe to relax his guard and doze away his time in Greece in an alcoholic stupor. He just told Daniel to check in with him every afternoon. That way he could expend the minimum amount of effort to be sure the little punk hadn’t fallen down a rat hole or got himself killed some other way.

  Hunt looked at his watch again. 4:10. At that moment, Daniel sloped around the corner of the building and slid into the other chair at Leroy’s table.

  “Well, son, glad to see you made it on time.”

  The young man glanced around nervously. He was clutching a black leather portfolio and still wearing that creepy Nephilim get-up even though it was ninety degrees in the shade. Hunt thought he looked like a demented Jehovah’s Witness with a briefcase full of flyers to stick on people’s windshields. Leroy flashed on another image involving his gun and a dead Bible thumper.

  “Any luck today?” he asked pleasantly.

  The boy appeared apprehensive. “No, Mr. Hunt. Nothing. I’m beginning to get very worried.”

  “Why’s that now?” Leroy scratched his chin, doing his best to sound interested. The waiter returned with his ouzo.

  Daniel glanced up at the man and lowered his voice. “We’re running out of locations to check. Linear B tablets have only been found in four places in this part of the country. We’ve already combed Thebes, the ruins at Tyrins, and Mycenae. I’ve spent today at the local museum, but there’s only one site left to check. I pray I find something at Nestor’s palace or Father will be very displeased.”

  “Yep, I imagine your daddy won’t be too happy if you come up empty-handed.”

  The young man’s shoulders jerked tensely. “It isn’t just that Father will be unhappy, Mr. Hunt. I would be failing God himself.”

  Leroy lifted his glass to his lips and sipped his ouzo. “Son, you spend way too many waking hours frettin’ about perdition.”

  Daniel made no comment. Instead, he opened his portfolio and started reviewing the papers inside.

  Leroy was just bored enough that he actually felt some curiosity about the boy’s mission. “What you got there?”

  Daniel slid one of the papers across the table toward Hunt. It was a magnified photograph of one side of the stone key.

  It took a moment for Hunt to get his eyes in focus. Too much ouzo or maybe not enough.

  “The hieroglyphic markings,” the young man offered. “I expect to find them carved somewhere near the sites where Linear B tablets were excavated.”

  “So that’s why you been crawlin’ over them ruins and wanderin’ around in museums?”

  “Yes.” The young man nodded. “The granite key possesses some markings in the Linear B language and some in hieroglyphic code. The only way to connect the two is to find the places where Linear B script has been found before.”

  “Uh huh,” Hunt said knowledgeably. “And then what? What happens when you find them squiggly marks.”

  “They will lead us to the treasure.”

  Leroy’s head snapped to attention at that last word. “What was that again?” he prompted.

  “The reason we came to Greece,” Daniel explained. “To find the heathen relics. The Bones of the Mother.”

  “You think maybe them Bones might be worth somethin’ in cash money?” Even though Metcalf had told Leroy that the relics had no value, Hunt wanted a second opinion. The old man might have be
en lying. “Is that why your daddy wants you to find ‘em so bad?”

  Daniel looked puzzled. “I don’t think so. I’m not sure why Father needs them, but I’m sure money isn’t a motive. I’m sorry. It was a poor choice of words to refer to the artifacts as treasure.”

  Leroy immediately lost interest and lapsed back into his previous state of apathy. “Oh.”

  The young man shifted his attention from his papers to Leroy’s hat. “Pardon my curiosity, but I’ve never encountered one of the Fallen who dresses or speaks the way you do, Mr. Hunt.”

  “What can I tell you, son? My heroes have always been cowboys.”

  “Were you ever a cowboy?”

  “Nope, I just watched ‘em on the silver screen. I’d see John Wayne or Gary Cooper or, hell, even Montgomery Clift ridin’ off into the sunset. Man, that was a sweet way to live. Simple too. Wasn’t a single problem them fellers couldn’t solve with a gun.”

  Daniel looked perplexed. “What silver screen are you talking about? Were those men you mentioned all professional cowboys?”

  Leroy regarded him sourly. “I gotta say, your daddy left some big holes in your education, boy.”

  At that moment, the waiter came back to the table and asked Daniel in broken English if he wanted to order something.

  The young man recoiled in panic. “No, nothing, thank you!”

  Hunt observed his reaction with amusement. “It ain’t poison, son.”

  “I never partake of food or drink outside of the sanctuary.”

  “Too bad. For a travelin’ man that just ain’t practical. Now, what if you was to find yourself on a desert island someday, and that there waiter asked if you wanted somethin’. What would you do then?”

  Daniel squinted at Hunt, trying to make sense of the question. “Why would a waiter be on a desert island?”

  Leroy waved his hand airily. “Never you mind why. Just answer the question. What would you do?”

  “I don’t imagine I would ever have any reason to be on a desert island,” Daniel replied seriously.

  Leroy reached into his coat pocket but stopped himself short of gripping the handle of his gun. He could dream, couldn’t he? A change of topic seemed to be in order. He wanted to get this interview over with, so he could concentrate on some serious drinking.

  “Well, what you got in mind to do tomorrow then?”

  The anxious look returned to Daniel’s face. “My brethren and I are going to spend the day at the palace ruins outside of town. If nothing turns up there, I’ll have to call Father and let him know.”

  “Bet that’ll be a hoot,” Leroy observed mordantly. “Then what?”

  Hunt could see the reaction his question provoked. The boy’s pasty complexion lost what little color it had. Leroy wondered how a body could spend all day outdoors in the Greek sun and still look as pale as a fish’s belly.

  “We’re running out of options. There are only two other known locations where Linear B tablets have been found. Those would be the palaces at Chania and Knossos.”

  “They anyplace hereabouts?”

  “No, they’re on the island of Crete,” Daniel explained.

  “Crete, huh. They got ouzarias there?”

  “Ouzarias?” the young man repeated blankly.

  “Never mind, boy. Never mind.” Hunt waved him away. “See you tomorrow around four.”

  “Until tomorrow then. Good day, Mr. Hunt.” Daniel tensely gathered up his papers and left.

  The amount of alcohol in Hunt’s bloodstream rendered him briefly philosophical. He hadn’t spent much of his life contemplating the fiery inferno. In fact, he didn’t believe in it. But now that he was working for a cult that was obsessed with it, the nether realm featured prominently in his musings. This trip to Greece had convinced him that hell was real and that he had managed to land smack in the middle of Satan’s back forty.

  Chapter 31 – Knossos

  Cassie and Griffin wearily staggered off the plane at the Heraklion airport on the island of Crete. The pythia’s head was spinning and not merely from jet lag. Everything was happening so fast. It had only been three short days since Faye had revealed her plan, and already they were in Greece.

  At the last minute, Erik had been called away to handle an important relic shipment which meant he would travel separately and arrive later. Cassie was relieved. The thought of being trapped on a transatlantic flight with the security coordinator was unnerving. Ever since Faye’s pep talk he had maintained a sullen silence around her. While she considered this a good thing, it was tempting fate to assume he could behave himself all the way from Chicago to Crete.

  Once Griffin and Cassie had cleared customs and picked up their luggage, they took a cab to the hotel where their Minoan contact was supposed to meet them. Cassie saw her immediately when the pair entered the lobby since the woman’s leopard print dress was hard to miss. It was the tall dark-haired trove keeper from the Concordance meeting. Her name was Xenia Katsouris. At close range, she appeared to be an attractive fortysomething with shoulder length hair, prominent eyebrows, and hawk-like features. Not the sort of person you’d want to cross even though she was smiling at the moment.

  “Ah, I see you have arrived safely. Welcome to Crete!” She stepped forward to shake hands with them.

  They walked together to the reception desk to check in, despite the fact that it was only 9 o’clock in the morning. They had agreed that sleep was a luxury they couldn’t afford, and it would only make the jet lag worse. The trove keeper waited patiently while they went to freshen up and stow their gear in their rooms. Half an hour later they were all seated together in the hotel restaurant drinking coffee and struggling to shake off their fatigue.

  Xenia smiled sympathetically. “It is a long trip, is it not? I just returned myself two days ago.”

  “How do you do it?” Cassie asked in amazement. “I feel like I’ve just been run over by a truck.”

  “I am a very good actress,” Xenia joked. “I only appear to be awake.”

  “Have the Nephilim been seen on the island yet?” Griffin asked worriedly.

  The trove keeper hastened to reassure him. “Do not concern yourself. I have sent several members of my team to monitor Minoan archaeological sites. They tell me that no tourists are engaging in any unusual search activity. I believe we are still ahead of them.”

  The scrivener relaxed his troubled expression.

  While Cassie ordered another cup of coffee, Griffin passed out sheets of paper to his companions. “These are enlarged photographs of the markings from the granite key. Study the line of hieroglyphics on each page. Those characters are what we’re trying to find.”

  Xenia perused the sheets. “Where do you propose to start the search?”

  Griffin hesitated a moment. “I brought along the field journal of the operative who first mentioned the Bones of the Mother. According to legend, the secret of finding the relics was kept at the high place of the goddess. It seems to me the most likely location would be Knossos.”

  The trove keeper nodded her agreement. “Yes, that would make sense.”

  “What’s Knossos?” Cassie looked around for the waitress with the coffee pot.

  “The ruins of a Minoan palace. The largest Minoan palace on the island,” Griffin explained. “Though palace is an inaccurate definition. The site fulfilled many functions, one of which was to act as a shrine to the Minoan great goddess. It might have been considered her high temple, so the reference in the journal to a high place of the goddess may well refer to Knossos. Aside from that, Knossos is also strongly connected to the Linear B language. The largest cache of Linear B tablets found on the island came from the palace.”

  “And you think we’re going to find these symbols carved into a rock at Knossos?” Cassie squinted at the photographs.

  Griffin sighed. “It’s a stab in the dark really. We have so little information to go on, but we have to start somewhere.”

&
nbsp; While the other two were speaking, Xenia had been studying the pages carefully. When she spoke, her voice held a note of concern. “So much of the palace has collapsed. Fire and earthquake have taken a great toll. Not to mention the reconstruction of the early archaeologists. What you seek may still be buried under piles of rubble.”

  “I think it very likely that an inscription of this importance would have been placed in one of the ceremonial areas. Not in the underground storage rooms or the artisan’s workshops. We won’t have to cover the entire complex—just the central court, the corridors, and the main chambers.”

  “But do you not think that strange markings such as these would have been catalogued already if they had been found?” Xenia persisted.

  Griffin smiled knowingly. “Ah, but you see that’s the genius of the code. Look closely at these hieroglyphics. They are all common Minoan artistic motifs. The hourglass, spirals, meanders, dots, flowers, birds, fish, and so on. An archaeologist who viewed them would consider them nothing more than decoration. It’s the arrangement of images that provides the meaning.” The scrivener quickly sketched several symbols in succession. “For example, if I draw these symbols in this particular order, I’ve just spelled the word potnia.”

  “And that means?” Cassie prompted.

  “Potnia is a Greek word which means ‘lady’ or ‘mistress,’” Xenia explained. “In this context, it would mean ‘the goddess’ much as Catholics would use the expression ‘Our Lady’ to speak of the Virgin Mary.”

  The pythia studied the composite image Griffin had created. “So, we need to start by looking for this combination of symbols?”

  “Actually, you should look for this symbol first.” Griffin drew a picture of a flower. “It’s a lily and the sacred flower of the Minoan goddess. Look at the photograph with three lines of code displayed on it. The top line is written in Linear B and says, ‘To find the Bones of the Mother.’ If you look at either end of the inscription, you will see a lily. I would assume that the lily is the symbol we should associate with that message. It acts like a directional arrow to get our attention. ‘Look here’ is what it seems to say. ‘Pay attention. The symbols that follow will be about the Bones of the Mother.’”