The Minoan Cipher (A Matinicus “Matt” Hawkins Adventure Book 2) (50 page)

“May I have your name, please?”

She paused, smiled, and before she hung up, said,

“The name is Gowdy.”

EPILOGUE

Two weeks later

As soon as Hawkins returned to Woods Hole he picked up the pieces of his life. His first task was to reacquaint himself with Quisset. Uncle Snowy had spoiled the dog, but when Hawkins came by to take her home she jumped right into his truck and snuggled against him.

He was biking every day. Spending time at home surrounded by his collection of antique dive gear. Spain was all a blur. The flight back to Cadiz. Chad disappearing at the airport. The trip to the hospital where Kalliste was diagnosed as dehydrated but otherwise in good shape. The ocean glider project was on track and the pay-off was making its way to his bank account. It might just cover the deductible the insurance company wanted him to pay for
Falstaff
’s loss, but it was good to be back in the rhythm he’d become accustomed to.

He hadn’t heard a whisper from Kalliste since they’d said goodbye in Spain, so he was pleased when the padded envelope arrived in his mail with her Santorini address on the outside. Inside the envelope was a plastic baggie containing a coin and a note. The coin appeared to be made of gold and was irregular around the edge. Pictured in relief on one side was the profile of a man. The flip side had the image of a dove.

The note said:
Skype me anytime.

With Quisset at his heels, he climbed the stairs to his upstairs office, connected to the Skype function of his computer, and clicked on Kalliste’s address. Her smiling face appeared almost instantly. She looked rested and happy.

“How wonderful to see you, Matt! Sorry I didn’t contact you earlier. I’ve been hard at work on my lexicon of Linear A.”

“No apology needed, Kalliste. You must have a pile of work to do.”

“I’m putting in twelve-hour work days and loving every minute. This will be an on-going project for years to come. The computer translation program has accelerated my work tremendously. The writer, luckily, wrote in simple declarative sentences, using a tightly spaced script, so there’s a lot of information. I have deciphered the scroll and confirmed that it was written by the second in command to King Minos.”

“The mysterious Minotaur?”

“He was in the thick of things. He confirms that the Theran eruption here on Santorini sparked a civil war between the king and the High Priestess and her brother. Rather than offer his only child for sacrifice as the priestess demanded, he ordered his commander to take the girl to safety.”

“Which is how they landed in Spain.”

“They were heading to Egypt but the priestess was catching up, so they sailed to Spain hoping to throw her off. The priestess followed. There was a sea battle. His ship, the one we dove on, sunk, but he escaped in a sailboat. He made landfall, married the girl’s nanny, and they went into hiding. The king’s daughter married and had children, of which I am a descendant.”

“It’s fortunate for both of us that the girl survived. Otherwise we never would have met.”

“That’s sweet of you, Matt. It’s also lucky the Minotaur kept a journal at the order of the king. The scroll was passed down from generation to generation. By the time my grandfather had it, there was no one left in the family who knew how to read Linear A.”

“Any indication when the Salazars entered the picture?”

“Minotaur said that the ship with the High Priestess and her brother-consort was damaged but made it to shore. The Salazars helped them take over the Minoan mining colony that grew into Auroch Industries, allowing them to keep the sacrificial ritual intact. The Minoans and the Salazars had a symbiotic relationship that lasted centuries.”

“Apparently that relationship wore thin.”

“It was bound to. The Salazars were used as enforcers. My guess is that some family members were allowed into the inner sanctum only after male mutilation, which rendered them neutered.”

“Salazar didn’t strike me as an old tabby cat.”

“He wanted the reward for his sacrifice, which was complete control of Auroch. He may have wanted revenge as well.”

“How did Minotaur know the layout of the Maze that was on the scroll?”

“He sent spies all over Europe to keep an eye on the priestess and her gang. Some of them helped build the Maze that would later form the foundation of the castle.”

Hawkins thought back to the flawed construction that he’d seen in the Labyrinth. “Maybe the Minotaur’s men supplied the lousy concrete that brought it down.”

“We’ll never know, but it would be sweet to learn that the Minotaur was responsible for the collapse of the Maze.”

“Any indication what happened to Minotaur?”

“Nothing in the scroll. But I recalled a strange mound on my grandfather’s vineyard. I was warned to stay away from it. Grandfather said there were ghosts. It’s approximately the size and shape of a Minoan burial chamber. The Minotaur said he wanted to be returned to Crete after his death. Maybe he got his wish. And maybe the scroll came with him. I think my Papou knew more about what was under the mound than he let on.”

“The Minotaur’s tomb would be a fantastic discovery.”

“I won’t be the one to make it. Minotaur deserves a peaceful rest for his devotion to the man whose profile is on the coin I sent you.”

“I suspected it was ol’ King Minos. Thanks for the present. Where did you find it?”

“Remember the reference in the scroll to more than one treasure? The king’s daughter was the first. The Minotaur left directions to the second treasure. The coin was part of it.”

“You’re making my head spin, Kalliste. You found an actual treasure?”

“I will say no more than this. I have exorcised parts of the scroll that deal with the second treasure from my translation.”

“I don’t understand, Kalliste. Why do that?”

“My country is in dire financial straits. People would gladly plunder their heritage to make up for their own foolishness. I must admit to plunder myself, thus the coin, but if you tell anyone where you got it, I’ll deny it. Call it partial payment for all your help, Matt. Hope we will work together again.”

“I’m sure we will, Kalliste. Good luck.”

She smiled once more and the Skype connection was gone.

Hawkins was staring off into space, trying to absorb the enormity of what Kalliste had told him, when he heard Abby call from the first floor. He tucked the note and the coin into a drawer and locked it, then went downstairs. Abby was standing in the foyer holding a sea bag. She was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and cap with ‘Navy’ on it.

“First Mate Abby reporting. Ready to go?” she said.

“Aye-aye, mate. Snowy gassed up the yacht for us.”

They got into the pick-up truck with Quisset, drove to Eel Pond and rowed out to the
Osprey
. The Water Street drawbridge was raised and they cruised out to the harbor on a course for Martha’s Vineyard where they would stay the night before heading to Nantucket. When he’d extended the weekend invitation, he said it wasn’t the Greek Islands cruise she’d asked for.

“Just promise me that guys with blue heads won’t be chasing us all over the place. Ugh. Do you think those crazies are done for good?”

“There’s a good chance. Auroch Industries has gone under. The company was the financial support for the Way of the Axe. The bomb-sniffing dogs found the explosives and the cops rolled up Salazar’s triggerman. The fusion discovery announced at MIT has a long way to go, but it’s another nail in the coffin holding the Auroch corpse.”

“I hope so. What’s new from Calvin and Molly?”

“Calvin has decided to return to field work. Worried that he’s losing his edge. Molly’s back into bird photography. She sent me a photo of a Golden eagle sitting on a nest. She seemed quite happy. Said she will enjoy being a grandmother.”

“What on earth did she mean?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? This is Molly we’re talking about.”

The weather was superb, with fair winds, blue cloudless skies and temperatures in the high seventies. They sat on the beach at Katama and walked the cobblestoned streets of Nantucket. At night they became reacquainted with each other’s bodies. After a passionate few days on the high seas, they chugged back to Woods Hole tanned, tired and happy. As usual, their relationship had fallen into an affectionate limbo.

“Where do we go from here?” Abby asked, as Hawkins tied up to the mooring.

“Anywhere you want to go. North to Maine. South to Florida.”

“That’s not what I meant, Hawkins.”

“I know what you meant. I was trying in my clumsy male way to avoid discussion of a commitment.”

She sighed. “That’s progress, I guess. In other words, we’re still on but not really.”

“I think it’s more than that, Abby.”

She threw her arms around him and gave him a long kiss. “Keep in touch, Matt.”

“I will. That’s a promise.”

“Good. Now promise you will call immediately the next time you get into trouble.”

“You have my word.”

She smiled. “In that case, I hope you get into trouble very soon.”

Hawkins missed Abby from the moment she left. He buried himself in work, and rather than go home to his big, lonely house after leaving his harbor side office that night, he walked across the fog-shrouded street to the Captain Kidd. He joined his team from the ocean glider project and talked about working together again. He stayed after the others had left and was sitting under the mural of the pirates, wondering whether to have another beer, when the waitress came over with a foaming mug.

She pointed to the bar. An older man who had thick, white hair and a matching beard waved at him, then slipped off his stool and came over. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that read,
Hunley
, with a picture of the Civil War submarine that had been recovered from Charleston harbor.

Hawkins lifted the mug. “Thanks for the brewski.”

“My pleasure,” he said with a twinkle in his blue eyes. “You looked like a guy in need of a drink.”

“What brings you to Woods Hole?” Hawkins thought that with his windburn complexion the man looked like someone who spent time on the sea. “Business with WHOI or the Marine Biological Lab?”

“Neither. Met a guy from here in my travels. Thought I’d check out the place. Nice little burg. Kinda like the fog. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get going.”

As he headed for the door, Hawkins called out, “What was the guy’s name? Maybe I know him.”

The man turned and broke into a big grin. “I think it was Hawkins. Matt Hawkins,” he said, and stepped through the doorway.

Hawkins stared at the door and started to rise from his chair only to settle back for another sip of beer. His new friend would have disappeared into the fog by the time he got there. The damp weather had affected his bum leg, but even without the limp, Chad or Leonidas or whoever he was now would have disappeared.

As anyone knows who has tried, it’s impossible to catch a will-o’-the-wisp.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

My fiction-writing career owes it start to the bad navigation of an 18th century pirate. For it was in 1717 that a ship, the
Whydah
went aground, reportedly carrying a fabulous treasure. In the 1980s, three salvage groups went head-to-head, competing to find the wreck. I was working for a newspaper covering the treasure hunt. The controversy over the salvage got hot at times and I thought there might be a book based on the story.

I developed my own detective, an ex-cop, diver, fisherman, and PI named Aristotle “Soc” Socarides. He was more philosophical than hard-boiled. Making his first appearance in “Cool Blue Tomb,” the book won the Shamus award for Best Paperback novel. After many years in the newspaper business, I turned to writing fiction and churned out five more books in the series.

Clive Cussler blurbed: “There can be no better mystery writer in America than Paul Kemprecos.”

Despite the accolades, the
Soc
series lingered in mid-list hell. By the time I finished my last book, I was thinking about another career that might make me more money, like working in a 7-11.

Several months after the release of “Bluefin Blues,” Clive called and said a spin-off from the
Dirk Pitt
series was in the works. It would be called the
NUMA Files
and he wondered if I would be interested in tackling the job.

I took on the writing of “Serpent” which brought into being Kurt Austin and the NUMA Special Assignments Team. Austin had some carry-over from Soc, and another team member, Paul Trout, had been born on Cape Cod. The book made
The New York Times
bestseller list, as did every one of seven
NUMA Files
that followed, including “Polar Shift,” which bumped “The DaVinci Code” for first place.