The Minoan Cipher (A Matinicus “Matt” Hawkins Adventure Book 2) (20 page)

Abby glanced at the rows of script, then back to the rearview mirror.

“I think we’re being followed,” she said in a neutral voice. “Dark silver Mercedes. Like the one that went by when we were standing at the top of the hill. Been behind us for five miles.”

“Can you see the driver?”

“Uh-uh. Tinted windows. Every time I pass, change lanes or speed up, it does the same. They’ve stayed back just far enough to keep me in sight.”

“Slow down and see what happens.”

She took her foot off the gas and glanced in the mirror. “They’ve slowed down too.”

She pulled over to the side of the road. The Mercedes did the same. “Any idea who they are and what they want?”

“Worst case scenario is they had something to do with the professor’s death.”

“What’s the best case scenario?”

“There is none.” He gave her a tight smile. “Sorry. SEAL graveyard humor.”

“Pardon me if I don’t double over in laughter. What should we do?”

“We could keep on going to Heraklion and snag the first cop we see, but the E75 has isolated stretches. They could do a drive-by or run us off the road. We’re coming up on a big resort town. We might be able to lose ourselves in the crowds.”

Abby pulled back onto the highway and the Mercedes followed. Several miles further, she turned off. They attempted to lose their pursuers in Aghios Nikolaos, but the driver of the Mercedes stuck with them like glue.

“This isn’t working,” Hawkins said. “I’ve got an idea. Might be risky, and it depends on luck, timing and improvisation.”

“A typical SEAL op, in other words.”

“In a way. Remember when we were having our marital issues, how we talked about getting away on a cruise so we could talk things through?”

A sad smile came to her lips. “I also remember that things were too far gone by then. One of us would have jumped or thrown the other overboard. Why do you ask?”

“I think it’s time to take that cruise.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The island of Spinalonga rises from the emerald waters of the Gulf of Mirabello off the bustling town of Elounda like the shell of a giant stone turtle. Venice fortified the island in the 1500s to guard the entrance to a wide harbor. The next occupants were the Ottoman Turks. When they left, the island became a leper colony, making it the perfect place to hide a clandestine radio during the German occupation. After World War II, Aristotle Onassis wanted to build a casino on the island, but he was stymied by the formidable ranks of the Greek bureaucracy.

On his last visit to Crete Hawkins had wandered the narrow streets and alleyways, climbed the looming battlements and wondered how life must have been for the soldiers, the lepers and caregivers who made the forbidding pile of rock their home.

After leaving the highway, he had directed Abby along a high road that offered sweeping views of the bay and mountains before descending into Elounda. Hawkins asked Abby to pull the Renault into a public lot next to the marina and the harbor side tavernas. Instead of following them, the Mercedes circled like a prowling tiger, then disappeared around a corner.

They left the Renault in the parking lot. Hawkins hid the professor’s briefcase under the seat but he carried the backpack that held the device. They bought tickets to Spinalonga, boarded a high-prow wooden boat with a couple of dozen other passengers and sat on benches along the starboard side.

The boat eased out of its slip, and Hawkins got up and went to the stern. His eyes scanned the marina; two figures caught his attention because unlike other tourists strolling along the dock, they were running. They dashed up to the empty slip and stared at the departing boat. They were tall and thin, dressed in black running suits. Denim floppy-brimmed hats were pulled down low over their foreheads.

Training, combat experience and instinct combined to set off a loud alarm inside his head. Hawkins knew without a doubt that he was looking at the professor’s killers.

He ambled back to his seat and leaned close to Abby’s ear. “I saw two guys on the dock. My guess is that they’re the ones in the silver Mercedes.”

“Did they see you?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

She looked toward the purple mountains across the bay and let out a deep sigh. “Beautiful, isn’t it, Matt? Someday we’ll have to do this when we don’t have murderers dogging our footsteps.”

“It’s a date,” Hawkins said. “Sorry, Abby. First things first.”

“Yes, I know. Sterile cockpit. What next?”

“They’ll find another boat to take them to the island. We’ll have time before they get there. We’ll try to hire a private boat to take us back to the mainland. There were a few fishermen hanging around last time I was here. We’ll leave those guys high and dry on the big rock.”

“And if we don’t find transportation?”

“We take this boat back. They follow. We get to the mainland first and lose them with your fancy driving.”

“Pretty thin, Hawkins, but it will have to do.”

Minutes later they stepped off the landing dock and merged with the crowd of sightseers milling around below the bastion. The huge curved fortifications had gun emplacements for the cannons that once guarded one end of the island. A couple of private power boats were anchored near the dock. Hawkins started walking towards them, but another tour boat was about to land. The vessel had an upper deck. Leaning on the rail looking down on him were the two men he had seen at the marina.

Hawkins grabbed Abby by the arm and guided her behind a souvenir kiosk.

“Change in plans,” he said. “Check out the two guys in black on the top deck of that boat. Don’t be too obvious.”

She peered around the corner of the kiosk. “I see them.”

“Good. Stand near those tour groups until the men in black are out of sight. Then head over to those anchored boats, wave a wad of Euros, and line up a ride to the mainland.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll lose our pals in the fortress and circle back.”

She stared at the approaching boat. “Do you think that will work?”

“If that’s a nice way of asking whether my gimp leg will slow me down, don’t worry.”

“I never meant it that way. I was talking about the backpack slowing you down. Why do you have to be so damn sensitive?”

“Sorry. To answer your question, I can handle it. We can have a sensitivity session later over glasses of ouzo.”

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Go! And for God sakes, be careful.”

Hawkins strode toward the entrance to the fortress where he paused to look back. The boat was almost at the dock. The two men had moved to the bow of the lower deck where they’d be the first to disembark. Hawkins stood in full view until one of the men pointed in his direction. Satisfied they had sighted him, he followed an alleyway through a tunnel to the old town—several small buildings the Ottoman Turks had constructed for residences and markets. Following a path that ran along the perimeter of the island he passed a French tour group and walked by an old mosque that had been used as an infirmary. Staying on the path would gain him nothing. His pursuers would catch up, jam a gun in his back and point him to a quiet place where he could be disposed of with a knife to the ribs.

Near the old city gate, he left the path and climbed a set of steep steps that ran between two high walls. The backpack seemed heavier with each step. He would never admit it to Abby, but the stiffness of his bum right leg did slow him down.

He doubled back toward the ferry landing but that plan was soon dashed. Someone in black was climbing the hill ahead in an effort to cut him off. They must have anticipated his move.

Hawkins climbed another level. His haste, combined with the burden of the backpack and his bad leg, threw his balance off. He tripped and his knee came down hard on a stone step. Struggling to his feet, he tried to ignore the pain stabbing in his bruised kneecap.

He realized he was losing the race to the top. Taking a right between two walls, he loped along, catching glimpses of black-suited men in the network of alleyways. They would move in when there were no tourists around, Hawkins knew. They would want to avoid any inconvenient witnesses wandering the hill. He decided to take the offensive. He stopped at the open door to a small chapel. Stepping inside, he removed the artifact from the backpack and tucked it into a corner of the vaulted room.

Then he filled his pack with chunks of masonry. Hoisting the pack on one shoulder, Hawkins exited the chapel and kept moving. The sun’s warmth was blistering and at an intersection he stopped to catch his breath. He looked down and saw one of his pursuers standing below on the path that ran parallel to his. The large aquiline nose under the brim of his hat was out of proportion, as if it had been pasted onto his narrow face. The chin was pointed and the mouth was shaped in an upside down V.

The man parted his feral lips in a smile and began to climb, taking each step as if he had all the time in the world.

Hawkins tried to divert him. “Did you kill Professor Vedrakis?”

The man stopped and said something in a strange language.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Hawkins said.

The man climbed another step and reached under his shirt. Hawkins hefted the backpack, trying to make it seem lighter than it was. “Do you want this?”

There was no gun in his hand when the man removed it from under the shirt. He climbed another step and reached forward. He was no more than six feet away when Hawkins lifted the backpack.

“Okay, pal. You want it, I’ll give it to you.”

He tossed the backpack like a basketball player making a two-handed foul shot.

The rock-filled bag soared in a tight arc and hit the man squarely in the chest. He instinctively grabbed onto the backpack, which threw him off balance, throwing him backwards so that his head smashed into a step.

Hawkins hustled down the stairway. The man’s body was limp. Saliva dripped from the corner of his oddly-shaped mouth. Hawkins removed the hat, which is when he discovered the man’s shaved blue scalp.

Hawkins went through the pockets of the black jumpsuit. He found a billfold containing some Euros and tucked it in his shirt pocket, then went to lift his pack only to freeze at the sound of a voice.

“Nice work, bloke. Is he dead?”

Pouty was standing at the top of the stairs. His English accent was gone and in his hand he held a Sig Sauer with a sound suppressor extending from the barrel.

“He might be, Mr. Pouty,” Hawkins said. “Is that your real name?”

“Doesn’t matter. What does matter is I’m someone who’s got your interests at heart. I was close by when I heard a shout and thought you were hurt.”

“Well it wasn’t me who was hurt, Mr. Pouty.”

“I can see that. How about giving me that bag. Please don’t throw it.”

Hawkins started up the stairs and put the bag down on the top step. Pouty told him to dump out the contents. Hawkins unzipped the pack then turned it upside down so the rocks tumbled out. A puzzled expression came to Pouty’s ruddy features and then, he began to laugh.

“Quite the beanbag. No wonder your playmate crashed and burned.”

“He isn’t alone on the island. He’s got a friend out there,” Hawkins said.

“I know that. I’ll take care of him.” He paused.

“Who are these guys? And what’s with the blue head?”

“Damned if I know. Too bad we can’t ask him.”

“Sorry, but he didn’t introduce himself.”

Pouty chuckled, and said, “We’re not all that different, you know. You and me.”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“You will.” He tucked the pistol into his belt. “Better get moving.”

Pouty slipped into an alley on his right. Hawkins hurried to the chapel and replaced the mechanism into the backpack. He descended to the main path and hurried past groups of camera-toting visitors to the landing. Abby was nowhere near the souvenir booth. He cursed himself. He should never have left her.

“Matt!”

Abby waved at him from a white wooden launch hovering a few yards off shore. The young Greek fisherman at the tiller moved the boat closer. Hawkins hurried toward the dock, handed the backpack to the Greek and climbed into the boat. The fisherman powered up the outboard and the boat headed to the mainland.

“Damn it, Hawkins. I was worried,” Abby said. “Are you all right?”

“Knee got banged up in a fall, but I’m okay otherwise.”

Abby gave him a hug and a kiss. “Hell with the sterile cockpit,” she said.

Within minutes, the boat approached the harbor port, leaving the mysteries of Spinalonga, old and new, in its foamy wake.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Amsterdam, The Netherlands

The jetliner Calvin had boarded at Cadiz taxied toward the sprawling terminal at Airport Schiphol. Making it quickly through customs, Calvin was now on the train to the city. As it trundled through the suburbs, he saw a new message from Molly on his electronic tablet. She had dug up more dirt on the man he was about to see. He read her latest tidbit, studied the photos and a smile crossed his broad face.