The Minoan Cipher (A Matinicus “Matt” Hawkins Adventure Book 2) (27 page)

Colchis.
Kalchis
.

It was no coincidence. Kalliste was descended from the daughter of King Minos.

She had to bring Kalliste to her long overdue fate in the Maze. The decree from the High Priestess whose mummy sat on a throne in the Maze had been passed down through the centuries. The spawn of Minos must be given to the Mother Goddess if the Way of the Axe were to prosper.

Lily silently mouthed the old chants, murmurings that had their roots in the primitive rituals when men lived in caves. The past seemed like a river rushing through her brain, but the sound it made was not water but a chorus of voices. An image flashed before her eyes. The photograph on the wall of Kalliste’s apartment. White cubical houses set against black ashen cliffs. The Mother Goddess was leading the way.

“Would you like more coffee, Madame?”

The waiter standing at her table had come over to see if Lily needed anything. She snapped out of her trance, gave him her playful TV producer smile, then scooped up the graphs and stuffed them into her pocketbook. She rose from her chair.

“I’m fine, thank you. I’m very fine indeed.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Miguel picked up Hawkins and Abby at Malaga Airport and drove them to the Santiago apartment in an upscale part of Cadiz. Captain Santiago greeted the visitors with effusive bear hugs and introduced his wife, Louisa, a pretty woman with the broad smile that had been passed down to her son.

The sturdy dining room table groaned under the weight of the Spanish appetizers known as
tapas
. The dishes included meatballs in spicy tomato sauce, garlic prawns and olives of every size and color. All washed down with an oak-aged
Rioja
wine.

After lunch, Captain Santiago led his guests to his dark-paneled study. He pointed out the painting of Cervantes hanging over the fireplace. Photos of the salvage boats that had given the captain and his family a comfortable living hung on the walls.

Hawkins recognized a photo of the
Sancho Panza
. Santiago noticed his pained expression. “It’s all right, Matt. The sea giveth and the sea taketh away. So make sure you have insurance.”

“Words of wisdom from Cervantes?”

“No.” The captain jabbed his chest with a forefinger. “From Santiago.”

He unlocked a desk drawer and pulled out a large mailing envelope. Inviting his guests to take a seat, he settled into a stuffed leather chair. He opened the envelope and extracted a print-out of the document Hawkins had sent him.

“I must ask you a question,” he said to Matt. “Where did you get this?”

“From an Englishman named Robsham. It was among papers he inherited that once belonged to his great-uncle. Do you know what it is?”

Santiago nodded. “A deed of penance. Basically a real estate transfer that dates back to the 16
^th
century, regarding the transfer of property in the
Castilla La Mancha.
”

Hawkins glanced at the portrait of Cervantes. “As in ‘Man of La Mancha’?”

“The very same countryside where the Knight of the Sorrowful Countenance roamed. It’s a region in the central part of Spain. Very flat and desolate. Known for its windmills, like the one Don Quixote battled, while imagining they were giants. I’ve traveled there a number of times. I’ve seen the property described in the document. It’s a medieval castle, surrounded by abandoned vineyards and farmlands. No inhabited villages or towns lay nearby.”

“You would think that the vineyards would generate local commerce,” Abby said.

“Perhaps at one time; long ago,” Santiago said. “According to the legends I’ve heard, the area has long been plagued by strange happenings that drove people away.”

“What sort of happenings?”

“People disappeared. Mostly young and mostly female. The villagers suspected the disappearances had something to do with the castle, which was home to a secretive order of monks. Many of the locals moved away. After some people were killed by some huge creatures who attacked them in church, the remaining inhabitants decided that even the Almighty couldn’t help, so they deserted their village.”

“What sort of creatures?” Abby said.

“They were said to be demonic dogs. The story goes back to the mid-1500s. It was on a Sunday and the people were at worship when two massive dogs burst down the doors and ran among the kneeling congregation, maiming and killing. They ripped the throats out of six people. Churches could be targets for brigands, so the villagers always carried weapons under their cloaks. Some attacked the animals with their knives and swords. Witnesses heard a whistle and saw one dog go to a man standing outside the church. He appeared to be a monk from the castle. He left without a word with the dog at his side. The other animal ran off, leaving a trail of blood.”

“Tell us more about these dogs,” Hawkins said.

“The animals were as tall as a man and had eyes that were flaming red; or bright yellow, depending on the storyteller. Their heads were skull-like, with a thick ruff around the neck, and they had long, narrow snouts.”

“Good thing it’s only a legend,” Hawkins said.

Santiago hiked up his thick eyebrows. “Maybe not. A few years ago researchers digging near the foundation of the old church found the bones of a gigantic dog lying in a shallow grave. The dog would have stood more than seven feet on its hind legs and weighed more than two hundred pounds. Its skull shape matched the descriptions and led the researchers to believe that it was a hybrid of some sort.”

“Fascinating, but maybe we should get back to the document Matt sent you,” Abby said. “You described it as a ‘deed of penance.’ ”

“The deed was an invention of the Inquisition. Loss of your property was part of the penalty paid by the accused. The document was basically fiction to make the theft of property legal. No money was mentioned in the papers. The Salazar family listed as beneficiaries took ownership for what was termed a ‘consideration.’ In other words, it was never paid for,” Santiago said.

“Lucky buyer.”

“The Salazar family has always made its own luck.”

“Who are the Salazars?” Hawkins asked.

“They are a prominent family that go back a long time. They are very rich and own many businesses. Their biggest one is Auroch Industries. It started as a mining company and now has holdings around the world.”

“Impressive.”

“That’s the
who
. More important is
what
the Salazars are. The family has a bad reputation. There are stories of their rivals mysteriously disappearing in the old days. It’s very strange, but the Salazar family was never prosecuted. Most of the family has died out in recent years so you rarely hear anything about them.”

“Your message mentioned ‘evil deeds’,” Abby said. “Were you talking about the family’s criminal activities?”

“What I mentioned is the sort of thing you would expect of any criminal organization. The document suggests that the Salazars have a past that is much more evil than I knew of.”

“More evil than murdering rivals?” Abby said.

“Sadly, yes. I’m a simple mariner. If you’re ready, I’ll introduce you to an expert on evil.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Minutes later, they were in the captain’s car heading out of the city. After about a half-hour’s drive, Miguel parked in front of a chapel at the end of a quiet street. A man was kneeling at the edge of a flowerbed in front of the building.

With the others following him, Santiago got out of the car and went over to the gardener. “
Buenos Dias
, Father Francisco. Good to see you on your knees doing honest work.”

The man turned and a broad grin came to a face that closely resembled the captain’s, except for the pale complexion and the shorter haircut.

“
Buenos Dias
, Brother. Have you come to my church to confess your sins?”

“You would need a bigger church to hold all my sins.”

“Then we had better start now.”

Both men burst into laughter. The gardener stuck the trowel into the flowerbed and extended his hand to the captain who helped him to his feet. He brushed the dirt off his sweatshirt and the knees of his baggy pants, then the two men gave each other a big hug. The priest offered the same greeting to the captain’s son.

Santiago then introduced Hawkins and Abby. “These are the friends I told you about. This is my twin brother, Francisco, who chose to follow the church instead of the sea.”

“We are not so different. My brother salvages ships and I salvage souls. Excuse my un-priestly appearance. The diocese considers my church too small to employ the services of a gardener, so I tend the grounds myself. Come, I’ll show you around.”

Father Francisco led the way through the front door into the chapel. The interior was of simple design, long and narrow, with rows of oak pews squeezed between whitewashed walls. The air was heavy with the smell of incense. An ornately carved gilded altarpiece was flanked by statues of saints and angels.

Abby glanced around the chapel, and said, “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, senora. The 16
^th
century, when the Capilla de St. Vincent was built, was a time when the visual arts flourished. Unfortunately, it was a time when the Church succumbed to the basest of human instincts.”

“I told my friends that you were better qualified than I to speak of evil deeds,” the captain said.

“That description doesn’t even approach what happened during the more than three hundred years of the Spanish Inquisition. The torture and killing have been well-documented, but one of the most pernicious aspects was the right the Inquisition gave itself to confiscate the property of the accused. They were held prisoner, sometimes for years before their trial. Those who were part of the inner circle of the Inquisition became very wealthy at the expense of the poor souls who suffered.”

“Which meant that they had little incentive to judge someone as innocent,” Abby said.

“The senora is astute. Stolen property fueled the Inquisition and made it an unstoppable force. At first confiscated wealth went to the king and queen. Later, the loot went to the Holy Office and made its way down the line to the central council, tribunals, and the various officials who processed the victims like animals on a slaughterhouse conveyor belt.”

“Where does the document figure in?” Hawkins asked.

“The Inquisition kept detailed records of its financial dealings to aid in its persecutions, to justify their criminality and, like any big business, to keep track of cash flow. The document my brother showed me is a letter regarding the transfer of property from a victim to a new owner.”

“Captain Santiago said the property was a castle in Castilla La Mancha.”

“This is true. It was originally owned by a lesser nobleman named Hernandez. Someone wanted the property. That was that. He was imprisoned, tortured, tried and put to death.”

“What crime was he accused of?” Abby said.

“Heresy, which was broadly defined. People were arrested for offenses as trivial as wearing clean linen or not eating pork.”

“Even Cervantes came to the attention of the Inquisition,” the captain said. “He had to censor his writing to avoid prosecution.”

“Cervantes was lucky,” Father Francisco said. “Hernandez was doomed to the stake for being a
negativo
, which meant he denied the charges and refused to confess. Of course had he admitted his heresy, he would have been convicted as well.”

“Captain Santiago said that the castle went to the Salazar family.”

“Correct. Eduardo Salazar was a mining tycoon who must have enjoyed favor with the Inquisition to have been the recipient of such largesse. It’s a mystery why he was chosen, seeing as that most of the people who benefited from the confiscations were part of the Inquisition bureaucracy.”

“Maybe it was for services rendered,” Hawkins said.

“What kind of services would get him such a big pay-off?” Abby said.

“There is mention in the document of Salazar providing labor to do some work on the castle.”

“Maybe it was a run-down property that needed work. What American real estate agents call a fixer-upper,” Abby said. “Salazar ran mining operations. He could have provided people from his labor pool to do the work.”

“Perhaps,” the priest said. “Whatever the reason, he apparently enjoyed great favor of the
Promotor Fiscal
, the public prosecutor for that council. His name was Henrique del Norte.”

“Norte, meaning North?” Abby said.

“Yes. I can show you his portrait. It’s in the church library.”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Hawkins said.

They went through a door into a room lined with ornately-bound books and smelling of old paper. Father Santiago slid one volume off a shelf and placed the book on a table. He slipped on a pair of white cloth gloves and carefully turned the pages. He stopped at a back-and-white portrait that took up a full page.