The Minoan Cipher (A Matinicus “Matt” Hawkins Adventure Book 2) (32 page)

His voice cracking with emotion, Spaulding said, “I’ve got photos of the same scene repeated over and over again in different places. Only the body count varies. In this incident, twenty-three people—men, women and children—died when an Auroch mining operation weakened the ground under their village.”

“Mr. Spaulding was the chairman of an environmental and humanitarian organization when these disasters occurred,” Ms. Mullins chimed in. “After a series of highly-publicized disasters near Auroch mines, Jared pulled together an international consortium to confront the company. He can tell you what happened next.”

“We had lots of momentum,” Spaulding said. “Their public relations department folded under the world-wide criticism. They put me directly in touch with Salazar. To my surprise, he took full responsibility, said he would provide restitution to those impacted, and would be open to suggestions on how Auroch could make amends and prevent further disasters. He said Auroch was heavily involved in alternative energy.”

Molly nodded. “I saw that Auroch belongs to an energy council working on stuff that could put him out of business. Seem funny to you?”

“Yeah. Go figure. Maybe that’s one reason we believed him when he said he’d tend to our demands personally and have his staff carry out his wishes.”

“Salazar was a man of his word,” Attorney Mullins interrupted. “Auroch had an army of lawyers, investigators and accountants in-waiting. They must have been prepped for weeks because we were served with subpoenas within hours of the telephone call. Offices and cars were vandalized. Our computers were hacked. Worse, the police came in with false charges that were brought against the organization; our donors were warned against giving any funds to help us. People followed our staff everywhere.”

“That’s an awful lot of trouble.”

“We planned to hang in, but we had some amazing bad luck. Our treasurer was killed in a car accident. Hit and run. That put us over the edge. In a matter of days, our organization was dead as well.”

“Sorry to hear that. Sounds like you tried to do some good.”

“We did lots of good,” Spaulding said. “And if you know what’s good for
you
, stay away from Auroch and Salazar. They’re poison.”

“Thanks,” Molly said.

Spaulding must have noticed the firm set of her jaw. “You’re not going to take our advice, are you?”

“Uncle Gowdy’s wife was my favorite aunt and their kids are my best cousins.”

The attorney shook her head. “Weren’t the Hatfields and McCoys from West Virginia?”

“Hatfields were. McCoys came from Kentucky. I’m probably related to both of them. That’s the way it is where I come from. We’re all kin.”

Spaulding sighed. “If you persist in going ahead, promise me a couple of things. One, come to us if you need help. Two, be careful.”

“My Maw and Paw didn’t raise any dumb kids,” Molly said sarcastically. “I’ll keep looking over my shoulder.”

If Molly heeded her own advice, she would have paid more attention to the man in the Red Sox cap who was positioned so he could glance up from his laptop without seeming too obvious. He had purchased the cap in Boston, where he had been the day before when the call came in telling him to fly to Portland. He had arrived that morning on the red-eye and taken a cab directly from the airport to the café. He wore a hearing aid that could shut out extraneous sound. He had been listening to the conversation, typing out notes on who said what. He had already taken down the license plate number of the Harley. When the conversation ended, he typed out the time, then sent the notes as an attachment to the email.

Within milliseconds, the words spoken at Molly’s table winged their way across the continental United States and the Atlantic Ocean to the security department of Auroch Industries. The recipient glanced at the source, printed out the message and then placed it in a folder that was delivered by hand to the big office with the strip-mining murals on the walls.

As Molly was throwing a leg over the seat of her motorcycle, her words were being studied by the subject of her discussion. Salazar was back in his office after a quick flight from Santorini. He read the notes again. It was a small annoyance, but he was a man who abhorred loose ends, and after the Santorini debacle, he wanted someone to pay. He reached for his phone, punched a button, and said:

“Tell our man on the scene to deal with this Sutherland person.
Immediately
.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

The castle perched on a hill overlooking the wind-swept plains of the sparsely-populated central region of the Iberian Peninsula was known as,
Castillo de Cuernos
, or Castle of the Horns. The guidebooks said that the name was derived from the cattle farms that once surrounded the castle. Most of the grazing land had been turned over to olive and grape cultivation, but the farmland hadn’t been tilled for decades; all that was left in the sere soil were blackened vines and twisted tree trunks.

A river ran past the castle, and in the heyday of agricultural production, boats transported goods from the fields and vineyards to market along the winding waterway. Workers lived in a bustling village built on the bank of the river, but the settlement had long ago been abandoned.

The figure in black stood on the east tower of
Castillo de Cuernos
, eyes fixed on a star-like pinpoint of light that rapidly grew in brightness. The pulsating sound of air being thrashed echoed across the plains and the star materialized into a helicopter that came in low over the parapets. The rotor air-wash blew back the hood to reveal the marble white features of Lily Porter. Circling the castle once, the helicopter hovered, then dropped into the courtyard. By then, Lily was in an elevator on her way to the base of the tower. She stepped out into the courtyard and strode through the cloud of dust that the rotors had kicked up. The fuselage door opened, a ladder flipped out and two Priors maneuvered a stretcher through the opening.

Kalliste lay on the stretcher, her body covered with a blanket and tied down with nylon straps. The restraints were necessary because she was starting to come out of the deep sleep induced by the powerful drugs injected into her bloodstream. Lily gazed down at Kalliste, awe-struck at her beauty. She had truly earned her name: the fair one. But Lily’s appraisal was the cold assessment of a farmer admiring the perfect features on an animal before sending it off to slaughter.

Locked within that still body was the dangerous DNA going back to King Minos.

The sacrifice that had been delayed for thousands of years would at last be accomplished. Kalliste would be the end of the Minos line. The Mother Goddess would have more blood than she could drink, and as a reward would bestow unimaginable blessings on the Way of the Axe.

She leaned close to Kalliste’s ear. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. “It’s me, your friend Lily.”

Kalliste’s eyes remained closed, but her lips parted slightly.

“Your friend Hawkins wants to come to you. Tell me where he is.”

Kalliste scrunched her eyelids tight but made no reply. Lily leaned over and placed her hand on Kalliste’s shoulder.

“Tell me, Kalliste. Tell me where Hawkins is.”

The lips remained silent.

Lily shook Kalliste’s shoulder, but to no avail. She felt her phone vibrating in her robe pocket. She recognized the number on the caller ID. It belonged to the nurse at the Paris sanitarium where the High Priestess was being treated. She ordered the stretcher-bearers to go on.

“This had better be important,” she said into the phone.

She heard a sob, followed by the whispered words, “She’s gone.”

Lily needed no more detail to know what happened. The Head Priestess had died. Lily knew after her last visit that this day would come, but the announcement was still a shock.

“When?”

“Minutes ago. In her sleep. The monitors flat-lined. It was too late to bring her back. What should I do?”

“Have you talked to anyone else?”

“Only you.”

With icy calm, Lily said, “Prepare the body immediately for transport. Alert the security detail to be ready. I’ll be in Paris tonight to escort the High Priestess home.”

As she clicked off, grief washed over Lily, but not for long. With the death of the crone, Lily would become the new High Priestess.
Her
word would be law. She looked down at Kalliste and said to the Prior holding the front of the stretcher, “How much longer will she sleep?”

“Several hours. Longer, if we inject more drugs, but that could be dangerous.”

“Take her to the Maze. Keep her unconscious until I get back, but she must not come to any harm.”

She watched the Priors carry the stretcher toward the shrine entrance and considered the moves she would make after she had been made High Priestess. She had quietly watched Salazar gather together his private army. She knew of his conversations with the corporate managers. He had been subtle, hinting that change was needed, but she wasn’t fooled. Salazar wanted to take over the Auroch corporate empire.

When the first High Priestess had arrived on Spanish shores, she had needed the help of the local inhabitants to consolidate her hold. The Salazars had lent their services as thugs for hire, and the relationship had worked for centuries. The Salazar family became the public face of the mining company that evolved into Auroch. But behind the curtains, the Maze pulled the strings.

Lily would deal with Salazar at the Gathering, when her spirit would merge with all those who came before her, going back to the first High Priestess. But the loss of the translation device worried her. As long as the machine was out of her control, the possibility existed that someone would figure out how to use it to translate Linear A.

This must never happen. That rule had been drilled into her head since she was a girl, then later as a promising young priestess. For thousands of years those who followed the Way of the Axe had communicated in the ancient script, secure in the knowledge that its secrets were safe from prying eyes. The script bound them together, shielding from public view the horrifying theology of blood that had allowed them to expand their wealth and influence. Anyone who came close to decoding the script was dealt with in the same way—sudden death, made to look accidental. The practice had worked. Until now. Until Kalliste and her friend Hawkins interfered.

She needed to find Hawkins and the device. She had sensed that he and Kalliste were close when she met him in the Cadiz hotel. Kalliste would be the perfect bait to lure him to the Maze. Lily would have to be careful, though. Hawkins had shown that he was no fool.

She gazed at the Tripartite Shrine for a moment, absorbing the power of the Mother Goddess that seemed to flow from the three-towered building that housed the entrance to the Maze. Then she climbed into the helicopter, barked an order to the pilot, and started off on the first leg of her trip to bring the body of the High Priestess back home to rest with the others.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Abby awakened to discover Hawkins gone. A note on his pillow said he would call her later. Hawkins was right when he warned of the danger of bringing emotions on a mission. Abby hadn’t reached the high levels of the Navy by being a worrywart. The best way to take her mind off Hawkins was to throw herself at a problem.

She called Captain Santiago and said she wanted to see his brother again. He called her back a few minutes later. Francisco would love to talk to her. Miguel was on his way to the hotel to give her a ride to the chapel. She quickly got dressed and was ready when Miguel knocked on her door. When they arrived at the chapel, Miguel stayed with the car. Abby went in to see Father Francisco and found him sweeping the main aisle.

He gave her a broad smile. “Blessed are those who clean up after others,” he said. “As you can see, I serve St. Vincent as his janitor as well as his gardener.” He put the broom aside, brushed his hands, and said, “My brother told me you wanted to talk more about the deed of penance.”

“Yes. I’m wondering if I missed something hidden in the bureaucratic language.”

“That’s possible. The deed deliberately disguises what essentially was a vast killing machine, and was intended to divert people from the monstrous evil of the enterprise.”

“One clause stood out. Something about the property being cleansed of demons before it could be transferred.”

“I agree. It is a curious phrase. Let’s take another look at it.”

He led the way into the musty-smelling library, unlocked a desk drawer and pulled out the Spanish copy of the deed. Placing the document on a reading table, he ran his index finger down the text. “Here it is. Actually, several references describe the property as being ‘unclean’ or ‘unholy.’ ”

“What exactly does it mean?”

“When I translated this section, I thought it referred to the fact that the property had been owned by a heretic, who the church could claim was unholy.”

“That seems like a logical supposition,” Abby said.

“But now that I have given it further thought, I have my doubts. As you recall, the owner, Fernandez, was tossed into prison and later burned at the stake. Fire was seen as the ultimate cure for heresy. The lucky sinner was cleansed of all their sins. ‘Relaxed,’ as they said. So there would be no need for additional cleansing, as suggested in the deed. Then there’s the section about the work crews.”