The Minoan Cipher

CHAPTER EIGHT

After Leonidas had followed the Sancho Panza to the wreck site, he moved to within two miles of the anchored boat, the maximum distance that would allow him to make his kill with ease and accuracy. He stood on the deck of the leased forty-three-foot Spanish-built Astrodona and studied the vessel through powerful binoculars.

He had removed his disguise. He knew that he now looked like a giant slug but there was no one to see the scar tissue that had replaced his face. He’d smoked a joint on the way out. High-octane weed. He stretched his lipless mouth in a ragged grin. With an eye patch, he thought, he’d fit right in with the fishy crew of Davy Jones in the Pirates of the Caribbean movie.

The Astrodona’s twin 330 horsepower Volvo Penta engines rumbling under his feet could kick the boat up to a maximum speed of 35 mph. He’d finish this job and be back in Cadiz in time for dinner. A Galician fish stew would be nice, paired with a 2005 Lusco wine. Isabel would be his dessert.

Opening a storage compartment, Leonidas lifted out the king-size backpack that he’d bought in a wilderness equipment supply shop. He set the bag down on the deck, unzipped the top and pulled out a narrow cylinder around two feet long and slightly more than two inches in diameter.

At one end of the cylinder was a set of fins; at the other end was the plastic housing protecting a camera lens. He placed the Spike missile on the deck and pulled out three more projectiles, which he laid beside the first. When he’d first been hired to deal with the survey ship he intended to plant timed explosives on board as he’d done with the earlier assignment. But Salazar had insisted that nothing be left to chance, so he’d acquired the four missiles from his armaments supplier in Amsterdam.

The U.S. Navy had developed the 5.5-pound shoulder-launched Spike to pick off swarming attack boats that might leak through standard defenses. The missile could hit a target moving at sixty miles per hour. Nailing a stationary object like the Sancho Panza would be a piece of cake. He removed a launcher from another bag and placed it next to the missiles.

A camera in the missile’s nose could transmit a real-time picture along a fiber optics connector. It was like taking a photo with a cell phone. The shooter puts a box around the target and BANG! That was it.

The one-pound warhead was a firecracker compared to bigger missiles, but the Spike had a focused explosion that packed a punch. Even better, the shooter could put the missile exactly where it would do the most damage. It was fast, too. The missile attained a velocity of six hundred miles per hour within 1.5 seconds of launch. The Spike had a reduced smoke motor, making it invisible as it flew toward the target. Missiles fired in a tight cluster would blast a huge hole in the hull. The boat would sink to the bottom within minutes.

He raised the binoculars again and saw activity on deck. A man and a woman were climbing through a hatch down into what looked like a giant bubble. The round vehicle was lifted off the deck and lowered into the water where it disappeared below the surface. He guessed that the man was Hawkins. Didn’t matter who the woman was. For her, it was simply bad luck. The IED had blasted away his capacity for empathy along with his face.

However, Leonidas hadn’t planned on Hawkins leaving the boat so soon. If he shot now, he’d miss two people. Salazar had been adamant. Everyone on the boat must go. No big deal. He had nothing else to do, so he’d wait. Lighting up another joint, he took a deep drag of the intoxicating fumes and blew the smoke out the twin nostril holes.