The Minoan Cipher

CHAPTER NINE

Color drained from the world outside the transparent passenger sphere as the submersible sank into the ocean’s depths. The red and orange glow filtering through the sea sparkle disappeared first. Then the rest of the spectrum was absorbed. Violet light faded into blue and black.

Hawkins switched on the floodlights. A school of silver-scaled fish were caught in the twin cones of brilliance that penetrated the darkness.

“Meet the welcoming committee,” Hawkins said. “Are you comfortable with the temperature?”

The interior of the cabin was cool, but Hawkins and Kalliste had changed into jeans and windbreakers before entering the sphere.

“I’m fine, thanks. Let’s go make history.”

“Aye, aye, and down she goes.”

Hawkins put Falstaff into a slow, descending spiral around the marker buoy line.

Kalliste gazed with wonder through the wall of the transparent sphere. “I can’t believe we’re making this dive,” she said. “Thank you so much for doing this, Matt.”

“I’m the one who should be thanking you, Kalliste. I’d be in my office back in Woods Hole instead of being here on the brink of a great discovery.”

She glanced around at the encroaching ocean. “I’m getting very nervous.”

“Don’t be. You’re as safe here as on your living room sofa.”

“It’s not the dive,” she said. “I feel perfectly comfortable with you. It’s the ship. What if it’s not Minoan?”

“We’ll know soon enough. We’re almost on the bottom.”

The submersible set down close to where the buoys anchor flukes were embedded in the sand.

“Almost no vegetation,” Hawkins said. “That’s a good sign. The temperature at this depth discourages the growth of marine organisms that feed on wood.”

Hawkins powered the vertical thrusters. Falstaff rose around six feet, coming to a hover. He put the submersible into a slow spin. The floodlights stroked the darkness like beams from a shore beacon. He was flicking on the video camera when he heard Kalliste say, “Oh!”

He looked up from the control panel. Directly in front of the submersible was a tall pillar that had a knob on top. The shape was indistinct because of an uneven covering of concretion, but the knob had the vague shape of a bird, with the beak pointing directly at them.

Kalliste murmured something in Greek. “Omorphi. Poly Omorphi.”

“Don’t know what you said, but I wholeheartedly agree,” Hawkins said.

“I said it was very beautiful. In more ways than one. You see how it looks vaguely like the head of a bird? This may be important. The bird motif was a common bow feature on Minoan vessels. Can we take a look at the stern section?”

Hawkins reached for the controls that would move Falstaff vertically. They rose several feet higher than the knob, and he angled the submersible into a forward tilt, piloting Falstaff slowly over the wreck. Although the deck was covered in sand they glimpsed some of the ship’s ribs and amorphous lumps here and there.

Kalliste dug a cellphone out of a waterproof neck pouch and put it on video mode.

“I know the submersible has cameras,” she said. “But I want something I can get back to the Hidden History channel as soon as we come out of the water.”

The submersible traveled around a hundred feet. The floodlights fell on a section of fish net draped around the high stern.

Kalliste leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “That’s where the fisherman’s net snagged the wreck. See that long plank projecting from the stern right about where water level would ordinarily be? We call vessels with that feature ‘frying pans,’ because that’s what they look like.”

“What’s its purpose?”

“Some people think it was a stabilizer that lengthened the waterline without elongating the hull. Others say it would be a drag on the ship, like having a ladder down the side, and would tend to draw the ship’s stern to the wind.”

“That could be dangerous with high waves and a following sea,” Hawkins said.

“That’s why there’s scholarly disagreement. But the stern projection tells us something. Like the bow, it is a design used by Minoan shipwrights.”

“Are you ready to make a positive ID, then?”

She shook her head. “It makes no difference how ready I am. Any theory I present will be subject to scathing review from my colleagues and peers. It must be airtight. But evidence of Minoan shipbuilding techniques could help bolster our case.”

“Cargo specimens would help even more.”

“Without a doubt, Minoan artifacts would seal the deal. You forget that our pig-faced Spanish friend has forbidden us from touching the wreck. It’s a shame, because I can’t get funding from the television people without hard evidence.”

“If I set Falstaff down within inches of the deck, the thrusters might accidentally blow sand off and uncover cargo. Technically speaking, we wouldn’t touch the wreck.”

Looking over at him, she smiled. “Who am I to argue with a respected Woods Hole scientist?”

Hawkins moved Falstaff back over the stern, then brought the submersible down to less than a yard above the deck and blasted away with the vertical thrusters. The submersible shot up above the billowing cloud of sand. He set Falstaff down again, several feet ahead, hopscotching to the bow. Falstaff pivoted to point back to the deck and, suddenly, its lights illuminated patches of newly exposed planking and ribs.

“Look at that blackened wood. There was a fire on board,” Hawkins said. “Probably what sent her to the bottom.”

“Maybe someone knocked over an oil lantern.”

“Or the ship was sunk during a battle. We’ll make another pass.”

As Falstaff retraced its route, objects could be seen nestled on and between the planks.

“I see amphorae!” Kalliste said, practically jumping out of her seat.

Hawkins was more restrained but he shared her excitement. The clay jugs that carried wine and oil could be vital clues in identifying the wreck. As he scanned the deck his attention was diverted by another object, still partially covered with sand that was larger than the others. It was located on the starboard side, around midships. Something about it looked vaguely familiar.

Before he could move in for a closer look, he heard a muffled thud come from above. A vibration passed through the passenger sphere.

Kalliste lifted her eyes toward the surface. “What was that?”

Hawkins knew from his SEAL days exactly what it was. An explosion. He searched the blackness beyond the floodlights. Then, after a short pause, he heard a second explosion. “Hold on, Kalliste,” he said. “We’re going up.”

Falstaff rose in a straight vertical line instead of the corkscrew path it had followed on the descent.

At the thud of a third explosion, Hawkins brought the submersible to a hover. They listened, but heard only the sound of their nervous breathing against the hum of the motors. He reached out for the throttle control and resumed the ascent, slower and with more caution.

The changing color spectrum was the reverse of the descent, shifting to violet, then blue tinged with yellow and orange.

Hawkins kept his eyes glued to the fathometer.

Two hundred feet. One-fifty. One hundred.

Kalliste had been tight-lipped during the ascent, but she suddenly pointed up. “Dear God!”

A huge fish-like shape was silhouetted against the sparkle of surface light. It rapidly expanded in size as it gained speed. Hawkins knew in an instant what was coming down from the surface.

The Sancho Panza.

And it was about to squash Falstaff under its keel.