The Minoan Cipher

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Spanish Coast Guard cutter plucked the survivors from the life raft a few minutes later. The refugees from the Sancho Panza each enjoyed long, scalding showers before heating their insides with hot soup. Wearing jeans and shirts on loan from the friendly crew, they climbed into a shuttle van back in Cadiz. The vehicle drove the captain and his son home and dropped Matt and Kalliste at a hotel where she had reserved rooms for them to use as a base. They crawled into her king-size bed with their clothes on and slept soundly until they were awakened by the telephone.

It was Captain Santiago calling. The cutter’s captain had radioed his superiors, reporting that a government official named Rodriguez was missing and presumed dead. A police officer named Garcia had called Santiago asking to speak with everyone who’d been on the boat. Santiago had suggested the hotel for the meeting.

Kalliste had kept her suitcase in the room and had fresh clothes to change into. Hawkins had lost his bag when the salvage boat sank. He was still in his borrowed Coast Guard clothes and hadn’t shaved, when he and Kalliste joined the Santiago’s to, hopefully, find out more information about what on earth had happened the night before.

Sergeant Garcia signaled with a wave of a hand for them to take their seats. The sergeant was a big man, with most of his bulk centered in his substantial girth, a product of too many stakeouts and not enough exercise. He was tall as well, more than six feet in height. Simply sitting at the table in the hotel conference room, he presented an imposing figure. He often used his formidable physique to intimidate those he interrogated. With others, he took the opposite tact, beguiling them with his sympathetic tone and large brown eyes. He wasn’t sure how he would proceed with this group.

The father and son were Spaniards. They were respectful in answering his questions, although the older man’s deference seemed less than sincere. The American scientist had not been the timid academic Garcia expected. He was built like a longshoreman. His level gaze had an unnerving hardness that didn’t match the smile he wore on his unshaven face.

The Greek woman was attractively middle-aged. In another setting, he would have flirted as well as questioned her. But she had displayed a quick temper after he’d asked for her version of events the third time. It was a routine police procedure; have a witness repeat his or her story and look for discrepancies, but her patience had run out.

She crossed her arms in front of her. “We have told you the story twice already.”

“But you may have missed something.”

She looked him straight in the eye. “Sergeant Garcia, you have two… ears, and I think there is a brain resting somewhere between them, so you have heard what I have to say and presumably have understood me by now.”

Garcia had been embarrassed since childhood by his prominent ears and wore his black hair long to disguise them. He wagged his forefinger at the Greek.

“This is a serious matter.”

Lowering her head like a charging bull, she wagged back.

“Then I suggest you bring in someone who does not need stories repeated again and again like an idiot child.”

Which was when Hawkins intervened. Speaking in a quiet voice, he said, “Excuse me, Sergeant Garcia. May I make a suggestion?”

The raised fingers remained poised. Eyes were locked.

“What sort of suggestion?”

“We’ve gone through an exhausting ordeal and may not be as calm and patient as we normally would be. Maybe you could just ask questions about areas that concern you.”

Garcia wasn’t about to yield. And neither was the stubborn Greek. Hawkins must have seen the need for dramatic intervention because he turned to the captain. “To quote the great Cervantes….” He raised his eyebrows as a cue.

Captain Santiago smiled. Spreading his arms wide, he declared, “As the great Cervantes said, ‘honesty is the best policy.’ ”

Kalliste and Garcia stared at the beatific smile on the captain’s face, then slowly lowered their fingers.

“I would be the last person to argue with Cervantes,” the sergeant said. “To be perfectly honest, some of what I have heard is very hard to believe.” He consulted his notepad. “You told me you wished to examine an old ship on the bottom of the sea. Senora Kalchis and Senor Hawkins go down into the sea in a submarine. You find the ship. You hear noises. Then a boat almost… falls on you.”

“My boat,” the captain reminded him. “The Sancho Panza, a name from the great Cervantes.”

The sergeant sighed. “Yes, Cervantes. Tell me again why your boat sinks, young man.”

Garcia had hoped to take advantage of Miguel’s youthful lack of guile. Miguel glanced at his father, who nodded, then said, “The boat explodes. First the pilot house, then the hull.”

“Was the boat carrying any explosives?”

Kalliste broke in. “This was an archaeological project. We had a permit from your government to look at a ship. Why would we carry explosives?” she spoke with slightly veiled contempt.

“To blow up the ship. Maybe you’re looking for gold?”

Kalliste smiled seductively. The sergeant took her reaction as a gesture of personal interest.

He didn’t know Kalliste well enough to realize that she was actually looking for an unflattering physical attribute she could use as a cudgel to distribute a whack to his ego.

Hawkins cut in. “No explosives on board. I think the boat was hit by missiles.”

“But you heard no missile launch?”

“That means nothing. They could have come from a distance. Or their rocket motors might have been muffled.”

Garcia saw the opening and dove in. “And you are an expert in explosives?”

“Yes. I was with the U.S. Navy SEALs in Afghanistan.”

“Huh. Well. Let’s forget the explosives for now. There was an observer from the Spanish government on board. Senor Rodriguez.”

“That’s correct,” Hawkins said.

The sergeant opened a manila folder and placed a photograph face up on the table. Unlike the pig-faced Rodriguez, the man in the picture had a lean jaw and a beard. Judging from his glassy stare and fish belly pallor, he was very dead.

“Do any of you recognize this person?” Hearing no answer in the affirmative, he said, “This is Senor Rodriguez, the government observer. He is an accountant, the brother-in-law of a high government official who recommended him for the job.”

“That man was never on the boat,” Kalliste said.

Garcia’s thick lips widened in a triumphant grin. “No surprise,” he said, tapping the photo with his forefinger. “Because this man is dead. His body was found in the harbor two days ago. Several relatives have come forward and identified him.”

“If what you say is true,” Hawkins said. “The guy on our boat was an imposter. What was the cause of death for the man in the photo?”

“Still being investigated.”

“Are you charging us with his murder?” Kalliste asked.

“I’m not charging you with anything. I—”

Kalliste’s dueling finger rose up once again. “In that case, I suggest that we end this discussion. Whether you believe us or not, we have all gone through a harrowing experience. This is all very fascinating, but if I don’t get rest soon I will fall asleep.”

Garcia liked this woman. She was not only attractive, but spirited as well.

“I understand completely,” he soothed. “We will talk later. I’m sorry to have put you through this discomfort. Particularly you, senora.”

Kalliste fluttered her eyelashes. “You are only doing your job. It’s a shame we are not in a more informal setting. You must have many colorful policeman stories to tell about Cadiz.”

“A policeman goes to many hidden places. I would love to tell you about them.” He closed his notebook. “We’ll continue this discussion after you have had some rest. In the meantime, I must insist that you not leave the country, and that you make yourself available for further questioning.”

Hawkins burst into laughter after Garcia left the room. He mimicked Kalliste’s eye flutters, and said, “You most have many poleezman storees to tell about Cadeez.”

“A policeman goes to many hidden places,” she responded in a basso voice. A look of disgust came to her face. “The dirty old cop was trying to offer me a proposal.”

“A proposal is for marriage. He was making a proposition, which is something else.”

“I’ll bet it is,” Kalliste said. “I need some coffee.”

Hawkins turned to the captain and his son. “Care to join us?”

“Thank you, no, senor. My wife will be worrying about us.”

“I understand. Again, please know how sorry I am for the loss of your boat, Captain.”

Santiago shrugged. “The Sancho Panza was old. I would have retired her soon anyhow. I have good insurance. Please call me again if you have need of my services.”

Kalliste gave the Santiago men each a hug and a double-cheek kiss.

She and Hawkins were heading through the lobby to the cafeteria when someone called Kalliste’s name. A young woman who’d been standing at the reception desk was walking briskly in their direction. She wore a fashionably snug black leather jacket and a short russet colored leather skirt that clung tightly to her slim body. She was a statuesque woman and the black knee-high boots with heels made her even taller. Her hair, tied in a French twist, was the reddish blonde color that might be found in a Titian painting.

“Lily, what are you doing here?” Kalliste said in astonishment.

The woman gave Kalliste a bear hug. “Have you forgotten so soon? I’m your producer.”

“I’m sorry, Lily. I never expected to see you here in Cadiz. The last time we talked you were in New York.”

“After that I flew to Paris where I’ve been doing a story on werewolves. Cadiz was only a short hop so I thought I’d fly in and surprise you.”

Hawkins couldn’t resist. “Excuse me. Did you say werewolves?”

Lily turned and gave Hawkins a warm smile. “That’s right. In the sewers. Yes, I know. Crazy stuff, but the viewers can’t get enough of it.” She extended her hand. “My name is Lily Porter. I work for the television channel Hidden History. We’ve been backing Kalliste’s shipwreck project.”

They shook hands. “Matt Hawkins. I came over from Woods Hole to help her with the technical aspects of the survey.”

“Mr. Hawkins. I’m so pleased to meet you. Kalliste said you were the reason the Spanish government came through with the permit.” She glanced around the lobby and lowered her voice. “Well, Kalliste. Is it or isn’t it?”

“It is a Minoan ship, most definitely in my opinion.”

“Wonderful! I’ll go to the channel’s money guys and request full funding as soon as I have the evidence in hand.”

“You might want to wait, Ms. Porter,” Hawkins said. “Maybe we can talk about it over a cup of coffee.”

“Good idea, Matt. I’ll buy.”

The hour fell between breakfast and lunch which meant the cafeteria was practically empty. They sat at a table and, over coffee and pastry, Kalliste told Lily about the attack, the loss of the submersible and their close brush with death.

“That’s an incredible story,” Lily said. “I am so grateful that you’re all right, Kalliste. You too, Mr. Hawkins. Wow! This is even bigger than we thought. It’s every bit as dramatic as a James Bond movie. The money guys will be falling over themselves to fund production.”

“I appreciate all you’ve done for me, Lily, but I’d prefer to wait until we know what we’re dealing with.” Kalliste glanced at Hawkins, who backed her up.

“Putting a production crew out there now will be dangerous,” he said.

“You’re right,” Lily said with a sigh of disappointment. “I’d never forgive myself if someone was hurt.” She seemed to brighten. “Why don’t I start the paperwork shuffling along. I’ll wrap up the werewolves piece and get back to you within a day or so.”

“That would be fine, Lily. I’ll look forward to hearing from you after I talk to my bosses in Greece.”

Lily thanked them both and headed for the door where she paused and threw a kiss over her shoulder before stepping out into the lobby.

Kalliste reached across the table and put her hand on Hawkins’s arm. “Please accept my apologies, Matt. I should never have dragged you into this project.”

His throat was raw from the seawater he’d swallowed. His shoulder and the side of his face were sore from the hits he’d taken inside the submersible. “Not your fault, Kalliste. It was lots of fun until the boat fell on our heads.”

“That’s what I don’t understand, Matt. This was to be nothing but a scientific inquiry. Who would want to sabotage our expedition?”

“The same person or persons who killed the real Rodriguez and placed an imposter on board the Sancho Panza. Beyond that, I don’t have a clue. Maybe Sergeant Garcia can find out.”

“Wait until he learns I have gone back to Greece.”

“When are you leaving?”

She yawned. “After my nap. Will you be going back to Woods Hole?”

Hawkins pictured himself back home, sitting at a meeting of the Deep Submergence Laboratory, explaining that the submersible he planned to lease for their expedition was lying on the bottom of the sea.

“Think I’ll stick around for a while. First, I’ll buy some new clothes to replace the ones that went down with the survey boat. Then I want to see if Falstaff can be salvaged. Captain Santiago said he’d help, so I may take him up on it.”

She put her hand on his arm. “A No Trespassing sign has been placed around the wreck site. Please promise that you’ll be careful, Matt.”

“I promise. Don’t forget we have a dinner date.”

“I’ll take you up on your invitation soon as I get back.”

Kalliste gave him a goodbye hug and kiss and told him to keep in touch. Hawkins ordered another coffee, called Santiago’s cell phone, and said he wanted to locate his submersible for possible salvage. Santiago asked when he wanted to make the survey.

“Tomorrow, if possible.”

“I think I know of a boat that may be available. I’m anxious to locate the Sancho Panza as well. I’ll make a few calls and get back to you.”

Santiago sounded optimistic about the chances of procuring a boat, but Hawkins was determined not to be a sitting duck this time around. Whatever it was that he’d fallen into was big. Very big. He would need someone to watch his back. And there was only one person he would trust to do it.