The Minoan Cipher

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Calvin Hayes perched in the elevated seat of the fifteen-foot-long fiberglass Hurricane Aircat as the flat-bottom boat skimmed over the waters of the Louisiana bayou at more than fifty miles per hour. His left hand gripped the rudder stick, the mangroves were a slurry green blur on both sides, and the kick-ass roar of the air-cooled power plant was like music to his ears.

His lips were stretched in a wide grin. Calvin was within seconds of winning the air boat race. He could almost taste the cold beer the loser had to buy the winner. He put the boat into a banking slalom turn through the last of the mangroves into open water, hunched his powerful shoulder muscles, leaned forward in his seat, and squinted through his goggles at the mile of straightaway that marked the final stretch of the race.

He’d gotten off to a jackrabbit start and maintained a slight lead. The race had been tight. He’d kept a lead of a hundred feet or so ahead of the other custom-built air-boat. Like his, it had a souped-up airplane engine as a power plant. He hoped that the modifications he had built into his own engine housed in the conical safety screen behind his head would give him the winning edge. His eyes searched for the flag marking the finish. A sliver of red. Coming up fast. He narrowed his concentration, excluding the rest of the world, willing the boat to go faster, although it was practically ready to go airborne.

That’s when he felt the vibration over his heart. Damned cell phone. The distraction was brief, but it allowed the other boat to draw neck-and-neck with his. They pounded down the home stretch in a dead heat. Hayes might still have won if not for the branch floating in the water directly ahead.

He swerved the boat to the right of the mangrove limb then back on course. The diversion put him a second behind, which is where he was when his boat blew past the pennant floating on a square of styrofoam.

Hayes let out a mighty curse. He reduced the power and pulled alongside the winner. The man on the other boat cut the engine, and Hayes could hear him shout:

“You’all almost had me, Calvin! Why’d’ja slow down?”

The man was built like a haystack. He was dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, exposing thick arms that were colored blue with tattoo ink. His chin was buried in a thick blond beard.

Hayes could have told him about the phone call and the floating branch. But in the mano a mano world of air boat racing, that would have sounded like whining.

He grinned. “Just testing my brakes, Junior.”

The man’s laughter almost shook the Spanish moss off the trees. He rubbed his ample gut with one hand and mimicked drinking with the other. Then he powered up the engine, and headed back into the mangroves. They followed the winding five-mile course back to their starting point — a beat-up shack that was combination general store and bar-restaurant. They tied up at the gas dock.

“You go on ahead,” Hayes told his friend. “Order up a tub of crawfish and I’ll join you in a couple of minutes.”

He reached for his phone, thinking he might have to deal with company business before the drinking began. “I’ll be damned,” Hayes muttered.

The caller ID photo was a picture of a much younger Hawkins and Hayes from their Navy SEAL days. Hayes hadn’t started shaving his scalp back then, and both men sported buzz cuts. They had grins on their faces and matching camo do-rags around their heads. The sun-blasted skin on Hawkins’s face was almost as dark as Calvin’s natural dark brown complexion.

He hit the call button. Hawkins answered immediately.

“Hi, Calvin. How’re you doing?” Hawkins said.

“Havin’ more fun than a crawfish swimmin’ in a bowl of gumbo, Hawk. Just finished up an air boat race with a gator hunter.”

“How’d you make out?”

“Came in second place. Course, there were only two of us. Nice to hear your voice. Get your emails from time to time, but it’s been awhile since we talked.”

“Glad we could connect. Figured you might be busy fighting Somali pirates.”

“Secure Ocean Services is changing our business model. Still keeping the pressure on the pirates with our on-board teams, but we’re more into systems now. Port security, figuring out where the leaks are, putting personnel to stop them. Phasing out the cowboy stuff.”

“Does that mean they’re phasing out the cowboys?”

“Got that right, pal. I’m still majority stockholder. The directors pretty much run the show. That’s why I got time to go bayou racing with my pal Junior.”

“Junior?”

“Cajun guy. Gator hunter who made a killin’ on reality TV. Drives an old pick-up, but that’s for show. Lives in a trophy house and got a couple of Bentleys in his garage.”

“What are you driving, Cal?”

“Ford pick-up.” He paused. “And a Bentley Cabrio convert in the garage of my trophy house. Does two-hundred plus, but it can’t pass a gas station. You still designing those Jules Verne gadgets at Woods Hole?”

“Taking a break from the scientific stuff, actually. I’m in Spain on a shipwreck expedition.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that,” Calvin said.

“Actually, old pal, there’s a lot wrong with it. You got a minute?”

“Hold on.” Hayes went inside the shack which was filled with the succulent fragrance of boiling crawfish. He told Junior to go ahead without him.

He put a bottle of Dixie beer on the tab and walked out to a bench on the end of the fuel dock. “Okay, Hawk. What’s got you riled up?”

“It’s a complicated story. I’ll give you the CliffsNotes version.”

Hawkins told him about Kalliste and the invitation to survey what could be a history-making shipwreck. Calvin set his beer aside and listened intently as Hawkins laid out the details of the attack and sinking.

Calvin had an encyclopedic knowledge of weaponry. “From what you said, it sounds like you got hit by Spike missiles. Anything bigger could have sent you to the bottom with one shot.”

“I’ve been out of the war game. Not familiar with the brand.”

“Developed to slow down swarm-type attacks. Couple of feet long and a few inches wide. Highly portable. They pack a heck of a wallop, but nothing like the big hardware that’s available. Interesting what you said about a missile blowing up the guy on deck.”

“What’s your take on that?”

“Coulda been intentional. Spikes are pretty accurate. He never knew what hit him. Still a tough way to go.”

“It probably saved my ass. The captain and his son had time to get a life boat in the water.”

“Glad you’re all okay. Where do you go from here?”

“I want to see if my submersible is salvageable. I’ll need someone to ride shotgun.”

“I’m in. If I can scare up an executive jet, I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Abby’s company always has planes in the air. That’s how I got over here.”

“Good idea. I’ll give her a call.”

“Thanks, Cal. I knew I could count on you. I’m staying at the Hotel Cadiz. One more favor. I’m wondering if you can pick something up for me on the way.”

Hayes listened to the request and said it would be no problem. Hanging up, he stared off at the mangroves. He was picturing mud huts set against the rugged landscape of Afghanistan. The SEALs mission was supposed to be routine, but the drug lord they’d been sent to capture knew they were coming and had ringed his compound with explosive devices. A fellow SEAL had triggered the IED and was blown to pieces. Hawkins was close by, and his leg caught some of the fragments that would have killed Hayes. He still felt guilty about not having Matt’s back when the Navy dumped him.

“Cal-vin!”

Junior’s klaxon voice echoed throughout the swamp. The mountains and mud hut vanished. Hayes was transported back to the bayou. He picked up his beer bottle and headed to the shack to dig into some crawfish. He was looking forward to seeing Hawkins again. But, first things first.