The Minoan Cipher

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Minutes later, they were in the captain’s car heading out of the city. After about a half-hour’s drive, Miguel parked in front of a chapel at the end of a quiet street. A man was kneeling at the edge of a flowerbed in front of the building.

With the others following him, Santiago got out of the car and went over to the gardener. “Buenos Dias, Father Francisco. Good to see you on your knees doing honest work.”

The man turned and a broad grin came to a face that closely resembled the captain’s, except for the pale complexion and the shorter haircut.

“Buenos Dias, Brother. Have you come to my church to confess your sins?”

“You would need a bigger church to hold all my sins.”

“Then we had better start now.”

Both men burst into laughter. The gardener stuck the trowel into the flowerbed and extended his hand to the captain who helped him to his feet. He brushed the dirt off his sweatshirt and the knees of his baggy pants, then the two men gave each other a big hug. The priest offered the same greeting to the captain’s son.

Santiago then introduced Hawkins and Abby. “These are the friends I told you about. This is my twin brother, Francisco, who chose to follow the church instead of the sea.”

“We are not so different. My brother salvages ships and I salvage souls. Excuse my un-priestly appearance. The diocese considers my church too small to employ the services of a gardener, so I tend the grounds myself. Come, I’ll show you around.”

Father Francisco led the way through the front door into the chapel. The interior was of simple design, long and narrow, with rows of oak pews squeezed between whitewashed walls. The air was heavy with the smell of incense. An ornately carved gilded altarpiece was flanked by statues of saints and angels.

Abby glanced around the chapel, and said, “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, senora. The 16^th century, when the Capilla de St. Vincent was built, was a time when the visual arts flourished. Unfortunately, it was a time when the Church succumbed to the basest of human instincts.”

“I told my friends that you were better qualified than I to speak of evil deeds,” the captain said.

“That description doesn’t even approach what happened during the more than three hundred years of the Spanish Inquisition. The torture and killing have been well-documented, but one of the most pernicious aspects was the right the Inquisition gave itself to confiscate the property of the accused. They were held prisoner, sometimes for years before their trial. Those who were part of the inner circle of the Inquisition became very wealthy at the expense of the poor souls who suffered.”

“Which meant that they had little incentive to judge someone as innocent,” Abby said.

“The senora is astute. Stolen property fueled the Inquisition and made it an unstoppable force. At first confiscated wealth went to the king and queen. Later, the loot went to the Holy Office and made its way down the line to the central council, tribunals, and the various officials who processed the victims like animals on a slaughterhouse conveyor belt.”

“Where does the document figure in?” Hawkins asked.

“The Inquisition kept detailed records of its financial dealings to aid in its persecutions, to justify their criminality and, like any big business, to keep track of cash flow. The document my brother showed me is a letter regarding the transfer of property from a victim to a new owner.”

“Captain Santiago said the property was a castle in Castilla La Mancha.”

“This is true. It was originally owned by a lesser nobleman named Hernandez. Someone wanted the property. That was that. He was imprisoned, tortured, tried and put to death.”

“What crime was he accused of?” Abby said.

“Heresy, which was broadly defined. People were arrested for offenses as trivial as wearing clean linen or not eating pork.”

“Even Cervantes came to the attention of the Inquisition,” the captain said. “He had to censor his writing to avoid prosecution.”

“Cervantes was lucky,” Father Francisco said. “Hernandez was doomed to the stake for being a negativo, which meant he denied the charges and refused to confess. Of course had he admitted his heresy, he would have been convicted as well.”

“Captain Santiago said that the castle went to the Salazar family.”

“Correct. Eduardo Salazar was a mining tycoon who must have enjoyed favor with the Inquisition to have been the recipient of such largesse. It’s a mystery why he was chosen, seeing as that most of the people who benefited from the confiscations were part of the Inquisition bureaucracy.”

“Maybe it was for services rendered,” Hawkins said.

“What kind of services would get him such a big pay-off?” Abby said.

“There is mention in the document of Salazar providing labor to do some work on the castle.”

“Maybe it was a run-down property that needed work. What American real estate agents call a fixer-upper,” Abby said. “Salazar ran mining operations. He could have provided people from his labor pool to do the work.”

“Perhaps,” the priest said. “Whatever the reason, he apparently enjoyed great favor of the Promotor Fiscal, the public prosecutor for that council. His name was Henrique del Norte.”

“Norte, meaning North?” Abby said.

“Yes. I can show you his portrait. It’s in the church library.”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Hawkins said.

They went through a door into a room lined with ornately-bound books and smelling of old paper. Father Santiago slid one volume off a shelf and placed the book on a table. He slipped on a pair of white cloth gloves and carefully turned the pages. He stopped at a back-and-white portrait that took up a full page.

“May I introduce you to Senor del Norte.”

The man dressed in a dark robe and floppy hat had piercing, almond-shaped eyes set in a cruel face. His dark hair hung in bangs over his forehead. The chin was pointed and the nose far too large for the narrow face. Even more interesting, except for having hair, he was a clone of the blue-headed man Hawkins had killed on the fortress island of Spinalonga. Hawkins had to do everything he could to keep from bursting out in the colorful language he had picked up as a Navy SEAL.

Instead, he said, “Thank you for your time, Father Santiago.”

“No trouble at all. I needed a rest from my gardening. And it’s always good to see my brother. Please let me know if I can be of further help.”

On the drive back into Cadiz, Hawkins asked the captain to drop them off near the harbor. Their plane back to Santorini didn’t leave for a few hours. Captain Santiago said to call him for a ride to the airport.

As the car pulled away, Abby said, “Okay, what gives? I saw the way your jaw dropped when you looked at the portrait of Senor del Norte. I know from experience that it takes a lot to make that happen.”

“This was a lot. Except for the hair, Del Norte was a dead ringer for the guys who chased us all over Crete.”

It was Abby’s chin that now dropped. “How could that be?”

“Dunno.” He jerked his thumb at a nearby waterfront café. “Let’s talk about it over a cup of coffee.”

They sat at a table and ordered a couple of espressos. When the waiter went off to retrieve their order, Abby said, “I noticed that you didn’t give the captain the section of document written in Linear A.”

“I wanted him to focus,” Hawkins said. “It would have been confusing.”

She hiked an eyebrow. “How much more confusing can it get?”

Hawkins smiled. “What do you make of all this, Ab?”

Abby’s keen mind had propelled her to the top of her class at Annapolis and her analytical skills had built the foundation of a successful worldwide corporation, so she was definitely the person to ask.

She gazed off at the harbor.

“It all goes back to Crete,” she began. “Crete is the hub of a big wheel. Spokes reach from the center. The sunken ship came from Crete. So did the device. Robsham visited Crete, where he found his collection of Linear A tablets and died. Professor Vedrakis was murdered there.”

“The wheel is good analogy as far as it goes. We’ve found more spokes. Now we’ve got the Inquisition, Auroch Industries, castles in Spain, the Salazar family past and present, and del Norte.” Hawkins said. “All apparently unconnected to Crete.”

“Maybe we don’t see the connection because the spokes are a blur as long as the wheel is moving. Let’s try a linear approach. Start with the Salazars and work our way backwards to Eduardo Salazar who leads to del Norte, who leads to someone or something else. Maybe Molly could work up a time line.”

“Good suggestion, Abby. I’ll get her on it right away.”

He texted a message on his cell to Molly asking her to dig up what she could on the Salazars and Auroch. He said he would give her a complete update after he returned to Santorini. After contacting Sutherland, he texted Calvin, asking how things were going.

Calvin replied almost immediately. Hawkins read the message to Abby.

“Device working. Slow going. But have deciphered the name of the scroll’s author.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense,” she said. “Who was the author?”

Hawkins relayed the question.

Calvin’s text came back in a flash. When Hawkins read the word, the right side of his mouth turned up in a smirk.

“You remember asking, how much more confusing it could get?”

“I remember saying something like that.”

He handed the phone over so Abby could see the reply displayed on the screen.

“This is the name of the guy who wrote the scroll. That’s how confusing it can get.”