The Minoan Cipher

CHAPTER FORTY

Calvin had fashioned a hand crank for the device after rummaging in a kitchen drawer. Using a paring knife, he carved the narrower end of an old-fashioned potato masher to fit the square opening. Then he screwed the handle of a meat-grinder into the wider end. He inserted the makeshift crank into the socket and cautiously turned the handle. A wide grin came to his face.

“How old did you say this gadget is?” he asked Kalliste.

“Four thousand years or so.”

He chuckled softly. “Folks who designed this gadget would have a good laugh if they saw the primitive operating system I’ve rigged.”

Kalliste had been watching with doubt in her eyes, but she applauded when the olive oil lubricated gears began to turn.

“It’s working! You’re amazing, Calvin.”

“Matt and I had to improvise a few times back in Afghanistan.”

“Matt told me about his Navy experiences. I’m glad to see that he is not as bitter as he was when we first met.”

“Me, too. I’m surprised Matt opened up to you. He kept things close to his chest for a long time.”

“We had both suffered personal loss, so we had lot in common. I was pleased to meet Abby. Matt talked about her a lot. They are obviously good friends. Too bad they can’t be closer.”

Calvin made a zipping motion across his lips. “Matt’s told me in so many words to butt out of his personal life.”

She mimicked the gesture. “Then I will, too. For now.” She glanced down at the scroll and thought back to the hours she had spent as a girl gazing at the symbols until they seemed to dance before her eyes. “I will choose a pictogram. You will line it up to the corresponding Egyptian hieroglyph. Then we’ll go from there.”

“Sounds good,” Calvin said. “Ready when you are.”

She unrolled the scroll further. “There is a word at the end of the text, where we would place a signature. Maybe if I start there we can learn the name of the scroll’s author.”

She copied a symbol onto a pad of paper. Calvin cranked the handle until the pictograph matched a hieroglyph on an adjoining disk. At the same time, another part of the gear was placed in line with the disk Kalliste had identified as archaic Greek. She copied the Egyptian pictograph and the Greek letter, as well.

They went to the next letter, going through the same labor-intensive procedure, until Kalliste had listed eight symbols. She told Calvin to take a break while she tried to figure out the Greek script. This entailed going through a couple of thick textbooks to translate the archaic language into ancient Greek, then into modern-day language.

Minutes stretched into hours. While Kalliste poured through her volumes Calvin made coffee, then whipped together a Greek salad which she ate as she worked. At one point she speared a black olive but, instead of eating it, placed the fork down on her plate.

“Calvin,” she whispered. “I think I have figured out who wrote the scroll. It doesn’t make sense, though.”

“You’re not going to tell me those pictures spell out ‘Kilroy Was Here.’ ”

“Mr. Kilroy was definitely not here,” she said. She spun the notepad around so he could read the English translation:

M-I-N-O-T-A-U-R

“Joke’s on us, Kalliste. Guy used a pen name.”

“I’m not sure why he would pick the name of such an ugly creature. The Minotaur was the half-man, half-bull monster buried in the core of the Cretan Labyrinth where he guarded the treasure of Knossos. Athenian youth were sacrificed to the Minotaur. An intended victim was Theseus, who killed the Minotaur with the help of Ariadne, the daughter of Minos.”

“This Minotaur sounds like a busy guy. In between chewing on Athenians and getting killed, it’s amazing he had any time to do any writing at all.”

She tapped the device with her pen.

“At the rate we’re going, it might take another four thousand years to decipher the entire script.”

Calvin looked at his watch and saw that it was afternoon. “What say we take a break? I’ll go into town to fetch some grub for when Matt and Abby return. When I get back, we’ll dig into it again. Maybe we can polish off the first thousand years before midnight.”

“That’s a good suggestion, Calvin. I’ll go over my notes. Maybe ghosts of the past will rise from the caldera and whisper secrets in my ear.”

“Whatever works, Kalliste. See ya in a bit.”

Leonidas was returning from a stroll when he saw Calvin emerge from the house without Kalliste.

With nothing else to occupy him, Leonidas followed Calvin down an alley and into the commercial section of the village. He lingered outside an all-purpose market until Calvin came out with some bags of groceries and headed back towards the house. Leonidas thought about following him, but Calvin might suspect something if he saw the same American tourist everywhere he went.

He strolled to the main village square and was sitting at a taverna having a beer when a taxi pulled up at the curb and three men got out. His hand automatically slid under his shirt and rested on the holster at his belt. The first two men exiting the cab looked like the thugs he had chased away from Gournia and later encountered on Spinalonga.

Leonidas couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw who the third man was. Salazar. He was dressed casually and the brim of his Borsalino straw hat was pulled down over his dark sunglasses. Leonidas recognized the wide jutting chin and the muscular shoulders bulging under the blue linen jacket. The Spaniard paid the taxi driver, then he and the other men headed into the village. Leonidas was right behind them.

Kalliste sat on the terrace behind her house and gazed out at the caldera. She pondered her situation. She had been blessed as an archaeologist to start unraveling not one, but a number of the mysteries that had defied historical scholars for centuries. The gods of Olympus must be laughing at their joke; the tantalizing gifts they had bestowed upon future humanity were still out of reach.

She possessed the key to Linear A, but using the mechanism to decipher a lost language that consisted of hundreds of pictograms was a fool’s errand. She needed the help of expert linguists, philologists and computer capacity. And all that would cost money.

She had cut her ties to the government, but Greece wouldn’t have the funds to sponsor her project even if they wanted to. She knew of only one potential source of financing. She went back into her house, picked up her phone and punched in a number.

Lily Porter answered, “Kalliste! How wonderful to hear your voice.”

“Yours, too, Lily. I have a great favor to ask.”

“Yes, of course, Kalliste. I want to know all about it.”