The Minoan Cipher

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Calvin snapped his fingers. “Got it. We build a trebuchet siege engine, buckle on a couple of parachutes, then catapult over the wall and float down like feathers.”

“Poetic, but not practical,” Abby said. “If it worked, the castle defenders would have been toast a long time ago.”

“That’s because parachutes hadn’t been invented yet,” Calvin said.

Abby rolled her eyes and turned to Hawkins. “Calvin didn’t quite get the concept when you said we would need to be creative.”

“Thanks for the suggestion, Cal, but Abby’s right. Back to the drawing board.”

Calvin took his pen and crossed an X over the imaginative diagram he’d sketched out to demonstrate his plan. “Guess it was kinda dumb, but I was getting desperate.”

They were sitting around the table in the galley. The tablet was in the center of the table. Scattered on the tabletop were sheets of paper with diagrams and notes scrawled on them. The gloom in the cabin was so thick it could have been cut with a butter knife.

“Let’s go back to the beginning,” Hawkins said. “We know from our recon that the walls may enclose a camouflage roof. We think that the roof hides a replica of the Maze.”

Abby said, “That’s the problem, Matt. We’re trying to act on supposition rather than knowledge, and that’s dangerous. We may have to admit that there is no viable way to get in and out.”

“Damn it, Abby. There’s always a way.” He quickly squelched his flash of anger. “Sorry, Ab, that outburst was uncalled for.”

“I stepped into it, Matt. We’ve known each other a long time. Defeatism isn’t in your vocabulary.”

“Yeah, but realism should be. Let’s go through our choices. Option one is standard SEAL insertion strategy. Come in over a target, rappel down from a chopper, find the target and get out before anyone knows we dropped in.”

“The late Mr. Bin Laden would testify that isn’t a bad strategy,” she said.

“Main difference is that the SEAL team’s intel had a pretty good idea of what they were getting into,” Calvin added.

Hawkins nodded in agreement. “So let’s go over SEAL Option Two. We come in by sea, we get dropped off by a fast boat or sneak close to shore in a mini-sub.”

“Not applicable here,” Abby said. “It’s a long way from the ocean.”

“No ocean, but there is water. A river.”

Abby picked up the salt and pepper shakers and moved them a foot apart. “Okay, the castle is pepper and the river is salt. How do we get from one to the other?”

He brought up the satellite photo of the castle and its environs on the screen. “Tell me what we’re looking at.”

“The castle sits on a low hill rising above grassy plains, where it overlooks a winding river. The structure seems to be built on layers of rock, the strata immediately below the castle is grayish-brown in color. How am I doing, Sherlock?”

“Excellent, Abby. Go on with your analysis, but think about the natural environment for a SEAL op; water.”

“Aside from the river, the only water in the castle environment is in the form of a moat.” She drew her finger along a faint line on the photo connecting the river and the moat. “What’s this?”

“I asked myself the same question. I also wondered about the water source for the moat. It was the river, obviously, which feeds the moat with fresh water to counter evaporation.”

“We could be looking at a sluiceway,” Calvin said.

“Maybe. Maybe more than that.”

Hawkins flattened out the scroll next to the computer. Calvin studied the diagram of the maze that had been drawn on the vellum and placed the tip of his forefinger on two parallel lines drawn at right angles to one wall.

“This projection matches the sluiceway,” he said.

“Maybe,” Hawkins said. “There’s no moat shown in the original construction. The sluiceway goes directly from the river into the maze. I think this connector was for water supply or drainage for the maze. The castle builders found it and incorporated it into the design as a way to fill the moat with water. And what’s at home in water? SEALs.”

Abby pursed her lips. “This assumes that the maze shown in the diagram and what’s under the castle are the same. Do you want to base a dangerous mission on that assumption?”

There was silence in the galley as three pair of eyes examined the network of lines in the diagram. Then Hawkins said, “We’ll need to pull together some SCUBA gear.”

“Guess that’s a go,” Abby said. “I’ll take what intel we have and lay out a mission plan. If Kalliste is in there, you’ll have to get her out. What’s the extraction strategy?”

“We’ll bring along a backup air tank. Kalliste is an experienced diver and will know what to do. I’m still wondering about the insertion. Can we make a helicopter drop close to the castle without being detected, Cal?”

“We’ll be flying low enough to mow the lawn. I’ll land us up-river and we can make our approach from there.”

“Let’s do a quick inventory of the gear we’ll need.”

They grabbed pen and paper and were ten minutes into their work when Hawkins’ cell chirped. It was Lily Porter, the producer for Hidden History.

“Matt, thank God I got you,” Lily said in a breathless voice. “I’ve been trying to reach Kalliste. Have you heard from her?”

“Not recently. Is there a problem?”

“A very big problem. I can’t explain over the phone. I have to talk to you in person. Immediately.”

Hawkins remembered the effusive young woman who’d babbled about her goofy TV series when he’d met her in the hotel lobby.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m up to my eyeballs.”

“Please, Matt. You don’t understand. I’m going to send you a picture I just received. Please call me back.”

A second later a photo appeared on the screen of Hawkins’ cell phone. The picture showed Kalliste standing in a dimly lit place. The last time he saw her, in Santorini, she was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, her normal work-a-day uniform. The woman in the picture was dressed as if for a costume ball in a waist-length white shift, and a flounced skirt that went down to her ankles.

Kalliste was staring directly at the picture taker. She had her arms crossed and determination burned in her dark eyes, but fear lurked there as well. And with good reason. Flanking Kalliste were a pair of monstrous creatures. They resembled gigantic dogs, but they were like no canines Hawkins had ever seen. Their tapering, satanic skulls were vaguely human. The massive jaws hung open in fiendish grins, long sharp fangs only inches from her throat. Either one of the creatures looked capable of snapping Kalliste’s head off in a single bite.

There was a message under the photo which read:

Wish you were here, Matt.

Hawkins called Lily back.

“Tell me where we can meet,” he said.