The Minoan Cipher

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

The inflatable boat carrying the two men was about a half mile from the castle when the beat of rotors shattered the night and the helicopter swooped over the castle walls. The five-horsepower motor was at full throttle. The swift current had given the inflatable an extra boost.

Hawkins lay on his belly in the bow, his sharp eyes scanning the river ahead. The inflatable rounded a curve and in the light of the moon he saw the sluice gate cut into the side of the river bank.

The landing had to go off without a hitch. There was no room for screw-ups. He pointed. “Pull in, Cal.”

Calvin cut speed, pushed the tiller over and pointed the inflatable inland. Hawkins was on his knees, bow line in hand. He had to act fast. The current was drawing the raft sideways back into the river.

Calvin goosed the throttle. Still not enough power to counter the pull of the current. They were sliding past the sluice gate. Hawkins stretched dangerously out over the prow. If he miscalculated and went into the river precious moments would be lost getting back into the raft. Setting up for another pass might even be impossible.

With a practiced hand, he looped the line around the metal framework that supported the gate. The inflatable fish-tailed to a jerking stop. He hauled on the line hand-over-hand. The inflatable bumped up against the gate. Hawkins secured the tie line with a clove hitch. Calvin tied off the stern line. The raft was snugged tightly against a rusty steel plate that could be moved up and down to control water flow. It was stuck in a half-open position, allowing water from the river into the sluiceway.

Hawkins removed his night vision goggles and peered over the top of the sluice gate. The castle was a couple of hundred yards away. Floodlights pointed down from the top of the wall and illuminated the electrical fencing around the perimeter.

He rolled out of the raft, crawled like a salamander up the muddy slope next to the sluice gate and lay belly-down on the grass, his eyes glued to the castle. If they’d been detected by cameras or sensors, all hell would soon break loose. When nothing happened, Hawkins whistled to Calvin, who passed up the waterproof bags and crawled up alongside him.

They dragged their gear through the grass to the edge of the sluiceway on the other side of the gate. The channel was around five feet across, bordered on both sides by stone walls. They got into their dry suits, pulled two compact Draeger dive rigs from a bag and clipped them onto their harnesses. Unlike SCUBA, the closed-circuit rig didn’t emit bubbles and noise that could broadcast their location. The unit’s oxygen cylinder would allow them to stay down for hours.

They used the oxygen flow to inflate the buoys attached to each bag, donned their masks, hoods, weight belts and flippers, then rolled over the top of the wall into the sluiceway. Hawkins almost gagged on the rotten odor rising from the stagnant water.

“Whew! Smells like a swamp.”

Calvin chuckled softly. “Hell, this is like a swimming pool compared to the bayou. You’ll get used to it.”

Hawkins was unconvinced. He held his breath and pulled a gear bag into the water. The bag sank slightly but remained partly afloat. He released air in the lifts until the bag had neutral buoyancy and would neither float nor sink on its own. They adjusted the buoyancy in the other bags, clenched their regulators between their teeth and slipped below the water.

Using powerful kicks of their fins, they swam to the bottom of the sluiceway. Hawkins glanced at his depth gauge. Five feet. He tapped Calvin on the shoulder and began to swim toward the castle. Light from the castle walls filtered down from the surface providing enough visibility for them to see their way. At the same time, the glittering reflection would screen them from probing eyes.

The bags hindered their progress, but both men were strong swimmers. On land, Hawkins walked with a slight limp. Underwater, he was as agile as a dolphin. They followed the sluiceway, which ended in the moat, as Abby had suggested. They swam across the moat to the foundation to look for the opening that would have carried water from the sluiceway into the castle. The wall was blank. Hawkins swam to his right for several feet, then doubled back in the opposite direction. Still no opening.

Had they got it wrong? He drew a question mark inside a square on the white wrist board. Cal nodded, then drew an arrow pointing up on his board. They were too low. Hawkins gave a few fin kicks.

His fingertips grazed the slimy stones until he felt a hard edge and followed it around four sides with his hand. The rectangular opening was around four feet wide and three feet high. He flicked on the flashlight attached to his other wrist.

The pencil thin beam picked out stone walls, a floor and a ceiling before fading into the murk. Hawkins had worried that the water pipe would be too small to navigate. He gave Calvin a thumb’s up signal and swam into the tunnel. If Abby had figured it correctly, the tunnel should lead to a cistern. He tried not to think that their entry strategy relied for the most part on guesswork, and the interpretation of lines drawn on an ancient document. If they hit a dead end and had to turn back, the consequences might be disastrous for Kalliste.

The clang of the Draeger against the tunnel ceiling brought him back into the moment. He swam with slight fluttering kicks, trying not to stir up the silt, his hands extended in front of him like Superman in flight. Hawkins didn’t normally suffer from claustrophobia, but he was aware that the tons of stone pressing down directly over his head were held in place by walls erected centuries before.

Turning his thoughts to Kalliste, he swam even faster.