The Minoan Cipher (A Matinicus “Matt” Hawkins Adventure Book 2) Page 4

  He had hit the wall that stood between him and the completion of a big job for the Navy. His contract required him to design a new generation of ocean gliders. The torpedo-shaped drones were the ‘sexy new thing’ in undersea technology. Operating on its own, an ocean glider could swoop into the depths of the sea to gather data on water temperatures and currents, then rise to the surface to broadcast its findings.

  Navy strategists envisioned fleets of gliders surveying ocean weather and integrating the data with satellites, radar stations, research buoys and other gliders. Ensuring smooth communication had been a major challenge, even for Hawkins, who was one of Woods Hole’s leading robotics engineers.

  After his final tour of Afghanistan, and months of physical therapy, Hawkins had enrolled at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, specializing in the undersea application of robotics science. He excelled as a student and, after wrapping up his studies, he moved to Woods Hole and formed the SeaBot Corporation. He bought a forty-two-foot fishing trawler to use for sea tests and hired its former owner, a veteran fisherman named Howard Snow, to run the Osprey for him.

  Except for Snowy he worked alone, but the Navy job was complex and he had assembled a group of the best engineers in Woods Hole. The SEALs had trained him to work closely with others on dangerous operations. He was kicked out of the Navy when he started asking questions about the ambush that had maimed him, and since then he found it difficult to trust anyone but himself.

  He had recovered physically except for a slight limp. With his six-foot-two height and sturdy frame, he was an imposing figure. But he’d slapped a Band-Aid on an emotional wound that needed surgery. The scientific community around Woods Hole considered Hawkins a brilliant loner. His only real friend was Snowy, who used a dry Yankee sense of humor and a shrug of the shoulders to deal with the Hawkins temperament.

  Working with a team again had been an opportunity to polish his image. He had had to dull the sharp edges of his personality and put a lid on his impatience. It seemed to have worked. No new friends, but at least he didn’t frighten people with a hair-trigger temper and alienate them with his barbed tongue. So far, so good.

  The bike ride had improved his mental clarity. An hour after he sat down at his computer, the pieces of the puzzle came together. He checked his computations. Air-tight. With a click of the computer mouse, he sent the file to the other team engineers, and then he brewed a cup of coffee to reward himself. As he raised the mug to his lips he heard the computer chirp. Someone was Skyping him.

  That was fast.

  The face on the monitor was not one of his project teammates. The woman peering out at him over metal-rimmed glasses had a high-bridged nose, and the skin on her prominent cheekbones was burnished to a healthy pink glow. Her reddish-blonde hair was gathered back from violet-hued eyes.

  “Hello, Matt,” she said. “Remember me?”

  Hawkins smiled. “All the gods on Olympus could not make me forget you, Kalliste. You look terrific.”

  Kalliste Kalchis was a nautical archaeologist with the Greek government. Hawkins had helped her two years earlier with an underwater survey of the Santorini caldera. She was in her early fifties, but projected the vitality of a woman twenty years younger.

  Speaking with a British accent she had picked up while studying at Oxford, she said, “When did you become Greek, Matt?”

  “I’m not aware that I had. I’m still the half-Yankee, half-Micmac Indian from Maine that you knew.”

  “Only a Greek could flatter a woman with such silver-tongued skill.”

  “Now who’s doing the flattering?” Hawkins said.

  Kalliste laughed. “Guilty as charged. How are you?”

  “Wonderful, Kalliste. Working with you and your colleagues was a turning point for me. I have many fond memories of that time.”

  Kalliste’s husband had died of cancer only a year before the expedition; it had been her first time out in the field since his death. She and Matt spent hours under the stars, talking about their lives. Their discussions put things in perspective for him. As she pointed out, Hawkins had lost the full use of a leg, but she had lost a whole man.

  “I’m happy to hear that, Matt. How would you like the opportunity to make even more fond memories? I’m organizing an expedition and would love to have you aboard.”

  “Glad to help, Kalliste. When is it?”

  “We’ll be on site in about a week. I apologize for the short notice, but it’s a complicated situation.”

  Hawkins glanced at the note-covered notes scattered on his desktop.

  “That could be a problem,” he said with a slow shake of his head. “I’m trying to wrap up a big Navy contract here.”

  Kalliste put her forefinger to her lips, like a school teacher silencing a talkative pupil. “Before you say no, let me send you a quick e-mail. Then we’ll talk again.”

  Her face vanished. The computer chirped. Hawkins clicked on the e-mail attachment and the ghostly green sonar image of a ship popped up on the screen. Hawkins printed the picture and studied the long tapered bow and stern of the vessel. In addition to SeaBot, he ran a non-profit shipwreck foundation called Sea Search and had surveyed a number of shipwrecks off New England’s coast, but none were older than the 18th century. The lines of this vessel were unfamiliar, but he guessed that it was very old. Googling ‘Ancient Ships,’ dozens of files popped up. An Egyptian craft had similar lines. But the vessel in Kalliste’s attachment was broader amidships and more substantial-looking in general.

  He scrolled through the images and stopped at an artist’s rendering based on contemporary descriptions. The illustration showed kilted crewmen working on a square-rigged vessel. He held the printed image next to the screen. The ships were almost identical.

  Hawkins sat back in his chair, folded his hands behind his head, and stared at the screen for a few seconds before he clicked the Skype symbol. Kalliste’s face re-appeared immediately. She raised an eyebrow.

  “I knew you wouldn’t be long.”

  He held the picture up to the camera lens. “I did some research on this ship.”

  “And what did your research tell you?”

  “That I’d be a fool not to join your expedition.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Kalliste clapped her hands with joy. “Megala epharisto, Matt. Thank you so much. You won’t be sorry.”

  Hawkins raised his palm. “I didn’t say I was actually joining the expedition. I’m still involved in my ocean glider project.”

  “But Matt—”

  Softening his tone, he said, “This Navy project is a big deal for me. It goes back to that stuff we talked about. Putting the past behind us.”

  “I understand, Matt. It was rude to pressure you.”

  “Not at all, Kalliste. I owe you. Look, I’m waiting for word from my team. If it’s a go, we’ll submit our package to the Navy to study. That should give me a window of time to join your project. We don’t have to sit on our hands. The Oceanographic Institution would jump at the chance to sponsor your expedition.”

  Kalliste jerked her head back and clicked her tongue in the Greek gesture for an emphatic no. “Later, maybe. If word gets out now, the site could be contaminated by unauthorized salvage groups.”

  “Good point, Kalliste. I’ll keep my mouth zipped. How can I help?”

  “I’d like you to do a preliminary survey. Once we make a positive ID, we can move to a big-budget project that includes security.”

  “Sounds doable. What can you tell me about the wreck?”

  “It’s about thirty miles off the coast of Spain, near Cadiz, in two-hundred-fifty feet of water.”

  Kalliste explained how the wreck was discovered. A fishing boat had snagged its net on an unmarked obstruction. The captain was aware that the ocean floor was littered with the ghosts of war. More than one fisherman had been killed trying to haul in a load that turned out to be a live mine or artillery shell. He cut the net free, marked the GPS position and called the au
thorities. A Spanish coast guard cutter ran a sonar survey. The image was relayed to an expert in ancient ships at the University of Madrid.

  “He made a tentative identification,” Kalliste said. “Then he sent the picture to my boss at the antiquities department in Athens, who passed it on to me. I confirmed the Spaniard’s initial evaluation.”

  “That the ship is Minoan.”

  She clapped her hands again. “I love smart men.”

  “I don’t deserve the Nobel prize for this one, Kalliste. I compared your photo to ships online. If you’re right, this would be the first discovery of an intact Minoan ship. Very big deal.”

  “Exactly. A very big deal, as my boss and the Spaniard ship expert told their respective governments. They asked for money to fund a joint expedition. The governments told them ohi.”

  Hawkins knew from his time in Greece that ohi meant an unequivocal no.

  “That doesn’t make sense. Someone in the government must have realized this is a major find.”

  “Don’t you read the papers or watch TV, Matt? Greece and Spain are the beggars of Europe. If people see their leaders throwing money in the water, they will throw their leaders in the water as well.”

  “That’s an interesting picture, Kalliste. But if the governments said no, where did you dig up the money for this expedition?”

  “The professor in Madrid suggested that I talk to Hidden History. It’s an American television history channel. They agreed to fund an initial survey. If that project produces evidence confirming the initial identification, they will open their pocketbooks for a full expedition. They’re offering a bare-bones budget, just enough to cover the cost of the survey boat. It’s not much, Matt. I can’t pay you for your time or travel.”

  Hawkins remembered the sweet honey pastry he had enjoyed on the Santorini expedition. “No problem, Kalliste. You can pay me in baklava.”

  Her eyes lit up. “I’ll make it myself.”

  “Even better. You’ve got a deal.”

  “Thank you, Matt. Your involvement was crucial to move this project forward. The Spaniards initially refused a permit. They changed their minds only after I told them a respected Woods Hole scientist was joining the expedition.”

  “You took a chance. I might have said ohi.”

  Kalliste made a dismissive flick with her fingers. “I saw your excitement when you worked on the Kolumbo crater project.”

  “Got me pegged, Kalliste.” He liked designing undersea vehicles, but he got his biggest kick by using them to probe the mysteries of the deep. “Glad I could help with the permit.”

  “It wasn’t a clear cut approval. Even with you on board they imposed conditions,” she said. “The wreck is in Spanish territorial waters, and they didn’t want the Greeks to get all the glory. I will be the sole Greek representative. The site cannot be disturbed in any way. Findings must be kept confidential until they give the word. Also, they want a Spanish observer on board.”

  “I can live with that if you can, Kalliste.”

  “Wonderful. When can you join us?”

  “If the Navy gives me the preliminary go-ahead, I’ll join you in a few days. Send me your schedule and I’ll get back to you with my travel arrangements.”

  She blew him an air kiss, and the Skype image disappeared.

  Hawkins pondered the implications of the discovery. A Minoan ship intact was the Holy Grail of nautical archaeology. The contents in the ship’s hold would tell where the ship traded, and with whom. This discovery had the potential to rip the cover off mysteries the world didn’t even know existed.

  The ding of an e-mail brought him back to reality. Good news. The team had approved his computations. The Navy would want simulated dives, then actual field tests, but that was in the future. He’d have plenty of time to zip across the Atlantic.

  Hawkins shut down his computer and left his office. He went around to the other side of the research vessel dock where the Oceanographic stored some of its larger hardware.

  Housed in a shed was the Deepwater Challenger, the amazing submersible that Titanic movie director James Cameron used in a record-breaking dive to the bottom of the Mariana Trench. Nearby, was the passenger sphere from the Challenger and the titanium globe from the original deep-diving vehicle known as, Alvin.

  He strolled over to a vehicle that looked like globs of Play-Doh wrapped around a fish bowl. He called the manned submersible he’d designed, Falstaff, after the rotund Shakespearean character.

  The vehicle was seven feet long, six feet tall and wide. Cylindrical thrusters sprouted from each side. A smaller section containing the motors sat on the battery compartment. All this was wrapped around a transparent globe that served as the cockpit for the pilot and passenger. A hatch on top of the sphere provided access. Printed on the battery compartment was the name: SeaBot.

  When he’d built the submersible, Hawkins hadn’t gone the usual Woods Hole route of seeking Navy financing. He didn’t want to deal with the government red tape. Congress had cut back on Navy research and the competition for money was fierce. And there was his lack of trust in the government, going back to Afghanistan. He had pulled together a package of loans, mortgaged himself to the hilt, and intended to pay for the expensive investment by farming Falstaff out for high-paying expeditions. He had at least one dive scheduled with the institution’s Deep Submergence Laboratory.

  Problem one. How to get Falstaff to Spain. Air-freighting the two-passenger vehicle to Cadiz could be complicated and expensive.

  Hawkins locked up his office and biked back to his house. Climbing the stairs to the second floor office, he sat behind his desk, surrounded by his collection of antique dive gear and diving history books. He picked up the phone and punched out a number he hadn’t used for months.

  A woman’s voice answered. “How do you do it, Matt?”

  “Do what?” he said.

  “Not call in months, only to snag me at the precise moment Global Logistics Technologies is in full freak-out mode.”

  “Sorry, Abby. I can call back later.”

  The crisp tone melted. “For heaven’s sakes, Matt, don’t be sorry. You’re an island of sanity in a sea of crazy.”

  Hawkins was glad his ex-wife couldn’t see his smile. His erratic behavior after he left the Navy with a psychiatric discharge had pushed their marriage over the brink.

  “What’s going on with GLT?”

  “Landed a huge contract with Department of Defense, so I’m busier than a one-armed juggler. Pay no attention to my whining, it’s all good, Matt. Okay, I’m through. Your turn to vent.”

  “No complaints here, Abby. I’m wrapping up the ocean glider project for the Navy.”

  “I’ve been reading about it on the WHOI website. Congratulations. Let me know when you can take a break. Maybe we can do something together.”

  “I’d like that Abby, but I’m jumping onto a project in Spain. Which is why I called. I need your help to move the submersible to Cadiz.”

  If Abby had been disappointed by his failure to follow up on her indirect invitation, she didn’t show it.

  “Let me check,” she said, returning to business-mode. He could hear the clicking of a computer keyboard. “You’re in luck, Matt. There’s a cargo 747 leaving New York tomorrow night for Frankfurt. I can arrange an air freight transfer to Cadiz from there. Can you and the sub get to JFK by tomorrow afternoon?”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll call a trucking company I’ve worked with before.”

  “Done. Why are you going to Spain?”

  “Can’t say, Abby. I’ve promised to keep the details secret for now.”

  “You know I can weasel it out of you. You’re easy. I can get you to tell me everything in less time than a coffee break lasts.”

  “Idle threats don’t scare me, Abby.”

  “You know I don’t make idle threats, Matt.”

  “Don’t I ever. Okay, here’s what I can tell you. I’m going off to find the Holy Grail of archaeo
logy.”

  “Damn you, Hawkins! Now you’ve really got my curiosity up.”

  “Sorry, but here’s the deal. The scientist I’m working for is worried about site contamination. She asked me to keep this close to my vest.”

  “She?”

  “Kalliste Kalchis. A highly-respected archeologist I worked with in Greece a couple of years ago. That’s all I can say.”

  “That’s all the information I need. Someone will call you. Got to tend to business. Bye.”

  Hawkins clicked off the phone, then walked to the picture window that took up one wall of his home office. He gazed out at the harbor, thinking about his turbulent relationship with Abby, picturing her lovely face framed by hair the color of claret. She was one of the most elegant and graceful women he had ever met. Her Annapolis training and Navy service had given her a wealth of self-assurance and confidence, qualities that made her an effective CEO.

  By contrast, in his Navy days Hawkins had been impulsive and dashing, traits that she loved. Then he came back from Afghanistan with a head full of crazy thoughts. Since then they had managed to set aside some of the misunderstandings that had plagued them after their messy divorce. Several months earlier, they even had a fling off Matinicus, the rugged Maine island that was his namesake. The encounter had been pleasant, but it confused rather than clarified their relationship.

  His head would start spinning if he thought about Abby for too long. So he was glad when his phone chirped and the male voice on the other end spoke, “I’m with GLT. I understand we’re moving a big load to Spain.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Cadiz, Spain, One Day Later

  The office that took up the entire top floor of the thirty-six story Auroch Industries tower was a unique space. Instead of tinted glass windows offering a spectacular view of the city and the river Manzanares below, the walls were solid. Every square inch was covered with a wrap-around panoramic photograph of soaring earthen terraces. Anyone sitting in the office would have the uneasy feeling of being stuck at the bottom of an open-pit mining operation.