Abby was calling his name. He gave the professor a last glance, then climbed back up. Abby had walked over to where she had last seen Hawkins and was surprised when he suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
“Had me worried for a sec,” she said. “Where were you?”
Putting his hand on her shoulder, he spoke in a soft voice, “Abby, I want you to listen to me. I found the professor. He’s dead. His body is at the bottom of the ravine behind me. I think he’s been murdered.”
“Who—?”
“Don’t know. I’m wondering if that English tourist might have something to do with it. We can talk after we get away from here.”
Abby nodded. “I saw a path that will take us directly down to the gate.”
The trail led down, past some Minoan tombs, then around to the front of the ticket booth. Hawkins handed his backpack to Abby and asked her to start the Renault’s engine. He found a rock the size of a cabbage and smashed a hole in the passenger window of the Land Rover. Reaching in, he quickly unlocked the door and grabbed the briefcase.
Sliding into the passenger seat beside Abby, Hawkins buckled up and placed the briefcase on his lap.
“Maybe there’s something in here that explains why the professor is dead. I’ll check it out while you drive.”
Abby dropped the transmission into low and accelerated, then spun the car around in a cloud of dust and headed back to the highway.
“Nice move,” Hawkins said in admiration.
“I learned the reverse spin-out on the first day of my evasive driving course.” They were coming up on the highway.
“Where to?” she said.
Hawkins had driven the coastal road on his last visit to Crete and knew that the mountainous countryside to the east had more goats than people.
“Go back to Heraklion. We need to tell the police about the professor.”
Abby kicked the Renault up to seventy miles per hour. Traffic was light; they would be back in the city in less than an hour. Hawkins pushed the latch on the unlocked briefcase, reached inside and came out with the rubbings. He held a sheet of paper up for Abby to see.
“The professor said he was bringing along some Minoan inscriptions.”
Abby glanced at the rows of script, then back to the rearview mirror.
“I think we’re being followed,” she said in a neutral voice. “Dark silver Mercedes. Like the one that went by when we were standing at the top of the hill. Been behind us for five miles.”
“Can you see the driver?”
“Uh-uh. Tinted windows. Every time I pass, change lanes or speed up, it does the same. They’ve stayed back just far enough to keep me in sight.”
“Slow down and see what happens.”
She took her foot off the gas and glanced in the mirror. “They’ve slowed down too.”
She pulled over to the side of the road. The Mercedes did the same. “Any idea who they are and what they want?”
“Worst case scenario is they had something to do with the professor’s death.”
“What’s the best case scenario?”
“There is none.” He gave her a tight smile. “Sorry. SEAL graveyard humor.”
“Pardon me if I don’t double over in laughter. What should we do?”
“We could keep on going to Heraklion and snag the first cop we see, but the E75 has isolated stretches. They could do a drive-by or run us off the road. We’re coming up on a big resort town. We might be able to lose ourselves in the crowds.”
Abby pulled back onto the highway and the Mercedes followed. Several miles further, she turned off. They attempted to lose their pursuers in Aghios Nikolaos, but the driver of the Mercedes stuck with them like glue.
“This isn’t working,” Hawkins said. “I’ve got an idea. Might be risky, and it depends on luck, timing and improvisation.”
“A typical SEAL op, in other words.”
“In a way. Remember when we were having our marital issues, how we talked about getting away on a cruise so we could talk things through?”
A sad smile came to her lips. “I also remember that things were too far gone by then. One of us would have jumped or thrown the other overboard. Why do you ask?”
“I think it’s time to take that cruise.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The island of Spinalonga rises from the emerald waters of the Gulf of Mirabello off the bustling town of Elounda like the shell of a giant stone turtle. Venice fortified the island in the 1500s to guard the entrance to a wide harbor. The next occupants were the Ottoman Turks. When they left, the island became a leper colony, making it the perfect place to hide a clandestine radio during the German occupation. After World War II, Aristotle Onassis wanted to build a casino on the island, but he was stymied by the formidable ranks of the Greek bureaucracy.
On his last visit to Crete Hawkins had wandered the narrow streets and alleyways, climbed the looming battlements and wondered how life must have been for the soldiers, the lepers and caregivers who made the forbidding pile of rock their home.
After leaving the highway, he had directed Abby along a high road that offered sweeping views of the bay and mountains before descending into Elounda. Hawkins asked Abby to pull the Renault into a public lot next to the marina and the harbor side tavernas. Instead of following them, the Mercedes circled like a prowling tiger, then disappeared around a corner.
They left the Renault in the parking lot. Hawkins hid the professor’s briefcase under the seat but he carried the backpack that held the device. They bought tickets to Spinalonga, boarded a high-prow wooden boat with a couple of dozen other passengers and sat on benches along the starboard side.
The boat eased out of its slip, and Hawkins got up and went to the stern. His eyes scanned the marina; two figures caught his attention because unlike other tourists strolling along the dock, they were running. They dashed up to the empty slip and stared at the departing boat. They were tall and thin, dressed in black running suits. Denim floppy-brimmed hats were pulled down low over their foreheads.
Training, combat experience and instinct combined to set off a loud alarm inside his head. Hawkins knew without a doubt that he was looking at the professor’s killers.
He ambled back to his seat and leaned close to Abby’s ear. “I saw two guys on the dock. My guess is that they’re the ones in the silver Mercedes.”
“Did they see you?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
She looked toward the purple mountains across the bay and let out a deep sigh. “Beautiful, isn’t it, Matt? Someday we’ll have to do this when we don’t have murderers dogging our footsteps.”
“It’s a date,” Hawkins said. “Sorry, Abby. First things first.”
“Yes, I know. Sterile cockpit. What next?”
“They’ll find another boat to take them to the island. We’ll have time before they get there. We’ll try to hire a private boat to take us back to the mainland. There were a few fishermen hanging around last time I was here. We’ll leave those guys high and dry on the big rock.”
“And if we don’t find transportation?”
“We take this boat back. They follow. We get to the mainland first and lose them with your fancy driving.”
“Pretty thin, Hawkins, but it will have to do.”
Minutes later they stepped off the landing dock and merged with the crowd of sightseers milling around below the bastion. The huge curved fortifications had gun emplacements for the cannons that once guarded one end of the island. A couple of private power boats were anchored near the dock. Hawkins started walking towards them, but another tour boat was about to land. The vessel had an upper deck. Leaning on the rail looking down on him were the two men he had seen at the marina.