“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.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Kalliste sat on her bed, legs crossed in a yoga lotus position, her eyes tightly shut, her thoughts focused like a laser. Lily had removed the pendant from Kalliste’s neck after escorting her back to the apartment. She left the door unlocked. The giant guardians prowling the Maze were enough to keep Kalliste in her room.
She wasn’t fooled by Lily’s assurances that she would be a “guest” at the ceremony. She knew exactly what her role would be — a sacrifice to the Mother Goddess. She channeled all her energy and intellect on a single goal. Escape.
She heard the door slide across, opened her eyes and saw the tall priestess who’d been her keeper. The woman was dressed in a long flounced dress with a half-open bodice. She wore a flat, rolled cap on her head. An axe medallion dangled between her breasts. The priestess silently advanced and set a tray on the table, then left Kalliste alone. She stared at the dishes on the tray. Fruit, yogurt, bread, honey and water. Should she eat it or not?
She knew that bulls about to be sacrificed in Minoan days were fed grain laced with drugs to dull their senses. Kalliste was no thousand-pound animal whose resistance could pose a danger, but it was common sense that when the time came, her captors would revert to old habits. Her last meal would be sumptuous. After being half-starved, she would devour every drugged morsel.
The serving of a sumptuous prix fixe would be her signal to act. She stared at the tray, hoping she was right. She hadn’t had food for hours and was famished. She had to eat if she were to have the strength to cope with what lay on the other side of her door. She picked up a slice of bread, slathered it with honey, and popped it in her mouth. The outline of a plan was forming in her mind.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Calvin wished Hawkins luck and dropped him off at the Plaza de las Flores near the Central Market, the meeting place Lily had suggested. Using the cell phone GPS, he followed a route through block after block of deteriorating neighborhoods.
He parked in front of a nondescript warehouse on a street strewn with broken glass. The windows were boarded over with plywood. A chain link fence topped by razor wire enclosed the warehouse, but the wide open main gate was falling off its hinges. The walls were covered with fading paint. Even the graffiti artists avoided the place.
The warehouse was one of a dozen or so similar structures in what must have been a bustling commercial center. There was no number on the building. He’d been advised on the phone that the green light bulb glowing in a wire cage next to the door would tell him he had the right place. He got out of the car, walked through the gate to the warehouse and pushed the doorbell.
A voice came from a square grate a few inches below the light. “State your business.”
“I’m the friend of the gentleman in Amsterdam.”
The man who opened the door was slight of build. He wore a white shirt, loosely knotted tie and dark slacks. His gray hair was disheveled and he had pouches under his eyes. Calvin thought he looked like an overworked accountant chasing a deadline for filing tax returns.