The Minoan Cipher (A Matinicus “Matt” Hawkins Adventure Book 2) by Paul Kemprecos Page A

to the request and said it would be no problem. Hanging up, he stared off at the mangroves. He was picturing mud huts set against the rugged landscape of Afghanistan. The SEALs mission was supposed to be routine, but the drug lord they’d been sent to capture knew they were coming and had ringed his compound with explosive devices. A fellow SEAL had triggered the IED and was blown to pieces. Hawkins was close by, and his leg caught some of the fragments that would have killed Hayes. He still felt guilty about not having Matt’s back when the Navy dumped him.
    “Cal-vin!”
    Junior’s klaxon voice echoed throughout the swamp. The mountains and mud hut vanished. Hayes was transported back to the bayou. He picked up his beer bottle and headed to the shack to dig into some crawfish. He was looking forward to seeing Hawkins again. But, first things first.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
     
    Bend, Oregon
     
    “When the bird flies over your head, don’t reach up or it will think your hand is something to eat.”
    The warning provoked nervous giggles from the audience. At least half of those sitting in the rows of folding chairs were children. The speaker was a slightly plump, pretty woman in her twenties. Her name was Molly Sutherland. A brown-feathered falcon clutched her padded wrist guard with its talons.
    At the back of the room was a wooden rectangle attached to a vertical support. A young female assistant standing next to the pedestal scattered food pellets on the platform and tapped the wood with her forefinger to get the bird’s attention.
    Sutherland lifted her arm and launched the bird into the air. The falcon spread its wings and flew to the back, passing inches above the heads of the audience. Some people ducked, but the children issued a multitude of oohs and aahs .
    The bird fluttered to a landing on the pedestal and gobbled down the pellets of food. A third assistant enticed it back to the front of the room where it re-settled on Sutherland’s wrist. She pointed out the forward-facing eyes, the sharp talons and the hooked beak designed for tearing. All raptor characteristics. She repeated the routine with a great horned owl, explaining how the soft fringe feathers made the owl’s flight over the audience practically soundless.
    The birds were returned to their cages. Sutherland introduced the assistants and thanked the audience for supporting the museum. As people filed out of the room, a naturalist on the museum’s payroll came over and put her hand on Sutherland’s shoulder.
    “Nice going, Molly. Everyone enjoyed the show.”
    Sutherland once would have flinched at the physical contact. Instead, she removed her black-framed circular glasses to reveal remarkable orchid-colored eyes, and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.
    “Everyone but me ,” Sutherland replied. “I was a-sweating bullets.” In her nervousness, she slipped back into her West Virginia accent.
    “It’s hard to stand up in front of a group of strangers under any circumstance. And you never know what the birds will do. Don’t sell yourself short, Molly. You have a talent. Those raptors were perfectly at ease with you.”
    Sutherland replaced the glasses and coaxed a half-smile from her lips. “Don’t know if there’s much call for a hawk-whisperer. But thanks anyway. Means a lot coming from you.”
    “See you tomorrow?”
    “You bet.”
    Sutherland headed for the parking lot and swung a leg over the saddle of her customized, low-profile Forty-Eight model Harley-Davidson. She swapped her prescription glasses for a pair of wrap-around shades, started the 1203 cc V-twin engine and rode past the High Desert Museum sign. She cruised along the meandering road enjoying the guttural rumble of the exhaust in her ears, the cool dry air against her face, and reflected on the journey that had taken her to central Oregon.
    After leaving the Army, she had settled in Tubac, Arizona. Building a house in the hills, she’d taken up oil painting. She