The Explorer's Code

by Kitty Pilgrim

  He tried to sleep, but his head ached and his eyes were hot. The pillow was too hard, and the sheets suddenly felt like sandpaper. The alarm clock said 3:30 a.m. He thought he would go mad with anxiety. Why couldn’t he get Miles on the phone?

  The flickering television painted a blue glow over his bed. He switched off the set with the remote and shuffled over to the closet to collect his clothes and shoes. Within moments he was dressed. It was cool when he stepped outside the front door. His Bentley was still in the shop, and a rental car stood in the drive. What a hell of a day yesterday had been, and today didn’t look much better.

  There weren’t any cars on the road at the early hour, and the traffic lights were regulating the night with pointless colors. Nearer the hospital, the harsh glare of the emergency-room floodlights hit his eyes. He pulled in and parked. The lot was empty. All the way up to the ICU, Oakley didn’t meet a soul. The seventh floor had been evacuated of all patients except one. Even so, when the lift doors opened the hall was entirely too quiet. As he walked, his sneakers squeaked on the linoleum. A nurse was doing paperwork at the administrative station.

  “Good evening,” Oakley said.

  “Good evening, Doctor,” she said, barely looking up from her work. “I am afraid your patient expired at 1:26 a.m. They’ve taken him to the morgue. The Health Protection Agency doctor is there now.” She looked at him with curious eyes and professional silence.

  “I’ll head down there now,” he said carefully, without emotion.

  “Do you want to check the other patient first?” she asked. Oakley turned back in surprise.

  “What other patient?”

  “Seventy-year-old male. Indigent. No identity documents. He walked into Emergency this evening with the same symptoms. He’s in ICU now. Do you want to take a look?”

  Oakley felt his heart start to pound in panic.

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I’d better.”

  Queen Victoria

  On deck 7 of the Queen Victoria, the cabin attendant had propped open the door to the suite and was stripping the bed linens. As Bob walked by, he could see clearly into Cordelia’s room. The journal was in plain sight, right on top of the coffee table. He suddenly got a great idea. If he could read the journal himself, he might be able to figure out where the deed was. That way he could beat Vlad and Anna out of the reward money.

  Bob quickly tried to think of a trick to divert the room attendant’s attention. All he needed was to entice him to leave the suite for a moment. There was a laundry bin in the hallway, just outside the room. Bob rolled the bin down the corridor, then came back and knocked on the open door.

  “Could I get you to change the towels in cabin seven fourteen? I noticed you haven’t done that yet.”

  The steward came out, his arms full of sheets.

  “Certainly, sir. As soon as I finish up here.” He looked around for the laundry bin and saw it at the other end of the corridor. He sighed and started down the hall to unload his laundry.

  “How’d it get all the way down there?” Bob heard him grumble under his breath. Bob quickly stepped into Cordelia’s suite and slipped the journal under his jacket. He emerged from the stateroom seconds later. By the time the attendant turned around, Bob was waddling down the corridor behind him.

  “Thanks again, son. Much appreciate it.”

  “My pleasure, sir,” the attendant replied. “Have a good day.”

  Marlene was spooning clotted cream onto a scone when Bob walked into their suite. She added strawberry jam and took a large bite, holding it gingerly over the plate.

  “Yum. You really should try some of this, Bob.”

  “I got it, Marlene,” he said, ignoring the scones and tossing Elliott Stapleton’s journal onto the coffee table.

  Marlene nodded, her mouth full. She swallowed and ladled more clotted cream on the other half of the scone as she talked.

  “Won’t she miss it?”

  “Sure she will, but what can she do about it—call the police?”

  “What about Vlad and Anna?”

  “They don’t need to know. And she won’t tell them. It’s not like she is going to be blabbing her business all over the ship.”

  Marlene took another bite, and part of the scone fell, landing on her pink sweater.

  “In the meantime,” Bob said, “we can read it. No use sitting around here waiting. She isn’t going to do much reading with her boyfriend hanging around.”

  “You’re right about that. Did you see the way he was looking at her?”

  “This is a wild-goose chase, anyway. This girl isn’t going to talk to us about anything important. We need to look for any reference to a deed.”

  Bob thumbed through the journal, fanning the pages.

  “Jesus H. Christ, the writing is so small it’s gonna take years to read this thing.”

  Marsaxlokk, Malta

  Lunch had been over for a half hour, and still they lingered in the café. The scene was so lovely, they hated to move. Sinclair had pushed his chair back, propped his feet up, and closed his eyes to the sun. Cordelia was picking at the remains of the grilled fish on her plate. She looked at Sinclair lounging and sunning himself, and found herself once again thinking how incredibly attractive he was. His crisp white shirt, rolled to the elbow, set off his tan. And the rumpled khaki shorts exposed impressive and well-muscled legs.

  It had been a romantic morning. They had ended up on the southeastern side of the island of Malta, in the fishing village of Marsaxlokk. The restaurant had been perfect: simple and local, far from the tour groups. The old quay seemed timeless; generations of people had sat, just like this, enjoying the afternoon sun and watching the colorful boats bob in the harbor.

  Originally Cordelia had planned on taking the group tour of the island, but when Sinclair heard about it, he had offered her a personal tour instead. He knew Malta well, and had kept up a flow of fascinating comments as they walked through the ancient fort of the Knights of Saint John.

  He made an effort to be especially charming. She had delighted in taking his hand as he helped her up and down the steep ramparts of the fort. Of course, she hadn’t really needed his assistance, but was happy to accept. Up until now she had gone out only with men with large egos and casual manners. Sinclair’s courtliness was a refreshing change.

  But as intoxicating as Sinclair’s attention was, every cell in her brain told her that he was out of her league. She should not get romantically involved. There were danger markers everywhere. His was a world of supermodels, fast cars, tabloid press, and public fights. Even the cavalier way he had just hopped on the Queen Victoria as if it were a crosstown bus was astonishing.

  “What are you thinking?” he said without opening his eyes.

  “How beautiful it is here, and how happy I am right now.”

  “Are you?” He opened his eyes.

  “Yes, I am.”

  He looked at her and then closed his eyes again. She watched the boats in the harbor, and a few minutes went by.

  “Now what are you thinking?” he asked.

  She smirked.

  “I’m wondering why someone like you doesn’t have women crawling all over him.”

  “Who says I don’t?”

  “Then why are you here with me?”

  “Because you happen to be great company,” he said, still not opening his eyes.

  “So are you,” she said. “Thanks for a wonderful morning.”

  “I had fun too,” he said, and shifted his frame lower in the chair. He tilted his head back more.

  “Why do you live part-time in Turkey?” she asked.

  “I like the heat.”

  “Why else?”

  “I love the dig.”

  “What are you digging?”

  “Gladiators.”

  “That’s what you’re digging in Ephesus? Gladiators?” she said, surprised.

  “Yes,” said Sinclair, opening his eyes. “I was digging antiquities at first, but since we f
ound the gladiator graveyard I haven’t been able to do anything else. We’re finding out so much about how they lived.”

  “Who is ‘we’? Who’s helping you?”

  “A pathologist from Turkey, and two archaeologists from the University of Vienna, Karl and Fabian. They’re brilliant. We’ve been able to piece together exactly how the gladiators fought, died, even what they ate.”

  “That sounds so interesting,” she said.

  “You really should come to Ephesus,” he said, and once again closed his eyes to the sun.

  Queen Victoria

  The guard motioned for her to come forward on the gangplank. All passengers had to undergo a security check every time they went on or off the ship. Cordelia inserted her cabin card into the machine, and her picture flashed on the screen. The guard waved her on as Sinclair went through the same procedure.

  “Thanks,” he said to the guard, and followed Cordelia to the elevator banks.

  “Are you going up to your room?” he asked her as they walked into the lift.

  “Yes. I’ll meet you for dinner in about an hour?” Cordelia said. The elevator doors closed, and they were alone. Cordelia pushed the button for deck 7, and then realized he hadn’t responded. She turned to look and found him staring at her, his face inscrutable.

  “I’ll meet you at dinner?” she repeated.

  He still didn’t reply, still looking at her with a very intense expression.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He stepped toward her, pulled her to him, and kissed her. It came as a complete surprise! She had thought about kissing him many times over the past few days, and she wondered what it would be like. But now she discovered his kiss was even better than her fantasy. It was delightful!

  He paused after the first kiss, his mouth inches from hers. It was as if he were expecting her to pull away. But she didn’t, and instead turned her face up to him and closed her eyes, willing him to do it again. He pulled her close, this time kissing her more deeply. She melted into him, letting him know she liked what he was doing. And as she surrendered to the pleasure of it, she realized that her desire for him had been building all day, with every touch of his hand and every smile.

  Just then the elevator chime announced their arrival on deck 7. Sinclair let go and backed away from her, assuming a decorous expression. The doors opened to reveal an elderly man waiting to get in. They all nodded politely, and Sinclair and Cordelia stepped out.

  “Have a nice evening,” the older gentleman said as he hobbled in with his cane. The elevator doors closed and they were alone in the main corridor.

  Cordelia looked up at Sinclair, wondering what he would do. His stateroom was to the starboard side, and hers to the port. Normally they would part company right here. He walked up to her, brushed her hair back from her forehead, and spoke quietly.

  “That was nice.”

  She looked up at him. “Mmmm.” She nodded.

  “We should try that again, only somewhere more private.”

  Without a doubt, he was inviting her to his room. She met his eyes, knowing that his suggestion demanded an immediate response. She hesitated. Her mind was flooded with reasons why she should refuse, but part of her wanted to go with him. It was harder for her to resist him than she had anticipated. There was an awkward silence as she struggled with the decision.

  “Just so you know, I don’t generally kiss girls in elevators,” he explained. His eyes were still devouring her, waiting for her answer. She nodded.

  “That’s good to know,” she said lamely. Again there was an uncomfortable pause. She just couldn’t decide, so he finally spoke.

  “Well, it’s been a long day,” he said. “I expect you want to get ready for dinner.”

  There was still a hint of hope in his voice. But she realized he was being a gentleman by giving her an out. She stepped back, looked at the floor, and then gazed back up at him. Their eyes connected.

  “Yes,” she said with regret. “I should get ready for dinner right now. That’s really what I should do.”

  He smiled, ruefully, but there was humor and affection in his eyes.

  “Okay, Cordelia,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

  After he left her in the hall, Cordelia had started to her cabin, but suddenly she realized she hadn’t checked her e-mail all day. Jim Gardiner had probably sent her an update, and she had a sudden urge to write to Susan and let her know the latest developments with Sinclair. Susan was so sensible when it came to things like this.

  The computer room was empty. Even the attendant was gone, and at this hour most of the guests were dressing for dinner. Cordelia had a choice of consoles, so she took the nearest one and logged in. Susan had written to her already.

  Delia, glad you are having fun!

  Before I forget, a letter came for you from the government of Norway. Joel and I figured you were on such a roll, you were going to get the Nobel Prize or something. We opened it in case it was important.

  They want you to contact them ASAP about some land in Svalbard. Jim Gardiner has all the details. Sorry we opened your mail, but we figured you were too busy to actually get back here anytime soon.

  XX Susan

  P.S. We miss you so much. Joel says Hi.

  “We” miss you? Cordelia thought. Susan’s relationship with Joel must be progressing rapidly. Cordelia clicked on the next note.

  Dear Cordelia,

  Sorry to interrupt your cruise, but I am receiving a good deal of correspondence about the deed to the Arctic Coal Mining Company land and I wanted to keep you informed.

  I have done some research on the deed to the property in Svalbard. You will need physical possession of the deed to claim your rights to the land. But we cannot seem to locate the deed.

  We are currently looking through Elliott Stapleton’s papers. Solicitors in London are entrusted with a search of the London town house. We may also look into the estate of your great-great-grandfather’s business partner, Sir James Skye Russell, in Oxfordshire, England, if need be. The deed could be there.

  Percival Spence III, silent partner, is listed in later documents. But very little is known about him. We know he died during the great influenza epidemic of 1918 because his name appears on mortality records for Svalbard that year.

  In any event, I will continue to pursue this matter. It would be a shame to let that land go without a real effort to claim it. Try looking through the journal to see if there is a reference to it.

  Have a lovely time on the ship. Have a glass of champagne for me.

  All my love, Jim Gardiner

  There was one more message.

  Cordelia Stapleton,

  Give up the deed to the land in Svalbard or YOU WILL DIE. The seed vault is the property of the world and cannot be owned by any one person. Give up your claim or you will regret it.

  Citizens for World Survival

  She stared at the words “YOU WILL DIE.” Cordelia couldn’t believe the message was meant for her. Why would someone want to kill her? It just didn’t make sense. She had done nothing to harm anyone! Her first impulse was to delete the message and make it go away. Instead, she kept her head and forwarded it promptly to Jim Gardiner.

  Back in her room, Cordelia was dressing mechanically, laying out a black lace cocktail dress for dinner, but she was not concentrating on her clothes. The threatening message had shaken her badly. Her hands were trembling, and her nerves were jittery. She couldn’t dispel the feeling of danger. Even though she knew the ship was secure, she still felt terribly vulnerable. What if the person who wanted to harm her was already on board!

  Of course, that was unlikely. The e-mail could have come from anywhere. In fact, she was probably safer on the ship. Only Joel, Susan, and Jim Gardiner knew where she was. No one else knew she had been invited on the cruise. She froze, staring at her own reflection in the mirror. No one except Sinclair!

  She sat down, her head spinning. What a horrifying thought! Could she trust Joh
n Sinclair? After all, she had just met him and here he was, with her day and night, watching her every move. Could he be involved in this business with the Arctic Coal Mining Company? She shook her head and tried to breathe away the fear that was rising in her. She closed her eyes and filled her lungs. But she felt as if she were suffocating.

  She really didn’t know him at all! Yet she had trusted him, telling him everything. She had even kissed him! But who was he, really? He had a terrible reputation as a womanizer, a real carouser. Why was he interested in her? She was nobody. She was not even that pretty. Well, not as pretty as a supermodel, anyway. What did he want from her? He never said. But he kept asking her to go with him to Ephesus. Wasn’t that dangerous? Nobody knew that Sinclair was with her. She hadn’t even mentioned him to Jim Gardiner.

  She stood up and started pacing. Stop being ridiculous! Sinclair had nothing to do with this. This e-mail was a death threat. A death threat! How could it be possible that someone would want her dead? Cordelia sat down again to think, her knees wobbly.

  She looked at her watch. Dinner was in an hour; she had to get dressed. She took off her robe and she stepped into the shower. The warm water didn’t soothe her. She was too agitated. She reached for the shampoo, but washed her hair with bath gel by mistake. Then she dropped the shampoo and the conditioner, one after the other, and spent minutes groping around the bottom of the shower for them trying to keep the soap from stinging her eyes.

  She was a nervous wreck. How would she get through dinner without dropping all the silverware and knocking over her wine? Sinclair would surely notice if she didn’t calm down.

  She walked to the mirror, pulled the towel off her head, and combed out her wet hair. Turning on the blow dryer at full volume, she could not stop thinking about the threatening e-mail. She tipped her head sideways and caught sight of the room reflected in the mirror. Something was wrong. She looked in the mirror again, whirled around, and turned off the dryer. She stared at the coffee table in disbelief. The journal was gone!