The Explorer's Code

by Kitty Pilgrim

  Sinclair paced back and forth in frustration. He jammed his hands into his pockets and his fingers came into contact with the bunch of keys. Of course! The director of public construction and property would have keys to the vault! It was a very important town facility. Sinclair examined all the electronic fobs and swipe cards. A small black toggle looked promising. He waved it in front of the panel, and to his utter astonishment the door slid sideways to reveal a long passage into the mountain.

  In vault number 3, Cordelia stood before Bob, her knees quaking from fear. Erin had been so brutally killed; Cordelia fully realized the same thing could happen to her in an instant.

  She tried to formulate a plan, but the symptoms of shock were making her mind fuzzy. The only thing she knew and clung to was that Sinclair was coming for her. She had to believe it.

  Bob was watching her suspiciously. “You say you know where the deed is?” he asked.

  “Yes, at the museum. We found it and left it there because we wanted to get official permission to take it.”

  Her voice came out cool and confident. It was a spectacular lie, but she managed to sound convincing.

  Bob started to chuckle. “You really are a Girl Scout, aren’t you? Official permission. Did you hear that, Lance? She wanted official permission.”

  Lance nodded, but his face was dour.

  “Where is your friend, John Sinclair?” Bob asked. “Why wasn’t he with you?”

  “He’s back in town, meeting with officials to claim the deed legally.”

  Bob cracked up at that one too.

  “You hear that, Lance—he is meeting with the town officials about the deed.”

  Lance nodded.

  “What kind of time you figure you need to set these charges?” Bob asked Lance. “Another half hour?”

  “At the most.”

  “OK. You stay here and do that. We’ll head on over to the museum,” Bob said. “If it’s easy pickings for that deed, we may as well grab it and sell it to the Russians after all.”

  Lance walked away and opened a metal box resting on one of the shelves. Bob started toward the door, but turned back to Cordelia.

  “I figure this is a fitting place for you to die. Right here on your great-great-grandfather’s property,” he said.

  Cordelia knew better than to answer. She’d seen what had happened to Erin.

  Anna decided there was no use waiting for Evgeny. She put on her jacket and sauntered through the lobby. The desk clerk of the Polar Hotel smiled at her.

  “I’m going out for a little stroll.”

  “You will need a rifle if you are leaving the settlement,” he warned. “There are bears. Especially this time of year.”

  “Oh, I just want to walk around town,” she assured him.

  “All right, then stick to the road. You should see the first buildings on Main Street right up ahead. You’ll be safe inside the confines of the town.”

  “Thank you,” Anna said with her best smile, and walked out into the brisk afternoon.

  As Anna strolled into town, she could see a cluster of people between the two main buildings. The dome lights of an ambulance flashed blue and red against the dullness of the landscape. A stretcher held a body bag; the form underneath was immobile. She looked to see if it was the size and shape of Evgeny. It wasn’t. Why did she have the feeling Evgeny was dead?

  She sidled up to one of the men who stood watching the medics. He was a good-looking man in his midthirties, rugged with nice Nordic blue eyes. She smiled at him and he smiled back.

  “Has there been an accident?”

  “Yes, the fellow there has been shot.”

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  “Anders Olaussen, the director of public construction and property. A terrible tragedy.”

  “Why would somebody shoot him?” she asked.

  “No one knows. There’s no logical reason. He was a local official.”

  “In charge of property? Like, what kind of property?”

  “The seed vault. The old mines. The museum. That kind of thing.”

  “Oh,” said Anna. “The seed vault. Where is it, exactly? I’m up here as a tourist. I’d be interested in seeing it.”

  “Right there.” The man pointed above the roofline of the tallest building in the town. “See that silver structure jutting out of the mountain? That’s it.”

  “Oh, interesting.”

  “Don’t let this accident put you off your vacation,” the man said. “Long-yearbyen is actually pretty safe.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it is,” said Anna, as she walked away.

  Thaddeus Frost climbed out of the military jet and onto the tarmac. Long-yearbyen was bitter cold and very windy; his ears were freezing, his hair was blowing all around. Of all the godforsaken places! Why couldn’t he get assigned to tropical climates?

  He turned on his phone and listened, cupping his hand around it to cut the sound of the wind. Sinclair’s voice message sounded rushed and muffled.

  Frost snapped his phone shut. It was much worse than he thought: three dead Russians, two Norwegians, an agent beaten to within an inch of her life, a near fatal poisoning in London, and now three hostages in the seed vault. What a goddamn mess.

  In vault number 2, Charles wormed his way over to the shelving and pushed his back against it. Using his feet as leverage, he inched his way up until he managed to stand erect. Then he began rubbing his wrists against the rough screws on the metal shelf, hoping to abrade the duct tape and break free. As he worked, the contents of the shelf shook and the black seed boxes rattled around. The sound was echoing loudly through the empty vault.

  Charles looked over at Erin’s body on the floor. He felt his throat tighten. She really had given her life for this mission, and she had never expected a word of thanks. He thanked her now, in his thoughts, and tried to pray for her. But he couldn’t pray properly; he was too focused on getting free.

  Suddenly the tape gave way. Charles tore it off his wrists and bent down and stripped the tape from around his ankles. The gunmen would be back. It was only a question of minutes. He began to search the room for some kind of weapon.

  Thaddeus Frost jumped into the Norwegian police vehicle.

  “We need to get to the seed vault as soon as possible.”

  The driver was young and in uniform. His response was negative.

  “We can’t go right now, sir. You are wanted in town; there has been a death.”

  “That can wait. I need a few dozen men to go with me to the seed vault.”

  “I have eight men. But they’re in town. We’ll have to go there anyway.”

  “Eight men?” Frost said. “That’s all?”

  “Yes, that’s all I have. And they’re not even officers yet, they’re still in training.”

  Frost pulled on his gloves in irritation.

  “I’ll take anyone I can get,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  Anna saw the police car pull up on Main Street. Two men got out. The one in uniform was clearly a Norwegian policeman. The second one seemed familiar. He was wearing a trench coat—clearly a civilian. Then she remembered. He was the bearded man from the first-class lounge in London.

  He gave her a cursory glance but didn’t recognize her. She didn’t change her trajectory, but walked past him. Then she blended into the large crowd, which had gathered to gawk at the body bag and the ambulance. There was no danger of her being recognized. He hadn’t really had a good look at her in the airport lounge. The only man who could really identify her was dead from poison. Besides, her clothes were entirely different from those she had worn in London. Now her platinum hair was covered by a red ski cap. A parka hid her figure—and a woman’s shape was all that most men noticed anyway.

  She watched Thaddeus Frost approach the ambulance and start a conversation with the policeman on the scene. The Norwegian officer was on the radio, giving emphatic and repeated instructions. She walked casually over and stood near him to listen.

  His la
nguage was a flow of fluid sounds, all long vowels and soft consonants. She had five languages at her command, but the Nordic tongue was incomprehensible. Then she heard the words “International Seed Vault”—the consonants of the English words crisply interrupting the flow of Norwegian.

  Perhaps Evgeny was there. The town director was dead. That had to be Evgeny’s work. She should check out the vault—it was her best lead so far. Anyway, there was no point in hanging around here. There were too many police.

  In vault number 2, Charles was scrounging through everything he could find. There were about twenty shelves in all. They were all steel structures about eight feet tall, stacked full of black metal boxes that looked like small filing drawers. Charles put his hand on one of the steel shelves and it swayed back and forth. They were not bolted to the floor and could tip over with a good push. That was a start. It might come in handy as a diversion when the gunmen came back.

  The middle of the floor was clear except for Erin’s body. She seemed so small in death, and Charles moved his eyes away to avoid looking at her.

  In the far corner, behind some shelves, he saw a small glassed-in office with a desk, chair, and some papers. When he turned the doorknob, he found the office was not locked. He flipped the electric light switch, and after a triple blink of the fluorescent overhead tubes the room was lit with a harsh glare. All around was a jumble of gear: parkas, boots, flashlights, snowshoes, and cross-country skis. Charles started sorting through the debris to find something to use to defend himself.

  At first he grabbed the flashlight. But it was not heavy enough to use as a cudgel, so he threw it aside instantly. The snowshoes were light aluminum and not useful at all. He looked at the skis and the poles, stacked upright, jumbled in a corner. They appeared to be discarded equipment from decades ago. Suddenly he had a flash of inspiration. He grabbed a ski pole. It was made of light titanium, straight and long. Yes, it would do perfectly! He stripped the small basket disc off the bottom of the pole and turned it into an improvised rapier. Now this he could fight with.

  Bob had put on his heavy coat and was ready to go. Marlene stood at his side, carrying her oversized purse.

  “When you set it off, just make sure our people are out, and then let it rip,” said Bob.

  Lance jerked his head in Cordelia’s direction. “Do I shoot her first?” Cordelia sat on the floor, her feet and hands bound again with duct tape. Bob considered a moment. He looked over at Marlene. She seemed upset, and sure enough, she spoke up.

  “Bob, I don’t think we should shoot that girl . . . it just doesn’t seem right,” she said. Bob looked uncertain, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

  “The church elders didn’t say anything about killing people. It’s just not right,” she wheedled.

  “Oh, hell, you’re right, honey. Let’s just let ’em be, Lance. Lock each of them up in different vaults. The fire will kill them. I guess that will be good enough.”

  Lance nodded again.

  “How long do you figure it will take?” asked Bob.

  “Oh, another ten, fifteen minutes—not much longer.”

  “OK. Well, Marlene and I will be getting along. We booked a flight out of here in an hour or so. We’ll see y’all in Texas.”

  “OK, Reverend, I will see this through. God bless.”

  “God bless you, son, and Godspeed.”

  Sinclair walked down the long corridor of the seed vault. He realized that if he encountered anyone he would be in full view; there was absolutely nowhere to hide.

  He ran lightly along the corridor, trying not to make a sound, but the rasp of his breathing was magnified in the echo chamber of the vault.

  Why was it so empty and quiet? Certainly they were all in here somewhere. Sinclair was sure he would encounter someone soon. He held the whaling fork in his hand, but he knew it was of no use against a gun. Still, it was better than nothing.

  He came to a wide-open space with high ceilings and a round desklike structure in the middle. It looked like a guard post. Beyond it were three corridors that went farther into the mountain. There was no way to tell which way to go—he simply had to take a guess. He silently slipped around the central desk and chose the corridor straight ahead.

  The corridor on the left rang with the heavy footsteps of Bob and Marlene. She was breathing hard as she struggled to keep up with him.

  “Bob, are you sure this is all right?”

  “Now, honey, we have been over this a million times. We have been planning this for the last year.”

  “Yes, I know, but I was not counting on killing people. We only wanted to destroy the vault. Evgeny was the one who wanted to trap Cordelia and her friend. They seemed like such nice young people.”

  “Well, that nice young man, John Sinclair, killed Evgeny last night.”

  “I know, but Evgeny was a very bad man, Bob. I’m sorry we got mixed up with him.”

  “I agree. Well, no use worrying about him, he got what he deserved.”

  “But Cordelia and her friend? They didn’t do anything.”

  “They stand in the way of God’s will.”

  “So they have to die?”

  “We can only be thankful that we are chosen to do his work,” Bob assured her.

  Marlene nodded uncertainly. They reached the large exterior door of the vault. Bob hit the compressor EXIT button and the door slid sideways to reveal the brilliant sunshine.

  Anna saw the young man on the motorcycle. He was wearing a helmet, and his body had the whippet-thin shape of a boy still in his early teens.

  “Hello,” she said to him. He cut the engine so he could hear her, and raised his visor.

  “I’m a tourist here and was wondering if you would take me around,” Anna said. “I could pay you to show me the sights.” She kept her voice coquettish.

  He looked at her with interest. “How much would you pay me?”

  “One hundred dollars an hour,” she said. “Cash.”

  “Sure, I could do that. But we need to stop for gas. That will be extra,” the kid said.

  “No problem.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “The International Seed Vault,” Anna replied and smiled.

  Thaddeus Frost spoke quietly to the chief of police. The training station was only two miles away, and there were eight young recruits there at this time. Clearance from Oslo was necessary if he was going to commandeer them, but that could be done in a few moments. Together they walked over to the central police station of Longyearbyen and entered the small office. The knotty-pine paneling and the steel desk were the same as in any rural police department in any country in the world. How was it they all looked the same? The few mug shots on the bulletin board did not seem all that menacing.

  The Norwegian officer phoned Oslo and spoke in a hurried and demanding tone. With any luck they would be on their way to the seed vault in a half hour. Thaddeus Frost glanced at his watch; it was getting late. He wondered how Sinclair was doing.

  Sinclair had never seen a map of the interior of the seed vault. But intuitively he figured out the layout. The main corridor branched out into three separate tunnels, which led to three different vaults, deep in the mountain. It was going to take time to search all of them because he would have to double back to the central guard desk each time.

  He looked at the exterior door of vault number 2 and noticed the same steel construction at the entrance, with the same type of black scanner panel. Each vault was locked separately. Sinclair took his set of keys with the black toggle and waved it in front of the door, and it slid open with a pish of the air lock. A blast of cold air brushed his face.

  The first thing he saw was the dead body. The overhead fluorescent spotlighted the pool of blood, in bright contrast to the gray floor. The victim’s face, now blanched marble, was without expression, the green eyes staring. Her red hair trailed into the blood. Erin!

  Sinclair’s heart sank, and a terrible guilt washed over him. He never should
have left her. Then he realized that if Erin was dead there was little hope for Cordelia and Charles. In a panic, he scanned the floor for more bodies. As he stepped quickly into the room, some second sense told him he was walking into a trap. He saw out of the corner of his eye an eight-foot shelf tilting toward him. He sprinted forward rapidly as it crashed to the floor behind him, the black seed boxes dislodging and bouncing all over the floor. Some of the boxes opened and spilled plastic seed packets around the room. Sinclair whirled around ready to fight, and then froze.

  “Charles!”

  “Sinclair, thank God!”

  “Where’s Cordelia?”

  Charles looked absolutely distraught. “They took her, right after they shot Erin.”

  “How many?”

  “Three men with guns and a ringleader named Lance. He’s the one who shot Erin.”

  “Are they Russians?”

  “No. Americans. There’s this religious guy, kind of a preacher who is going to blow up the vault, and a woman who I think is his wife.”

  “Hold on. They’re not Russians?”

  “No, Americans.”

  “Who the hell are they?” Sinclair wondered.

  “They called him Bob.”

  Sinclair turned slowly to Charles, his face terrible. “Big guy, dyed blond hair, his wife very fat and kind of slow?”

  “Yes, how did you know?”

  “Bob and Marlene,” Sinclair groaned.

  “Yes, those were the names.”

  “How could I be so stupid?” Sinclair groaned. “How could I?”

  Charles looked at him. Sinclair was pounding his fist into his forehead as if to knock some sense into his head.

  “Sinclair, what?”

  “They were on the ship,” Sinclair explained, “and in London. How could I miss that?”

  “They are still here in the vault. I think Cordelia is with them,” said Charles.