The Explorer's Code (21 page)

“We need to speak to her about a serious matter.”

“What about? If I may inquire,” said Sinclair belligerently.

“The International Seed Vault.”

“Surely that is a matter for her lawyer.”

“No doubt. But we need to talk about the deed to the land in the Arctic.”

“Look, I can’t speak for her. I would be happy to pass along a message.”

“She is in grave danger. We need to speak as soon as possible. What is your next port of call? I’d like to meet up.”

“What makes you think she would agree to meet you?” Sinclair sounded testy.

“If I know where you are, other people do too. Federal authorities have been in touch with me about a certain e-mail. She needs to take care.”

“How do we know you have Cordelia’s best interests in mind?”

“Feel free to have the FBI verify my identity. Come with Ms. Stapleton if you like. But we need to meet, and soon. Where are you putting in next?”

“It’s no secret. You could look on the itinerary. We are in Ku
ş
adas
s1
, Turkey, tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there. Can we all meet?”

“I have to think about it.”

“Don’t think too long. There are quite a few people on the ship who would like to have a conversation with Ms. Stapleton, and they are not as pleasant as we are.”

“I’m going to check you out,” Sinclair said cautiously. “If I agree, where do we meet?”

“I’ll be in
Kuşadas1
before you dock. I’ll be in touch.”

“That’s tomorrow afternoon.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’ll be there tomorrow.”

Thaddeus Frost hung up the phone. He picked up his duffel bag and walked slowly down the stairs, past the beautiful fountain, down the winding path to the exit of the Botanical Garden. He hated to leave his orchids, but it was time.

C
ordelia sat down at the e-mail console while Sinclair loitered in the doorway of the computer center. He had insisted on dogging her every step since last night, even walking her back to her cabin and meeting her at her room before breakfast. Frankly, she was relieved. She still couldn’t shake off the feeling of danger on the ship. She logged in and clicked on her e-mail account.

Dear Cordelia,

I have forwarded your last e-mail to the federal authorities and they are tracking it. In the meantime, be careful!! Do you want me to come and meet the ship at the next port of call? I am very concerned.

Also, in regard to the deed, interest continues over the land rights in Svalbard. The government of Norway wants to set up a meeting. The Bio-Diversity Trust, a nonprofit organization that runs the seed vault, has also contacted us repeatedly.

We still have not been able to locate the deed to the land. As you know, the physical deed is necessary in order to proceed on any of these offers. It has not turned up in the town house in London, nor with any known papers in the estate of Elliott Stapleton.

Please take care. Let me know if you need anything. See you in London, if not sooner.

With love, Jim Gardiner

Cordelia sat chewing on her fingernail. She read her first message, clicked on Reply, and wrote:

Dear Jim,

I have to admit the e-mail shook me up. But there is no need for you to meet me. I have been meaning to tell you that John Sinclair of the Herodotus Foundation is also here on the ship and has been helping me.

Bio-Diversity Trust actually contacted us yesterday, and we are meeting with the director, Thaddeus Frost, when we land in Turkey. I’ll tell you about the meeting when I see you in London next week. And don’t worry, I won’t sign anything before showing it to you first.

I just can’t believe all this interest in this land. I am beginning to think maybe it’s better if the deed is never found.

Love, Cordelia

Cordelia opened her last e-mail. It was from Susan. The tone was distinctly sober.

Delia,

We have a big problem here: your cabin was ransacked by somebody. They broke in when we were out to dinner. We called the police immediately and they are investigating. I put everything back, and there doesn’t seem to be anything missing. But the box with your parents’ photos and papers was opened and the contents scattered everywhere. I’m sorry to have to tell you this upsetting news. I know how important these things are to you.

I called Jim Gardiner and told him about it. I figured you would want me to do that.

Call me if you need me. Joel sends his love.

Love, Susan

T
he market square in
Kuşadas1
was filled with tourists perusing the wares. The cacophony of Turkish street vendors was an exotic touch. Rugs were everywhere, a kaleidoscope of colors hanging from shop doorways. The open-fronted stores led off into cavernous back rooms, where stacks of carpets were piled waist high.

“Please, sir, come inside, sir.” Sinclair looked at the man, who was clearly the proprietor of the shop. He looked respectable and prosperous, with a gold pen in his jacket pocket. Sinclair stepped into the store, holding on to Cordelia’s arm.

“Give us a moment to look,” Sinclair said. “We’ll let you know if we see something.”

The man drifted away. A young boy came by, holding a round brass tray with two steaming cups of apple tea.

“Compliments, sir, lady.” They accepted the beverages and lingered in the store, looking over the carpets.

“We have a couple of minutes before we are supposed to meet Frost in that courtyard across the square,” Sinclair indicated, sipping his tea. “I want to keep my eye on the entrance before we walk in there.”

“All right,” Cordelia answered. The pungent tea was restoring her. She had been feeling shaky all morning, worried about the scheduled meeting.

“We will be fine,” he said. “It’s broad daylight. We are meeting in the middle of a public space. I called the federal authorities in the States this morning. Thaddeus Frost checked out. He’s legit.”

She gave a tight smile.

The proprietor was back with two young teenagers. They began flinging
the rugs on the floor and shaking them open. The man extolled the fine quality of each carpet as it was unrolled. Cordelia and Sinclair watched the performance. Carpet after carpet was laid at their feet.

“Pick one,” said Sinclair.

“What?”

“Pick one. It’s easier. I’ll buy it and we can get out of here.”

“I don’t know which to pick.”

“Pick any one. Pick the next one they roll out.”

Cordelia pointed at a beautiful beige-and-persimmon prayer rug.

“That one.”

“Madam has excellent taste,” said the proprietor. “I can give it to you for the special price—discount, you understand, discount.”

He was punching numbers on a calculator and held it up for them to see. “Ten thousand dollars.”

“That was an expensive twenty minutes,” Cordelia said as they rushed across the square to the Garden Court.

“Well, I managed to haggle him down, so it wasn’t that bad. Besides, I needed a rug for my place in Ephesus. Unless
you
want it?” he offered.

“On a boat? A five-thousand-dollar rug? You must be joking.”

They walked through an archway and into a courtyard. Coming from the din of the bazaar, the plaza was an oasis of calm. Café chairs and tables were placed in the shaded spot, for lunch service. Palm trees stood in large stone containers and a small fountain burbled, the sound of running water creating a relaxing atmosphere.

The courtyard was empty at this time of the morning except for a tall, rangy man sitting at a table nursing a Turkish coffee. Extraordinarily striking, he had dark olive skin and blue black hair that was thick and tousled. He could have come from any part of the world. A perfectly cropped stubble hid his features. He was dressed in appalling taste, as if to conceal his stunning looks: baggy shorts and a mud-colored T-shirt. His Birkenstock sandals were an attempt to replicate the look of a classic expat.

But something countered the visual impression of the awkward clothing. This was no corporate middle manager living abroad. He looked entirely too fit. The way he raised his arm as he consulted his watch was graceful and powerful. He looked at them expectantly.

“Thaddeus Frost?” said Sinclair.

“Yes,” the man replied. “Would you like to talk here, or shall we go somewhere more private?”

Vlad and Anna surveyed the entrance of the courtyard from the vantage point of the
Kuşadas1
Grand Bazaar.

“Where are they going?”

“Wait here, I am going to check something,” Anna said, darting into the carpet store.

“Excuse me,” said Anna. “I am the personal assistant to Mr. Sinclair. I need to make sure his carpet is shipped to the correct residence.”

The owner of the shop looked Anna up and down.

“You are Mr. Sinclair’s personal assistant?”

“Yes, I am, and he just instructed me to make sure this is delivered properly. I need to see the shipping information.”

The owner of the shop showed the bill of sale to Anna.

“He said he wanted it sent locally,” the shop owner said defensively. “He just told me that himself.”

Anna’s eyes raked over the address.

“Excellent. See that you ship it out as soon as possible.”

“No cause for worry,” said the proprietor. “I have it written down.”

“Thank you,” said Anna briskly. “Mr. Sinclair appreciates it very much.”

She came out of the shop and pulled Vlad along the alleyway.

“He sent his rug to an address in Ephesus. Give me a pencil and paper so I can write it down before I forget it.”

Vlad searched the inside of his jacket breast pocket for a notebook and pen, and Anna jotted it down quickly.

“Why would he buy a rug?” Anna mused.

“I want to know who they are meeting. That’s a better question.” Vlad lit a JPS cigarette and blew the smoke out in irritation. “We need to keep them in sight. I can’t see a thing from here,” he complained.

“The café over there will give us a clear line of sight to the entrance. We can wait there. Besides, I want a Turkish coffee.” Anna clacked her way across the plaza on her high-heeled sandals.

Sinclair settled into an armchair and looked around the office of the Bodrum Import/Export Company. The room smelled of new carpet. Thaddeus Frost said he had borrowed the office from a firm he was associated with. At least that was the story.

A ceiling fan whirred overhead and the rough plaster walls were newly whitewashed. Whoever put this office together had just done it. Everything looked new. There were beautiful kilims on the walls, carved wooden furniture, an antique brass lamp. The wooden shutters were open.

Outside in the courtyard, children were kicking a soccer ball around, creating the sound of normalcy. The noise of their play relaxed him. Sinclair hadn’t realized how on edge he had been.

“Sorry about the carpet fumes,” Frost said. “You know they’ve proved that the styrene-butadiene carpet adhesive can have toxic side effects. I kept the window open.”

“It’s fine,” said Cordelia.

“Cigarette?” Frost offered an ebony box.

“No thanks,” said Sinclair.

Frost took one for himself, lit it efficiently, and exhaled, blowing the smoke toward the window. His movements were controlled and deliberate. When he spoke he had a quiet voice, and beautiful manners, but underneath the polish he projected the clear impression he was a very tough guy—not someone to cross.

“What can we do for you?” asked Sinclair.

Frost barely looked at him; his attention was on Cordelia.

“You undoubtedly got our e-mails,” Frost said.

“Yes,” she answered.

“We wanted to talk to you in person. This deed is of vital importance.”

“Well,” interrupted Sinclair, “you are aware that Miss Stapleton has not committed to any course of action regarding the deed.”

Frost looked sideways at Sinclair with some irritation.

“We would like to convince Ms. Stapleton that the best policy is to keep the vault in neutral territory.” He turned back to Cordelia. “That is what I am here to do.”

“I see,” she said.

“Let me play devil’s advocate for a second,” said Sinclair, reaching forward to pick up the carved lighter. “Why not give the deed back to Norway?” He flicked the lighter open and the flame sprang up, blue. He put the lighter back. He picked up a pencil and began to doodle on the legal pad on the desk.

Frost’s nostrils flared in anger and his eyes hardened.

“Norway, Russia, the United States, and Canada have been increasingly upping their stakes in the region. It’s a land grab at this point.” He turned to Cordelia again. “You must be aware that the Russians have claimed the pole.”

“Yes,” said Cordelia. “I followed Alexandrov’s expedition.”