The Explorer's Code (22 page)

She spoke firmly, but her body language relayed her nerves. Her shoulders were rounded and her hands were clutched together in her lap. Sinclair didn’t look at her, and kept drawing circles, then dissecting them into eight parts with lines. He listened, seemingly absorbed in his task.

“You know the Russians are petitioning the United Nations for sovereignty of the pole. And that would involve control of the seabed,” continued Frost.

“How can they do that?” Sinclair asked Cordelia.

“A UN Convention says no country can claim jurisdiction over the North Pole. It’s an international site and the geological structure of the seabed doesn’t match the continental shelf of any of the surrounding countries,” she answered.

“So how can they claim the pole?” he asked.

“The Russians are making their claim based on Alexandrov’s expedition to the seabed. The UN has agreed to review it.”

Frost cut in. “By international law every country controls resources under its coastal waters for up to two hundred miles offshore. The Russians are claiming another million square miles of the Arctic, saying the underwater ridges are a continuation of Russia’s continental shelf. They have made two expeditions to try to prove it: one to the Mendeleyev underwater chain in 2005 and another to the Lomonosov Ridge just recently.”

“It’s about the minerals and other resources,” added Cordelia. “Natural gas, oil, tin, gold. When the ice cap melts, the seabed will become more accessible. In the next ten years this area may be all open water, and everyone will want the mining rights.”

“Mining rights? In the Arctic?”

“Yes,” said Cordelia. “Right now, commercial mining companies are trying to locate mineral deposits on the seafloor. It’s a potentially lucrative source of all kinds of rare minerals as well as oil and gas.”

“Which brings us to the seed vault again,” said Frost, leaning back in his chair. “This property would be a foothold for Russia or Norway to claim more territory in the region.”

“Forgive me, but if the seed vault was built by Norway, and Cordelia
owns the land, it seems to me it’s a matter between Cordelia and the government of Norway,” pointed out Sinclair. He stopped doodling, his pencil poised as if to take notes on the answer.

“We believe she should give it to the Bio-Diversity Trust,” said Frost. “That way it would be neutral.”

“How neutral?” asked Cordelia.

“Bio-Diversity Trust helps all countries prepare, package, and transport their seeds for storage. The vault has three separate areas, and each one can store a million and a half seeds. They are being kept in case of a world catastrophe—to maintain biodiversity if there is some cataclysmic event. We don’t take sides.”

“Let’s stop the fiction, shall we?” said Sinclair. “Bio-Diversity Trust may be neutral, but you don’t really work for them. You work for the U.S. government.”

Frost coolly blew smoke toward the window.

“We believe it’s important to keep the vault politically neutral. As a scientist, I am sure you can understand that,” Frost said to Cordelia.

Cordelia started to answer, but Sinclair cut her off.

“We understand more than you think,” he said.

“We especially feel it’s important to keep this property away from the Russians, because of their territorial ambitions in the region,” Frost explained to Cordelia, ignoring Sinclair’s outburst.

“Other than their undersea expedition, how else could they claim the land?” asked Cordelia.

“That is where the deed comes into it. If your deed is lost, they will file for sovereignty based on the claims of Russian miners who were there as early as 1890,” explained Frost.

“So I have to produce the deed to prove the land belongs to me?” said Cordelia.

“Yes. The original land records were destroyed in a fire in Oslo in 1954. So your deed is the document of record.”

“And if I produce it that proves I own the land and can do with it what I want?” asked Cordelia.

“Yes. And if you
can’t
produce it, Norway will reassert its sovereign right to the land under eminent domain. And the Russians would fight it in court,” added Frost.

Sinclair realized Thaddeus Frost was talking as if he knew the deed was missing.

“Anybody else in on this?” asked Sinclair.

“Sure. You have the crazies,” said Frost. “There is a doomsday cult that thinks God will punish the world if it stockpiles seeds.”

“You
know
about them?” asked Sinclair angrily. “Is that who threatened Cordelia?”

“
Of course
we know about them.” Frost was acidly polite.

“So the answer is, according to you, we just get the deed and give it to Uncle Sam,” Sinclair said flatly.

“My advice is to give the deed to Bio-Diversity Trust,” said Frost emphatically, looking Cordelia in the eye. “But I am authorized to say certain U.S. government organizations would greatly appreciate it if you could see the issue from our point of view.”

Sinclair threw his pencil down. He looked at Frost with open hostility. Cordelia tried to answer, but Sinclair cut her off.

“The
hell
she will! I won’t have her pressured like this.” Sinclair’s voice echoed loudly in the sparse office.

“
Look!
” Cordelia burst out furiously. “I’m not going to sit here while you treat me and my land like a bargaining chip! I’ll do what I
want
with my land, when I make up my mind.”

There was tense silence. The sound of children playing filled the room. Sinclair took a deep breath and spoke more reasonably.

“What assurances of safety can you give her?”

Thaddeus Frost took another cigarette out of the ebony box and lit it, squinting his eyes against the smoke.

“Assurance of safety?” he said thoughtfully. “Yes, I think it can be arranged.”

Cordelia was walking rapidly across the street, ignoring traffic. Two cars swerved to avoid her, both blasting their horns. Sinclair stood on the curb, helpless, cut off by traffic, watching her run away from him. She had a good lead and kept going, toward the bazaar, her strides abrupt and angry. He watched her disappear down the crowded street, her dark hair flapping as she moved. Sinclair found an opening in the traffic and sprinted across.

“Cordelia,” he shouted. “Wait. Stop!”

He saw her turquoise shirt moving among the shoppers, weaving in and out of the tourists. Clusters of people blocked his way as they looked at the carpets and brass goods in the alleyway.

“Cordelia!” Sinclair dodged like a soccer player. He finally caught up with her and grabbed her arm.

“Wait,” he said. “What is wrong?”

She turned, furious.

“How
dare
you!”

“How dare I
what
? What did I do?”

“How dare you speak for me! I can handle my own affairs.”

Sinclair stepped back, stunned.

“I was trying to help,” he explained. “Cordelia, how can you think I was doing anything but acting in your best interest?
I was protecting you!
”

“You were not. You were taking over.”

“I
wasn’t
taking over,” Sinclair said. “I just wasn’t letting that guy bamboozle my girl. That’s all.”

“Your
girl
?” she spat out, wrenching her arm away from him. “Your
girl
?”

“OK, I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right.”

“You’re damn right it didn’t!”

“Cordelia,” he said in frustration, “one minute you want me to help, the next minute you are angry when I do.”

She glowered and didn’t respond.

“Let’s take a minute to calm down, shall we?” Sinclair pleaded. “Can we just get a coffee and talk? There is a café there, just beyond that square.”

They walked across to the tables. She sat in icy silence as he ordered. Then she spoke.

“I don’t want you to push people around on my account,” she said. “I have been taking care of my own business for a long time.”

“I’m sorry,” said Sinclair. “You’re perfectly right.”

“
I understand
what is going on here, I am not a child,” she fumed.

“Of course,” he agreed.

“Just because that guy in there thought he was being slick doesn’t mean I was buying it. You never let me open my mouth!”

“That was wrong of me,” Sinclair admitted.

“You kept cutting me off. Don’t
do
that, John, I am not going to stand for it!”

“Understood, you are perfectly right,” Sinclair said.

She sat there for a moment, her face set. She was still fuming, but then, inexplicably, her mouth cracked into a wobbly half smile.

“Did you just say, ‘I’m sorry. You’re perfectly right’?” she asked.

He nodded, puzzled.

“Whoever trained you did a good job. Hats off to that woman.”

He smiled back in relief.

“I learned a long time ago, in certain circumstances it’s better to just shut up and agree.”

Finally she smiled. They sat quietly for a moment while the waiter served the coffee in little china cups. When he left, Cordelia leaned forward, taking a sugar packet and tearing it open, but she didn’t pour it in. She held the sugar, suspended in thought. Sinclair stirred his coffee and let her think.

“John,” she said after a few moments. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean to come off as controlling back there,” he replied.

“The truth of the matter is, I
don’t
know what to do,” she admitted.

He reached for her arm to stop her.

“I know, Delia. It’s a very complicated situation.”

She poured the sugar into her cup and started stirring.

“John, that guy gave me the creeps.”

“Thaddeus Frost? Yes, your instincts are right. He’s a spook. But the good news is, he’s on our side and is looking out for us now.”

“Spook?”

“Undercover, for the U.S. government.”

Cordelia sipped her coffee, still thinking. “I just
hated
the fact that we had to make this sort of devil’s bargain with him.”

“For the moment, it seems like our only option. But we didn’t promise him the deed. We just asked for protection from his agency.”

Sinclair sipped his coffee, watching her face. She sighed deeply.

“John,” Cordelia said, looking up at him. “It’s hard for me to rely on people. I fight it. I fight closeness and drive people away when it gets too . . . I really have never been able . . .”

“That was a tough meeting. Your nerves are raw. You’ve been threatened.”

She took a sip of coffee and closed her eyes.

“This tastes
great
. I really needed this. I’m sorry we fought.”

Sinclair smiled. He began to drink his coffee, more relaxed now.

“Listen, if that is the best you can do in a fight, forget it,” he joked. “That doesn’t count as a real fight. I’m more used to talons. You know, real hand-to-hand stuff. If you want to fight with me, you need some serious combat training.”

She finally laughed. “What kind of girls do you date, anyway?”

“A bad lot,” he said jokingly. “A bad, baaaaad lot.”

They sat for a moment, but the silence was different now. A companionable feeling settled over them.

“Try to let me in, Cordelia . . . I want to be here for you.”

“Being alone all these years, I needed to rely on myself.”

“I’m sure it took a toll on you,” agreed Sinclair.

“It did. The other kids had their parents when they got the sniffles, or if a teacher was mean to them. I had to work it all out on my own.”

Sinclair ventured to put his hand over hers on the table. She let it stay there for a moment and then moved away, on the pretext of picking up the spoon. He pretended not to notice.

“Of course, I could always call Jim Gardiner. But for emotional things, I just learned to wall myself in. It’s hard for me to break out.”

“Well, you’ve come a long way if you can recognize that. Few people can admit it to themselves.”

“I believe in being honest with myself . . . and with others.”

“Thanks for warning me,” he joked.

She gave him a smile.

“Come on, have you finished that thimble of coffee there?” Sinclair asked. “We have a half hour before all the shore excursions return to the ship. Let’s shop a bit. Women tell me shopping is good therapy for stress.” She smiled. He held her chair for her as she collected her purse.

“Let me buy you some earrings to go with that pretty shirt,” he said. He took her by the hand and led her over to a jewelry shop window. “What do you like?”

“I don’t need jewelry,” she said.

“Sure you do. What woman doesn’t need jewelry?”

“I never really shop for jewelry. It always seemed like such a tough thing to do—to walk into a jewelry store and buy yourself something. So I never wore any.”

She looked in the window as she talked to him.

“After my parents died, all the family jewelry was sold,” she explained. “Mom had a red Moroccan jewelry box embossed with gold.” She continued looking at the display. “She had a necklace that she would always let me try on—a family heirloom from my great-great-grandmother Isabelle. She said I could wear it for my wedding.”

Her tone was bleak. Sinclair turned to look at her.

“So that’s gone too?”

“Sold.”

“Oh, Delia,” he said. He took her hand and led her into the jewelry store.

A
n hour later, Cordelia was fast asleep on the aft deck and Sinclair was stretched out on a lounge chair next to her. He looked at her curled up in the warm Turkish sun. Her feet were bare, her sandals on the deck next to her. She had dropped off quickly, but he found it impossible to nap after the nerve-shattering day.

She seemed so fragile—clearly the loss of the journal was bringing up new emotions. And then there was the death threat. Imagine her thinking he was stalking her, and meant to harm her. She must have been completely out of her mind with fear.

Where was all this going, anyway? He was crazy about her. That much was obvious. He just turned his life upside down, abandoned everything, and she still seemed so reserved. Maybe she was smarter than he was, and didn’t want to get involved too quickly. But his feelings for Cordelia were growing by the day. He looked over at her and sighed. What a wonderful girl.