The Explorer's Code (33 page)

“You still want it, don’t you? That’s what you’re really here for,” said Sinclair.

Frost sighed and looked at him with contempt.

“When they start slicing up your girlfriend with a box cutter, right in front of you . . . you won’t think
I’m
the bad guy. You’ll get your priorities straight. Now I strongly suggest you get back into that house.”

Thaddeus Frost turned and slipped behind the rhododendron and was gone.

Sinclair, Cordelia, Tom, and Marian all sat in Tom’s private study. The upstairs room, just off his bedroom, was clearly a sanctuary for deep thought. Medical volumes lined the shelves and research papers were neatly stacked on the desk. They were taking turns reading passages from the diary out loud. Marian had, in her very practical manner, suggested
that they get through it as quickly as possible. Tom was bent over his desk, reading steadily, his silver hair shining under the bright light of the brass accountant’s lamp.

N
ORWEGIAN STOCKHOLDERS IN THE
A
RCTIC
C
OAL
M
INING
C
OMPANY HAVE REQUESTED THAT THE
N
ORWEGIAN GOVERNMENT CONFIRM THE UNDISPUTED POSSESSION OF THE
A
DVENT
B
AY TERRITORY BY THE
A
RCTIC
C
OAL
M
INING
C
OMPANY SO THE MINING OPERATIONS CAN CONTINUE.
T
HE MAJORITY OF LABORERS EMPLOYED BY THE MINE ARE OF
N
ORWEGIAN NATIONALITY.
T
HEREFORE, IT SHOULD BE IN THE INTEREST OF THE
N
ORWEGIAN STATE TO UPHOLD THE LIVELIHOOD AND FINANCIAL INTERESTS OF ITS CITIZENS.

Sinclair stood up to take over the reading, taking his place at Tom’s desk to continue.

I
HEAR FROM MY MANAGER IN
S
PITSBERGEN THAT
N
ORWAY HAS REFUSED UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES TO CONSIDER GRANTING THE RIGHT TO ERECT A WIRELESS COMMUNICATION STATION.
W
E HAVE OFFERED TO INSTALL IT AT OUR OWN EXPENSE, AS IT IS CRITICAL DURING THE IMPASSABLE WINTER MONTHS, WHEN
A
DVENT
B
AY IS CHOKED WITH ICE.
T
HIS WOULD GREATLY BENEFIT THE COAL-MINING OPERATION, WHICH EMPLOYS SO MANY
N
ORWEGIAN CITIZENS.
M
Y ONLY CONCLUSION IS THAT
N
ORWAY IS POSITIONING ITSELF WITH THE INTENT OF EVENTUALLY TAKING OVER THE TERRITORY.

Marian took the book from Sinclair and read in her clear voice.

E
VEN ON THE MOST WORTHLESS PART OF OUR
G
REEN
H
ARBOR PROPERTY, THE
N
ORWEGIANS AND
R
USSIAN TRESPASSERS HAVE FILED MULTIPLE CLAIMS.
T
HEY FILE A CLAIM NOTICE WITH THE
N
ORWEGIAN GOVERNMENT, AND THE MORE CUNNING OF TRESPASSERS BUILD CAMPS OF ONE OR TWO MEN, WHO STAY PART OF THE TIME.
I
T IS A MYSTERY TO ME WHAT THEY EXPECT TO DO WITH THE PROPERTY.
T
HEY PROBABLY HAVE A VAGUE IDEA THAT SOMEONE WILL COME ALONG AND PAY THEM FOR IT, BECAUSE THEY ONCE WERE SQUATTERS AND DROVE SOME STAKES ON THE LAND.

Marian stopped reading and looked up and caught Sinclair’s eye. He nodded at her, instantly understanding the implications of the passage. “Even back then, this land was being fought over.
Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose,
” he said. “The more it changes, the more it stays the same.”

Jim Gardiner hauled his vast bulk out of the tiny rental car. A half dozen dogs swarmed around him in the courtyard of the house. He started swatting them away.

“Down, boys, down.”

They went into a frenzy of playfulness, dodging and rushing him, pulling at the hem of his raincoat. To Cordelia, Gardiner looked like a large bear, beset by hounds. He held a paper-wrapped parcel high above his head, protecting it.

“
Delia,
get rid of these beasts!” he called.

Cordelia flew out of the house and down the steps, and the dogs scattered. She gave Gardiner a hug. He stepped back and surveyed her.

“Honey, you look great. This country life is doing you some good.”

“I feel great. But Tom and Marian are feeding me way too much. They grow organic gourmet food on this farm.”

“Wow,” said Jim. “Very fancy.”

“The scones and jam at tea are
to die for
. But we walk it off. We have been spending at least half the day outdoors. I have never felt healthier in my life.”

“That sounds great. Glad I came,” he said, laughing. “By the way, how’s your fella?”

“Oh, Jim, I love him. He’s so perfect.”

“Glad to hear that, honey. I get a good feeling about him.”

“Tom and Marian have practically
adopted
him.”

“Good. Now
you
should too,” he joked, winking. “Well, here’s your book,” he said, presenting her with the brown paper package. “I had to turn London and New York upside down to get it.”

“Thank you so much, how wonderful!”

“I got it from a rare-book dealer in New York. Sorry it took so long, they had to overnight it from the States.”

“A 1908 edition of Jules Verne’s
Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the
Sea.
Printed in America,” Cordelia marveled, opening the brown wrapping and looking at the cover.

“Now that I found your book, are you going to tell me what is going on?” asked Gardiner.

It was nearly dusk and the light reflected on the pane of glass covering the book cipher. Sinclair was bent over it with great intensity.

Cordelia read the key text aloud: “Page thirty-five, line sixteen reads, ‘We were lying on the back of a sort of submarine boat, which appeared, as far as I could judge, like a huge fish of steel.’ ”

“Oh!” Marian exclaimed. “Cordelia, a
submarine
! How lovely!”

“That sounds like a good omen,” Tom said encouragingly.

“Submarines were pure fantasy at this time,” observed Sinclair. “Elliott Stapleton would be surprised that his great-great-granddaughter actually ended up working on one.”

“He would be so proud of you,” Marian said, smiling at her.

Sinclair wrote the text out, assigning a number consecutively to each of the letters. When he finished, they examined the document.

They began with Cordelia calling out each number of the sequence and Marian writing down the corresponding letter of the alphabet.

“The last letter is
R,
” said Marian, sitting up and rubbing her neck.

“Read what it says,” said Sinclair.

Cordelia took the paper from Marian with shaking hands.

“THE DEED IS BURIED WITH MY PARTNER.”

They all sat looking at one another.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Gardiner.

“The deed is
buried
with his partner?” said Sinclair.

“Would that be Sir James Skye Russell?” asked Marian.

“It would
have
to be Sir James,” said Cordelia.

“But why would the deed be
buried
with Sir James?” mused Marian.

“Where is his grave?” asked Cordelia.

“Right here. Next to the family chapel—about half a mile away from the house.”

“So we need to dig up the grave?” asked Sinclair.

“It would appear so,” said Tom.

“That’s
horrible,
” said Cordelia.

“Not really,” said Tom. They all looked at him. “This couldn’t have happened at a better time.”

Tom’s voice took on the scholarly cadence that replicated the tone of an academic lecture.

“Sir James died in Paris in 1918. He was a British diplomat who was sent to prepare for the Paris Peace Conference after World War One. But while he was in Paris, he was hit suddenly by a flu that killed him in less than twenty-four hours.

“His body was immediately sealed in a lead-lined coffin,” continued Tom.

Sinclair had his arm around Cordelia’s shoulder and watched her reaction. She was listening very carefully.

“There was a very great fear of this disease,” Tom was saying. “A person could go from the peak of health to his death overnight. It was a horrible, gruesome death, and the corpses were highly contagious, which is why they buried the victims so fast.”

“So Sir James’s body was shipped back to England to be buried?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, there is something missing here,” interjected Sinclair. “The 1908 journal led us to the Bradford folio. But the note saying ‘The deed is buried with my partner” was not written until 1918. Why the ten-year gap?” asked Sinclair.

“Why would Elliott Stapleton have buried the deed in that grave?” Cordelia puzzled.

“Everything we have discovered would seem to suggest that he did,” assured Gardiner.

“Why would he have
buried
the deed?” asked Sinclair. “They sure wouldn’t have opened up that coffin to put it inside.”

“True, but it may not be in the coffin. It may be in another container next to the coffin,” suggested Tom. “Lots of people were contesting the land. Elliott and Sir James were often away on expeditions. They probably would always put the deed in a safe place before they left.”

“A safe place, like the Bradford folio. Clearly in 1908 they left the deed there,” said Marian, quoting, “ ‘to entrust it to Bradford is as good a choice as any for safekeeping.’ ”

“So why isn’t the deed in the Bradford folio now?” asked Jim Gardiner.

“It was their usual hiding place. But Elliott must have decided that their usual hiding place wasn’t secure in 1918,” said Sinclair. “What was different?”

“Sir James’s death,” said Tom. “The house changed hands in 1918 and went to his cousin.”

“Elliott would have had to find a hiding place other than the library!” Cordelia agreed.

“So he buried the deed but took the extra step of leaving a coded note in the Bradford folio to indicate where it was hidden?” Marian ventured.

“Wait,” said Cordelia. “Where was Anne Skye Russell, Sir James’s wife? Why couldn’t he just give it to her?”

“She died the year before, in childbirth. The child survived and was raised by Sir James’s sister in Yorkshire.”

“The house was off-limits, so he buried it. But why was he hiding it in 1918? Why that year specifically? Did Elliott Stapleton go on expedition that year?” asked Sinclair.

“Yes, he did,” said Cordelia. “He made an attempt on the North Pole that year.”

“If Elliott buried the deed, how do we know he didn’t dig it up again?” asked Gardiner.

“He couldn’t have. He died in 1919,” said Cordelia. “He never came back to England.”

“And the code was still in the Bradford folio. No one found it. And
he
didn’t remove it. So the deed must still be buried,” said Tom.

“Tom, why do you say this couldn’t have happened at a better time?” Cordelia asked.

“As it so happens,” said Tom, “the grave is being exhumed next week.”

“What!”
said Sinclair and Cordelia together.

“I gave permission to my former colleague, Paul Oakley, to dig up Sir James’s grave. Oakley is looking for a good sample of the 1918 virus.”

“For research?” asked Cordelia.

“Yes, it’s critical. There are only a few places to get samples now. Most remains have been destroyed by time. Traditional wooden coffins break down—the tissue becomes so badly decomposed that the virus is lost. But in a lead coffin there is a chance the lungs are still intact. Even after all this time.”

“I can’t believe you would
let
them dig up your great-grandfather’s grave,” said Gardiner.

“This pandemic killed possibly fifty million people. More people died than in World War One, World War Two, or even from AIDS. But the
1918 virus is extinct now. And anything we can find out about it will be helpful in developing a vaccine for the
next
pandemic.”

“So they are digging up Sir James to do genetic decoding?” asked Cordelia.

“Yes,” said Tom. “When I was still at the Royal London Hospital, we were already linking this virus with avian flu. It may be that the two viruses are related. The swine flu we recently experienced was just a scare, but this virus is really deadly. So when Oakley asked me about finding victims of the 1918 pandemic, I volunteered Sir James.”

“And I agreed,” affirmed Marian. “I think it is the only responsible thing to do. It may save lives.”

“What if you spread another pandemic?” asked Jim Gardiner.

“We believe the virus is no longer able to infect people, but we are taking all kinds of measures to prevent an accidental release if we are wrong.”

“So it’s safe?” asked Gardiner.

“We can’t be a hundred percent sure. So we will use a secure biocontainment tent over the grave,” said Tom. “Marian and I will be watching the whole thing from inside the house on closed-circuit monitors.”

“Will monitors be good enough to see if the deed is buried?” asked Cordelia.

“Probably not, but you will need to stay inside,” said Sinclair.

“What about you?” Cordelia asked Sinclair.

“I’ll be standing there watching every shovel full of dirt. We simply
must
find that deed,” Sinclair said with such finality, no one argued with him.

Sinclair watched Cordelia and Marian cross the lawn to the east terrace. Three dogs were running wild circles around them. Cordelia was wearing a shooting sweater for warmth, and it swamped her figure, falling well below her hips. Her legs were clad in jeans and rubber wellies. Unobserved, Sinclair enjoyed watching her elegant grace as she walked. What a beauty she was!

He was glad they had decided to stay at Cliffmere until the excavation. For one thing, Cordelia’s town house was off-limits until the investigation could be concluded. And as Thaddeus Frost had said, Cliffmere was
infinitely safer and more secure than a London hotel and they both were beginning to feel very much at home with Tom and Marian, who would not hear of them returning to London.

The extra week had done Cordelia good. Tom and Marian’s support was therapeutic. They had kept her busy and productive. She was less jittery and almost appeared to forget her danger.