Free The Explorer's Code by Kitty Pilgrim

She wanted to sightsee in Monaco today. She dialed room service and her breakfast arrived within minutes. Hot coffee, croissants, beautiful strawberry jam, and the lovely sweet butter—the kind found only in Europe. She gorged herself on three croissants and fruit, washing them down with the aromatic coffee.
    On the way to the shower Cordelia checked her e-mail. Susan had replied.
    Delia, I have attached John Sinclair’s bio. It looks like he founded the Herodotus Foundation just after leaving Wharton. He sold his Internet business at the height of the tech bubble and is now involved in archaeology. I also attached the newspaper account of his wife’s car accident. She died six years ago. John Sinclair is single, but he is currently dating Shari (yes, THAT Shari). I would steer clear of him. He seems like quite a player. I hope you are managing to have some fun. XX Susan.
    P.S. Joel asked me out last night! Can you believe it! I almost died of shock. We had Mexican food.
    Cordelia smirked and closed down the computer. No wonder Joel wanted her out of the way. She picked up her cup, but the coffee was already cold. She checked the thermal pot and there was none left. As she reached to call room service, the phone rang under her hand.
    “Miss Stapleton, a gentleman has returned your handbag to the front desk, and we are sending it right up.”
    “Is he still there?”
    “No, mademoiselle, he has left.”
    Cordelia was relieved she didn’t have to face Sinclair. She didn’t want to explain or apologize for her behavior and her abrupt departure.
    “Can you send up another pot of coffee with the purse?”
    “Certainly, mademoiselle.”
    The waiter came with the coffee and the handbag on a silver tray. She poured a cup and picked up her purse to tip him as he left. There, wedged into the clasp of the handbag, was a personal calling card. The name John Sinclair was engraved in plain black script, and handwritten underneath was his international mobile number. Interesting that he didn’t use his Herodotus Foundation business card. OK, she got it. He wanted her to call for social reasons; it had nothing to do with the foundation or the award ceremony.
    She put the card back on the tray and sipped the coffee, looking over at the newspapers. They had been delivered to her door earlier, and she had read them thoroughly already. But she picked up the Monaco Times again and looked at the write-up of the ball. She scrutinized a picture of the prince talking to Sinclair, and another of Sinclair standing next to her, holding the award. She didn’t look nervous at all; in fact, she looked very composed. But that moment with him on the podium had been electric. He certainly was a very handsome man. She looked over at his card lying on the room service tray.
    In the paper, the caption under the photo read: “In addition to the Herodotus Award, Miss Stapleton was given the missing journal of her great-great-grandfather from the year 1908.”
    Cordelia looked over at the journal on the nightstand, still open to the page she read last night. She walked over, picked it up, and read another entry.
    F EBRUARY 19 , 1908
    T HE MOST INGENIOUS APPARATUS I HAVE SEEN IN THE A RCTIC IS THAT WHICH IS FASHIONED FOR AERIAL BALLOONS . W HEN BALLOONS ARE NOT FEASIBLE, BIG KITES ARE SENT UP FOR THE SAME PURPOSE . A LL THE DATA IS RECORDED ON THE GROUND, INCLUDING TEMPERATURE, HUMIDITY, AND RAINFALL, AND, MOST INTERESTINGLY, EARTHQUAKE VIBRATIONS THAT ARE ACCURATELY LOGGED ON A SEISMOGRAPH. T HIS METHOD IS ALSO USED TO RECORD THE VIBRATIONS OF ICE FALLS FROM THE GLACIERS .
    Cordelia closed the journal and gazed out at the harbor, thinking. Elliott Stapleton was describing the first version of the kind of Arctic ice survey Jean-Louis Etienne was doing with his team now.

Longyearbyen
    T he excavation had gone well, and the common grave was interred again. Miles was elated, and paid the young men twice what he had promised. The diggers had been so