Free The Explorer's Code by Kitty Pilgrim Page A

grateful, they had insisted on shaking his hand all over again; his departure had taken another half hour. Miles looked at his watch as he headed for the Land Rover. He needed to send the tissue samples out on the flight from Longyearbyen, fifty-five miles away. But first he needed to pack them properly.
    Arriving at his hotel about two hours later, he knew the timing would be tight. He pulled into the gravel parking lot in front of the door and unloaded his Styrofoam coolers of samples. The hotel was an old mining barracks that had been converted into a very snug guesthouse for about twenty visitors. He claimed his key from the desk and headed up the wooden stairs.
    Inside the room, Miles put the Styrofoam coolers on the table. He had assembled all the packing materials on the bed before he left, and now he began to wrap and tape the package with care. The courier label from Global Delivery Express was filled out and ready.
    The cadaver had given him more than forty perfectly intact samples of lung, kidney, brain, and liver. The 1918 pandemic virus would certainly be recoverable in one of them. Miles checked his watch again. He had an hour before the last flight from the small airport in Longyearbyen.
    As he packed, he thought about that call to Paul Oakley. The scientist had been characteristically subdued on the phone. Of course, that was just British sangfroid. He was probably wild with anticipation. Oakley was one of the most talented young virologists in the world. And for Miles, it wasa pleasure to do his dirty work, so to speak. He was glad to help crack the sequence of one of the deadliest viruses in history.
    Miles had only one other thought as he packed the small Styrofoam crate. He also wanted to check out the Arctic Coal Mining Company graveyard in Longyearbyen. There were nine miners who died of the pandemic buried in the company plot. The company had done right by them. They had been buried in good wooden caskets, deep into the permafrost. The American company had treated its employees well, even in death.
    The company burial plot was a mile or so outside the town of Longyearbyen. It would be a short drive after he dropped off the package at the airport. There would be time before dark. Of course, Miles would take his rifle in case of polar bears. They roamed freely in this area, and anyone leaving the perimeter of the town was required to carry a firearm.
    Miles looked at his watch and panicked. Forty-five minutes until the plane would leave, and it would be the last one for the day. From his present location, halfway up the mountain, he would have at least a twenty-minute drive. He couldn’t miss that plane. He scooped up the tightly wrapped package and headed for the door, doubling back for his cell phone. He needed to hurry.
    On the way to the airport, Miles remembered he had left his rifle back at the lodge. But if he wanted to make the plane there was no time to turn back. He continued to drive down the rutted track to the small airport. Should he continue out to the burial plot tonight? At this latitude, and at this time of year, the daylight would last well into the evening.
    He decided he could do it. He would make a quick trip tonight, just for a look, and then go back tomorrow. It wouldn’t do to be out too late by himself in the middle of the Arctic without a rifle. He’d have to keep a sharp lookout for bears.
    The stink of jet fuel was terrible; the purity of the air made it even more acrid and nauseating than it normally was. Miles watched the SAS MD-82 take off from Svalbard Lufthavn, Longyear, the single scheduled flight each day out of the world’s northernmost full-service airport. His package of tissue samples was on board. The pilot headed into the bright sky for the three-hour flight to Oslo and, from there, on to London.
    Miles watched it for a while, then started up his vehicle and took theairport road, turned left, and headed west along the dusty track to the outskirts of the town.