The Explorer's Code Read Online Free PDF

you aware that last year Shari was voted the most beautiful woman in the world?”
    “What do they know? You’re going to believe People magazine? Besides, those glamour girls are a dime a dozen.”
    Sinclair ignored the remark. “Why’s it heavy?” he asked, weighing the embossed envelope in his palm.
    “The people at Monaco’s Oceanographic Institute are returning Stapleton’s diary from 1908. Somehow it ended up in their archives here in Monaco, with a bunch of other documents from the expeditions.”
    “Why do we have it?”
    “They want us to give it back to the great-great-granddaughter when you present the award. Somebody over at the institute called me and dropped it off yesterday at the office. It’s all in the speech.”
    “OK, sounds good.” Sinclair finally said with some energy, “What’s her name again?”
    Charles looked at his notes. “Cordelia.”

Port Hercule Marina, Monaco
    I n the Monaco marina, yachts were lined up one next to the other, and music from the deck parties floated up into the night. It was an array of wealth and luxury that was almost beyond comprehension. Only the most fabulous of the Mediterranean yachts converged at Monaco.
    Each had its own style. In the early evening, as the sunlight faded and the interior lights were turned on in the main salons, the activities of the inhabitants were clearly visible from the dock. On some boats, the interiors were festive, people having cocktails, sitting on the couches or standing out on deck. Other boats were the picture of domesticity, children sprawled before the television, with sodas and pretzels, their parents relaxing with a glass of wine before dinner. Still others were dark, silent, their wealthy occupants pursuing other pleasures in other parts of the world.
    On the enormous megayacht the Udachny, five people sat in tense silence. The room was sleek, luxurious, and well designed. A discriminating yacht owner might quibble that there was a little too much gold in the details of the décor, but despite the glitz, the artwork on board was above reproach. A bronze Rodin nude posed in a recessed alcove by the bar, and a Jackson Pollock hung on the wall.
    The only nonhuman occupant of the yacht—a Russian Blue cat—walked across the bar, leapt to a chair, and finally made a deft spring into its master’s lap. During its tour of the salon, the animal avoided touching the floor.
    Evgeny, the yacht owner, wondered why the cat did that even when the seventy-one-meter Benetti was docked. It probably hated the vibration of the twin marine diesel engines. The cat always spooked when they wererunning. Evgeny pulled its ears in a rough kind of massage, and the cat settled down.
    He looked at the two couples across from him. There were two Russians: Vlad and Anna. Sitting across from them were two Americans: Bob and Marlene. Vlad returned his gaze belligerently, while his wife, Anna, sat staring at Evgeny with compressed lips and darting, nervous eyes. Evgeny scanned her up and down. She was an expensive-looking woman, all plastic and designer—like most expat Russian women these days. But she looked like she knew the score and would keep her husband in line. Vlad was only about thirty-five or so, and too much of a hotshot for his own good. Too vulgar, too flashy. Oligarch wannabe, with none of the talent. But Anna, she could kill. He stared at her ripe breasts, half exposed like fruit. She saw him looking and didn’t flinch. Yes, she would do what was necessary if given the chance.
    The Americans, Bob and Marlene, were sitting together, with absolutely bovine expressions, seemingly upholstered into the white leather sofa, in pools of their own flesh. Only Americans could get big like that. It must be the corn diet. Evgeny liked fat people. Appetites like that could be counted on. They were weak and greedy—the best possible combination. Bob and Marlene would be no problem.
    It was a weird crew: two high-rolling Russians and two fat