Read Online The Explorer's Code by Kitty Pilgrim - Free Book Online
Authors: Kitty Pilgrim
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that was ravaging Asia. The pandemic of 1918 would be the key to stopping the new avian flu outbreak from spreading.
“We’re almost there,” he encouraged the men who were digging.
They were covered in mud. The steam helped, but the diggers still had a hard time, their strong young arms wielding picks and shovels.The slurry was heavy with water, rock, and mud. The rectangle they dug was six feet wide and twenty-eight feet long. As the ground melted, and the earth warmed, the powerful grave stench came up. They dug steadily despite the retch-inducing smell.
Now the remains of bodies came to their muddy hands, as if longing to be resurrected. First badly decomposed skeletons, no soft tissue, but bits and pieces mixed with the gravel and dirt. As they dug deeper, there were chunks of protoplasmic goo. Suddenly Miles felt the hair lift on his head.
Eight feet down, there she was. And he knew she would be a good sample. A fully preserved cadaver. Her blue parka crusted with mud, the Arctic fox-fur trim still intact. Clearly the young woman had been obese in life, and for that reason her remains were astonishingly preserved in death. The extra adipose had insulated her remains in the frozen grave.
Miles gestured for the men to stop digging and knelt in prayer. The diggers removed their caps and fell silent. His prayer was inchoate, distracted by intense elation.
Without delay he began to slice her up. Kneeling in the thawed mud, he set to work. The lungs were still frozen as he cut into them with his autopsy instruments.
Monaco
J ohn Sinclair walked through the golden district, the Carré d’Or, of Monaco in his shirtsleeves with his jacket slung over his shoulder. His tie was undone, and he had the measured pace of a man who was out too late, with one glass of whiskey too many.
The streets of Monaco were quiet. The gala event was long over. He had stopped for an after-dinner drink with his friends from New York. He had chosen the famous La Rascasse bar, which was popular during race time in Monaco with the Formula One fans. Situated on one of the most difficult turns of the course, it gave spectators a perfect view of the cars as they came around the bend. In addition to its Formula One fame, it was an exceptionally good restaurant. Off-season, as it was now, Sinclair would frequently go there to spend an evening with friends. This evening had been even longer than usual. It was three o’clock in the morning.
After saying his good-byes, Sinclair was glad to be walking. The distance back to the Hotel Metropole was just enough to sober him up from the long evening. It was a gorgeous night, and the town was quiet. For the first time since he had so publicly fought with Shari, he felt good. He had no idea why, he just felt better.
He looked down on the harbor, leaning on the stone parapet above the yacht basin. There were a lot of boats this year. It used to be that two hundred feet was big enough for a yacht, and three hundred feet was vulgar. Now four hundred feet didn’t raise an eyebrow. And the lines were god-awful, all angles and smoked glass. Some even had helicopter landing pads, Jet Skis, minisubmarines, all kinds of tow toys and rafts.
He rested his arms on the stone wall and looked over the boats. The Udachny was one of the gaudiest down there. Udachny meant “good luck” in Russian. Owned by some superstitious oligarch, no doubt, who was looking over his shoulder counting on luck as he counted the coin.
Back in the late 1920s the British author Somerset Maugham lived in nearby Cap Ferrat, and had called Monaco a “sunny place for shady people.” Of course, nowadays that was not the case. Now a very progressive prince was determined to make Monaco into a shining example for the world. Prince Albert II had become an outspoken leader on environmental issues, and also initiated a real effort to make Monaco’s banking operations more transparent. His work was paying off, earning Monaco the reputation of
“We’re almost there,” he encouraged the men who were digging.
They were covered in mud. The steam helped, but the diggers still had a hard time, their strong young arms wielding picks and shovels.The slurry was heavy with water, rock, and mud. The rectangle they dug was six feet wide and twenty-eight feet long. As the ground melted, and the earth warmed, the powerful grave stench came up. They dug steadily despite the retch-inducing smell.
Now the remains of bodies came to their muddy hands, as if longing to be resurrected. First badly decomposed skeletons, no soft tissue, but bits and pieces mixed with the gravel and dirt. As they dug deeper, there were chunks of protoplasmic goo. Suddenly Miles felt the hair lift on his head.
Eight feet down, there she was. And he knew she would be a good sample. A fully preserved cadaver. Her blue parka crusted with mud, the Arctic fox-fur trim still intact. Clearly the young woman had been obese in life, and for that reason her remains were astonishingly preserved in death. The extra adipose had insulated her remains in the frozen grave.
Miles gestured for the men to stop digging and knelt in prayer. The diggers removed their caps and fell silent. His prayer was inchoate, distracted by intense elation.
Without delay he began to slice her up. Kneeling in the thawed mud, he set to work. The lungs were still frozen as he cut into them with his autopsy instruments.
Monaco
J ohn Sinclair walked through the golden district, the Carré d’Or, of Monaco in his shirtsleeves with his jacket slung over his shoulder. His tie was undone, and he had the measured pace of a man who was out too late, with one glass of whiskey too many.
The streets of Monaco were quiet. The gala event was long over. He had stopped for an after-dinner drink with his friends from New York. He had chosen the famous La Rascasse bar, which was popular during race time in Monaco with the Formula One fans. Situated on one of the most difficult turns of the course, it gave spectators a perfect view of the cars as they came around the bend. In addition to its Formula One fame, it was an exceptionally good restaurant. Off-season, as it was now, Sinclair would frequently go there to spend an evening with friends. This evening had been even longer than usual. It was three o’clock in the morning.
After saying his good-byes, Sinclair was glad to be walking. The distance back to the Hotel Metropole was just enough to sober him up from the long evening. It was a gorgeous night, and the town was quiet. For the first time since he had so publicly fought with Shari, he felt good. He had no idea why, he just felt better.
He looked down on the harbor, leaning on the stone parapet above the yacht basin. There were a lot of boats this year. It used to be that two hundred feet was big enough for a yacht, and three hundred feet was vulgar. Now four hundred feet didn’t raise an eyebrow. And the lines were god-awful, all angles and smoked glass. Some even had helicopter landing pads, Jet Skis, minisubmarines, all kinds of tow toys and rafts.
He rested his arms on the stone wall and looked over the boats. The Udachny was one of the gaudiest down there. Udachny meant “good luck” in Russian. Owned by some superstitious oligarch, no doubt, who was looking over his shoulder counting on luck as he counted the coin.
Back in the late 1920s the British author Somerset Maugham lived in nearby Cap Ferrat, and had called Monaco a “sunny place for shady people.” Of course, nowadays that was not the case. Now a very progressive prince was determined to make Monaco into a shining example for the world. Prince Albert II had become an outspoken leader on environmental issues, and also initiated a real effort to make Monaco’s banking operations more transparent. His work was paying off, earning Monaco the reputation of
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