The Fifth Codex Read Free Page B

chuckles at this ‘helpful’ hint, yet her warped face appears perfectly stern.
    “Your quarters, Madame Rothschild, will be in the orange igloo.  Do you need help with your belongings?”
    “No thank you,” I answer back.  “I think we have everything under control.”
    From here, two of my men wheel my luggage behind me as I follow our grumpy guide.  After they escort my trunks and me to the orange bubble, the two soldiers depart.  The strange woman about to do the same, I simply cannot help myself.
    “We do not have access to the CIC?” I ask.  “Not sure if I heard you correctly – is this true?”  She slowly turns toward me as if in disbelief I can be so bold.
    “Admiral Vanderbilt has access to the CIC.  One person aside from him likewise has access.  And none others.  Did you hear me correctly this time ?”
    A battle of wits underway, I choose to holster my tongue.  Too weary from my long trip to clean up the mess – this one is just not worth the time it would take to do so.  My face as blank as hers is ugly; I spin around and approach my trunks.  No more words spoken, the wrinkled loon thankfully departs.  Now alone, I inspect my rather well-appointed barracks and quickly realize these cozy surroundings are for me only.
    Ah … the benefits of being a woman in a male dominated field!
    Just as my imagination carries me off to cradling in my hands the fifth codex I dearly hope awaits me, an ear-splitting ring from my tablet returns me back to reality.
    “Dr. Rothschild!” Major Sinclair crows joyfully.  “No idea what you told that Aussie boiler, but take a look at this!”
    My nose scrunches up as the grizzled Scot points his tablet’s camera at a regal bounty of scrumptious food.  The banquet he taunts me with appears to have no end!  A pile of croissants – so warm the steam still rises from their doughy deliciousness – practically mocks me through the screen.  More attacking this bounty than eating it, starving wolves with the run of a butcher shop have nothing on these ravenous men.  Seeing this, drooling at this, I suddenly realize I am starving as well.
    “ Breakfast ?” I whisper dreamily as if recalling a great delight I once knew, but have not partaken of in ages.  “I want breakfast!”  Ready to dash back to the bunker, I rush to the doorway, swipe the access card, the door whisks open ––
    Oh, pour l’amour de Dieu!   Will this hobo woman please stop stalking me!
    “Oh – we meet again,” I say with more fake cheeriness.  Her usual loopy stare is the best greeting she can muster.  “ C’est froid ,” I gasp as she shoves the ice-cold plate into my free hand.  On this plate sits a bagel with a smattering of cream cheese.  “I’m sure the bagel is just as cold,” I growl a bit too loudly.
    The hobo woman raises her right eyebrow.  No doubt pleased to hear these frustrated thoughts escape my mind, that blank stare then turns into a sly smirk.
    “Your fellow scientists are waiting,” she says in a syrupy sweet voice.  “Please follow me.”

Chapter Three
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
     
    As would a lost puppy, I tail behind the breakfast grinch.  Somehow, I can tell we are walking north, in the direction of the blue bubble.  The video to the tablet clutched in my left hand still on, I peer into it.
    “I am busy, cannot make breakfast,” I mumble in misery and then turn the tablet off.  Positive the bagel is as cold as the plate, I do not even bother to check.
    Why this and not a croissant with jam for heaven’s sake?  It is not as if she does not know I am French!
    Recalling I am about to see Admiral Vanderbilt; with each step, my annoyance lessens and the excitement for my journey’s purpose grows.  During my lifetime of adventure, I have undertaken dozens of separate journeys much more dangerous.  Four codices already in my possession, this wasteland we call Antarctica promises the chance to reach for the fifth and most important one.  How