Eoin Colfer - Artemis Fowl - The Eternity Code

‘No,’ panted Artemis. ‘No trace. There must be no trace.’

Pex and Chips were closer now, discussing the merits of various fictional characters.

‘Captain Hook rocks,’ said Pex. ‘He would kick Barney’s purple butt ten times out often.’

Chips sighed. ‘You’re missing the whole point of Barney. It’s a values thing. Butt-kicking is not the issue.’

They walked right past Artemis without seeing him. And why would they see him? Holly had mesmerized them not to notice anybody out of the ordinary on this floor, unless they were specifically pointed out to them.

The outer security booth lay before them. There were approximately forty seconds left before the next set of guards turned the corner. The unmesmerized set.

‘Just over half a minute, Holly. You know what to do.’

Holly turned up the thermo coils in her suit so they were exactly at room temperature. This would fool the lattice of lasers that criss-crossed the vault’s entrance. Next she set her wings to a gentle hover. Any more downdraughts could activate the pressure pad underfoot. She pulled herself forward, finding purchase along the wall where her helmet told her no sensors were hidden. The pressure pad trembled from the air displacement, but not enough to activate the sensor.

Artemis watched her progress impatiently.

‘Hurry, Holly. Twenty seconds.’

Holly grunted something unprintable, dragging herself to within touching distance of the door.

‘Video File Spiro 3,’ she said, and her helmet computer ran the footage of Jon Spiro punching in the vault door code. She mimicked his actions and, inside the steel door, six reinforced pistons retracted,

allowing the counterweighted door to swing wide on its hinges. All external alarms were automatically shut off. The secondary door stood firm, three red lights burning on its panel. Only three barriers left now.

The gel pad, the retina scan and voice activation.

This kind of operation was too complicated for voice command.

Foaly’s computers had been known to misinterpret orders, even though the centaur insisted it was fairy error. Holly ripped back the Velcro strap covering the helmet command-pad on her wrist.

First, she projected a 3D image of Spiro’s eyeball to a height of five foot six. The retina scanner sent out a revolving beam to read the virtual eyeball. Apparently satisfied, it disabled the first lock. A red light switched to green.

The next step was to call up the appropriate soundwave file to trick the voice check. The equipment was very sophisticated, and could not be fooled by a recording. A human recording, that is. Foaly’s digital mikes made copies that were indistinguishable from the real thing. Even stink worms, whose entire bodies were covered with ears, could be attracted by a worm-mating hiss from Foaly’s recording equipment. He was currently in negotiation with a bug-collection agency for the patent.

Holly played the file through her helmet speakers. ‘Jon Spiro. I am the boss, so open up quick.’

Alarm number two disengaged. Another green light.

‘Excuse me, Captain,’ said Artemis, an undercurrent of apprehension creeping into his voice. ‘We’re almost out of time.’

He unwrapped the thumb and stepped past Holly, on to the red floor plate. Artemis pressed the thumb into the scanner. Green gel oozed into the severed digit’s whorls. The alarm display flashed green. It had worked. Of course it had. The thumb was genuine, after all.

But nothing else happened. The door did not open.

Holly punched Artemis in the shoulder.

‘Well? Are we in?’

‘Apparently not. The punching is not helping my concentration, by the way.’

Artemis glared at the console. What had he missed? Think, boy, think. Put those famed brain cells to work. He leaned closer to the secondary door, shifting his weight from his back leg. Beneath him, the red plate squeaked.

‘Of course!’ exclaimed Artemis. He grabbed Holly, hugging her close.

‘It’s not just a red marker,’ he explained hurriedly. ‘It’s weight-sensitive.’

Artemis was right. Their combined mass was close enough to Spiro’s own to hoodwink the scales. Obviously a mechanical device, a computer would never have been fooled. The secondary door slid into its groove below their feet.

Artemis handed Holly the thumb.

‘Go,’ he said. ‘Spiro’s time is running out. I’m right behind you.’

Holly took the thumb. ‘And if you’re not?’

‘Then we go to Plan B.’

Holly nodded slowly. ‘Let’s hope we don’t have to.’

‘Let’s hope.’

Artemis strode into the vault. He ignored the fortune in jewels and bearer bonds, heading straight for the Cube’s perspex prison. There were two bullish security guards blocking the way. Both men had oxygen masks strapped over their faces and were unnaturally still.

‘Excuse me, gentlemen. Would either of you mind if I borrowed Mister Spiro’s Cube?’

Neither man responded. Not so much as a flicker of an eyebrow.

This was undoubtedly because of the paralytic gas in their oxygen tanks, concocted from the venom of a nest of Peruvian spiders. The gas was similar in chemical make-up to a salve used by South-American natives as an anaesthetic.

Artemis keyed in the code, which Foaly was reciting in his ear, and the four sides of the perspex box descended into the column on silent motors, leaving the C Cube unprotected. He reached out a hand for the box. .

SPIRO’S BEDROOM

Holly climbed through the wardrobe into Spiro’s bedroom. The industrialist lay in the same position she had left him, his breathing regular and normal. The stopwatch on Holly’s visor read 4:57 a.m. and counting. Just in time.

Holly unwrapped the thumb gingerly, aligning it with the rest of the digit. Spiro’s hand felt cold and unhealthy to her touch. She used the magnification filter in her visor to zoom in on the severed thumb. As close as she could figure, the two halves were lined up.

‘Heal,’ she said, and the magical sparks erupted from the tips of her fingers, sinking into the two halves of Spiro’s thumb. Threads of blue light stitched the dermis and epidermis together, fresh skin breaking through the old to conceal the cut. The thumb began to vibrate and bubble. Steam vented from the pores forming a mist around Spiro’s hand. His arm shook violently, the shock travelling across his bony chest. Spiro’s back arched until Holly thought it would snap, then the industrialist collapsed back on to the bed. Throughout the entire process, his heart never skipped a beat.

A few stray sparks skipped along Spiro’s body like stones on a pond, targeting the areas behind both ears, exactly where Artemis had been looking earlier. Curious. Holly pulled back one ear to reveal a crescent-shaped scar, rapidly being erased by the magic. There was a matching scar behind the other ear.

Holly used her visor to zoom in on one of the scars.

‘Foaly. What do you make of these?’

‘Surgery,’ replied the centaur. ‘Maybe our friend Spiro got himself a facelift. Or maybe. .’

‘Or maybe it’s not Spiro,’ completed Holly, switching to Artemis’s channel. ‘Artemis. It’s not Spiro. It’s a double. Do you hear me? Respond, Artemis.’

Artemis didn’t reply. Maybe because he wouldn’t; maybe because he couldn’t.

THE VAULT

Artemis reached out a hand for the box, and a false wall hissed back pneumatically. Behind it stood Jon Spiro and Arno Blunt. Spiro’s smile was so wide he could have swallowed a slice of watermelon.

He clapped his hands, jewellery jangling. ‘Bravo, Master Fowl. Some of us didn’t think you’d make it this far.’

Blunt took a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to Spiro.