by Eoin Colfer
Spiro’s bedroom was as white as his suits, except for the charred hole in the wardrobe. Holly and Artemis climbed through on to a white shag-pile carpet with whitewood slide wardrobes. They stepped through the doors into a room that glowed in the dark. Futuristic furniture — white, of course. White spotlights and white drapes.
Holly took a moment to study a painting that dominated one wall.
‘Oh, give me a break,’ she said.
The picture was in oils. Completely white. There was a brass plaque beneath. It read ‘Snow Ghost’.
Spiro lay in the centre of a huge futon, lost in the dunes of its silk sheets. Holly pulled back the covers, rolling him over on to his back. Even in sleep the man’s face was malevolent, as though his dreams were every bit as despicable as his waking thoughts.
‘Nice guy,’ said Holly, using her thumb to raise Spiro’s left eyelid.
Her helmet camera scanned the eye, storing the information on chip. It would be a simple matter to project the file on to the vault’s scanner and fool the security computer.
The thumb scan would not be so simple. Because the device was a gel scanner, the tiny sensors would be searching for the actual ridges and whorls of Spiro’s thumb. A projection would not do. It had to be 3D.
Artemis had come up with the idea of using a memory-latex bandage, standard issue in any LEP first-aid kit — and the same latex used to glue the mike to his throat. All they had to do was wrap Spiro’s thumb in a bandage for a moment and they would have a mould of the digit. Holly spooled a bandage from her belt, tearing off a fifteen-centimetre strip.
‘It won’t work,’ said Artemis.
Holly’s heart sank. This was it. The thing that Artemis hadn’t told her.
‘What won’t work?’
‘The memory latex. It won’t fool the gel scanner.’
Holly climbed off the futon. ‘I don’t have time for this, Artemis. We don’t have time for it. The memory latex will make a perfect copy, right down to the last molecule.’
Artemis’s eyes were downcast. ‘A perfect model, true, but in reverse. Like a photo negative. Ridges where there should be grooves.’
‘D’Arvit!’ swore Holly. The Mud Boy was right. Of course he was.
The scanner would read the latex as a completely different thumbprint.
Her cheeks glowed red behind the visor.
‘You knew this, Mud Boy. You knew it all along.’
Artemis didn’t bother denying it.
‘I’m amazed no one else spotted it.’
‘So why lie?’
Artemis walked round to the far side of the bed, grasping Spiro’s right hand.
‘Because there is no way to fool the gel scanner. It has to see the real thumb.’
Holly snorted. ‘What do you want me to do? Cut it off and take it with us?’
Artemis silence was response enough.
‘What? You want me to cut off his thumb? Are you insane?’
Artemis waited patiently for the outburst to pass.
‘Listen to me, Captain. It’s only a temporary measure. The thumb can be reattached. True?’
Holly raised her palms. ‘Just shut up, Artemis. Just close your mouth. And I thought you’d changed. The commander was right. There’s no changing human nature.’
‘Four minutes,’ persisted Artemis. ‘We have four minutes to crack the vault and get back. Spiro won’t feel a thing.’
Four minutes was the textbook healing deadline. After that there were no guarantees that the thumb would take. The skin would bind, but the muscles and nerve endings could reject.
Holly felt as though her helmet were shrinking.
‘Artemis, I’ll stun you, so help me.’
‘Think, Holly. I had no choice but to lie about my plan. Would you have agreed if I had told you earlier?’
‘No. And I’m not agreeing now!’
Artemis’s face glowed as pale as the walls. ‘You have to, Captain. There is no other way.’
Holly waved Artemis aside as though he were a persistent fly and spoke into her helmet mike.
‘Foaly, are you listening to this insanity?’
‘It sounds insane, Holly, but if you don’t get this technology back, we could lose a whole lot more than a thumb.’
‘I can’t believe it. Whose side are you on, Foaly? I don’t even want to think about the legal ramifications of this.’
The centaur snickered. ‘Legal ramifications? We’re a tad beyond the court systems here, Captain. This is a secret operation. No records and no clearance. If this came out, we’d all be out of a job. A thumb here or there is not going to make any difference.’
Holly turned up the climate control in her helmet, directing a blast of cold air at her forehead.
‘Are you sure we can make it, Artemis?’
Artemis ran a few mental calculations. ‘Yes. I’m sure. And anyway, we have no option but to try.’
Holly crossed to the other side of the futon.
‘I can’t believe I’m even considering this.’ She lifted Spiro’s hand gently. He did not react, not so much as a sleep murmur. Behind his eyelids, Spiro’s eyes jittered in REM sleep.
Holly drew her weapon. Of course, in theory, it was perfectly feasible to remove a digit and then magically reattach it. There would be no harm done, and quite possibly the injection of magic would clear up a few of the liver spots on Spiro’s hand. But that wasn’t the point. This was not how magic was supposed to be used. Artemis was manipulating the People to his own ends, once again.
‘Fifteen-centimetre beam,’ said Foaly in her ear. ‘Very high frequency. We need a clean cut. And give him a shot of magic while you’re doing it. It might buy you a couple of minutes.’
For some reason, Artemis was checking behind Spiro’s ears.
‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Clever.’
‘What?’ hissed Holly. ‘What now?’
Artemis stepped back. ‘Nothing important. Continue.’
A red glow reflected from Holly’s visor as a short, concentrated laser beam erupted from the nozzle of her Neutrino.
‘One cut,’ said Artemis. ‘Clean.’
Holly glared at him. ‘Don’t, Mud Boy. Not a word. Especially not advice.’
Artemis backed off. Certain battles were won by retreating.
Using her left thumb and forefinger, Holly made a circle round Spiro’s thumb. She sent a gentle pulse of magic into the human’s hand.
In seconds the skin tightened, lines disappeared and muscle tone returned.
‘Filter,’ she said into her mike. ‘X-ray.’
The filter dropped and suddenly everything was transparent, including Spiro’s hand. The bones and joints were clearly visible below the skin. They only needed the print, so she would cut between the knuckles.
It would be difficult enough reattaching under pressure without adding a complex joint into the equation.
Holly took a breath and held it. The Sleeper Deeper would act more effectively than any anaesthetic. Spiro would not flinch or feel the smallest jolt of discomfort. She made the cut. A smooth cut that sealed as it went. Not a drop of blood was spilt.
Artemis wrapped the thumb in a handkerchief from Spiro’s closet.
‘Nice work,’ he said. ‘Let’s go. The clock is ticking.’
Artemis and Holly climbed back down through the wardrobe to the eighty-fifth. There was almost a mile and a half of corridor on this floor and six guards patrolling it in pairs at any one time. Their routes were specially planned so that one pair could always have an eyeball-sighting of the vault door. The vault corridor was a hundred metres long and took eighty seconds to travel. At the end of that eighty seconds, the next pair of guards stepped round the corner. Luckily, two of the guards were seeing things in a different light this particular morning.
Foaly gave them their cue. ‘OK. Our boys are approaching their corner.’ ‘Are you sure it’s them? These gorillas all look the same. Small heads, no necks.’
‘I’m sure. Their t
argets are showing up bright and clear.’
Holly had painted Pex and Chips with a stamp generally used by customs and immigration for invisible visas. The stamps glowed orange when viewed through an infrared filter.
Holly pushed Artemis out the door in front of her. ‘OK. Go. And no sarcastic comments.’
There was no need for the warning. Even Artemis Fowl was not inclined to be sarcastic at such a dangerous stage of the operation.
He ran down the corridor straight towards the two mammoth security guards. Their jackets protruded angularly beneath their armpits.
Guns, no doubt. Big ones, with lots of bullets.
‘Are you sure they’re mesmerized?’ he asked Holly, who was hovering overhead.
‘Of course. Their minds are so blank it was like writing with chalk on a board. But I could stun them if you’d prefer.’
‘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 Artemi
s’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.
‘Thank you very much, Arno. I hope this teaches you not to bet against the house.’
Artemis nodded thoughtfully. ‘In the bedroom. That was a double.’
‘Yes. Costa, my cousin. We got the same shaped head. One or two cuts and we could be peas in a pod.’
‘So you set the gel scanner to accept his print.’
‘For one night only. I wanted to see how far you’d get. You’re an amazing kid, Arty. No one ever made it into the vault before, and you’d be amazed how many professionals have tried. There are obviously a few glitches in my system, something the security people will have to look at. How did you get in here anyway? You don’t appear to have Costa with you.’
‘Trade secret.’
Spiro stepped down from a low platform. ‘No matter. We’ll review the tapes. There are bound to be a couple of cameras you couldn’t rig.
One thing is for sure; you didn’t do it without help. Check him for an earpiece, Arno.’
It took Blunt less than five seconds to find the earpiece. He plucked it out triumphantly, crushing the tiny cylinder beneath his boot.
Spiro sighed. ‘I have no doubt, Arno, that that little electronic wonder was worth more than you will make in a lifetime. I don’t know why I keep you around. I really don’t.’
Blunt grimaced. This set of teeth was perspex, half-filled with blue oil. A macabre wave machine.
‘Sorry, Mister Spiro.’
‘You will be sorrier still, my dentally challenged friend,’ said Artemis, ‘because Butler is coming.’
Blunt took an involuntary step backwards.
‘Don’t think that mumbo jumbo is scaring me. Butler is dead. I saw him go down.’
