Eoin Colfer - Artemis Fowl. The Opal Deception

• Название: Artemis Fowl. The Opal Deception
• Автор: Eoin Colfer
• Издательство: Puffin Books
• Жанр: Детская фантастика
• Год: 2005
• ISBN: 0-14-138164-7

Criminal mastermind Artemis Fowl is back… and so is his cunning enemy from Artemis Fowl: The Arctic Incident, Opal Koboi. At the start of fourth adventure. Artemis has returned to his unlawful ways. He's in Berlin, preparing to steal a famous impressionist painting from a German bank. He has no idea that his old rival, Opal, has escaped from prison by cloning herself. She's left her double behind in jail and, now free, is exacting her revenge on all those who put her there, including Artemis.

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Once again the computer beeped.

‘Good,’ said Bertholt. ‘You are indeed who you say you are. I shall bring you to the deposit box room. Will Alfonse be accompanying us?’

Butler stood. ‘Absolutely. If I leave him here, he will probably get himself arrested.’

Bertholt attempted a joke. ‘Well, if I may say so, Colonel, he’s in the right place.’

‘Hilarious, dude,’ muttered Artemis. ‘You should, like, have your own show.’

But Bertholt’s comment was accurate. Armed security men were dotted throughout the building. At the first sign of any impropriety, they would move to strategic points, covering all exits.

Bertholt led the way to a brushed-steel lift, holding his ID card up to a camera over the door.

The bank official winked at Artemis. ‘We have a special security system here, young man. It’s all very exciting.’

‘I know. I think I’m going to faint,’ said Artemis.

‘No more attitude, son,’ scolded Butler. ‘Bertholt is simply trying to make conversation.’

Bertholt stayed civil in the face of Artemis’s sarcasm. ‘Maybe you’d like to work here when you grow up, eh, Alfonse?’

For the first time Artemis smiled sincerely, and for some reason the sight sent shivers down Bertholt’s spine. ‘Do you know something, Bertholt? I think some of my best work will be in banks.’

The awkward silence that followed was cut short by a voice from a tiny speaker below the camera.

‘Yes, Bertholt, we see you. How many?’

‘Two,’ replied Bertholt. ‘One key holder and one minor. Coming down to open a box.’

The lift door slid back to reveal a steel cuboid with no buttons or panels, just a camera elevated in one corner. They stepped inside and the lift was remotely activated.

Artemis noticed Bertholt wringing his hands as soon as they began to descend.

‘Hey, Bertholt? What’s the problem? It’s only a lift.’

Bertholt forced a smile. Barely a glint of tooth showed beneath his moustache.

‘You don’t miss much, do you, Alfonse? I don’t like small spaces. And there are no controls in here, for security reasons. The lift is operated from the desk. If it were to break down, we would be relying on the guards to rescue us. This thing is virtually airtight. What if the guard had a heart attack, or went on a coffee break? We could all —’

The bank official’s nervous rant was cut off by the hiss of the lift door. They had arrived at the deposit box floor.

‘Here we are,’ said Bertholt, mopping his forehead with a paper tissue. A section of the paper remained trapped in the worry lines of his forehead, and fluttered there like a windsock in the blast from the air conditioner. ‘Safe, you see. Absolutely no need to worry. All is well.’ He laughed nervously. ‘Shall we?’

A bulky security guard was waiting for them outside the lift. Artemis noted the sidearm on his belt, and the earpiece cord winding along his neck.

‘Willkommen, Bertholt, you made it in one piece. Again.’

Bertholt plucked the strand of tissue from his forehead. ‘Yes, Kurt, I made it, and don’t think the scorn in your voice goes unnoticed.’

Kurt sighed mightily, allowing the escaping air to flap his lips. ‘Please pardon my phobic countryman,’ he said to Butler. ‘Everything terrifies him, from spiders to lifts. It’s a wonder he ever gets out of bed. Now, if you could stand on the yellow square and raise both arms to shoulder level.’

There was a yellow square taped to the steel floor. Butler stepped on it, raising his arms. Kurt performed a body search that would have shamed a customs official, before ushering him through a metal-detector arch.

‘He’s clean,’ he said aloud. The words would be picked up by the microphone on his lapel and relayed to the security booth.

‘You next, boy,’ said Kurt. ‘Same drill.’

Artemis complied, slouching on to the square. He barely raised his arms from his sides.

Butler glared at him. ‘Alfonse! Can’t you do what the man says? In the army I would have you cleaning the latrines for this kind of behaviour.’

Artemis glared back. ‘Yes, Colonel, but we’re not in the army here, are we?’

Kurt slipped Artemis’s pack from his back, rifling through the contents.

‘What’s this?’ he asked, pulling out a toughened plastic frame.

Artemis took the frame, unfolding it with three deft movements. ‘It’s a scooter, dude. You may have heard of them. Transportation that doesn’t pollute the air we breathe.’

Kurt snatched back the scooter, spinning the wheels and checking the joints.

Artemis smirked. ‘Of course it’s also a laser cutter, so I can break into your boxes.’

‘You’re a real smart alec, boy,’ snarled Kurt, stuffing the scooter back in the bag.

‘And what’s this?’

Artemis turned on the video game. ‘It’s a game box. They were invented so teenagers wouldn’t have to talk to grown-ups.’

Kurt glanced at Butler. ‘He’s a gem, sir. I wish I had one just like him.’ He rattled a ring of keys on Artemis’s belt. ‘And what are these?’

Artemis scratched his head. ‘Uh… keys?’

Kurt ground his teeth audibly. ‘I know they’re keys, boy. What do they open?’

Artemis shrugged. ‘Stuff. My locker. My scooter lock. A couple of diaries. Stuff.’

The security guard examined the keys. They were everyday keys, and wouldn’t open a complicated lock. But the bank had a no-key rule. Only safety deposit box keys were allowed through the metal detector.

‘Sorry. The keys stay here.’ Kurt undipped the ring, placing the keys on a flat tray.

‘You can pick them up on your way out.’

‘Can I go now?’

‘Yes,’ said Kurt. ‘Please do, but pass the bag through to your father first.’

Artemis handed the bag round the metal-detector arch to Butler. He passed through himself, setting off the buzzer.

Kurt followed him impatiently. ‘Do you have anything else metallic on you? A belt buckle? Some coins?’

‘Money?’ scoffed Artemis. ‘I wish.’

‘What’s setting off the detector, then?’ said Kurt, puzzled.

‘I think I know,’ said Artemis. He hooked a finger inside his top lip, pulling it up.

Two metal bands ran across his teeth.

‘A brace. That would do it,’ said Kurt. ‘The detector is extremely sensitive.’

Artemis removed his finger. ‘Should I take this out too? Rip it from my teeth?’

Kurt took the suggestion at face value. ‘No. I think we’re safe enough. Just go on through. But behave yourself in there. It’s a vault, not a playground.’ Kurt paused, pointing to a camera above their heads. ‘Remember, I’ll be watching.’

‘Watch all you like,’ said Artemis brazenly.

‘Oh, I will, boy. You so much as spit on one of those doors, and I’ll eject you from the premises. Forcibly.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Kurt,’ said Bertholt. ‘Don’t be so theatrical. Those are not network television cameras, you know.’

Bertholt ushered them through to the vault door.

‘I apologize for Kurt. He failed the special-forces exam and ended up here.

Sometimes I think he would love someone to rob the place, just so he could see some action.’

The door was a circular slab of steel, at least five metres in diameter. In spite of its size, it swung easily at Bertholt’s touch.

‘Perfectly balanced,’ explained the bank official. ‘A child could open it, until five thirty, when it shuts for the night. Naturally the vault is time locked. Nobody can open the door until eight thirty a.m. Not even the bank president.’

Beyond the vault door were rows and rows of steel deposit boxes of all shapes and sizes. Each box had a single rectangular keyhole on its face, surrounded by a fibre-optic light. At the moment all the lights glowed red.

Bertholt took a key from his pocket; it was attached to his belt by a woven-steel cable.

‘Of course the keys’ shape is not the only important thing,’ he said, inserting the key in a master keyhole. ‘The locks are also operated by microchip.’

Butler took a similar key from his wallet. ‘Are we ready?’

‘Whenever you are, sir.’

Butler ran his fingers over several boxes until he reached number seven hundred.

He inserted his key in the keyhole. ‘Ready.’

‘Very well, sir. On my mark. Three, two, one. Turn.’

Both men turned their keys simultaneously. The master key safeguard prevented a thief opening a box with a single key. If the two keys were not turned within one second of each other, the box would not open.

The light round both keys switched from red to green. The door on Butler’s safety deposit box popped open.

‘Thank you, Bertholt,’ said Butler, reaching into the box.

‘Of course, sir,’ replied Bertholt, almost bowing. ‘I’ll be right outside. Even with the camera, there is a three-minute inspection rule. So I’ll see you in one hundred and eighty seconds.’

Once the bank official had gone, Artemis shot his bodyguard a quizzical look.

‘Alfonse?’ he said out of the side of his mouth. ‘I don’t remember deciding on a name for my character.’

Butler set the stopwatch on his chronograph. ‘I was improvising, Artemis. I thought the situation required it. And if I may say so, you make a very convincing obnoxious teenager.’

‘Thank you, old friend. I try.’

Butler removed an architect’s drawing from his deposit box, folding out the document until it was almost two metres square. He held it at arm’s length, apparently studying the design inked on to the paper.

Artemis glanced upwards at the ceiling-mounted camera. ‘Raise your arms another five centimetres, and take a step to your left.’

Butler did so casually, covering the movements with a cough and a shake of the parchment.

‘Good. Perfect. Stay right there.’

When Butler had rented the box on his last visit, he’d taken numerous photographs of the vault with a button camera. Artemis used these photos to render a digital reconstruction of the room. According to his calculations, Butler’s present position provided him with a ten-square-metre box of cover. In that area his movements would be hidden by the drawing. At the moment, only his trainers could be seen by the security guards.

Artemis rested his back against a wall of security boxes, between two steel benches. He braced both arms against the benches, levering himself out of the oversized trainers. Carefully, the boy slid on to a bench.

‘Keep your head down,’ advised Butler.

Artemis rooted through his backpack for the video cube. Though the box did actually play a computer game, its primary function was as an X-ray panel with realtime viewing. The X-ray panels were in common usage among the criminal upper echelons, and it had been a relatively simple matter for Artemis to disguise one as a teenager’s toy.

Artemis activated the X-ray, sliding it across the door of the deposit box beside

Butler’s. The bodyguard had rented his box two days after Crane & Sparrow. It stood to reason that the boxes would be close to one another, unless Crane & Sparrow had requested a specific number. In that case it was back to the drawing board. Artemis reckoned that this first attempt to steal The Fairy Thief had a forty per cent chance of success. These were not ideal odds, but he had no option but to go ahead. At the very least, he would learn more about the bank’s security.

The game cube’s small screen revealed that the first box was stuffed with currency.

‘Negative,’ said Artemis. ‘Cash only.’

Butler raised an eyebrow. ‘You know what they say, you can never have too much cash.’

Artemis had already moved on to the next box. ‘Not today, old friend. But let’s keep up the rental on our box, in case we ever need to return.’

The next box contained legal papers tied together with ribbons. The one after that was piled high with loose diamonds in a tray. Artemis struck gold on the fourth box.

Figuratively speaking. Inside the deposit box was a long tube containing a rolled-up canvas.

‘I think we have it, Butler. I think this could be it.’

‘Time enough to get excited when the painting is hanging on the wall in Fowl Manor. Hurry up, Artemis, my arms are beginning to ache.’

Artemis steadied himself. Of course Butler was right. They were still a long way from possessing The Fairy Thief, if indeed this painting was Herve’s lost masterpiece. It could just as easily be some proud grandfather’s crayon drawing of a helicopter.

Artemis moved the X-ray machine down to the bottom of the box. There were no manufacturer’s markings on the door, but often craftsmen were proud and could not resist placing a signature somewhere, even if nobody but them knew it was there.

Artemis searched for maybe twenty seconds before he found what he was looking for.

Inside the door itself, on the rear panel, was engraved the word ‘Blokken’.

‘Blokken,’ said the boy triumphantly. ‘We were right.’

There were only six firms in the world capable of constructing deposit boxes of this quality. Artemis had hacked their computers and found International Bank on the Blokken client list. Blokken was a small family company in Vienna that also made boxes for several banks in Geneva and the Cayman Islands. Butler had paid their workshop a little visit and stolen two master keys. Of course the keys were of metal and would not escape the detector arch, unless for some reason metal had been allowed through.

Artemis reached two fingers into his mouth, dislodging the brace from his upper teeth. Behind the brace itself was a plastic retainer, and clipped to that were two keys.

The master keys.

Artemis rotated his jaw for a few seconds.

‘That feels better,’ he said. ‘I thought I was going to gag.’

The next problem was one of distance. There were over two metres between the deposit box and the master keyhole by the door. Not only was it impossible for one person to open the door unassisted, but whoever stood by the master keyhole would be visible to the security guards.

Artemis pulled his scooter from the backpack. He yanked one pin from its socket, detaching the steering column from the footpad. This was no ordinary scooter. An engineer friend of Butler’s had constructed it from very specific blueprints. The footpad was completely regular, but the steering column telescoped at the touch of a spring-release button. Artemis unscrewed one handgrip, reattaching it at the other end of the column. There was a slit in the end of each grip, into which Artemis screwed a master key. Now all he had to do was insert both keys into their corresponding keyholes, and turn them simultaneously.

Artemis slotted one key into Crane & Sparrow’s box.

‘Ready?’ he asked Butler.

‘Yes,’ replied his bodyguard. ‘Don’t go one step further than you have to.’

‘Three, two, one. Go.’