The Eternity Code

by Eoin Colfer

  Artemis’s face glowed as pale as the walls. “You have to, Captain. There is no other way.”

  Holly waved Artemis away 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 on 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.

  “Six-inch 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.”

  Four minutes was the textbook healing deadline. After that there was no guarantee that the thumb would take. The skin would bind, but the muscles and nerve endings could reject.

  A red glow reflected from her visor as a short burst of 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 around 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 microphone. “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 spilled.

  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 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 time. Their routes were specially planned so that one pair would always have an eyeball sighting of the vault door. The vault corridor was a hundred yards long and took eighty seconds to travel. At the end of that eighty seconds, the next pair of guards stepped around the corner. Luckily, two of the guards were seeing things in a different light this particular morning.

  Foaly gave them their cue.

  “Okay. 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 targets 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. “Okay. 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 plan.

  He ran down the corridor straight toward 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, comparing the merits of various fictional characters.

  “Captain Hook rocks,” said Pex. “He would kick Barney’s purple butt ten times out of ten.”

  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 crisscrossed the vault’s entrance. Next, she set her wings to a gentle hover. Any more down-draught 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 three,” 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 the 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 3-D image of Spiro’s eyeball to a height of five feet 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 sound-wave 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 microphones 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 fairy insect collection agency for the rights.

 
; Holly played the file through her helmet speakers. “Jon Spiro. I am the boss, so open up quick.”

  Alarm number two disengaged. Another light green.

  “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 onto 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 Plexiglas 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 Mr. 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 anesthetic.

  Artemis keyed in the code, which Foaly was reciting in his ear, and the Plexiglas case slid open. The four sides of the Plexiglas 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 in which she had left him, his breath regular and normal. The stopwatch on Holly’s visor read 3:57 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 traveling across his bony chest. Spiro’s back arched until Holly thought it would snap, then the industrialist collapsed onto 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 face lift. 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, jewelry 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’ve 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 has 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. His teeth were Plexiglas and half filled with blue oil. A macabre wave machine.

  “Sorry, Mr. Spiro.”

  “You will be sorrier still, my dentally challenged friend,” said Artemis. “Because Butler is coming.”

  Blunt took an involuntary step backward.

  “Don’t think that mumbo jumbo is scaring me. Butler is dead. I saw him go down.”

  “Go down, perhaps. But did you see him die? If I remember the sequence of events correctly, after you shot Butler, he shot you.”

  Blunt touched the sutures on his temple. “A lucky shot.”

  “Lucky? Butler is a proud marksman. I wouldn’t say that to his face.”

  Spiro laughed delightedly. “The kid is messing with your mind, Arno. Thirteen years old and he’s playing you like a grand piano in Carnegie Hall. Get yourself a spine, man, you’re supposed to be a professional.”

  Blunt tried to pull himself together, but the ghost of Butler haunted his features.

  Spiro plucked the C Cube from its cushion. “This is fun, Arty. All this tough talk and repartee, but it doesn’t mean anything. I win again, you’ve been outflanked. This has all been a game to me. Amusement. Your little operation has been most educational, if pathetic. But you gotta realize that it’s over now. You’re on your own, and I don’t have time for any more games!”

  Artemis sighed, the picture of defeat. “All of this has been a lesson, hasn’t it? Just to show me who’s boss.”

  “Exactly. It takes some people a while to learn. I find that the smarter the enemy, the bigger the ego. You had to realize that you were no match for me before you would do what I have asked.” Spiro placed a bony hand on the Irish boy’s shoulder. Artemis could feel the weight of his jewelry. “Now, listen carefully, kid. I want you to unlock this Cube. No more blarney. I never met a computer nerd yet who didn’t leave hi
mself a back door. You open this baby up now, or I’m gonna stop being amused, and believe me you don’t want that.”

  Artemis took the blue Cube in both hands, staring at its flat screen. This was the delicate phase of his plan. Spiro had to believe that once again he had outmaneuvered Artemis Fowl.

  “Do it, Arty. Do it now.”

  Artemis ran a hand across his dry lips.

  “Very well. I need a minute.”

  Spiro patted his shoulder. “I’m a generous man. Take two.” He nodded at Blunt. “Stay close, Arno, I don’t want our little friend setting any more booby traps.”

  Artemis sat at a stainless-steel table, exposing the Cube’s inner workings. He quickly manipulated a complicated bunch of fiber optics, removing one strand altogether. The LEP blocker. After less than a minute, he resealed the Cube.

  Spiro’s eyes were wide with anticipation, and dreams of unlimited wealth danced in his brain.

  “Good news, Arty. I want good news only.”

  Artemis was more subdued now, as if the reality of his situation had finally eaten through his cockiness.

  “I rebooted it. It’s working. Except . . .”

  Spiro waved his hands. Bracelets tinkled like cat bells. “Except! This better be an itty-bitty except kinda thing.”

  “It’s nothing. Hardly worth mentioning. I had to revert to version 1.0. Version 1.2 was coded strictly to my voice patterns; 1.0 is less secure, if a bit more temperamental.”

  “Temperamental. You’re a box, not my grandmother, Cube.”

  “I am not a box!” said Foaly, the Cube’s new voice, thanks to the removed blocker. “I am a marvel of artificial intelligence. I live, therefore I learn.”

  “See what I mean?” said Artemis weakly. The centaur was going to blow it. Spiro’s suspicions must not be aroused at this stage.

  Spiro glared at the Cube as though it were an underling.

  “Are you gonna give me attitude, Mister?”

  The Cube did not reply.

  “You have to address it by name,” explained Artemis. “Otherwise it would answer every question within hearing distance of its sensors.”

  “And what is its name?”