Eoin Colfer - Artemis Fowl 03 - The Eternity Code

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ARTEMIS
FOWL
THE
ETERINTY
CODE
BY
EION COLFER
BOOK 3 OF
THE ARTIMIS FOWL SERIES
PROLOGUE
EXCERPT FROM ARTEMIS FOWL’S DIARY. DISK 2.
ENCRYPTED.
FOR the past two years my business enterprises have thrived without
parental interference. In this time, I have sold the Pyramids to a Western
businessman, forged and auctioned off the lost diaries of Leonardo da
Vinci and separated the fairy People from a large portion of their precious
gold. But my freedom to plot is almost at an end. As I write, my father lies
in a hospital bed in Helsinki, where he recovers after a two-year
imprisonment by the Russian Mafiya. He is still unconscious following his
ordeal, but he will awaken soon and retake control of the Fowl finances.
With two parents resident in Fowl Manor, it will be impossible for me to
conduct my various illegal ventures undetected. Previously this would not
have been a problem as my father was a bigger crook than me, but Mother
is determined that the Fowls are going straight.
However, there is time for one last job. Something that my mother would
not approve of. I don’t think the fairy folk would like it much either. So I
shall not tell them.
•
PART I: ATTACK
CHAPTER I:THE CUBE
EN FIN, KNIGHTSBRIDGE, LONDON
ARTEMIS Fowl was almost content. His father would be discharged
from Helsinki’s University Hospital any day now. He himself was looking
forward to a delicious late lunch at En Fin, a London seafood restaurant,
and his business contact should arrive any moment. All according to plan.
His bodyguard, Butler, was not quite so relaxed. But then again he was
never truly at ease — one did not become one of the world’s deadliest men
by dropping one’s guard. The giant Eurasian flitted between tables in the
Knightsbridge bistro, positioning the usual security items and clearing exit
routes.
‘Are you wearing the earplugs?’ he asked his employer.
Artemis sighed deeply. ‘Yes, Butler. Though I hardly think we are in
danger here. It’s a perfectly legal business meeting in broad daylight, for
heaven’s sake.’
The earplugs were actually sonic filter sponges, cannibalized from fairy
Lower Elements Police helmets. Butler had obtained the helmets, along
with a treasure trove of fairy technology, over a year previously when one
of Artemis’s schemes pitted him against a fairy SWAT team. The sponges
were grown in LEP labs, and had tiny porous membranes that sealed
automatically when decibel levels surpassed safety standards.
‘Maybe so, Artemis, but the thing about assassins is that they like to catch
you unawares.’
‘Perhaps,’ replied Artemis, perusing the menu’s entree section. ‘But who
could possibly have a motive to kill us?’
Butler shot one of the half-dozen diners a fierce glare, just in case she was
planning something. The woman must have been at least eighty.
‘They might not be after us. Remember, Jon Spiro is a powerful man. He
put a lot of companies out of business. We could be caught in a crossfire.
Artemis nodded. As usual, Butler was right, which explained why they
were both still alive. Jon Spiro, the American he was meeting, was just the
kind of man to attract assassins’ bullets. A successful IT billionaire, with a
shady past and alleged mob connections. Rumour had it that his company,
Fission Chips, had made it to the top on the back of stolen research. Of
course, nothing was ever proved — not that Chicago’s district attorney
hadn’t tried. Several times.
A waitress wandered over, giving them a dazzling smile.
‘Hello there, young man. Would you like to see the children’s menu?’
A vein pulsed in Artemis’s temple.
‘No, mademoiselle, I would not like to see the children’s menu. I have no
doubt the children’s menu itself tastes better than the meals on it. I would
like to order a la carte. Or don’t you serve fish to minors?’
The waitress’s smile shrank by a couple of molars. Artemis’s vocabulary
had that effect on most people.
Butler rolled his eyes. And Artemis wondered who would want to kill him.
Most of the waiters and tailors in Europe, for a start.
‘Yes, sir,’ stammered the unfortunate waitress. ‘Whatever you like.’
‘What I would like is a medley of shark and swordfish, pan-seared, on a
bed of vegetables and new potatoes.’
‘And to drink?’
‘Spring water. Irish, if you have it. And no ice, please, as your ice is no
doubt made from tap water, which rather defeats the purpose of spring
water.’
The waitress scurried to the kitchen, relieved to escape from the pale
youth at table six. She’d seen a vampire movie once. The undead creature
had the very same hypnotic stare. Maybe the kid spoke like a grown-up
because he was actually five hundred years old.
Artemis smiled in anticipation of his meal, unaware of the consternation
he’d caused.
‘You’re going to be a big hit at the school dances,’ Butler commented.
‘Pardon?’
‘That poor girl was almost in tears. It wouldn’t hurt you to be nice
occasionally.’
Artemis was surprised. Butler rarely offered opinions on personal matters.
‘I don’t see myself at school dances, Butler.’
‘Dancing isn’t the point. It’s all about communication.’
‘Communication?’ scoffed young Master Fowl. ‘I doubt there is a
teenager alive with a vocabulary equal to mine.’
Butler was about to point out the difference between talking and
communicating when the restaurant door opened. A small tanned man
entered, flanked by a veritable giant. Jon Spiro and his security.
Butler bent low to whisper in his charge’s ear. ‘Be careful, Artemis. I
know the big one by reputation.’
Spiro wound through the tables, arms outstretched. He was a middle-aged
American, thin as a javelin, and barely taller than Artemis himself. In the
eighties, shipping had been his thing; in the nineties he made a killing in
stocks and shares. Now, it was communications.
He wore his trademark white linen suit, and there was enough jewellery
hanging from his wrists and fingers to gold leaf the Taj Mahal.
Artemis rose to greet his associate. ‘Mister Spiro, welcome.’
‘Hey, little Artemis Fowl. How the hell are you?’
Artemis shook the man’s hand. His jewellery jangled like a rattlesnake’s
tail.
‘I am well. Glad you could come.’
Spiro took a chair. ‘Artemis Fowl calls with a proposition: I would’ve
walked across broken glass to be here.’
The bodyguards appraised each other openly. Apart from their bulk, the
two were polar opposites. Butler was the epitome of understated
efficiency. Black suit, shaven head, as inconspicuous as it was possible to
be at almost seven feet tall. The newcomer had bleached blond hair, a cut-
off T-shirt and silver pirate rings in both ears. This was not a man who
wanted to be forgotten, or ignored.
‘Arno Blunt,’ said Butler. ‘I’ve heard about you.’
Blunt took up his position at Jon Spiro’s shoulder.
‘Butler. One of the Butlers,’ he said, in a New Zealand drawl. ‘I hear you
guys are the best. That’s what I hear. Let’s hope we don’t have to find
out.’
Spiro laughed. It sounded like a box of crickets.
‘Arno, please. We are among friends here. This is not a day for threats.’
Butler was not so sure. His soldier’s sense was buzzing like a nest of
hornets at the base of his skull. There was danger here.
‘So, my friend. To business,’ said Spiro, fixing Artemis with his close-set
dark eyes. ‘I’ve been salivating all the way across the Atlantic. What have
you got for me?’
Artemis frowned. He’d hoped business could wait until after lunch.
‘Wouldn’t you like to see a menu?’
‘No. I don’t eat much any more. Pills and liquids mostly. Gut problems.’
‘Very well,’ said Artemis, laying an aluminium briefcase on the table. ‘To
business then.’
He flipped the case’s lid, revealing a red cube the size of a minidisc
player, nestling in blue foam.
Spiro cleaned his spectacles with the tail end of his tie.
‘What am I seeing here, kid?’
Artemis placed the shining box on the table.
‘The future, Mister Spiro. Ahead of schedule.’
Jon Spiro leaned in, taking a good look.
‘Looks like a paperweight to me.’
Arno Blunt sniggered, his eyes taunting Butler.
‘A demonstration then,’ said Artemis, picking up the metal box. He
pressed a button and the gadget purred into life. Sections slid back to
reveal speakers and a screen.
‘Cute,’ muttered Spiro. ‘I flew three thousand miles for a micro-TV?’
Artemis nodded. ‘A micro-TV. But also a verbally controlled computer, a
mobile phone, a diagnostic aid. This little box can read any information on
absolutely any platform, electrical or organic. It can play videos,
laserdiscs, DVDs; go online, retrieve e-mail, hack any computer. It can
even scan your chest to see how fast your heart’s beating. Its battery is
good for two years and, of course, it’s completely wireless.’
Artemis paused, to let it sink in.
Spiro’s eyes seemed huge behind his spectacles.
‘You mean, this box . . .?’
‘Will render all other technology obsolete. Your computer plants will be
worthless.’
The American took several deep breaths.
‘But how . . . how?’
Artemis flipped the box over. An infrared sensor pulsed gently on the
back.
‘This is the secret. An omni-sensor. It can read anything you ask it to. And
if the source is programmed in, it can piggyback any satellite you choose.’
Spiro wagged a finger. ‘But that’s illegal, isn’t it?’
‘No, no,’ said Artemis, smiling. ‘There are no laws against something like
this. And there won’t be for at least two years after it comes out. Look
how long it took to shut down Napster.’
The American rested his face in his hands. It was too much.
‘I don’t understand. This is years, no, decades ahead of anything we have
now. You’re nothing but a thirteen-year-old kid. How did you do it?’
Artemis thought for a second. What was he going to say? Sixteen months
ago Butler took on a Lower Elements Police Retrieval squad and
confiscated their fairy technology? Then he, Artemis, had taken the
components and built this wonderful box? Hardly.
‘Let’s just say I’m a very smart boy, Mister Spiro.’
Spiro’s eyes narrowed. ‘Maybe not as smart as you’d like us to think. I
want a demonstration.’
‘Fair enough.’ Artemis nodded. ‘Do you have a mobile phone?’
‘Naturally.’ Spiro placed his mobile phone on the table. It was the latest
Fission Chips model.
‘Secure, I take it?’
Spiro nodded arrogantly. ‘Five hundred bit encryption. Best in its class.
You’re not getting into the Fission 400 without a code.’
‘We shall see.’
Artemis pointed the sensor at the handset. The screen instantly displayed
an image of the mobile phone’s workings.
‘Download?’ enquired a metallic voice from the speaker.
‘Confirm.’
In less than a second, the job was done. ‘Download complete,’ said the
box, with a hint of smugness.
Spiro was aghast. ‘I don’t believe it. That system cost twenty million
dollars.’
‘Worthless,’ said Artemis, showing him the screen. ‘Would you like to
call home? Or maybe move some funds around? You really shouldn’t
keep your bank account numbers on a sim card.’
The American thought for several moments.
‘It’s a trick,’ he pronounced finally. ‘You must’ve known about my phone.
Somehow, don’t ask me how, you got access to it earlier.’
‘That is logical,’ admitted Artemis. ‘It’s what I would suspect. Name your
test.’
Spiro cast his eyes around the restaurant, fingers drumming the tabletop.
‘Over there,’ he said, pointing to a video shelf above the bar. ‘Play one of
those tapes.’
‘That’s it?’
‘It’ll do, for a start.’
Arno Blunt made a huge show of flicking through the tapes, eventually
selecting one without a label. He slapped it down on the table, bouncing
the engraved silver cutlery into the air.
Artemis resisted the urge to roll his eyes and placed the red box directly on
to the tape’s surface.
An image of the cassette’s innards appeared on the tiny plasma screen.
‘Download?’ asked the box.
Artemis nodded. ‘Download, compensate and play.’
Again, the operation was completed in under a second. An old episode of
an English soap crackled into life.
‘DVD quality,’ commented Artemis. ‘Regardless of the input, the C Cube
will compensate.’
‘The what?’
‘C Cube,’ repeated Artemis. ‘The name I have given my little box. A tad
obvious, I admit. But appropriate. The cube that sees everything.’
Spiro snatched the video cassette. ‘Check it,’ he ordered, tossing the tape
to Arno Blunt.
The bleached-blond bodyguard activated the bar’s TV, sliding the video
into its slot. Coronation Street flickered across the screen. The same show.
Nowhere near the same quality.
‘Convinced?’ asked Artemis.
The American tinkered with one of his many bracelets.
‘Almost. One last test. I have a feeling that the government is monitoring
me. Could you check it out?’
Artemis thought for a moment, then addressed the red box again.
‘Cube, do you read any surveillance beams concentrated on this building?’
The machine whirred for a moment. ‘The strongest ion beam is eighty
kilometres due west, emanating from US satellite code number
ST1132P. Registered to the Central Intelligence Agency. Estimated time
of arrival, eight minutes. There are also several LEP probes connected to .
. .’
Artemis hit the mute button before the Cube could continue. Obviously the
computer’s fairy components could pick up Lower Elements technology
too. He would have to remedy that. In the wrong hands that information
would be devastating to fairy security.
‘What’s the matter, kid? The box was still talking. Who are the LEP?’
Artemis shrugged. ‘No pay, no play, as you Americans say. One example
is enough. The CIA no less.’
‘The CIA,’ breathed Spiro. ‘They suspect me of selling military secrets.
They’ve pulled one of their birds out of orbit, just to track me.’
‘Or perhaps me,’ noted Artemis.
‘Perhaps you,’ agreed Spiro. ‘You’re looking more dangerous by the
second.’
Arno Blunt chuckled derisively.
Butler ignored it. One of them had to be professional.
Spiro cracked his knuckles, a habit Artemis detested.
‘We’ve got eight minutes, so let’s get down to the nitty gritty, kid. How
much for the box?’
摘要：

ARTEMISFOWLTHEETERINTYCODEBYEIONCOLFERBOOK3OFTHEARTIMISFOWLSERIESPROLOGUEEXCERPTFROMARTEMISFOWL’SDIARY.DISK2.ENCRYPTED.FORthepasttwoyearsmybusinessenterpriseshavethrivedwithoutparentalinterference.Inthistime,IhavesoldthePyramidstoaWesternbusinessman,forgedandauctionedoffthelostdiariesofLeonardodaVin...

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