Artemis Fowl_ The Opal Deception - Eoin Colfer [10]
Crane and Sparrow were a firm of British lawyers who used their business as a front for an extremely successful burglary and fencing enterprise. Artemis had long suspected them of possessing The Fairy Thief. Confirmation had arrived a month earlier, when a private detective who was routinely employed to spy on Crane and Sparrow reported that he had spotted them moving a painting tube to the International Bank. Possibly The Fairy Thief.
“I may not have this chance again until I am an adult,” continued the Irish youth. “And there is no question of waiting that long. Franz Herman stole The Fairy Thief when he was eighteen years old; I need to beat that record.”
Butler sighed. “Criminal folklore tells us that Herman stole the painting in 1927. He merely snatched a briefcase. There is rather more to contend with today. We must break open a safe-deposit box in one of the world’s most secure banks, in broad daylight.”
Artemis Fowl smiled. “Yes. Many would say that it was impossible.”
“They would,” agreed Butler, slotting the Hummer into a parking space. “Many sane people. Especially for someone on a school tour.”
* * *
They entered the bank through the lobby’s revolving doors in full view of the CCTV. Butler led the way, striding purposefully across the gold-veined marble floor toward an inquiries desk. Artemis trailed behind, bobbing his head to some music on his portable disk player. In fact the disk player was empty. Artemis wore mirrored sunglasses that concealed his eyes but allowed him to scan the bank’s interior unobserved.
The International Bank was famous in certain circles for having the most secure safe-deposit boxes in the world, including Switzerland. It was rumored that if the International Bank’s deposit boxes were cracked open and the contents dumped onto the floor, perhaps one tenth of the world’s wealth would be heaped on the marble. Jewels, bearer bonds, cash, deeds, art. At least half of it stolen from its rightful owners. But Artemis was not interested in any of these objects. Perhaps next time.
Butler stopped at the enquiries desk, casting a broad shadow across the slim-line monitor perched there. The thin man who had been working on the monitor lifted his head to complain, then thought better of it. Butler’s sheer bulk often had that effect on people.
“How can I help you, Herr . . . ?”
“Lee, Colonel Xavier Lee. I wish to open my deposit box,” replied Butler, in fluent German.
“Yes, Colonel. Of course. My name is Bertholt, and I will be assisting you today.” Bertholt opened Colonel Xavier Lee’s file on his computer with one hand, the other twirling a pencil like a mini-baton. “We just need to complete the usual security check. If I may have your passport?”
“Of course,” said Butler, sliding a People’s Republic of China passport across the desk. “I expect nothing less than the most stringent security procedures.”
Bertholt took the passport in his slim fingers, first checking the photograph, then placing it onto a scanner.
“Alfonse,” snapped Butler at Artemis. “Stop fidgeting and stand up straight, son. You slouch so much that sometimes I think you don’t have a spine.”
Bertholt smiled with the insincerity a toddler could have seen through. “Alfonse, nice to meet you.”
“Dude,” said Artemis, with equal hypocrisy.
Butler shook his head. “My son does not communicate well with the rest of the world. I look forward to the day he can join the army. Then we shall see if there is a man beneath all these moods.”
Bertholt nodded sympathetically. “I have a girl. Sixteen years old. She spends more of my money on phone calls in a week than the entire family spends on food.”
“Teenagers, they’re all the same.”
The computer beeped.
“Ah yes, your passport has been cleared. Now all I need is a signature.” Bertholt slid a handwriting tablet across the desk. A digi-pen was attached to the tablet by a length of wire. Butler took it and scrawled his signature across the line. The signature would match. Of course it would. The original writing was Butler’s own, Colonel