Artemis Fowl_ The Opal Deception - Eoin Colfer [11]
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 elevator, 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 elevator 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 an elevator.”
Bertholt forced a smile. Barely a glint of tooth showed beneath his mustache. “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 elevator door. They had arrived at the deposit-box floor.
“Here we are,” said Bertholt, mopping his forehead with a Kleenex. A section of the paper remained trapped in the worry lines of his forehead, and fluttered there like a windsock in the air-conditioner blast. “Safe, you see. Absolutely no need to worry. All is well.” He laughed nervously. “Shall we?”
A bulky security guard waited for them outside the lift. Artemis noted the side arm 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 elevators. 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 onto the steel floor. Butler stepped onto 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 onto the square. He raised his arms barely six inches from his sides.
Butler glared at him. “Alfonse!