Artemis Fowl_ The Opal Deception - Eoin Colfer [9]
The girl promptly broke Hervé’s heart, and sold the picture to a British tourist for twenty francs. Within weeks, the picture had been stolen from the Englishman’s home. And since that time, it has been lifted from private collections all over the world. Since Hervé painted his masterpiece, it is believed that The Fairy Thief has been stolen fifteen times. But what makes these thefts different from the billion others that have been committed during this time is that the first thief decided to keep the picture for himself. And so did all the others.
The Fairy Thief has become something of a trophy for top thieves worldwide. Only a dozen know of its existence, and only a handful know of its whereabouts. The painting is to criminals what the Turner Prize is to artists. Whoever manages to successfully steal the lost painting is acknowledged as the master thief of his generation. Not many are aware of this challenge, but those who do know matter.
Naturally Artemis Fowl knew of The Fairy Thief, and recently he had learned of the painting’s whereabouts. It was an irresistible test of his abilities. If he succeeded in stealing the lost master, he would become the youngest thief in history to have done so.
His bodyguard, the giant Eurasian Butler, was not very pleased with his young charge’s latest project.
“I don’t like this, Artemis,” said Butler in his bass gravelly tones. “My instincts tell me it’s a trap.”
Artemis Fowl inserted batteries in his handheld computer game.
“Of course it’s a trap,” said the fourteen-year-old Irish boy. “The Fairy Thief has been ensnaring thieves for years. That’s what makes it interesting.”
They were traveling around Munich’s Marienplatz in a rented Hummer H2. The military vehicle was not Artemis’s style, but it would be consistent with the style of the people they were pretending to be. Artemis sat in the rear, feeling ridiculous, dressed not in his usual dark two-piece suit, but in normal teenager clothing.
“This outfit is preposterous,” he said, zipping his tracksuit top. “What is the point of a hood that is not waterproof? And all these logos? I feel like a walking advertisement. And these jeans do not fit properly. They are sagging down to my knees.”
Butler smiled, glancing in the rearview mirror. “I think you look fine. Juliet would say that you were bad.”
Juliet, Butler’s younger sister, was currently on a tour of the States with a Mexican wrestling troupe, trying to break into the big time. Her ring name was the Jade Princess.
“I certainly feel bad,” admitted Artemis. “As for these high-top sneakers—how is one supposed to run quickly with soles three inches thick? I feel as though I am on stilts. Honestly, Butler, the second we return to the hotel, I am disposing of this outfit. I miss my suits.”
Butler pulled onto Im Tal, where the International Bank was located. “Artemis, if you’re not feeling comfortable, perhaps we should postpone this operation?”
Artemis zipped his computer game into a backpack, which already contained a number of typical teenage items. “Absolutely not. This window of opportunity has taken a month to organize.”
Three weeks previously, Artemis had made an anonymous donation to the St. Bartleby’s School for Young Men, on condition that the third-year boys be taken on a trip to Munich for the European Schools’ Fair. The principal had been happy to honor the donor’s wishes. And now, while the other boys were viewing various technological marvels at an exhibition in Munich’s Olympia Stadium, Artemis was on his way to the International Bank.
As far as Principal Guiney was concerned, Butler was driving a student who was feeling poorly back to his hotel room.
“Crane and Sparrow probably move the painting several times a year. I certainly would.