‘Nice work,’ he said. ‘Let’s go. The clock is ticking.’
Artemis and Holly climbed back down 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 one time. Their routes were specially planned so that one pair could always have an eyeball-sighting of the vault door. The vault corridor was a hundred metres long and took eighty seconds to travel. At the end of that eighty seconds, the next pair of guards stepped round the corner. Luckily, two of the guards were seeing things in a different light this particular morning.
Foaly gave them their cue.
‘OK. 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. ‘OK. 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 operation.
He ran down the corridor straight towards 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, discussing 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 criss-crossed the vault’s entrance. Next she set her wings to a gentle hover. Any more downdraughts 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 3,’ 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 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 3D image of Spiro’s eyeball to a height of five foot 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 mikes 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 bug-collection agency for the patent.
Holly played the file through her helmet speakers. ‘Jon Spiro. I am the boss, so open up quick.’
Alarm number two disengaged. Another green light.