“It’s useless,” said the scientist, whose name was Dr. Pearson.
Spiro swirled an olive in his martini glass. “I don’t think so, Pearson,” he said. “In fact, I know that little gizmo is anything but useless. I think that maybe you’re the useless one in this equation.”
Spiro was in a terrible mood. Arno Blunt had just called to inform him of Fowl’s survival. When Spiro was in a dark mood, people had been known to disappear off the face of the earth, if they were lucky.
Pearson could feel the stare of the conference room’s third occupant bouncing off his head. This was not a woman you wanted angry with you. Pearson knew that if Jon Spiro decided to have him thrown out the window, this particular individual would have no problem signing an affidavit swearing that he had jumped.
Pearson chose his words carefully. “This device . . .”
“The C Cube. That’s what it’s called. I told you that, so use the name.”
“The C Cube undoubtedly has enormous potential. But it’s encrypted.”
Spiro threw the olive at his head scientist. It was a humiliating experience for a Nobel Prize winner.
“So break the encryption. What do I pay you guys for?”
Pearson could feel his heart speeding up. “It’s not that simple. This code. It’s unbreakable.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Spiro, leaning back in his oxblood leather chair. “I’m putting two hundred million a year into your department, and you can’t break one lousy code, set up by a kid?”
Pearson was trying not to think about the sound his body would make hitting the pavement. His next sentence would save him or damn him.
“The Cube is voice activated, and coded to Artemis Fowl’s voice patterns. Nobody can break the code. It’s not possible.”
Spiro did not respond, it was a signal to continue.
“I’ve heard of something like this. We scientists theorize about it. An eternity code, it’s called. The code has millions of possible permutations, and not only that, but it’s based on an unknown language. It seems as though this boy has created a language that is spoken only by him. We don’t even know how it corresponds to English. A code like this is not even supposed to exist. If Fowl is dead, then I’m sorry to say, Mr. Spiro, but the C Cube died with him.”
Jon Spiro stuck a cigar into the corner of his mouth. He did not light it. His doctors had forbidden it. Politely.
“And if Fowl were alive?”
Pearson knew a lifeline when it was being thrown to him.
“If Fowl were alive, he would be a lot easier to break than an eternity code.”
“Okay, Doc,” said Spiro. “You’re dismissed. You don’t want to hear what’s coming next.”
Pearson gathered his notes and hurried for the door. He tried not to look at the face of the woman at the table. If he didn’t hear what came next, he could kid himself that his conscience was clear. And if he hadn’t actually seen the woman at the conference table, then he couldn’t pick her out of a lineup.
“It looks like we have a problem,” said Spiro to the woman in the dark suit.
The woman nodded. Everything she wore was black. Black power suit, black blouse, black stilettos. Even the Rado watch on her wrist was jet black.
“Yes. But it’s my kind of problem.”
Carla Frazetti was goddaughter to Spatz Antonelli, who ran the downtown branch of the Antonelli crime family. Carla operated as liaison between Jon Spiro and Antonelli, possibly the two most powerful men in Chicago. Spiro had learned early in his career, that businesses allied to the Mob tended to florish.
Carla checked her manicured nails. “It seems to me that you only have one option, you nab the Fowl kid, and squeeze him for this code.”
Spiro sucked on his unlit cigar, thinking about it. “It’s not that straightforward. The kid runs a tight operation. Fowl Manor is like a fortress.”
Carla smiled. “This is a thirteen-year-old kid we’re talking about, right?”
“He’ll be fourteen in six months,” said Spiro defensively. “Anyway, there are complications.”
“Such as?”
“Arno is injured. Somehow Fowl blew his teeth out.”
“Ouch,” said Carla, wincing.
“He can’t even stand in a breeze, never mind head up an operation.”
“That’s a shame.”
“In fact, the kid incapacitated all my best people. They’re on a dental plan too. It’s going to cost me a fortune. No, I need some outside help on this one.”
“You want to contract the job to us?”
“Exactly. But it’s got to be the right people. Ireland is an Old World kind of place. Wise guys are going to stick out a mile. I need guys who blend in and can persuade a kid to accompany them back here. Easy money.”
Carla winked. “I read you, Mr. Spiro.”
“So, you got guys like that? Guys who can take care of business without drawing attention to themselves?”
“The way I see it, you need a metal man and a monkey.”