Holly dumped the contents of her pack on the rug.
“A complete LEP surveillance kit, including camouflage foil, mikes and video clips, and a first-aid box.”
“Plus we still have two intact LEP helmets and three laser handguns left over from the siege,” added Butler. “And of course one of the prototype Cubes from the lab.”
Artemis passed the cordless phone to Mulch.
“Very well, then. We may as well get started.”
The Spiro Needle
Jon Spiro sat in his opulent office, staring glumly at the C Cube on his desk. People thought it was easy being him. How little they knew. The more money you had, the more pressure you were under. He had eight hundred employees in this building alone, all relying on him for a paycheck. They wanted yearly salary reviews, medical plans, daycare centers, regular coffee breaks, double pay for overtime, and even stock options, for heaven’s sake. Sometimes, Spiro missed the times when a troublesome worker would be thrown out a high window and that was the end of him. These days, if you threw someone out of a window, they’d phone their lawyer on the way down.
But this Cube could be the answer to his prayers. A once-in-a-lifetime deal, the brass ring. If he could get this weird little gizmo working, the sky was the limit. Literally. The world’s satellites would be his to command. He would have complete control over spy satellites, military lasers, communications’ networks, and most important of all, elevision stations. He could feasibly rule the world.
His secretary buzzed from reception.
“Mr. Blunt to see you, sir.”
Spiro jabbed the intercom button.
“Okay, Marlene, send him in. And tell him he better look sorry.”
Blunt did indeed look sorry when he pushed through the double doors. The doors themselves were imposing enough. Spiro had them stolen from the ballroom of the sunken Titanic. They were a perfect example of power gone mad.
Arno Blunt was not quite so cocky as he had been in London. Then again, it is difficult to look arrogant when your forehead is a mass of bruises and your mouth is full of gums and nothing else.
Spiro winced at the sight of his sunken cheeks.
“How many teeth did you lose?”
Blunt touched his jaw gingerly. “All ob ’em. Dentish shaid de roods were shaddered.”
“It serves you right,” said Spiro matter-of-factly. “What do I gotta do, Arno? I hand you Artemis Fowl on a platter, and you mess it up. Tell me what happened. And I don’t want to hear about any earthquakes. I want the truth.”
Blunt wiped a blob of drool from the corner of his mouth.
“I doh undershtan’ ih. Shomeshin’ explohduh. dunno wha. Shome kinna shoun’ grenay. Buh I tell you shomeshin’. Butlah ish dead. I sho’ him in de har. No way he’sh geddin’ uh affer da.”
“Oh, shut up!” snapped Spiro. “You’re giving me a headache. The sooner you get those new teeth, the better.”
“My gumsh wi’ be healed suffishently by thish afernoo’.”
“I thought I told you to shut up!”
“Shorry, bosh.”
“You’ve put me in a very difficult situation, Arno. Because of your incompetence I had to hire a team from the Antonellis. Carla is a smart girl. She could decide that they deserve a percentage. It could cost me millions.”
Arno tried his best to look remorseful.
“And don’t bother with the puppy-dog look, Blunt. It doesn’t cut any ice with me. If this deal goes south, you’ll be losing a lot more than a couple of teeth.”
Arno decided to change the subject. “Sho, di’ your shientishts geh de gube worging?”
“No,” said Spiro, twisting his gold identity bracelet. “Fowl has it sealed up tight. An eternity code, or some such thing. That idiot, Pearson, couldn’t get a peep out of it.”
It was at that moment, dramatically enough, that a voice emanated from the C Cube’s micro speaker mesh.
“Mr. Spiro?” said the voice. “This is Ireland calling. Do you read, Mr. Spiro?”
Jon Spiro was not a man who spooked easily. He hadn’t seen a horror movie yet that could make him jump in his seat, but the voice coming out of that speaker almost knocked him off his chair. The quality was incredible. Close your eyes, and you’d swear that the person speaking was standing right in front of you.
“You wan’ me to ansher da?”
“I told you to shut up! Anyway, I don’t know how to answer this thing.”
“I can hear you, Mr. Spiro,” said the voice. “You don’t need to do anything. Just talk. The box does the rest.”
Spiro noticed that a digital wave meter had appeared on the Cube’s screen. When he spoke, it registered.
“Okay, then. We got communication. Now, who the hell are you? And how did you get this box working?”
“The name is Mo Digence, Mr. Spiro. I’m the monkey from Carla Frazetti’s team. I don’t know what kind of box you have at your end, I just have a plain old telephone.”
“Well, who dialed the number then?”