“Excuse me, gentlemen. Would either of you mind if I borrowed Mr. Spiro’s Cube?”
Neither man responded. Not so much as a flicker of an eyebrow. This was undoubtedly because of the paralytic gas in their oxygen tanks, concocted from the venom of a nest of Peruvian spiders. The gas was similar in chemical make-up to a salve used by South American natives as anesthetic.
Artemis keyed in the code, which Foaly was reciting in his ear, and the Plexiglas case slid open. The four sides of the Plexiglas box descended into the column on silent motors, leaving the C Cube unprotected. He reached out a hand for the box. . . .
Spiro’s bedroom
Holly climbed through the wardrobe into Spiro’s bedroom. The industrialist lay in the same position in which she had left him, his breath regular and normal. The stopwatch on Holly’s visor read 3:57 and counting. Just in time.
Holly unwrapped the thumb gingerly, aligning it with the rest of the digit. Spiro’s hand felt cold and unhealthy to her touch. She used the magnification filter in her visor to zoom in on the severed thumb. As close as she could figure, the two halves were lined up.
“Heal,” she said, and the magical sparks erupted from the tips of her fingers, sinking into the two halves of Spiro’s thumb. Threads of blue light stitched the dermis and epidermis together, fresh skin breaking through the old to conceal the cut. The thumb began to vibrate and bubble. Steam vented from the pores, forming a mist around Spiro’s hand. His arm shook violently, the shock traveling across his bony chest. Spiro’s back arched until Holly thought it would snap, then the industrialist collapsed onto the bed. Throughout the entire process, his heart never skipped a beat.
A few stray sparks skipped along Spiro’s body like stones on a pond, targeting the areas behind both ears, exactly where Artemis had been looking earlier. Curious, Holly pulled back one ear to reveal a crescent-shaped scar, rapidly being erased by the magic. There was a matching scar behind the other ear.
Holly used her visor to zoom in on one of the scars. “Foaly. What do you make of these?”
“Surgery,” replied the centaur. “Maybe our friend Spiro got himself a face lift. Or maybe . . .”
“Or maybe it’s not Spiro,” completed Holly, switching to Artemis’s channel. “Artemis. It’s not Spiro. It’s a double. Do you hear me? Respond, Artemis.”
Artemis didn’t reply. Maybe because he wouldn’t, maybe because he couldn’t.
The vault
Artemis reached out a hand for the box, and a false wall hissed back pneumatically. Behind it stood Jon Spiro and Arno Blunt. Spiro’s smile was so wide he could have swallowed a slice of watermelon.
He clapped his hands, jewelry jangling. “Bravo, Master Fowl. Some of us didn’t think you’d make it this far.”
Blunt took a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to Spiro.
“Thank you very much, Arno. I hope this teaches you not to bet against the house.”
Artemis nodded thoughtfully. “In the bedroom. That was a double.”
“Yes. Costa, my cousin. We’ve got the same-shaped head—one or two cuts and we could be peas in a pod.”
“So you set the gel scanner to accept his print.”
“For one night only. I wanted to see how far you’d get. You’re an amazing kid, Arty. No one has ever made it into the vault before, and you’d be amazed how many professionals have tried. There are obviously a few glitches in my system, something the security people will have to look at. How did you get in here anyway? You don’t appear to have Costa with you.”
“Trade secret.”
Spiro stepped down from a low platform. “No matter. We’ll review the tapes. There are bound to be a couple of cameras you couldn’t rig. One thing is for sure, you didn’t do it without help. Check him for an earpiece, Arno.”
It took Blunt less than five seconds to find the earpiece. He plucked it out triumphantly, crushing the tiny cylinder beneath his boot.
Spiro sighed. “I have no doubt, Arno, that that little electronic wonder was worth more than you will make in a lifetime. I don’t know why I keep you around. I really don’t.”
Blunt grimaced. His teeth were Plexiglas and half filled with blue oil. A macabre wave machine.
“Sorry, Mr. Spiro.”
“You will be sorrier still, my dentally challenged friend,” said Artemis. “Because Butler is coming.”
Blunt took an involuntary step backward.
“Don’t think that mumbo jumbo is scaring me. Butler is dead. I saw him go down.”
“Go down, perhaps. But did you see him die? If I remember the sequence of events correctly, after you shot Butler, he shot you.”
Blunt touched the sutures on his temple. “A lucky shot.”
“Lucky? Butler is a proud marksman. I wouldn’t say that to his face.”