【英文文学】Artemis Fowl_ The Eternity Code永恒的密码.docx

【英文文学】Artemis Fowl_ The Eternity Code永恒的密码Chapter 1 The CubeEN FIN, KNIGHTSBRIDGE, LONDONARTEMIS Fowl was almost content. His father would be discharged from Helsinkis University Hospital any day now. He himself was looking forward to a delicious late lunch at En Fin, a London seafood restaurant, and his business contact should arrive any moment. All according to plan.His bodyguard, Butler, was not quite so relaxed. But then again he was never truly at ease one did not become one of the worlds deadliest men by dropping ones guard. The giant Eurasian flitted between tables in the Knightsbridge bistro, positioning the usual security items and clearing exit routes.Are you wearing the earplugs? he asked his employer.Artemis sighed deeply. Yes, Butler. Though I hardly think we are in danger here. Its a perfectly legal business meeting in broad daylight, for heavens sake.The earplugs were actually sonic filter sponges, cannibalized from fairy Lower Elements Police helmets. Butler had obtained the helmets, along with a treasure trove of fairy technology, over a year previously when one of Artemiss schemes pitted him against a fairy SWAT team. The sponges were grown in LEP labs, and had tiny porous membranes that sealed automatically when decibel levels surpassed safety standards.Maybe so, Artemis, but the thing about assassins is that they like to catch you unawares.Perhaps, replied Artemis, perusing the menus entree section. But who could possibly have a motive to kill us?Butler shot one of the half-dozen diners a fierce glare, just in case she was planning something. The woman must have been at least eighty.They might not be after us. Remember, Jon Spiro is a powerful man. He put a lot of companies out of business. We could be caught in a crossfire.Artemis nodded. As usual, Butler was right, which explained why they were both still alive. Jon Spiro, the American he was meeting, was just the kind of man to attract assassins bullets. A successful IT billionaire, with a shady past and alleged mob connections. Rumour had it that his company, Fission Chips, had made it to the top on the back of stolen research. Of course, nothing was ever proved not that Chicagos district attorney hadnt tried. Several times.A waitress wandered over, giving them a dazzling smile.Hello there, young man. Would you like to see the childrens menu?A vein pulsed in Artemiss temple.No, mademoiselle, I would not like to see the childrens menu. I have no doubt the childrens menu itself tastes better than the meals on it. I would like to order a la carte. Or dont you serve fish to minors?The waitresss smile shrank by a couple of molars. Artemiss vocabulary had that effect on most people.Butler rolled his eyes. And Artemis wondered who would want to kill him. Most of the waiters and tailors in Europe, for a start.Yes, sir, stammered the unfortunate waitress. Whatever you like.What I would like is a medley of shark and swordfish, pan-seared, on a bed of vegetables and new potatoes.And to drink?Spring water. Irish, if you have it. And no ice, please, as your ice is no doubt made from tap water, which rather defeats the purpose of spring water.The waitress scurried to the kitchen, relieved to escape from the pale youth at table six. Shed seen a vampire movie once. The undead creature had the very same hypnotic stare. Maybe the kid spoke like a grown-up because he was actually five hundred years old.Artemis smiled in anticipation of his meal, unaware of the consternation hed caused.Youre going to be a big hit at the school dances, Butler commented.Pardon?That poor girl was almost in tears. It wouldnt hurt you to be nice occasionally.Artemis was surprised. Butler rarely offered opinions on personal matters.I dont see myself at school dances, Butler.Dancing isnt the point. Its all about communication.Communication? scoffed young Master Fowl. I doubt there is a teenager alive with a vocabulary equal to mine.Butler was about to point out the difference between talking and communicating when the restaurant door opened. A small tanned man entered, flanked by a veritable giant. Jon Spiro and his security.Butler bent low to whisper in his charges ear. Be careful, Artemis. I know the big one by reputation.Spiro wound through the tables, arms outstretched. He was a middle-aged American, thin as a javelin, and barely taller than Artemis himself. In the eighties, shipping had been his thing; in the nineties he made a killing in stocks and shares. Now, it was communications.He wore his trademark white linen suit, and there was enough jewellery hanging from his wrists and fingers to gold leaf the Taj Mahal.Artemis rose to greet his associate. Mister Spiro, welcome.Hey, little Artemis Fowl. How the hell are you?Artemis shook the mans hand. His jewellery jangled like a rattlesnakes tail.I am well. Glad you could come.Spiro took a chair. Artemis Fowl calls with a proposition: I wouldve walked across broken glass to be here.The bodyguards appraised each other openly. Apart from their bulk, the two were polar opposites. Butler was the epitome of understated efficiency. Black suit, shaven head, as inconspicuous as it was possible to be at almost seven feet tall. The newcomer had bleached blond hair, a cut-off T-shirt and silver pirate rings in both ears. This was not a man who wanted to be forgotten, or ignored.Arno Blunt, said Butler. Ive heard about you.Blunt took up his position at Jon Spiros shoulder.Butler. One of the Butlers, he said, in a New Zealand drawl. I hear you guys are the best. Thats what I hear. Lets hope we dont have to find out.Spiro laughed. It sounded like a box of crickets.Arno, please. We are among friends here. This is not a day for threats.Butler was not so sure. His soldiers sense was buzzing like a nest of hornets at the base of his skull. There was danger here.So, my friend. To business, said Spiro, fixing Artemis with his close-set dark eyes. Ive been salivating all the way across the Atlantic. What have you got for me?Artemis frowned. Hed hoped business could wait until after lunch.Wouldnt you like to see a menu?No. I dont eat much any more. Pills and liquids mostly. Gut problems.Very well, said Artemis, laying an aluminium briefcase on the table. To business then.He flipped the cases lid, revealing a red cube the size of a minidisc player, nestling in blue foam.Spiro cleaned his spectacles with the tail end of his tie.What am I seeing here, kid?Artemis placed the shining box on the table.The future, Mister Spiro. Ahead of schedule.Jon Spiro leaned in, taking a good look.Looks like a paperweight to me.Arno Blunt sniggered, his eyes taunting Butler.A demonstration then, said Artemis, picking up the metal box. He pressed a button and the gadget purred into life. Sections slid back to reveal speakers and a screen.Cute, muttered Spiro. I flew three thousand miles for a micro-TV?Artemis nodded. A micro-TV. But also a verbally controlled computer, a mobile phone, a diagnostic aid. This little box can read any information on absolutely any platform, electrical or organic. It can play videos, laserdiscs, DVDs; go online, retrieve e-mail, hack any computer. It can even scan your chest to see how fast your hearts beating. Its battery is good for two years and, of course, its completely wireless.Artemis paused, to let it sink in.Spiros eyes seemed huge behind his spectacles.You mean, this box . . .?Will render all other technology obsolete. Your computer plants will be worthless.The American took several deep breaths.But how . . . how?Artemis flipped the box over. An infrared sensor pulsed gently on the back.This is the secret. An omni-sensor. It can read anything you ask it to. And if the source is programmed in, it can piggyback any satellite you choose.Spiro wagged a finger. But thats illegal, isnt it?No, no, said Artemis, smiling. There are no laws against something like this. And there wont be for at least two years after it comes out. Look how long it took to shut down Napster.The American rested his face in his hands. It was too much.I dont understand. This is years, no, decades ahead of anything we have now. Youre nothing but a thirteen-year-old kid. How did you do it?Artemis thought for a second. What was he going to say? Sixteen months ago Butler took on a Lower Elements Police Retrieval squad and confiscated their fairy technology? Then he, Artemis, had taken the components and built this wonderful box? Hardly.Lets just say Im a very smart boy, Mister Spiro.Spiros eyes narrowed. Maybe not as smart as youd like us to think. I want a demonstration.Fair enough. Artemis nodded. Do you have a mobile phone?Naturally. Spiro placed his mobile phone on the table. It was the latest Fission Chips model.Secure, I take it?Spiro nodded arrogantly. Five hundred bit encryption. Best in its class. Youre not getting into the Fission 400 without a code.We shall see.Artemis pointed the sensor at the handset. The screen instantly displayed an image of the mobile phones workings.Download? enquired a metallic voice from the speaker.Confirm.In less than a second, the job was done. Download complete, said the box, with a hint of smugness.Spiro was aghast. I dont believe it. That system cost twenty million dollars.Worthless, said Artemis, showing him the screen. Would you like to call home? Or maybe move some funds around? You really shouldnt keep your bank account numbers on a sim card.The American thought for several moments.Its a trick, he pronounced finally. You mustve known about my phone. Somehow, dont ask me how, you got access to it earlier.That is logical, admitted Artemis. Its what I would suspect. Name your test.Spiro cast his eyes around the restaurant, fingers drumming the tabletop.Over there, he said, pointing to a video shelf above the bar. Play one of those tapes.Thats it?Itll do, for a start.Arno Blunt made a huge show of flicking through the tapes, eventually selecting one without a label. He slapped it down on the table, bouncing the engraved silver cutlery into the air.Artemis resisted the urge to roll his eyes and placed the red box directly on to the tapes surface.An image of the cassettes innards appeared on the tiny plasma screen.Download? asked the box.Artemis nodded. Download, compensate and play.Again, the operation was completed in under a second. An old episode of an English soap crackled into life.DVD quality, commented Artemis. Regardless of the input, the C Cube will compensate.The what?C Cube, repeated Artemis. The name I have given my little box. A tad obvious, I admit. But appropriate. The cube that sees everything.Spiro snatched the video cassette. Check it, he ordered, tossing the tape to Arno Blunt.The bleached-blond bodyguard activated the bars TV, sliding the video into its slot. Coronation Street flickered across the screen. The same show. Nowhere near the same quality.Convinced? asked Artemis.The American tinkered with one of his many bracelets.Almost. One last test. I have a feeling that the government is monitoring me. Could you check it out?Artemis thought for a moment, then addressed the red box again.Cube, do you read any surveillance beams concentrated on this building?The machine whirred for a moment. The strongest ion beam is eighty kilometres due west, emanating from US satellite code number ST1132P. Registered to the Central Intelligence Agency. Estimated time of arrival, eight minutes. There are also several LEP probes connected to . . .Artemis hit the mute button before the Cube could continue. Obviously the computers fairy components could pick up Lower Elements technology too. He would have to remedy that. In the wrong hands that information would be devastating to fairy security.Whats the matter, kid? The box was still talking. Who are the LEP?Artemis shrugged. No pay, no play, as you Americans say. One example is enough. The CIA no less.The CIA, breathed Spiro. They suspect me of selling military secrets. Theyve pulled one of their birds out of orbit, just to track me.Or perhaps me, noted Artemis.Perhaps you, agreed Spiro. Youre looking more dangerous by the second.Arno Blunt chuckled derisively.Butler ignored it. One of them had to be professional.Spiro cracked his knuckles, a habit Artemis detested.Weve got eight minutes, so lets get down to the nitty gritty, kid. How much for the box?Artemis was not paying attention, distracted by the LEP information that the Cube had almost revealed. In a careless moment, he had nearly exposed his subterranean friends to exactly the kind of man who would exploit them.Im sorry, what did you say?I said, how much for the box?Firstly, its a Cube, corrected Artemis. And secondly, its not for sale.Jon Spiro took a deep, shuddering breath. Not for sale? You brought me across the Atlantic to show me something youre not going to sell me? Whats going on here?Butler wrapped his fingers around the handle of a pistol in his waistband. Arno Blunts hand disappeared behind his back. The tension cranked up another notch.Artemis steepled his fingers. Mister Spiro. Jon. I am not a complete idiot. I realize the value of my Cube. There is not enough money in the world to pay for this particular item. Whatever you could give me, it would be worth a thousand per cent more in a week.So whats the deal, Fowl? asked Spiro, through gritted teeth. What are you offering?Im offering you twelve months. For the right price, Im prepared to keep my Cube off the market for a year.Jon Spiro toyed with his ID bracelet. A birthday present to himself.Youll suppress the technology for a year?Correct. That should give you ample time to sell your stocks before they crash, and to use the profits to buy into Fowl Industries.There is no Fowl Industries.Artemis smirked. There will be.Butler squeezed his employers shoulder. It was not a good idea to bait a man like Jon Spiro.But Spiro hadnt even noticed the jibe. He was too busy calculating, twisting his bracelet like a string of worry beads.Your price? he asked eventually.Gold. One metric ton, replied the heir to the Fowl estate.Thats a lot of gold.Artemis shrugged. I like gold. It holds its value. And anyway, its a pittance compared to what this deal will save you.Spiro thought about it. At his shoulder, Arno Blunt continued staring at Butler. The Fowl bodyguard blinked freely: in the event of confrontation, dry eyeballs would only lessen his advantage. Staring matches were