Eoin Colfer - Artemis Fowl 03 - The Eternity Code, E-book, E
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ARTEMIS
FOWL
THE
ETERINTY
CODE
BY
EION COLFER
BOOK 3 OF
THE ARTIMIS FOWL SERIES
PROLOGUE
EXCERPT FROM ARTEMIS FOWL’S DIARY. DISK 2.
ENCRYPTED.
FOR the past two years my business enterprises have thrived without
parental interference. In this time, I have sold the Pyramids to a Western
businessman, forged and auctioned off the lost diaries of Leonardo da
Vinci and separated the fairy People from a large portion of their precious
gold. But my freedom to plot is almost at an end. As I write, my father lies
in a hospital bed in Helsinki, where he recovers after a two-year
imprisonment by the Russian Mafiya. He is still unconscious following his
ordeal, but he will awaken soon and retake control of the Fowl finances.
With two parents resident in Fowl Manor, it will be impossible for me to
conduct my various illegal ventures undetected. Previously this would not
have been a problem as my father was a bigger crook than me, but Mother
is determined that the Fowls are going straight.
However, there is time for one last job. Something that my mother would
not approve of. I don’t think the fairy folk would like it much either. So I
shall not tell them.
•
PART I: ATTACK
CHAPTER I:THE CUBE
EN FIN, KNIGHTSBRIDGE, LONDON
ARTEMIS Fowl was almost content. His father would be discharged
from Helsinki’s 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 world’s deadliest men
by dropping one’s 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. It’s a perfectly legal business meeting in broad daylight, for
heaven’s 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 Artemis’s 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 menu’s 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 Chicago’s district attorney
hadn’t tried. Several times.
A waitress wandered over, giving them a dazzling smile.
‘Hello there, young man. Would you like to see the children’s menu?’
A vein pulsed in Artemis’s temple.
‘No, mademoiselle, I would not like to see the
children’s menu
. I have no
doubt the
children’s menu
itself tastes better than the meals on it. I would
like to order a la carte. Or don’t you serve fish to minors?’
The waitress’s smile shrank by a couple of molars. Artemis’s 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. She’d 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
he’d caused.
‘You’re going to be a big hit at the school dances,’ Butler commented.
‘Pardon?’
‘That poor girl was almost in tears. It wouldn’t hurt you to be nice
occasionally.’
Artemis was surprised. Butler rarely offered opinions on personal matters.
‘I don’t see myself at school dances, Butler.’
‘Dancing isn’t the point. It’s 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 charge’s 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 man’s hand. His jewellery jangled like a rattlesnake’s
tail.
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ARTEMIS
FOWL
THE
ETERINTY
CODE
BY
EION COLFER
BOOK 3 OF
THE ARTIMIS FOWL SERIES
PROLOGUE
EXCERPT FROM ARTEMIS FOWL’S DIARY. DISK 2.
ENCRYPTED.
FOR the past two years my business enterprises have thrived without
parental interference. In this time, I have sold the Pyramids to a Western
businessman, forged and auctioned off the lost diaries of Leonardo da
Vinci and separated the fairy People from a large portion of their precious
gold. But my freedom to plot is almost at an end. As I write, my father lies
in a hospital bed in Helsinki, where he recovers after a two-year
imprisonment by the Russian Mafiya. He is still unconscious following his
ordeal, but he will awaken soon and retake control of the Fowl finances.
With two parents resident in Fowl Manor, it will be impossible for me to
conduct my various illegal ventures undetected. Previously this would not
have been a problem as my father was a bigger crook than me, but Mother
is determined that the Fowls are going straight.
However, there is time for one last job. Something that my mother would
not approve of. I don’t think the fairy folk would like it much either. So I
shall not tell them.
•
PART I: ATTACK
CHAPTER I:THE CUBE
EN FIN, KNIGHTSBRIDGE, LONDON
ARTEMIS Fowl was almost content. His father would be discharged
from Helsinki’s 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 world’s deadliest men
by dropping one’s 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. It’s a perfectly legal business meeting in broad daylight, for
heaven’s 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 Artemis’s 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 menu’s 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 Chicago’s district attorney
hadn’t tried. Several times.
A waitress wandered over, giving them a dazzling smile.
‘Hello there, young man. Would you like to see the children’s menu?’
A vein pulsed in Artemis’s temple.
‘No, mademoiselle, I would not like to see the
children’s menu
. I have no
doubt the
children’s menu
itself tastes better than the meals on it. I would
like to order a la carte. Or don’t you serve fish to minors?’
The waitress’s smile shrank by a couple of molars. Artemis’s 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. She’d 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
he’d caused.
‘You’re going to be a big hit at the school dances,’ Butler commented.
‘Pardon?’
‘That poor girl was almost in tears. It wouldn’t hurt you to be nice
occasionally.’
Artemis was surprised. Butler rarely offered opinions on personal matters.
‘I don’t see myself at school dances, Butler.’
‘Dancing isn’t the point. It’s 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 charge’s 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 man’s hand. His jewellery jangled like a rattlesnake’s
tail.
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