Juliet often used the expression duh. Artemis never used such colloquialisms himself, but it would have been apt at this particular moment.
“Its name is Cube.”
“Okay, Cube. Are you going to give me attitude?”
“I will give you whatever it is in my processor’s capacity to give.”
Spiro rubbed his palms with childish glee, jewelery flashing like ripples in a sunset sea.
“Okay, let’s try this baby out. Cube, can you tell me, are there any satellites monitoring the building?”
Foaly was silent for a moment. Artemis could imagine him calling up his sat-track information on a screen. “Just one at the moment, though judging from the ion trails, this building has been hit with more rays than the Millennium Falcon.”
Spiro shot Artemis a glance.
“His personality chip is faulty,” explained the boy. “That’s why I discontinued him—it. We can fix that at any time.”
Spiro nodded. He didn’t want his very own technological genie growing the personality of a gorilla.
“What about that group, the LEP, Cube?” he asked. “They were monitoring me in London. Are they watching?”
“The LEP? That’s a Lebanese satellite TV network,” said Foaly, following Artemis’s instructions. “Game shows mostly. Their footprint doesn’t reach this far.”
“Okay, forget about them, Cube. I need to know that satellite’s serial number.”
Foaly consulted his screen.
“Ah . . . Let me see. U.S., registered to the Federal Government. Number ST1147W.”
Spiro clenched both fists. “Yes! Correct. I happen to already have that information myself. Cube, you have passed my test.”
The billionaire danced around the laboratory, reduced to childish displays by his greed.
“I’m telling you, Arty, this has taken years off me! I feel like putting on a tuxedo and going to the prom.”
“Indeed.”
“I don’t know where to start. Should I make my own money? Or should I rip off somebody else’s?”
Artemis forced a smile. “The world is your oyster.”
Spiro patted the Cube gently. “Exactly. That’s exactly what it is. And I’m going to take every pearl it has to offer.”
Pex and Chips arrived at the vault door, guns drawn.
“Mr. Spiro!” stammered Pex. “Is this some kind of drill?”
Spiro laughed. “Oh, look. Here come the cavalry. An eternity too late. No, this is not a drill. And I would dearly love to know how little Artemis here got past you two!”
The hired muscle stared at Artemis as though he had just appeared from nowhere. Which for their mesmerized brains, he had.
“I don’t know, Mr. Spiro. We never saw him. You want I should take him outside for a little accident?”
Spiro laughed, a short nasty bark. “I got a new word for you two dumbbells. Expendable. You are and he isn’t, just yet. Get it? So just stand there and look dangerous, otherwise I may replace you with two shaved gorillas.”
Spiro gazed into the Cube’s screen, as though there were nobody else in the room. “I reckon I’ve got twenty years left in me. After that the world can go to hell as far as I’m concerned. I have no family, no heirs. There’s no need to build for the future. I’m going to suck this planet dry, and with this Cube I can do whatever I want to whoever I want.”
“I know the first thing I’d do,” said Pex. His eyes seemed surprised that the words were coming out of his mouth.
Spiro froze. He wasn’t used to being interrupted in mid-rant.
“What would you do, dumbbell?” he said. “Buy yourself a booth at Merv’s Rib ’n’ Roast?”
“No,” said Pex. “I’d stick it to those Phonetix guys. They’ve been rubbing Spiro Industries’ nose in it for years.”
It was an electric moment. Not only because Pex had actually had an idea, but because it was actually a good one.
The notion lit a thoughtful spark in Spiro’s eyes.
“Phonetix. I hate those guys. Nothing would give me greater satisfaction than to destroy that bunch of second-rate phone freaks. But how?”
Now it was Chips’s turn. “I hear they’re working on a new top-secret communicator. Super-life battery, or something.”
Spiro did a double take. First Pex, now Chips. Next thing you knew, they’d be learning to read. Nevertheless . . .
“Cube,” said Spiro. “I want you to access the Phonetix database. Copy the schematics for all their projects in development.”
“No can do, bossman. Phonetix is operating on a closed system. No Internet connection whatsoever in their R and D Department. I have to be on site.”
Spiro’s euphoria disappeared. He rounded on Artemis.
“What is he talking about?”
Artemis coughed, clearing his throat. “The Cube cannot scan a closed system unless the omni-sensor is actually touching the computer, or at least close by. Phonetix is so paranoid about hackers that their research and development lab is completely contained. Buried under several floors of solid rock. They don’t even have e-mail. I know because I’ve tried to hack it myself a few times.”
“But the Cube scanned the satellite, didn’t it?”
“The satellite is broadcasting. And if it’s broadcasting, the Cube can trace it.”
Spiro toyed with the links of his ID chain. “So, I’d have to go to Phonetix.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” said Artemis. “It’s a lot to risk for the sake of a personal vendetta.”
Blunt stepped forward. “Let me go, Mr. Spiro. I’ll get those plans.”
Spiro chewed on a handful of vitamin supplements from a dispenser on his belt.
“It’s a nice idea, Arno. Good work. But I am reluctant to hand control of the Cube over to anyone else. Who knows what temptation they might yield to? Cube, can you disable the Phonetix alarm system?”
“Can a dwarf blow a hole in his pants?”
“What was that?”
“Eh . . . nothing. Technical term. You wouldn’t understand it. I have already disabled the Phonetix system.”
“What about the guards, Cube? Can you disable them?”
“No problemo. I could remote activate the internal security measure.”
“Which is?”
“Tanks of vapor inside the air vents. Sleeping gas. Illegal, by the way, according to Chicago State Law. But clever, no aftereffects, untraceable. The intruder comes to in lock-up two hours later.”
Spiro cackled. “Those paranoid Phonetix boys. Go ahead, Cube, knock ’em out.”
“Night night,” said Foaly, with a glee that seemed all too real.
“Good. Now, Cube, all that stands between us and the Phonetix blueprints is an encrypted computer.”
“Don’t make me laugh. They haven’t invented a unit of time short enough to measure how long it will take me to crack the Phonetix hard disk.”
Spiro clipped the Cube onto his belt. “You know something? I’m starting to like this guy.”
Artemis made one last sincere-sounding attempt to contain the situation. “Mr. Spiro, I really don’t think that this is a good idea.”
“Of course you don’t,” laughed Jon Spiro, jangling toward the door. “That’s why I’m bringing you along.”
Phonetix research and development laboratories, Chicago’s industrial sector
Spiro selected a Lincoln Town Car from his extensive garage. It was a nineties model with fake registration. He often used it as a getaway vehicle. It was old enough to be unremarkable, and even if the police did get a shot of the plates, it wouldn’t lead them anywhere.
Blunt parked opposite the Phonetix R & D lab’s main entrance. A security guard was visible at his desk behind the glass revolving door. Arno pulled a pair of fold-up binoculars from the glove compartment. He focused on the guard.
“Sleeping like a baby,” he announced.
Spiro clapped him on the shoulder.
“Good. We have less than two hours.
Can we do it?”
“If this Cube is as good as he says he is, then we can be in and out in fifteen minutes.”
“It’s a machine,” said Artemis coldly. “Not one of your steroid-munching associates.”
Blunt glanced over his shoulder. Artemis sat in the backseat, squashed between Pex and Chips.
“You’re very brave all of a sudden.”
Artemis shrugged. “What have I got to lose? After all, things can hardly get worse.”
There was a regular door beside the revolving one. The Cube remote activated the buzzer, admitting the band of intruders to the lobby. No alarms sounded, and no platoon of security guards came rushing to detain them.