Bertholt stayed civil in the face of Artemis’s sarcasm. “Maybe you’d like to work here when you grow up, eh, Alfonse?”
For the first time Artemis smiled sincerely, and for some reason the sight sent shivers down Bertholt’s spine. “Do you know something, Bertholt? I think some of my best work will be in banks.”
The awkward silence that followed was cut short by a voice from a tiny speaker below the camera.
“Yes, Bertholt, we see you. How many?”
“Two,” replied Bertholt. “One key holder and one minor. Coming down to open a box.”
The lift door slid back to reveal a steel cuboid with no buttons or panels, just a camera elevated in one corner. They stepped inside and the elevator was remotely activated. Artemis noticed Bertholt wringing his hands as soon as they began to descend.
“Hey, Bertholt, what’s the problem? It’s only an elevator.”
Bertholt forced a smile. Barely a glint of tooth showed beneath his mustache. “You don’t miss much, do you, Alfonse? I don’t like small spaces. And there are no controls in here, for security reasons. The lift is operated from the desk. If it were to break down, we would be relying on the guards to rescue us. This thing is virtually airtight. What if the guard had a heart attack, or went on a coffee break? We could all . . .” The bank official’s nervous rant was cut off by the hiss of the elevator door. They had arrived at the deposit-box floor.
“Here we are,” said Bertholt, mopping his forehead with a Kleenex. A section of the paper remained trapped in the worry lines of his forehead, and fluttered there like a windsock in the air-conditioner blast. “Safe, you see. Absolutely no need to worry. All is well.” He laughed nervously. “Shall we?”
A bulky security guard waited for them outside the lift. Artemis noted the side arm on his belt, and the earpiece cord winding along his neck.
“Willkommen, Bertholt, you made it in one piece. Again.”
Bertholt plucked the strand of tissue from his forehead. “Yes, Kurt, I made it, and don’t think the scorn in your voice goes unnoticed.”
Kurt sighed mightily, allowing the escaping air to flap his lips. “Please pardon my phobic countryman,” he said to Butler. “Everything terrifies him, from spiders to elevators. It’s a wonder he ever gets out of bed. Now, if you could stand on the yellow square and raise both arms to shoulder level.”
There was a yellow square taped onto the steel floor. Butler stepped onto it, raising his arms. Kurt performed a body search that would have shamed a customs official, before ushering him through a metal detector arch.
“He’s clean,” he said aloud. The words would be picked up by the microphone on his lapel and relayed to the security booth. “You next, boy,” said Kurt. “Same drill.”
Artemis complied, slouching onto the square. He raised his arms barely six inches from his sides.
Butler glared at him. “Alfonse! Can’t you do what the man says? In the army I would have you cleaning the latrines for this kind of behavior.”
Artemis glared back. “Yes, Colonel, but we’re not in the army here, are we?”
Kurt slipped Artemis’s pack from his back and rifled through the contents.
“What’s this?” he asked, pulling out a toughened plastic frame.
Artemis took the frame, unfolding it with three deft movements. “It’s a scooter, dude. You may have heard of them. Transportation that doesn’t pollute the air we breathe.”
Kurt snatched back the scooter, spinning the wheels and checking the joints.
Artemis smirked. “Of course, it’s also a laser cutter, so I can break into your boxes.”
“You’re a real smart aleck, boy,” snarled Kurt, stuffing the scooter back in the bag. “And what’s this?”
Artemis turned on the video game. “It’s a game box. They were invented so teenagers wouldn’t have to talk to grown-ups.”
Kurt glanced at Butler. “He’s a gem, sir. I wish I had one just like him.” He rattled a ring of keys on Artemis’s belt. “And what are these?”
Artemis scratched his head. “Uh . . . keys?”
Kurt ground his teeth audibly. “I know they’re keys, boy. What do they open?”
Artemis shrugged. “Stuff. My locker. My scooter lock. A couple of diaries. Stuff.”
The security guard examined the keys. They were everyday keys, and wouldn’t open a complicated lock. But the bank had a no-key rule. Only safe-deposit box keys were allowed through the metal detector.
“Sorry. The keys stay here.” Kurt unclipped the ring and placed the keys in a flat tray. “You can pick them up on your way out.”
“Can I go now?”
“Yes,” said Kurt. “Please do, but pass the bag through to your father first.”
Artemis handed the bag around the metal detector arch to Butler. He passed through himself, setting off the buzzer.
Kurt followed him impatiently. “Do you have anything else metallic on you? A belt buckle? Some coins?”
“Money?” scoffed Artemis. “I wish.”
“What’s setting off the detector, then?” said Kurt, puzzled.
“I think I know,” said Artemis. He hooked a finger inside his top lip, pulling it up. Two metal bands ran across his teeth.
“Braces. That would do it,” said Kurt. “The detector is extremely sensitive.”
Artemis removed his finger from his mouth. “Should I take these out too? Rip them from my teeth?”
Kurt took the suggestion at face value. “No. I think we’re safe enough. Just
go on through. But behave yourself in there. It’s a vault, not a playground.” Kurt paused, pointing to a camera above their heads. “Remember, I’ll be watching.”
“Watch all you like,” said Artemis brazenly.
“Oh, I will, boy. You so much as spit on one of those doors, and I’ll eject you from the premises. Forcibly.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Kurt,” said Bertholt. “Don’t be so theatrical. Those are not network television cameras, you know.”
Bertholt ushered them through to the vault door. “I apologize for Kurt. He failed the special-forces exam and ended up here. Sometimes I think he would love someone to rob the place, just so he could see some action.”
The door was a circular slab of steel, at least sixteen feet in diameter. In spite of its size, the door swung easily at Bertholt’s touch.
“Perfectly balanced,” explained the bank official. “A child could open it, until five thirty when it shuts for the night. Naturally the vault is time locked. Nobody can open the door until eight thirty A.M. Not even the bank president.”
Inside the vault were rows and rows of steel deposit boxes of all shapes and sizes. Each box had a single rectangular keyhole on its face, surrounded by a fiber-optic light. At the moment all the lights glowed red.
Bertholt took a key from his pocket; it was attached to his belt by a woven steel cable. “Of course the key’s shape is not the only important thing,” he said, inserting the key into a master keyhole. “The locks are also operated by microchip.”
Butler took a similar key from his wallet. “Are we ready?”
“Whenever you are, sir.”
Butler ran his fingers over several boxes until he reached number seven hundred. He inserted his key in the keyhole. “Ready.”
“Very well, sir. On my mark. Three, two, one. Turn.”
Both men turned their keys simultaneously. The master key safeguard prevented a thief opening a box with a single key. If the two keys were not turned within one second of each other, the box would not open.