‘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 lifts. 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 to the steel floor. Butler stepped on 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 on to the square. He barely raised his arms 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 behaviour.’
Artemis glared back. ‘Yes, Colonel, but we’re not in the army here, are we?’
Kurt slipped Artemis’s pack from his back, rifling 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 alec, 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 safety deposit box keys were allowed through the metal detector.
‘Sorry. The keys stay here.’ Kurt undipped the ring, placing the keys on 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 round 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.
‘A brace. That would do it,’ said Kurt. ‘The detector is extremely sensitive.’
Artemis removed his finger. ‘Should I take this out too? Rip it 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 five metres in diameter. In spite of its size, it 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.’
Beyond the vault door 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 fibre-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 keys’ shape is not the only important thing,’ he said, inserting the key in 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.
The light round both keys switched from red to green. The door on Butler’s safety deposit box popped open.
‘Thank you, Bertholt,’ said Butler, reaching into the box.
‘Of course, sir,’ replied Bertholt, almost bowing. ‘I’ll be right outside. Even with the camera, there is a three-minute inspection rule. So I’ll see you in one hundred and eighty seconds.’
Once the bank official had gone, Artemis shot his bodyguard a quizzical look.
‘Alfonse?’ he said out of the side of his mouth. ‘I don’t remember deciding on a name for my character.’
Butler set the stopwatch on his chronograph. ‘I was improvising, Artemis. I thought the situation required it. And if I may say so, you make a very convincing obnoxious teenager.’
‘Thank you, old friend. I try.’
Butler removed an architect’s drawing from his deposit box, folding out the document until it was almost two metres square. He held it at arm’s length, apparently studying the design inked on to the paper.
Artemis glanced upwards at the ceiling-mounted camera. ‘Raise your arms another five centimetres, and take a step to your left.’
Butler did so casually, covering the movements with a cough and a shake of the parchment.
‘Good. Perfect. Stay right there.’
When Butler had rented the box on his last visit, he’d taken numerous photographs of the vault with a button camera. Artemis used these photos to render a digital reconstruction of the room. According to his calculations, Butler’s present position provided him with a ten-square-metre box of cover. In that area his movements would be hidden by the drawing. At the moment, only his trainers could be seen by the security guards.
Artemis rested his back against a wall of security boxes, between two steel benches. He braced both arms against the benches, levering himself out of the oversized trainers. Carefully, the boy slid on to a bench.
‘Keep your head down,’ advised Butler.
Artemis rooted through his backpack for the video cube. Though the box did actually play a computer game,
