Mulch- Opening Safe

  'Foaly. I can't see through this.'

  'Lead-lined. You're on your own, burglar boy. Do what you do best.'

  'Typical,' muttered Mulch, flattening his ear to the cold steel.

  He twirled the dial experimentally. Nice action. The clicks were muted by the lead, he would have to concentrate. The upside was that something this thin could have only three tumblers at the most. Mulch held his breath and twisted the dial, one cog at a time. To the normal ear, even with amplification, the clicks would have seemed uniform. But to Mulch, each cog had a distinctive signature and when a ratchet caught, it was so loud as to be deafening.
...
  Concentrate. The cogs clicked by. Millimetre by millimetre. Nothing was catching. The floor seemed to be hopping gently, though he could be imagining it.

  Click, click. Come on. Come on. His fingers were slick with perspiration, the dial slipping between them. Mulch wiped them on his jerkin.

  'Now, baby, come on. Talk to me.'

  Click. Thunk.

  'Yes!'

  Mulch twisted the handle. Nothing. Still an obstruction. He ran a fingertip over the metal face. There. A small irregularity. A micro keyhole. Too small for your average lock pick. Time for a little trick he'd learned in prison. Quickly though, his stomach was bubbling like stew in the oven, and the footsteps were getting closer.

  Selecting a sturdy chin hair, Mulch fed it gently into the tiny hole. When the tip reappeared, he pulled the root from his chin. The hair immediately stiffened, retaining the shape of the lock's interior.

  Mulch held his breath and twisted. Smooth as a goblin's lie, the lock opened. Beautiful. At moments like these, it was almost worth all the jail time.

-Artemis Fowl, Chapter 7