‘Those solar cells are very rare. They’re worth their weight in gold.
Antique dealers use them to power all sorts of old gadgets. And it would be impossible to build a power-cell factory of any kind without my sensors picking up emissions. Much simpler just to steal them from the humans.’
Root lit one of his trademark fungal cigars. ‘Tell me that’s it. Tell me there’s nothing else.’
Holly’s gaze flickered to the rear of the hangar. Root caught the glance and pressed past the crates to the makeshift shuttle in the docking bay. The commander climbed into the craft.
‘And what the hell is this, Foaly?’
The centaur ran a hand along the ship’s hull. ‘It’s amazing.
Unbelievable. They put a shuttle together from junk. I’m surprised this thing gets off the ground.’
The commander bit down hard on his fungus cigar. ‘When you’re finished admiring the goblins, Foaly, maybe you can explain how the B’wa Kell got a hold of this stuff. I thought all outdated shuttle technology was supposed to be destroyed.’
‘That’s what I thought. I retired some of this stuff myself. This starboard booster used to be in El, until Captain Short blew it out last year. I remember signing the destruct order.’
Root spared a second to shoot Holly a withering glance.
‘So now we have shuttle parts escaping the recycling smelters as well as Softnose lasers. Find out how this shuttle got here.Take it apart, piece by piece. I want every strand of wire lasered for prints and DNA. Feed all the serial numbers into the mainframe. See if there are any common denominators.’
Foaly nodded. ‘Good idea. I’ll get someone on it.’
‘No, Foaly. You get on it. This is priority. So give your conspiracy theories a rest for a few days and find me the inside fairy who’s selling this junk.’
‘But, Julius,’ protested Foaly. ‘That’s grunt work.’
Root took a step closer. ‘One, don’t call me Julius, civilian. And two, I’d say it was more like donkey work.’
Foaly noticed the vein pulsing in the commander’s temple. ‘Point taken,’
he said, removing a handheld computer from his belt. ‘I’ll get right on it.’
‘You do that. Now, Captain Short, what is our B’wa Kell prisoner saying?’
Holly shrugged. ‘Nothing much, still unconscious. He’ll be coughing soot for a month when he wakes up. Anyway, you know how the B’wa Kell works.
The soldiers aren’t told anything. This guy is just a grunt. It’s a pity the Book forbids using the mesmer on other fairies.’
‘Hmm,’ said Root, his face glowing as red as a baboon’s behind. ‘An even greater pity the Atlantis Convention outlawed truth drugs. Otherwise we could pump this convict full of serum until he sang like a drunken Mud Man.’ The commander took several deep breaths, calming down before his heart popped. ‘Right now, we need to find out where these batteries came from, and if there are any more in the Lower Elements.’
Holly took a breath. ‘I have a theory, sir.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ groaned Root. ‘Artemis Fowl, right?'
‘Who else could it be? I knew he’d be back. I knew it.’
‘You know the rules, Holly. He beat us last year. Game over. That’s what the Book says.’
‘Yes, sir, but that was a different game. New game, new rules. If Fowl is supplying power cells to the B’wa Kell, the least we can do is check it out.’
Root considered it. If Fowl was behind this, things could get very complicated, very fast.
‘I don’t like the idea of interrogating Fowl on his turf. But we can’t bring him down here. The pressure below ground would kill him.’
Holly disagreed. ‘Not if we keep him in a secure environment. The city is equalized. So are the shuttles.’
‘OK, go,’ the commander said at last. ‘Bring him in for a little chat. Bring the big one too.’
‘Butler?’
‘Yes, Butler.’ Root paused. ‘But remember, we’re going to run a few scans, Holly, that’s it. I don’t want you using this as an opportunity to settle a score.’
‘No, sir. Strictly business.’
‘Do I have your word on that?’
‘Yes, sir. I guarantee it.’
Root ground the cigar butt beneath his heel. ‘I don’t want anyone else getting hurt today, not even Artemis Fowl.’
‘Understood.’
‘Well,’ added the commander, ‘not unless it’s absolutely necessary.’
CHAPTER 3: GOING UNDERGROUND
Butler had been in Artemis Fowl’s service since the moment of the boy’s birth. He had spent the first night of his charge’s life standing guard on the
Sisters of Mercy maternity ward. For over a decade, Butler had been teacher, mentor and protector to the young heir. The pair had never been separated for more than a week, until now. It shouldn’t bother him, he knew that. A bodyguard should never become emotionally attached to his package. It affects his judgement. But in his private moments, Butler couldn’t help thinking of the Fowl heir as the son or younger brother he’d never had.
Butler parked the Bentley Arnage Red Label on the college avenue. If anything, the Eurasian manservant had bulked up since mid-term. With Artemis in boarding school, he was spending a lot more time in the gym.Truth be told, Butler was bored pumping iron, but the college authorities absolutely refused to allow him a bunk in Artemis’s room. And when the gardener had discovered the bodyguard’s hideout just off the seventeenth green, they had banned him from the college grounds altogether.
Artemis slipped through the college gate, Doctor Po’s comments still in his thoughts.
‘Problems, sir?’ said Butler, noticing his employer’s sour expression.
Artemis ducked into the Bentley’s wine-leather interior, selecting a still water from the bar. ‘Hardly, Butler. Just another quack spouting psychobabble.'
Butler kept his voice level. ‘Should I have a word with him?’
‘Never mind him now. What news of the
‘We got an e-mail at the manor this morning. It’s an mpeg.’ Artemis scowled. He could not access MPEG video files on his mobile phone.
Butler pulled a portable computer from the glove compartment. ‘I thought you might be anxious to see the file, so I downloaded it on to this.’
He passed the computer over his shoulder. Artemis activated the compact machine, folding out the flat colour screen. At first he thought the battery was dead, then realized he was looking at a field of snow. White on white, with only the faintest shadows to indicate dips and drumlins.
Artemis felt the uneasiness rolling in his gut. Funny how such an innocent image could be so foreboding.
The camera panned upwards, revealing a dull twilit sky. Then a black hunched object in the distance. A rhythmic crunching issued through the compact speakers as the cameraman advanced through the snow. The object grew clearer. It was a man sitting on, no, tied to, a chair. The ice clinked in
Artemis’s glass. His hands were shaking.
The man was dressed in the rags of a once fine suit. Scars branded the prisoner’s face like lightning bolts, and one leg appeared to be missing. It was difficult to tell. Artemis’s breath was jumpy now, like a marathon runner’s.
There was a sign around the man’s neck. Cardboard and twine. On the sign was scrawled in thick black letters: Zdmvstvutye, syn. The camera zoomed in on the message for several seconds, then went blank.
