organization. Man is king, and animals survive only so long as they contribute to the comfort of their masters. An animal without uses is wasting precious air and should be wiped out.
But this new creature changed everything. Everyone would want to see her. They would film the entire trial and execution, leak the tape and then the world would come to Damon Kronski.
Kronski jiggled in front of the air-conditioner blast for a minute then selected a suit from his wardrobe.
As an afterthought he plucked a matching tasselled Caspian tiger-skin hat from an upper shelf.
Ten-year-old Artemis Fowl tried his best to relax in one of the Learjet’s plush leather chairs, but there was a tension knot at the base of his skull.
Artemis was perfectly aware what was causing the tension.
Being as smart as he was, Artemis was perfectly capable of constructing an argument to justify his actions.
Artemis distracted himself from this shaky reasoning by concentrating on Kronski.
A titanium Powerbook hummed gently on Artemis’s fold-out tray. He woke the screen and opened his personal Internet browser program that he had written as a school project. Thanks to a powerful and illegal antenna in the jet’s cargo bay he was able to pick up radio, television and Internet signals almost anywhere in the world.
All it would take was some research and the placement of a little video on a few of the Net’s more popular networking sites.
Twenty minutes later, Artemis Junior was putting the finishing touches to his project when Butler ducked through the cockpit door.
‘Hungry?’ asked the bodyguard. ‘There’s some hummus in the fridge and I made yoghurt and honey smoothies.’
Artemis embedded his video project on to the final website.
‘No, thank you,’ mumbled Artemis. ‘I’m not hungry.’
‘That will be the guilt gnawing at your soul,’ said Butler candidly, helping himself from the fridge. ‘Like a rat on an old bone.’
‘Thank you for the simile, Butler, but what’s done is done.’
‘Did we have to leave Kronski the weapon?’
‘Please, I put remote destruct charges in my hardware. Do you really think such an advanced race will leave their technology unprotected? I wouldn’t be surprised if that gun is melting in Kronski’s hands. I had to leave it as a sweetener.’
‘I doubt the creature is melting.’
‘Stop this, Butler. I made a deal and that’s the end of it.’
Butler sat opposite him. ‘Hmm. So you are governed by some sort of code now. Honour among criminals. Interesting. So, what’s that you’re cooking up on your computer?’
Artemis rubbed the tense spot on his neck. ‘Please, Butler. All of this is for my father. You know it must be done.’
‘One question,’ said Butler, ripping the plastic from a cutlery set. ‘Would your father want it to be done this way?’
Artemis did not answer, just sat and rubbed his neck.
Five minutes later, Butler took pity on the ten-year-old. ‘I thought we might turn the plane around and give those strange creatures a little help. Fez Saiss airport has re-opened so we could be back there in a couple of hours.’
Artemis frowned. It was the right thing to do, but it was not on his agenda. Returning to Fez would not save his father.
Butler folded his paper plate in half, trapping the debris from his meal inside.
‘Artemis, I would like to swing the jet around, and I intend to do that unless you instruct me not to. All you need to do is say the word.’
Artemis watched his bodyguard return to the cockpit, but said nothing.
The Domaine des Hommes was buzzing with limo-loads of Extinctionists coming in from the airport, each one wearing their hatred for animals on their sleeve, or on their heads or feet. Kronski spotted a lady sporting thigh- length ibex boots. Pyrenean, if he wasn’t mistaken. And there was old Jeffrey Coontz-Meyers with his quagga- backed tweed jacket. And Contessa Irina Kostovich, her pale neck protected from the evening chill by a Honshu-wolf stole.
Kronski smiled and greeted each one warmly and most by name. Every year there were fewer newcomers to the ranks, but that would all change after the trial tonight. He skipped along towards the banquet hall.
The hall itself had been designed by Schiller-Haus in Munich, and was essentially a huge prefabricated kit which had arrived in containers and been erected by German specialists in less than four weeks. Incredible really. It was an impressive structure, more formal in appearance than the chalets, which was only proper, as serious business was conducted inside. Fair trials and then executions.
The main doors were guarded by two burly Moroccan gentlemen in evening wear. Kronski had considered crested jumpsuits for the guards, but dismissed the idea as too Bond.
Kronski breezed past the guards, down a corridor carpeted with sumptuous local rugs and into a double- height banquet hall with a triple-glazed glass roof. The stars seemed close enough to reach out and capture.
The decor was a tasteful blend of classic and modern. Tasteful except for the gorilla-paw ashtrays dotted on each table and the row of elephant-foot champagne coolers on stands outside the kitchen doors. Kronski squeezed through the double doors, past a brushed-steel kitchen, to the walk-in freezer at the rear.
The creature sat flanked by three more guards. She was cuffed to a plastic baby chair borrowed from the compound’s creche. Her features were alert and sullen. Her weapon lay out of reach on a steel trolley.
He pointed the weapon at a frozen ham hock hanging on a chain and pulled the tiny trigger. There was no kick-back and no obvious flash of light, but the ham was now steaming and ready to serve.
Kronski raised the violet-coloured sunglasses that he wore day and night, to make sure his vision was accurate.
