Artemis Fowl (9 page)

It was even possible that this whole affair was media-oriented, and by tomorrow evening Captain Short’s face would be on the cover of every publication on the planet. Root shuddered. That would spell the end of everything, unless the Mud People had learned to coexist with other species. And if history had taught any lessons it was that humans couldn’t get along with anyone, even themselves.

“Right. Everyone, lock and load. V flight pattern. Establish a perimeter inside the Manor grounds.”

The Retrieval Squad roared military-type affirmatives, coaxing as many metallic noises from their weapons as possible.

“Foaly, round up the techies. Follow us in the shuttle. And bring the big dishes. We’ll shut down the entire estate, give ourselves a bit of breathing room.”

“One thing, Commander,” mused Foaly.

“Yes?” said Root impatiently.

“Why did this human tell us who he was? He must have known we could find him.”

Root shrugged. “Maybe he’s not as clever as he thinks he is.”

“No. I don’t think that’s it. I don’t think that’s it at all. I think he’s been one step ahead of us all the way, and this is no different.”

“I don’t have time for theorizing now, Foaly. First light is approaching.”

“One more thing, Commander.”

“Is this important?”

“Yes, I think it is.”

“Well?”

Foaly tapped a key on his laptop, scrolling through Artemis’s vital statistics.

“This criminal mastermind, the one behind this elaborate scheme . . .”

“Yes, what about him?”

Foaly looked up, an almost admiring look in his golden eyes.

“Well, he’s only twelve years old. And that’s young, even for a human.”

Root snorted, jacking a new battery into his tribarreled blaster.

“Too much damned TV. Thinks he’s Sherlock Holmes.”

“That’s Professor Moriarty,” corrected Foaly.

“Holmes, Moriarty, they both look the same with the flesh scorched off their skulls.”

And with that elegant parting response, Root followed his squad into the night air.

The Retrieval Squad adopted the V goose formation with Root on point. They flew southwest, following the video feed e-mailed to their helmets. Foaly had even marked Fowl Manor with a red dot. Idiot-proof, he’d muttered into his mouthpiece, just loud enough for the commander to hear him.

The centerpiece of the Fowl estate was a renovated late-medieval/early-modern castle, built by Lord Hugh Fowl in the fifteenth century.

The Fowls had held on to Fowl Manor over the years, surviving war, civil unrest, and several tax audits. Artemis did not intend to be the one to lose it.

The estate was ringed by a ten-foot crenelated stone wall, complete with the original guard towers and walkways. The Retrieval Squad put down just inside the boundary and began an immediate scan for possible hostiles.

“Fifty feet apart,” instructed Root. “Sweep the area. Check in every sixty seconds. Clear?”

Retrieval nodded. Of course it was clear. They were professionals.

Lieutenant Cudgeon, Retrieval Squad’s leader, climbed a guard tower.

“You know what we should do, Julius?”

He and Root had been in the Academy together, brought up in the same tunnel. Cudgeon was one of perhaps five fairies who called Root by his first name.

“I know what you think we should do.”

“We should blast the whole place.”

“What a surprise.”

“The cleanest way. One blue rinse and our losses are minimum.”

Blue rinse was the slang term for the devastating biological bomb used on rare occasions by the force. The clever thing about a bio-bomb was that it destroyed only living tissue. The landscape was unchanged.

“That minimum loss you’re talking about happens to be one of my officers.”

“Oh yes,” tutted Cudgeon. “A female Recon officer. The test case. Well, I don’t think you’ll have any problem justifying a tactical solution.”

Root’s face took on that familiar purple hue.

“The best thing you can do right now is stay out of my way, or else I may be forced to ram that blue rinse straight into that morass you call a brain.”

Cudgeon was unperturbed. “Insulting me doesn’t change the facts, Julius. You know what the Book says. We cannot under any circumstances allow the Lower Elements to be compromised. One time-stop is all you get, after that . . .”

The lieutenant didn’t finish his statement. He didn’t have to.

“I know what the Book says,” snapped Root. “I just wish you weren’t so gung ho about it. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say there was some human blood in you.”

“There’s no call for that,” pouted Cudgeon. “I’m only doing my job.”

“Point taken,” conceded the commander. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t often hear Root apologizing, but then it had been a deeply offensive insult.

Butler was on monitors.

“Anything?” asked Artemis.

Butler started; he hadn’t heard the young master come in.

“No. Nothing. Once or twice I thought I saw a flicker, but it turned out to be nothing.”

“Nothing is nothing,” commented Artemis cryptically. “Use the new camera.”

Butler nodded. Only last month, Master Fowl had purchased a cinecamera over the Internet. Two thousand frames a second, recently developed by Industrial Light and Magic for specialized nature shoots, hummingbird wings, and such. It processed images faster than the human eye could. Artemis had had it installed behind a cherub over the main entrance.

Butler activated the joypad.

“Where?”

“Try the avenue. I have a feeling visitors are on the way.”

The manservant manipulated the toothpick-sized stick with his massive fingers. A live image sprang into life on the digital monitor.

“Nothing,” muttered Butler. “Quiet as the grave.”

Artemis pointed to the control desk.

“Freeze it.”

Butler nearly questioned the order. Nearly. Instead he held his tongue and pressed the pad. On screen, the cherry trees froze, blossoms trapped in midair. More important, a dozen or so black-clad figures suddenly appeared on the avenue.

“What!” exclaimed Butler. “Where did they spring from?”

“They’re shielded,” explained Artemis. “Vibrating at high speed. Too fast for the human eye to follow . . .”

“But not for the camera,” nodded Butler. Master Artemis. Always two steps ahead. “If only I could carry it around with me.”

“If only. But we do have the next best thing. . . .”

Artemis lifted a headset gingerly from the workbench. It was the remains of Holly’s helmet. Obviously, trying to cram Butler’s head into the original helmet would be like trying to fit a potato into a thimble. Only the visor and control buttons were intact. Straps from a hard hat had been rigged to fit the manservant’s cranium.

“This thing is equipped with several filters. It stands to reason that one of them is anti-shield. Let’s try it out, shall we?”

Artemis placed the set over Butler’s ears.

“Obviously, with your eye span, there are going to be blind spots, but that shouldn’t hamper you unduly. Now, run the camera.”

Butler set the camera rolling again, while Artemis slotted down one filter after another.

“Now?”

“No.”

“Now ...”

“Everything’s gone red. Ultraviolet. No fairies.”

“Now?”

“No. Polaroid, I think.”

“Last one.”

Butler smiled. A shark that’s spotted a bare behind.

,

“Got em.”

Butler was seeing the world as it was, complete with LEPretrieval team sweeping the avenue.

“Hmm,” said Artemis. “Strobe variation, I would guess. Very high frequency.”

“I see,” fibbed Butler.

“Metaphorically or literally?” His employer smiled.

“Exactly.”

Artemis shook himself. More jokes. Next thing he’d be wearing clown shoes and turning cartwheels in the main hall.

“Very well, Butler. Time for you to do what you do best. We appear to have intruders in the grounds. . . .”

Butler stood. No further instructions were necessary. He tightened the hard-hat straps, striding brusquely to the door.

“Oh, and, Butler . . .”

“Yes, Artemis?”

“I prefer scared to dead. If possible.”

Butler nodded. If possible.

LEPretrieval One were the best and the brightest. It was every little fairy’s dream that one day he would grow up to don the stealth-black jumpsuit of the Retrieval commandos. These were the elite. Trouble was their middle name. In the case of Captain Kelp, Trouble was actually his first name. He’d insisted on it at his manhood ceremony, having just been accepted into the Academy.

Trouble led his team down the sweeping avenue. As usual, he took the point position himself, determined to be the first into the fray if, as he fervently hoped, a fray developed.

“Check in,” he whispered into the mike that wound snakelike from his helmet.

“Negative on one.”

“Nothing, Captain.”

“A big negatori, Trouble.”

Captain Kelp winced.

“We’re in the field, Corporal. Follow procedure.”

“But Mommy said!”

“I don’t care what Mommy said, Corporal! Rank is rank! You will refer to me as Captain Kelp.”

“Yessir, Captain,” sulked the corporal. “But don’t ask me to iron your tunic anymore.”

Trouble zeroed in on his brother’s channel, shutting out the rest of the squad.

“Shut up about Mommy, will you? And the ironing. You’re only on this mission because I requested you! Now start acting like a professional or get back to the perimeter!”

“Okay, Trubs.”

“Trouble!” shouted Captain Kelp. “It’s Trouble. Not Trubs, or Trub. Trouble! Okay?”

“Okay.
Trouble
. Mommy’s right. You’re only a baby.”

Swearing very unprofessionally, Captain Kelp switched his headset back to the open channel. He was just in time to hear an unusual sound.

“
Arrkk.”

“What was that?”

“What?”

“Dunno.”

“Nothing, Captain.”

But Trouble had done a Sound Recognition in-service for his captain’s exam, and he was pretty sure the “
Arrkk”
had been caused by someone getting a chop across the windpipe. More than likely his brother had walked into a shrub.

“Grub? Are you all right?”

“That’s Corporal Grub to you.”

Kelp viciously kicked a daisy.

“Check in. Sound off in sequence.”

“One, Okay.”

“Two, fine.”

“Three, bored but alive.”

“Five, approaching west wing.”

Kelp froze.“Wait. Four? You there, Four? What’s your situation?”

“.................” Nothing except static.

“Right. Four is down. Possibly an equipment malfunction. Still, we can’t afford to take any chances. Regroup by the main door.”

Retrieval One crept together, making slightly less noise than a silk spider. Kelp did a quick head count. Eleven. One short of a full complement. Four was probably wandering around the rose bushes, wondering why nobody was talking to him.

Then Trouble noticed two things—one, a pair of black boots was sticking out of a shrub beside the door, and two, there was a massive human standing in the doorway. The figure was cradling a very nasty-looking gun in the crook of his arm.

“Go silent,” whispered Kelp, and immediately eleven full-face visors slid down to seal in the sounds of his squad’s breathing and communications.

“Now, nobody panic. I think I can trace the sequence of events here. Four is skulking around outside the door. The Mud Man opens it. Four gets a whack on the noggin and lands in the bushes. No problem. Our cover is intact. Repeat intact. So no itchy fingers, please. Grub . . . Sorry, Corporal Kelp, check Four’s vitals. The rest of you make a hole and keep it quiet.”

The squad stepped back carefully, until they were standing on the manicured grassy verge. The figure before them was indeed impressive, without doubt the biggest human any of them had ever seen.

“D’Arvit,” breathed Two.

“Maintain radio silence, except in emergencies,” ordered Kelp. “Swearing is hardly an emergency.” Secretly, however, he concurred with the sentiment. This was one time he was glad to be shielded. That man looked as if he could squash half a dozen fairies in one massive fist.

Grub returned to his slot. “Four is stable. Concussed, I’d guess. But otherwise okay. His shield’s off, though, so I stuffed him in the bushes.”

“Well done, Corporal. Good thinking.”

The last thing they needed was for Four’s boots to be spotted.

The man moved, lumbering casually along the path. He may have glanced left or right, it was difficult to tell beneath the hood pulled over his eyes. Odd for a human to wear a hood on such a fine night.

“Safety catches off,” ordered Trouble.

He imagined his men rolling their eyes. Like they hadn’t had their safeties off for the last half an hour. Still, you had to go by the book, in case of a tribunal later on. There was a time when Retrieval blasted first and answered questions never. But not anymore. Now there was always some do-gooder civilian banging on about civil rights. Even for humans, if you can believe it.

The man mountain stopped, right in the middle of the squad. If he had been able to see them, it would be the perfect tactical position. Their own firearms were virtually useless, as they would probably do more damage to each other than the human.

Fortunately, the entire squad was invisible, with the exception of Four who was safely hidden in what appeared to be a rhododendron.

“Buzz batons. Fire ’em up.”

Just in case. No harm in being cautious.

And when the LEP officers were switching weapons, right at that moment when their hands were fumbling with holsters, that’s when the Mud Man spoke.

“Evening, gentlemen,” he said, sweeping back his hood.

Funny that, thought Trouble. It was almost as if . . . Then he saw the makeshift goggles.

“Cover!” he screamed. “Cover!”

But it was too late. No option but to stand and fight. And that was no option at all.

Butler could have taken them from the parapet. One at a time with the ivory hunter’s rifle. But that wasn’t the plan. This was all about making an impression. Sending a message. It was standard procedure with any police force in the world to send in the cannon fodder first before opening negotiations. It was almost expected that they would meet with resistance, and Butler was happy to oblige.