Of course, being thrown into the freezing waters had not been part of the plan.
The shell had not penetrated the skin, but Mister Fowl was not safe yet. Holly’s thermal imager showed that his heartbeat was dangerously slow and weak. Holly laid her hands on his chest.
“Heal,” she whispered. “Heal.”
And the magic scurried down her fingers.
Artemis couldn’t watch Holly’s rescue attempt. Had he done the right thing? What if the hydrosion shell had penetrated? How could he ever face his mother again?
“Oh, no,” said Butler.
Artemis was at his side in an instant. “What is it?”
“Your father is in the water. The Russian threw him in.”
The boy groaned. That water was as deadly as any bullet. He’d been afraid that something like this would happen.
Root had been following the rescue attempt. “Okay. She’s over the water. Can you see him, Holly?”
No answer. Just static in his earphones.
“Status, Captain? Respond.”
Nothing.
“Holly?”
She’s not talking because it’s too late, thought Artemis.
There’s nothing she can do to save my father, and it’s all my fault.
Root’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“The Russians are evacuating,” he said. “Holly’s at the sub now, over the hole in the ice. She’s going in. Holly, what have you got? Come on, Holly. Talk to me.”
Nothing. For the longest time.
Then Holly erupted through the ice like a mechanized dolphin. She arced briefly through the Arctic night, crash landing on the Nikodim’s deck.
“She has your father,” said the commander.
Artemis slipped on the spare Recon helmet, willing Holly’s voice to sound through the speakers. He magnified the picture in his visor until it seemed as though he could touch his father. Artemis watched Holly lean over his father’s chest, pulses of magic shooting down her fingers.
After several moments, Holly looked up, straight into Artemis’s eyes, as though she knew he was watching.
“I got him,” she gasped. “One live Mud Man. He’s not pretty, but he’s breathing.”
Artemis sank to the ground, sobs of relief shaking his thin shoulders. He cried for a whole minute. Then he was himself again.
“Well done, Captain. Now let’s get out of here before Foaly activates one of these incinerator packs by accident.”
In the bowels of the earth, the centaur leaned back from his communications console.
“Don’t tempt me,” he chuckled.
AN EPILOGUE, OR TWO
Tara
Artemis was heading back to Saint Bartleby’s. This was where he had to be when the Helsinki medical services identified his father from the suitably weathered passport Foaly had run up for him.
Holly had done her best for the injured man, healing his chest wound and even restoring sight to his blinded eye. But Artemis Senior needed prolonged medical attention, and it had to begin somewhere that could be rationally explained. So Holly had flown southwest to Helsinki, depositing the unconscious man at the doors of the University Hospital. One porter had spotted the flying patient, but he had been successfully mind-wiped.
When Artemis Senior regained consciousness, his the past two years would be a blur, and his most recent memory would be a happy one: bidding his family farewell at Dublin Harbor. Thanks again to Foaly and his mind-wiping technology.
“Why don’t I just move in with you?” the centaur had quipped when they returned to Police Plaza. “Do your ironing while I’m at it.”
Artemis smiled. He had been doing that a lot lately. Even the parting with Holly had gone better than he could have expected, considering she’d seen him shoot his own father. Artemis shuddered. He anticipated many sleepless nights over that particular strategy.
The captain escorted them to Tara, slipping them out through a holographic hedge. There was even a holographic cow chewing the virtual leaves to throw humans off the fairy scent.
Artemis was back in his school uniform, which had been miraculously restored by the People’s technology. He sniffed his lapel.
“This blazer smells unusual,” he commented. “Not unpleasant, but unusual.”
“It’s completely clean,” smiled Holly. “Foaly had to put it through three cycles in the machine to purge—”
“To purge the Mud Man from it,” said Artemis.
“Exactly.”
There was a full moon overhead, bright and pocked like a golf ball. Holly could feel its magic singing to her.
“Foaly said, in light of the help you’ve given us, he’s pulling the surveillance on Fowl Manor.”
“That’s good to know,” said Artemis “Is it the right decision?” Artemis considered it. “Yes. The People are safe from me.” “Good. Because a large section of the Council wanted you mind-wiped. And with a chunk of memory that big, your IQ could take a bit of a dip.” Butler extended a hand. “Well, Captain. I don’t suppose I’ll see you again.” Holly shook it. “If you do, it’ll be too late.” She turned toward the fairy fort. “I had better go. It will be light soon. I don’t want to be caught unshielded on a spy satellite. The last thing I need is my photo all over the Internet, not when I’ve just been reinstated at Recon.”
Butler elbowed his employer gently. “Oh, Holly . . . eh, Captain Short.” Eh? Artemis couldn’t believe he’d actually said eh. It wasn’t even a word. “Yes, Mud B . . . yes, Artemis?” Artemis looked Holly in the eye, just as Butler had instructed him to. This being civil business was more difficult than one would think. “I would like to ... I mean ...what I mean is ...” Another elbow from Butler. “Thank you. I owe you everything. Because of you I have my parents. And the way you flew that craft was nothing short of spectacular. And on the train . . . well, I could never have done what you . . .”
A third elbow. This time to stop the babbling. “Sorry. Well, you get the idea.”
Holly’s elfin features wore a strange expression. Somewhere between embarrassment, and could it possibly be, delight? She recovered quickly.
“Maybe I owe you something too, human,” she said, drawing her pistol. Butler almost reacted, but decided to give Holly the benefit of the doubt.
Captain Short plucked a gold coin from her belt, flicking it fifty feet into the moonlit sky. With one fluid movement, she brought her weapon up and loosed a single blast. The coin rose another fifty feet, then spun earthward. Artemis somehow managed to snatch it from the air. The first cool moment of his young life.
“Nice shot,” he said. The previously solid disk now had a tiny hole in the center.
Holly held out her hand, revealing the still raw scar on her finger. “If it wasn’t for you, I would have missed altogether. No mech-digit can replicate that kind of accuracy. So, thank you too, I suppose.”
Artemis held out the coin.
“No,” said Holly. “You keep it, to remind you.”
“To remind me?”
Holly stared at him frankly. “To remind you that deep beneath the layers of deviousness, you have a spark of decency. Perhaps you could blow on that spark occasionally.”
Artemis closed his fingers around the coin. It was warm against his palm.
“Yes, perhaps.”
A small two-seater plane buzzed overhead. Artemis glanced skyward, and when he looked back, Holly was gone. A slight heat haze hovered above the grass.
“Good-bye, Holly,” he said softly.
The Bentley started on the first turn of the key. In less than an hour they arrived at Saint Bartleby’s main gate.
“Make sure your phone’s switched on,” Butler said, holding the door. “The Helsinki officials should be getting the results of their trace from Interpol soon. Your father’s file has been reactivated in their mainframe, thanks, once again, to Foaly.”
Artemis nodded, checking that his phone was activated. “Try to locate Mother and Juliet before the news com
es through. I don’t want to be hunting through every spa in the south of France looking for them.”
“Yes, Artemis.”
“And check that my accounts are well hidden. No need for father to know exactly what I’ve been up to for the past two years.”
Butler smiled. “Yes, Artemis.”
Artemis took a few steps toward the school gates, then turned.
“And, Butler, one more thing. In the Arctic . . .”
Artemis couldn’t ask, but his bodyguard knew the answer anyway.
“Yes, Artemis,” he said gently. “You did the right thing. It was the only way.”
Artemis nodded, standing by the gates until the Bentley had disappeared down the avenue. From this moment on, life would be different. With two parents in the manor, his schemes would have to be much more carefully planned. Yes, he owed it to the People to leave them alone for a while, but Mulch Diggums—that was a different matter. So many secure facilities, so little time.
Counselor’s Office, Saint Bartleby’s School for Young Gentlemen
Not only was Dr. Po still employed at Saint Bartleby’s, but he seemed to have been fortified by his break from Artemis. His other patients were relatively straightforward cases of anger management, exam stress, and chronic shyness. And that was just the teachers.
Artemis settled onto the couch, taking care not to accidentally press the power button on his mobile.
Dr. Po nodded at his computer. “Dean Guiney forwarded me your e-mail. Charming.”
“I’m sorry about that,” muttered Artemis, surprised to find that he actually was sorry. Upsetting other people didn’t usually bother him. “I was in denial. So, I projected my anxieties onto you.”
Po half chuckled. “Yes, very good. Just what it says in the book.”
“I know,” said Artemis. And he did know. Dr. F. Roy Dean Schlippe had contributed a chapter to that particular book.
Dr. Po laid down his pen, something he had never done before.
“You know, we still haven’t resolved that last issue.”
“Which issue is that, Doctor?”
“The one we touched on at our last session. About respect?”
“Ah, that issue.”
Po steepled his fingers. “I want you to pretend I’m as smart as you are, and give me an honest answer.”
Artemis thought of his father, lying in a Helsinki hospital, of Captain Holly Short risking her life to help him, and, of course, of Butler, without whom he would never have made it out of Koboi Laboratories. He looked up, and found Dr. Po smiling at him.
“Well, young man, have you found anyone worthy of your respect?”
Artemis smiled back. “Yes,” he said. “I believe I have.”
Don’t miss the next thrilling adventure in the ARTEMIS FOWL series
THE ETERNITY CODE
ARTEMIS placed the shining box on the table.
“The future, Mr. Spiro. Ahead of schedule.”
Jon Spiro leaned in, taking a good look. “Looks like a paperweight to me.”
Arno Blunt snickered, his eyes taunting Butler.
“A demonstration, then,” said Artemis, picking up the metal box. He pressed a button and the gadget purred into life. Sections slid back to reveal speakers and a screen.
“Cute,” muttered Spiro. “I flew three thousand miles for a micro TV?”
Artemis nodded. “A micro TV. But also a verbally controlled computer, a mobile phone, a diagnostic aid. This little box can read any information on absolutely any platform, electronic or organic. It can play videos, laser disks, DVDs, go online, retrieve e-mail, hack any computer. It can even scan your chest to see how fast your heart’s beating. Its battery is good for two years, and of course it’s completely wireless.”
Artemis paused, to let it sink in.
Spiro’s eyes grew huge behind his spectacles.
“You mean, this box . . .”
“Will render all other technology obsolete. Your computer plants will be worthless.”
The American took several deep breaths.
“But how . . . how?”
Artemis flipped the box over. An infrared sensor pulsed gently on the back.
“This is the secret. An omni-sensor. It can read anything you ask it to. And if the source is programmed in, it can piggyback on any satellite you choose.”
Spiro wagged a finger. “But that’s illegal, isn’t it?”
“No, no.” Artemis smiled. “There are no laws against something like this. And there won’t be for at least two years after it comes out. Look how long it took to shut down Napster.”
The American rested his face in his hands. It was too much.
“I don’t understand. This is years, no decades, ahead of anything we have now. You’re nothing but a thirteen-year-old kid. How did you do it?”
Artemis thought for a second. What was he going to say? That sixteen months ago Butler had taken on a Lower Elements Police Retrieval Squad and confiscated their fairy technology? Then he had taken the components and built this wonderful box? Hardly.
“Let’s just say I’m a very smart boy, Mr. Spiro.”
Spiro’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe not as smart as you’d like us to think. I want a demonstration.”
“Fair enough.” Artemis nodded. “Do you have a mobile phone?”
“Naturally.” Spiro placed his cell phone on the table. It was the latest Fission Chips model.
“Secure, I take it?”
Spiro nodded arrogantly. “Five-hundred-bit encryption. Best in its class. You’re not getting into the Fission 400 without a code.”
“We shall see.”
Artemis pointed the sensor at the handset. The screen instantly displayed an image of the cell phone’s workings.
“Download?” inquired a metallic voice from the speaker.
“Confirm.”
In less than a second, the job was done.
“Download complete,” said the box, with a hint of smugness.
Spiro was aghast. “I don’t believe it. That system cost twenty million dollars.”
“Worthless,” said Artemis, showing him the screen. “Would you like to call home? Or maybe move some funds around? You really shouldn’t keep your bank account numbers on a SIM card.”
The American thought for several moments.
“It’s a trick,” he pronounced finally. “You must’ve known about my phone. Somehow, don’t ask me how, you got access to it earlier.”
“That is logical,” admitted Artemis. “It’s what I would suspect. Name your test.”
Spiro cast his eyes around the restaurant, fingers drumming the tabletop.
“Over there,” he said finally, pointing to a video shelf above the bar. “Play one of those tapes.”
“That’s it?”
“It’ll do, for a start.”
Arno Blunt made a huge show of flicking through the tapes, eventually selecting one without a label. He slapped it down on the table, bouncing the engraved silver cutlery half an inch into the air.
Artemis resisted the urge to roll his eyes, placing the blue box directly onto the tape’s surface.
An image of the cassette’s innards appeared on the tiny plasma screen.
“Download?” asked the box.
Artemis nodded. “Download, compensate, and play.”
Again the operation was completed in under a second. An old episode of an English soap crackled into life.
“DVD quality,” commented Artemis. “Regardless of the input. The C Cube will compensate.”
“The what?”
“C Cube,” repeated Artemis. “The name I have given my little box. A tad obvious, I admit. But appropriate. The cube that sees everything.”
Spiro snatched the videocassette.
“Check it,” he ordered, tossing the tape to Arno Blunt.
The bleached-blond bodyguard activated the bar’s TV, sliding the video into its slot. Coronation Street flickered across the screen. The same show. Nowhere near the sa
me quality.
“Convinced?” asked Artemis.
The American tinkered with one of his many bracelets. “Almost. One last test. I have a feeling that the government is monitoring me. Could you check it out?”
Artemis thought for a moment, then held the omnisensor close to his mouth. “Cube. Do you read any surveillance beams concentrated on this building?”
The machine whirred for a moment.
“The strongest ion beam is eighty kilometers due west. Emanating from U.S. satellite, code number ST1132W. Registered to the Central Intelligence Agency. Estimated time of arrival, eight minutes. There are also several LEP probes connected to . . .”
Artemis hit the mute button before the cube could continue. Obviously the computer’s fairy components could pick up Lower Elements technology too. He would have to remedy that. In the wrong hands that information would be devastating to fairy security.
“What’s the matter, kid? The box was still talking. Who are the LEP?”
Artemis shrugged. “No pay, no play, as you Americans say. One example is enough. The CIA, no less.”
“The CIA,” breathed Spiro. “They suspect me of selling military secrets. They’ve pulled one of their birds out of orbit, just to track me.”
“Or perhaps me,” noted Artemis.
“Perhaps you,” agreed Spiro. “You’re looking more dangerous by the second.”
Arno Blunt chuckled derisively. Butler ignored it. One of them had to be professional.
Spiro cracked his knuckles, a habit Artemis detested.
“We’ve got eight minutes, so let’s get down to the nitty-gritty, kid. How much for the box?”
Artemis was not paying attention, distracted by the LEP information that the Cube had almost revealed. In a careless moment, he had nearly exposed his subterranean friends to exactly the kind of man who would exploit them.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I said how much for the box?”