by Eoin Colfer
Artemis sat on the bed, casually scratching his neck. The microphone’s latex covering had survived the shower, as Holly had assured him it would. It was comforting to know that he was not alone in his prison.
Because the microphone operated on vibrations, Artemis did not have to speak aloud for his instructions to be transmitted.
“Good evening, friends,” he whispered, his back to the camera. “Everything proceeds according to plan, taking it that Mulch made it back alive. I must warn you to expect a visit from Spiro’s goons. I am certain his personnel have been monitoring the streets. It should lull him into a false sense of security if he believes my people to be wiped out. Mr. Spiro has kindly given me a tour of the facility, and I hope you have recorded everything we need to complete our mission. I believe the local term for this kind of operation is heist. This is what I want you to do.”
Artemis whispered slowly, enunciating each point clearly. It was vital that his team members followed his instructions to the letter. If they did not, the entire plot could explode like an active volcano. And at the moment, he was sitting in the volcano’s crater.
Pex and Chips were in a good mood. On their return to the Needle, not only had Mr. Blunt handed over their five-grand bonus for the Mo Digence job, but he had also given them another assignment. The Needle’s external surveillance cameras had picked up a black van parked opposite the main door. It had been there for over three hours, and a review of the tapes showed the vehicle circling the building for over an hour looking for a space. Mr. Spiro had warned them to look out for suspicious vehicles. And this was certainly suspicious.
“Go down there,” Blunt had ordered from his chair in the security office. “And if there’s anything breathing inside, ask them why they’re breathing outside my building.”
This was the kind of instruction that Pex and Chips understood. No asking questions, no operating complex machinery. Just open the door, scare everything, close the door. Easy. They kidded around in the elevator, punching each other in the shoulder until their upper arms went numb.
“We could make big bucks tonight, partner,” said Pex massaging his biceps to get the circulation going.
“We sure could,” enthused Chips, thinking about all the Barney DVDs he could buy. “This must be worth another bonus. Five grand at least. Altogether that’s . . .”
There followed several moments’ silence while both men counted on their fingers.
“That’s a lot of cash,” said Pex finally.
“A lot of cash,” agreed Chips.
Juliet had her binoculars trained on the Needle’s revolving door. It would have been easier to use the Optix on a fairy helmet, but unfortunately, her head had grown too large in the past couple of years. That wasn’t the only thing to have changed. Juliet had transformed from gangly kid to toned athlete. She wasn’t perfect bodyguard material though; there were still a few wrinkles to be ironed out. Personality wrinkles.
Juliet Butler was a fun-loving creature, she couldn’t help it. She found the idea of standing poker-faced at the shoulder of some opinionated politician appalling. She’d go crazy from boredom. Unless Artemis asked her to stay on professionally. A person could never be bored at Artemis Fowl’s side. But that was not likely to happen. Artemis had assured everyone that this was his last job. After Chicago he was going straight. If there was an after Chicago.
This stakeout business was boring too. Sitting quietly was not in Juliet’s nature. Her hyperactive disposition had caused her to fail more than one class in Madam Ko’s academy. Be at peace with yourself, girl, the Japanese instructor had said. Find that quiet place at your core and inhabit it.
Juliet generally had to stifle a yawn when Madam Ko started on the kung fu wisdom stuff. Butler, on the other hand, had eaten it up. He was forever finding his quiet place and inhabiting it. In fact, he only came out of his quiet place to pulverize whoever was threatening Artemis at the time. Maybe that was why he had his blue diamond tattoo and Juliet didn’t.
Two burly figures emerged from the Needle. They were grinning and punching each other on the shoulder.
“Captain Short, we’re on,” said Juliet into a walkietalkie tuned to Holly’s frequency.
“Understood,” responded Holly from her position above the Spiro Needle. “How many hostiles?”
“Two. Big and dumb.”
“You need backup?”
“Negative. I’ll wrap these two. You can have a word on your return.”
“Okay. I’ll be down in five, as soon as I’ve had a talk with Foaly. And Juliet, don’t mark them.”
“Understood.”
Juliet switched off the radio and climbed into the rear of the van. She swept a pile of surveillance equipment under a fold-up seat, just in case the two heavies actually managed to incapacitate her. It wasn’t likely, but her brother would have hidden the incriminating equipment just in case. Juliet pulled off her suit jacket and placed a baseball cap backward on her head. She then popped the rear window and clambered out onto the road.
* * *
Pex and Chips crossed State Street to the suspect van. It certainly looked suspicious, with its blacked-out windows, but the pair were not unduly concerned. Every testosterone-fuelled college freshman had blacked-out windows these days.
“Whatcha think?” Pex asked his partner.
Chips curled his fingers into fists. “I think we don’t bother knocking.”
Pex nodded. This was the plan that they generally went with. Chips would have proceeded to wrench the door from its hinges had not a young lady appeared from around the hood.
“You guys looking for my dad?” said the girl in perfect MTV tones. “People are always, like, looking for him, and he’s never around. Daddy is so not here. And I mean that literally and spiritually.”
Pex and Chips blinked in unison. The blink being universal body language for huh? This girl was stunning, but she might as well have been talking Greek for all the comprehension that registered on the security men’s faces. Spiritually had five syllables, for heaven’s sake.
“You own this van?” asked Chips, taking the offensive.
The girl twisted her ponytail. “As much as any of us can, like, own anything. One world, one people, right, man? Ownership is like, you know, an illusion. Maybe we don’t even own our own bodies. We could be, like, the daydreams of some greater spirit.”
Pex cracked. “Do you own the van or not?” he shouted, wrapping thumb and forefinger around the girl’s neck.
The girl nodded. There wasn’t enough air in her windpipe for speech.
“That’s better. Anyone inside?”
A shake of the head this time.
Pex relaxed his grip slightly.
“How many more in the family?”
The girl answered in a whisper, using as little air as possible.
“Seven. Dad, mom, two grandparents, and the triplets; Beau, Mo, and Joe. They went for sushi.”
Pex cheered up considerably. Triplets and grandparents, that didn’t sound like any problem.
“Okay. We wait. Open the door, kid.”
“Sushi?” said Chips. “That’s raw fish. You ever have that, buddy?”
Pex held the girl by the neck while she fiddled with the key.
“Yeah. I bought some in the supermarket once.”
“Was it good?”
“Yeah. I threw it in the deep-fat fryer for ten minutes. Not bad.”
The girl slid back the van door, climbing into the interior. Pex and Chips followed, ducking under the rim. Pex released the girl’s neck momentarily to take the step. That was his mistake. A properly trained private enforcer would never allow an untethered prisoner to lead the way into an unsecured vehicle.
The girl stumbled accidentally, dropping to both knees on the interior’s carpet.
“Sushi,” said Pex. “It’s good with French fries.”
Then the girl’s foot snapped back, catching him in the chest. The hired muscle collapsed gasping onto the f
loor.
“Oops,” said the girl, straightening. “Accident.”
Chips thought he must be having some kind of waking dream, because there was no way a little pop princess clone could have decked two hundred pounds of muscle and attitude.
“You . . . you just,” he stuttered. “That’s impossible. No way.”
“Way,” said Juliet pirouetting like a ballerina. The jade ring in her ponytail swung around, loaded with centrifugal force. It struck Chips between the eyeballs like a stone from a sling. He staggered backward, landing in a heap on a leatherette sofa.
Behind her Pex’s breath was returning. His eyeballs stopped rolling wildly, focusing on his assailant.
“Hi,” said Juliet, bending over him. “Guess what?”
“What?” said Pex.
“You’re not supposed to deep-fry sushi,” said the girl, lapping the assassin on both temples with the palms of her hands. Unconsciousness was immediate. Mulch emerged from the bathroom, buttoning the bum flap on his tunneling trousers. “What did I miss?” he asked.
* * *
Holly hovered one-hundred feet above Chicago’s downtown district, known locally as the Loop, after the curve of elevated track that enclosed the area. She was up there for two reasons. First, they needed an X-ray scan of the Spiro Needle in order to construct 3-D blueprints. And second, she wanted to talk to Foaly alone.
She spotted a stone eagle perched on the roof of an early twentieth-century apartment block, and alighted on its head. She would have to move from her perch after a few minutes, or her shield vibration would begin to pulverize the rock.
Juliet’s voice sounded in her earpiece.
“Captain Short, we’re on.”
“Understood,” responded Holly. “How many hostiles?”
“Two. Big and dumb.”
“You need backup?”
“Negative. I’ll wrap these two. You can have a word on your return.”
“Okay. I’ll be down in five, as soon as I’ve had a talk with Foaly. And Juliet, don’t mark them.”
“Understood.”
Holly smiled. Juliet was a piece of work. A chip off the Butler block. But she was a wild card, even on stakeout she couldn’t stop chattering for more than ten seconds. None of her brother’s discipline. She was a happy teenager. A kid. Artemis had no business dragging her into his crazy schemes. But there was something about the Irish boy that made you forget your reservations. In the past sixteen months, she had fought a troll for him, healed his entire family, and dived into the Arctic Ocean. Now she was preparing to disobey a direct order from Commander Root.
She opened a channel to LEP Operations.
“Foaly. Are you listening?
Nothing for several seconds, then the centaur’s voice burst through the helmet’s micro speaker.
“Holly. Hold on. You’re a bit fuzzy, I’m just going to fine-tune the wavelength. Talk to me. Say something.”
“Testing. One, two. One, two. Trolls in a tantrum cause terrible trouble.”
“Okay. Gotcha. Crystal clear. How goes it in the land of mud?”
Holly gazed down at the city below her.
“No mud here. Just glass, steel, and computers. You’d like it.”
“Oh no. Not me. Mud Men are Mud Men no matter if they’re wearing suits or loincloths. The only good thing about humans is the television. All we get on PPTV is reruns. I’m almost sorry the goblin generals’ trial is over. Guilty on all counts, thanks to you. Sentencing is next month.”
Anxiety loosened its grip on Holly’s stomach. “Guilty. Thank heaven. Things can finally go back to normal.”
Foaly snickered. “Normal? You’re in the wrong job for normal. You can kiss normal good-bye if we don’t get Artemis’s gizmo back from Spiro.”
The centaur was right. Her life had not been normal since she’d been promoted to Recon from the vice squad. But did she really want a normal life? Wasn’t that the reason why she had transferred from vice in the first place?
“So why the call?” asked Foaly. “Feeling a bit homesick, are you?”
“No,” replied Holly. And it was true. She wasn’t. The elf captain had barely thought of Haven since Artemis had embroiled her in his latest intrigue. “I need your advice.”
“Advice? Oh really? That wouldn’t be another way of asking for help now would it? I believe Commander Root’s words were, ‘You got what you got.’ Rules are rules, Holly.”
Holly sighed. “Yes, Foaly. Rules are rules. Julius knows best.”
“That’s right. Julius knows best,” said Foaly, but he didn’t sound convinced.
“You probably couldn’t help anyway. Spiro’s security is pretty advanced.”
Foaly snorted, and a centaur snorting is something to hear.
“Yeah, sure. What has he got? A couple of tin cans and a dog? Ooh, scary.”
“I wish. There’s stuff in this building that I’ve never seen before. Smart stuff.”
A small-liquid crystal screen flickered into life in the corner of Holly’s visor. Foaly was broadcasting a visual from Police Plaza. Technically, not something he should be doing for an unofficial operation. The centaur was curious.
“I know what you’re doing by the way,” said Foaly, wagging a finger.
“I have no idea what you mean.” said Holly innocently.
“You probably couldn’t help anyway. Spiro’s security is pretty advanced,” mimicked the centaur. “You’re trying to light a fire under my ego. I’m not stupid, Holly.”
“Okay. Maybe I am. Do you want the straight truth?”
“Oh, you’re going to tell me the truth now. Interesting tactic for the LEP.”
“The Spiro Needle is a fortress. There’s no way in without you, even Artemis admits it. We’re not looking for equipment or extra fairy power. Just advice over the airwaves, maybe a bit of camera work. Keep the lines open, that’s all I’m asking.”
Foaly scratched his chin. “No way in, eh? Even Artemis admits it.”
“‘We can’t do it without Foaly.’ His exact words.”
The centaur struggled to keep the smugness from his features.
“Have you got any video?”
Holly took a handheld computer from her belt.
“Artemis shot some film inside the Needle, I’m mailing it to you now.”
“I need a blueprint of the building.”
Holly panned her visor left and right, so Foaly could see where she was.
“That’s why I’m up here. To do an X-ray scan. It’ll be in your mainframe in ten minutes.”
Holly heard a bell chime in her speakers. It was a computer alert. Her mail had arrived in Police Plaza. Foaly opened the file.
“Key codes. Okay. Cameras. No problem. Wait until I show you what I’ve developed for CCTV cameras. I’m fast-forwarding through the corridors. Dum de dum de dum, ah, the vault. Pressure pads, antibiotic mats. Motion sensors. Temperature sensitive lasers. Thermal cameras. Voice recognition, retina and gel thumbprint scanners.” He paused. “Impressive, for a Mud Man.”
“You’re telling me,” agreed Holly. “A bit more than two tin cans and a dog.”
“Fowl is right. Without me, you’re sunk.”
“So, will you help?”
Foaly had to milk the moment. “I’m not promising anything. . . .”
“Yes?”
“I’ll keep a screen open for you. But if something comes up ...”
“I understand.”
“No guarantees.”
“No guarantees. I owe you a carton of carrots.”
“Two cartons. And a case of beetle juice.”
“Done.”
The centaur’s face was flushed with the promise of a challenge.
“Will you miss him, Holly?” he asked suddenly.
Holly was caught off guard by the question.
“Miss who?” she said, though she already knew.
“The Fowl boy, of course. If everything goes according to plan, we’ll be wiped from his
memory. No more wild plots, or seat-of-the-pants adventures. It will be a quiet life.”
Holly avoided Foaly’s gaze, even though the centaur could not see her.
“No,” she said. “I will not miss him.”
But her eyes told the real story.
Holly circled the Needle several times at various altitudes, until the X-ray scanner had accumulated enough data for a 3-D model. She mailed a copy of the file to Foaly in Police Plaza and returned to the van.
“I thought I told you not to mark them,” she said, bending over the fallen hit men.
Juliet shrugged. “Hey. No big deal, fairy-girl. I got carried away in the heat of battle. Just give him a shot of blue sparks and send him on his way.”
Holly traced a finger around the perfectly circular bruise on Chips’s forehead.
“You should have seen me,” said Juliet. “Bang bang and they were down. Never had a chance.”
Holly sent a solitary spark down her finger. It wiped away the bruise like damp cloth cleaning a coffee ring.
“You could have used the Neutrino to stun them, you know.”
“The Neutrino? Where’s the fun in that?”
Captain Short removed her helmet, glaring up at the teenage human.
“This is not supposed to be fun, Juliet. It’s not a game. I thought you realized that, considering what happened to Butler.”
Juliet’s grin disappeared. “I know it’s not a game, Captain. Maybe this is the way I deal with things.”
Holly held her gaze. “Well then, maybe you’re in the wrong line of work.”
“Or maybe you’ve been in this line of work too long,” argued Juliet. “According to Butler, you used to be a bit of a wild card yourself.”
Mulch emerged from the bathroom. This time he had been applying a layer of sun block. It was the middle of the night, but the dwarf wasn’t taking any chances. If this insertion went haywire, as it probably would, then he could very well be on the run by morning.
“What’s the problem, ladies? If you’re fighting over me, don’t bother. I make it a point never to date outside my species.”
The tension deflated like a punctured balloon.
“Dream on, hairball,” said Holly.