Artemis Fowl and the Eternity Code

‘You wait until this is over, smart alec. Me and you will settle our differences.’

 

 

‘You keep telling yourself that, Boots.’

 

‘Loafers!’

 

‘Whatever.’

 

Mulch hid behind the airline magazine. This was too easy. The mobster was half-crazed already. A few more hours in Mulch’s company should be enough to have Loafers McGuire foaming at the mouth.

 

 

 

DUBLIN AIRPORT, IRELAND

 

Mulch and Loafers passed through Irish customs without incident. After all, they were simply citizens returning home for the holidays. It wasn’t as if they were a Mob team up to no good. How could they be? Whoever heard of little people being involved in organized crime? Nobody. But maybe that was because they were very good at it.

 

Passport control provided Mulch with another opportunity to infuriate his partner.

 

The officer was doing his best not to notice Mulch’s height, or lack of it.

 

‘So, Mister Digence, home to visit the family?’

 

Mulch nodded. ‘That’s right. My mother’s folks are from Killarney.’

 

‘Oh, really?’

 

‘O’Reilly, actually. But what’s a vowel between friends?’

 

‘Very good. You should be on the stage.’

 

‘It’s funny you should mention that –’

 

The passport officer groaned. Ten more minutes and his shift would have been over.

 

‘I was being sarcastic actually…’ he muttered.

 

‘– because my friend Mister McGuire and I are also doing a stint in the Christmas pantomime. It’s Snow White. I’m Doc, and he’s Dopey.’

 

The passport officer forced a smile. ‘Very good. Next.’

 

Mulch spoke for the entire queue to hear.

 

‘Of course, Mister McGuire there was born to play Dopey, if you catch my drift.’

 

Loafers lost it right there in the terminal.

 

‘You little freak!’ he screamed. ‘I’ll kill you! You’ll be my next tattoo. You’ll be my next tattoo!’

 

Mulch tutted as Loafers disappeared beneath half a dozen security guards.

 

‘Actors,’ he said. ‘Highly strung.’

 

*

 

They released Loafers three hours later after a full search and several phone calls to the parish priest in his home town. Mulch was waiting in the pre-ordered rental car, a specially modified model with elevated accelerator and brake pedals.

 

‘Your temper is seriously jeopardizing this operation,’ commented the dwarf, straight-faced. ‘I’ll have to phone Miss Frazetti if you can’t control yourself.’

 

‘Drive,’ said the metal man hoarsely. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

 

‘OK then. But you’re on your very last chance. One more episode like that and I’m going to have to crush your head between my teeth.’

 

Loafers noticed his partner’s teeth for the first time. They were tombstone-shaped blocks of enamel, and there seemed to be an awful lot of them for just one mouth. Was it possible that Digence could actually do what he threatened? No, Loafers decided. He was just a bit spooked after the customs interrogation. Still, there was something about the dwarf’s smile. A glint that spoke of hidden and frightening talents. Talents that the metal man would prefer to stay hidden.

 

Mulch took care of the driving while Loafers made a couple of calls on his mobile phone. It was a simple matter for him to contact a few old associates and arrange for a weapon, a silencer and two headsets to be left in a duffel bag behind the motorway exit sign for Fowl Manor. Loafers’ associates even took credit cards, so there was no need for the usual macho trade-off that generally accompanied black-market transactions.

 

Loafers checked the weapon’s action and sights in the car. He felt in control again.

 

‘So, Mo,’ said Loafers, chuckling as if that simple rhyme was the funniest joke he had ever made. And sadly, it was. ‘Have you put together a plan yet?’

 

Mulch didn’t take his eyes from the road. ‘Nope. I thought you were the head honcho here. Plans are your department. I just break and enter.’

 

‘That’s right. I am the head honcho, and believe me Master Fowl is going to realize that too when I’m finished talking to him.’

 

‘Master Fowl?’ said Mulch innocently. ‘We’re here for some kid?’

 

‘Not just some kid,’ revealed Loafers, against orders. ‘Artemis Fowl. Heir to the Fowl criminal empire. He has something in his head that Miss Frazetti wants. So we’re supposed to impress upon the little brat how important it is that he come with us and spill the beans.’

 

Mulch’s grip tightened on the wheel. He should have made his move before now. But the trick was not to incapacitate Loafers, it was persuading Carla Frazetti not to send another team.

 

Artemis would know what to do. He had to get to the boy before Loafers did. A mobile phone and a visit to the bathroom were all he needed. A pity he had never bothered purchasing a phone, but there had never been anybody to call before. Besides, you could never be too careful with Foaly. That centaur could triangulate a chirping cricket.

 

‘We better stop for supplies,’ said Loafers. ‘It could take days to check this place out.’

 

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