Mulch stared over at the unconscious mobster, then at the girl in the doorway.
‘Hey, Butler. Just a shot in the dark here, but I’d say that’s your sister.’
‘You’re right,’ said the manservant, hugging Juliet tightly. ‘How on earth did you guess?’
CHAPTER 7: BEST-LAID PLANS
FOWL MANOR
IT was time for consultation. That night, the group sat in the manor’s conference room, facing two monitors that Juliet had brought down from the security booth. Foaly had hijacked the monitors’ frequency and was broadcasting live images of Commander Root and himself.
Much to his own annoyance, Mulch was still present. He had been attempting to weasel some kind of reward from Artemis when Holly returned and cuffed him to a chair.
Root’s cigar smoke was hazing the screen. ‘Looks like the gang’s all here,’ he said, using the fairy gift of tongues to speak English. ‘And guess what. I don’t like gangs.’
Holly had placed her headset in the centre of the conference table, so all the room’s occupants could be picked up.
‘I can explain, Commander.’
‘Oh, I’ll just bet you can. But, strangely, I have a premonition that your explanation is going to cut no ice with me whatsoever, and I will have your badge in my drawer by the end of this shift.’
Artemis tried to intervene. ‘Really, Commander. Holly – Captain Short – is only here because I tricked her.’
‘Is that a fact? And then, pray tell, why is she still there? Doing lunch, are we?’
‘This is no time for sarcasm, Commander. We have a serious situation here. Potentially disastrous.’
Root exhaled a cloud of greenish smoke. ‘What you humans do to each other is your own affair. We are not your personal police force, Fowl.’
Foaly cleared his throat. ‘We’re involved whether we like it or not: Artemis was the one who pinged us. And that’s not the worst of it, Julius.’
Root glanced across at the centaur. Foaly had called him by his first name. Things must be serious.
‘Very well, Captain,’ he said. ‘Continue with your briefing.’
Holly opened a report on her hand-held computer.
‘Yesterday I responded to a recording from the Sentinel warning system. The call was sent by Artemis Fowl, a Mud Man well known to the LEP for his part in the B’wa Kell uprising. Fowl’s associate Butler had been mortally injured on the orders of another Mud Man, Jon Spiro, and he requested my assistance with a healing.’
‘Which you refused, and then requested technical back-up to perform a mind wipe, as per regulations.’
Holly could have sworn the screen was heating up.
‘No. Taking into account Butler’s considerable assistance during the goblin revolution, I performed the healing and transported Butler and Fowl back to their domicile.’
‘Tell me you didn’t fly them…?’
‘There was no alternative. They were wrapped in cam foil.’
Root rubbed his temples. ‘One foot. If there was so much as one foot sticking out, we could be all over the Internet by tomorrow. Holly, why do you do this to me?’
Holly didn’t reply. What could she say?
‘There’s more. We have detained one of Spiro’s employees. A nasty piece of work.’
‘Did he see you?’
‘No. But he heard Mulch say that he was a fairy dwarf.’
‘No problem,’ said Foaly. ‘Do a block mind wipe and send him home.’
‘It’s not that simple. The man is an assassin. He could be sent back to finish the job. I think we need to relocate him. Believe me. He won’t be missed here.’
‘OK,’ said Foaly. ‘Sedate him, do the wipe and get rid of anything that might trigger his memories. Then send him somewhere he can’t do any harm.’
The commander took several long puffs to calm himself.
‘OK. Tell me about the probe. And if Fowl is responsible, is the alert over?’
‘No. The human businessman Jon Spiro stole the fairy technology from Artemis.’
‘Which Artemis stole from us,’ noted Foaly.
‘This Spiro character is determined to acquire the technology’s secret and he’s not particular how he gets it,’ continued Holly.
‘And who knows the secret?’ asked Root.
‘Artemis is the only one who can operate the C Cube.’
‘Do I want to know what a C Cube is?’
Foaly took up the narrative. ‘Artemis cobbled together a microcomputer from old LEP technology. Most of it is obsolete below ground but, by human standards, it’s approximately fifty years ahead of their developmental schedule.’
‘And therefore worth a fortune,’ concluded the commander.
‘And therefore worth an absolute fortune,’ agreed Foaly.
Suddenly Mulch was listening. ‘A fortune? Exactly how much of a fortune?’