The Arctic Incident

“I’m going to ask you a few questions, to check for concussion.”


Luc didn’t argue, then again who’d argue with a six-foot-plus Eurasian man with muscles like a Michelangelo statue?

“Is your name Luc Carrère?”

“Yes.”

Butler noted the pulse rate. One from the heartbeat, and a second reference on the carotid artery. Steady in spite of the accident.

“Are you a private eye?”

“I prefer the title investigator.”

No increase in pulse rate. The man was telling the truth.

“Have you ever sold batteries to a mystery buyer?”

“No, I have not,” protested Luc. “What kind of doctor are you?”

The man’s pulse skyrocketed. He was lying.

“Answer the questions, Monsieur Carrère,” said Butler sternly. “Just one more. Have you ever had dealings with goblins?”

Relief flooded through Luc. The police did not ask questions about fairies. “What are you? Crazy? Goblins? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Butler closed his eyes, concentrating on the pounding beneath his thumb and palm. Luc’s pulse had settled. He was telling the truth. He had never had any direct dealings with the goblins. Obviously the B’wa Kell weren’t that stupid.

Butler stood up, pocketing the bouncer. He could hear the sirens on the street below.

“Hey, Doctor,” protested Luc. “You can’t just leave me like this.”

Butler eyed him coldly. “I would take you with me, but the police will want to know why your apartment is full of what I suspect are counterfeit bills.”

Luc could only watch with his mouth open as the giant figure disappeared into the corridor. He knew he should run, but Luc Carrère hadn’t run more than fifty feet since gym class in the nineteen-seventies, and anyway his legs had suddenly turned to jelly. The thought of a long stretch in prison can do that to a person.





CHAPTER 7





CONNECTING THE DOTS


Haven City, Police Plaza


Root pointed the finger of authority at Holly.

“Congratulations, Captain, you managed to lose some LEP technology.”

Holly was ready for that one. “Not strictly my fault, sir. The human was mesmerized, and you ordered me not to leave the shuttle. I had no control over the situation.”

“Ten out of ten,” commented Foaly. “Good answer. Anyway the Safetynet has a self-destruct, like everything else I send into the field.”

“Quiet, civilian,” snapped the Commander.

But there was no venom in the LEP officer’s rebuke. He was relieved, they all were. The human threat had been contained, and without the loss of a single life.

They were gathered in a conference room reserved for civilian committees. Generally debriefings of this importance would be held in the Operations Center, but the LEP were not ready to show Artemis Fowl the nerve center of their defenses just yet.

Root jabbed an intercom button on his desk.

“Trouble, are you out there?”

“Yessir.”

“Okay. Now listen, I want you to stand down the alert. Send the teams into the deep tunnels, see if we can’t root out a few goblin gangs. There are still plenty of loose ends. Who’s organizing the B’wa Kell for one, and for what reason?”

Artemis knew he shouldn’t say anything. The sooner his end of the bargain was completed, the sooner he could be in the Arctic. But the entire Paris scenario seemed suspicious.

“Does anyone else think this is too easy? It’s just what you all wanted to happen. Not to mention the fact that there could be more mesmerized humans up there.”

Root did not appreciate being lectured by a Mud Boy. Especially this particular Mud Boy.

“Look, Fowl, you’ve done what we asked. The Paris connection has been broken off. There won’t be any more illegal shipments coming down that chute, I assure you. In fact we have doubled security on all chutes, whether they’re operational or not. The important thing is that whoever is trading with the humans hasn’t told them about the People. There will, of course, be a major investigation, but that’s an internal problem. So don’t you worry your juvenile head about it. Concentrate on growing some bristles.”

Foaly interrupted before Artemis could respond. “About Russia,” he said, hurriedly placing his torso between Artemis and the commander. “I’ve got a lead.”

“You traced the e-mail?”

“Exactly,” confirmed Foaly, switching to lecture mode.

“But that’s been spiked. Untraceable.”

Foaly chuckled openly. “Spiked? Don’t make me laugh. You Mud Men and your communications systems. You’re still using wires, for heaven’s sake. If it’s been sent, I can trace it.”

“So, where did you trace it to?”