The Arctic Incident

Foaly’s brain was bubbling like a sea slug in a deep-fat fryer. He still had options, providing Cudgeon didn’t actually shoot him. One shot and it was all over. Centaurs didn’t have magic. Not a drop. They got by on brains alone. That and their ability to trample their enemies underfoot. But Foaly had a feeling that Briar wouldn’t plug him just yet. Too busy gloating.

“Hey, Foaly,” said the lieutenant. “Why don’t you go for the intercom? See what happens.”

Foaly could guess what would happen.

“Don’t worry, Briar. No sudden moves.”

Cudgeon laughed, and he sounded genuinely happy.

“Briar? First-name terms now is it? You mustn’t realize how much trouble you’re in.”

Foaly was starting to realize just that. Beyond the tinted glass, LEP techies were beavering away trying to track down the mole, oblivious to the drama being played out not two yards away. He could see and hear them, but it was one-way surveillance.

The centaur only had himself to blame. He had insisted that the Operations Booth be constructed to his own paranoid standards. A titanium cube with blastproof windows. The entire room was wireless, without even a fiber-optic cable to connect Operations to the outside world.

Totally impregnable. Unless of course you opened the door to throw a few insults at an old enemy. Foaly groaned. His mother had always said that his smart mouth would get him into trouble. But all was not lost. He still had a few tricks up his sleeve. A plasma floor for instance.

“So what’s this all about, Cudgeon?” asked the Centaur, drawing his hooves off the tiles. “And please don’t say, world domination.”

Cudgeon continued to smile. This was his moment.

“Not immediately. The Lower Elements will suffice for now.”

“But why?”

Cudgeon’s eyes were tinged with madness. “Why? You have the gall to ask me why? I was the the Council’s golden boy! In fifty years I would have been chairman! And then along comes the Artemis Fowl affair. In one short day all my hopes are dashed. I end up deformed and demoted! And it was all because of you, Foaly. You and Root! So the only way to get my life back on track is to discredit both of you. You will be blamed for the goblin attacks, and Julius will be dead and dishonored. And as an added bonus, I even get Artemis Fowl. It’s as close to perfect as I could have hoped for.”

Foaly snorted. “Do you really think you can defeat the LEP with a handful of softnose weapons?”

“Defeat the LEP? Why would I want to do that? I am a hero of the LEP. Or rather I will be. You will be the villain of this piece.”

“We’ll see about that, baboon face,” said Foaly, activating a switch, that sent an infrared signal to a receiver in the floor. In half a second, a secret membrane of plasma would warm up. Half a second later a neutrino charge would spread across the plasma gel like wildfire, bouncing anyone connected to the floor off at least three walls. In theory.

Cudgeon giggled delightedly. “Don’t tell me. Your plasma tiles aren’t working.”

Foaly was flummoxed. Momentarily. Then he lowered his hooves and gingerly pressed another button. This one engaged a voice-activated laser. The centaur held his breath.

“No plasma tiles,” continued Cudgeon. “And no voice-activated laser. You really are slipping, Foaly. Not that I’m surprised. I always knew you’d be exposed for the donkey you are.”

The lieutenant settled into a swivel chair, propping his feet on the computer bank. “So have you figured it out yet?”

Foaly thought. Who could it be? Who could beat him at his own game? Not Cudgeon, that was for sure. A techno fool if there ever was one. No, there was only one person with the know-how to deactivate the booth’s safety measures.

“Opal Koboi,” he breathed.

Cudgeon patted his head. “That’s right. Opal did a little reprogramming during the upgrading work. And the funny thing is, the Council footed the bill. She even charged for the spy cameras. Even now, the B’wa Kell are preparing to launch their attack on the city. LEP weapons and communications are down, and the best thing is that you, my horsy friend, will be held responsible. After all, you have locked yourself in the Operations Booth in the middle of a crisis.”

“Nobody will believe it!” protested Foaly.

“Oh, yes they will, especially when you disengage the LEP security, including the DNA cannons.”

“Which I won’t be doing anytime soon.”

Cudgeon twirled a matte-black remote between his fingers. “I’m afraid it’s not up to you anymore. Opal took your little operation apart, and wired the whole lot into this little beauty.”

Foaly swallowed. “You mean . . .”

“That’s right,” said Cudgeon. “Nothing works unless I press the button.”

He pressed the button. And even if Foaly had had the reactions of a sprite, he would never have had time to draw up all his hooves before the plasma shock blasted him right out of his specially modified swivel chair.





Arctic Circle