“Did we have to leave Kronski the weapon?”
“Please, I put remote-destruct charges in my hardware, do you really think such an advanced race will leave their technology unprotected? I wouldn’t be surprised if that gun is melting in Kronski’s hands. I had to leave it as a sweetener.”
“I doubt the creature is melting.”
“Stop this, Butler. I made a deal and that’s the end of it.”
Butler sat opposite him. “Hmm. So you are governed by some sort of code now. Honor among criminals. Interesting. So what’s that you’re cooking up on your computer?”
Artemis rubbed the tense spot on his neck. “Please, Butler. All of this is for my father. You know it must be done.”
“One question,” said Butler, ripping the plastic from a cutlery set. “Would your father want it to be done this way?”
Artemis did not answer, just sat and rubbed his neck.
Five minutes later Butler took pity on the ten-year-old. “I thought we might turn the plane around and give those strange creatures a little help. Fez Sa?ss airport has reopened, so we could be back there in a couple of hours.”
Artemis frowned. It was the right thing to do, but it was not on his agenda. Returning to Fez would not save his father.
Butler folded his paper plate in half, trapping the debris from his meal inside.
“Artemis, I would like to swing the jet around, and I intend to do that unless you instruct me not to. All you need to do is say the word.”
Artemis watched his bodyguard return to the cockpit, but said nothing.
Morocco
The Domaine des Hommes was buzzing with limo-loads of Extinctionists coming in from the airport, each one wearing their hatred for animals on their sleeve, or on their heads or feet. Kronski spotted a lady sporting thigh-high Ibex boots. Pyrenean, if he wasn’t mistaken. And there was old Jeffrey Coontz-Meyers with his quagga-backed tweed jacket. And Contessa Irina Kostovich, her pale neck protected from the evening chill by a Honshu wolf stole.
Kronski smiled and greeted each one warmly and most by name. Every year there were fewer newcomers to the ranks, but that would all change after the trial tonight. He skipped along toward the banquet hall.
The hall itself had been designed by Schiller-Haus in Munich, and was essentially a huge prefabricated kit, which arrived in containers and was erected by German specialists in less than four weeks. Incredible, really. It was an impressive structure, more formal in appearance than the chalets, which was only proper, as serious business was conducted inside. Fair trials and then executions.
Fair trials, thought Kronski, and giggled.
The main doors were guarded by two burly Moroccan gentlemen in evening wear. Kronski had considered crested jumpsuits for the guards, but dismissed the idea as too Bond.
I am not Dr. No. I am Dr. No-Animals.
Kronski breezed past the guards, down a corridor carpeted with sumptuous local rugs, and into a double-height banquet hall with a triple-glazed glass roof. The stars seemed close enough to reach out and capture.
The decor was a tasteful blend of classic and modern. Tasteful except for the gorilla-paw ashtrays on each table and the row of elephant-foot champagne coolers on stands outside the kitchen doors. Kronski squeezed through the double doors, past a brushed-steel kitchen, to the walk-in freezer at the rear.
The creature sat flanked by three more guards. She was cuffed to a plastic baby chair borrowed from the compound’s creche. Her features were alert and sullen. Her weapon lay out of reach on a steel trolley.
If looks were bullets, thought Kronski, picking up the tiny weapon and weighing it on his palm, I would be riddled.
He pointed the weapon at a frozen ham hock hanging on a chain and pulled the tiny trigger. There was no kickback and no obvious flash of light, but the ham was now steaming and ready to serve.
Kronski raised the violet-colored sunglasses that he wore day and night, to make sure his vision was accurate.
“My goodness,” he said in wonderment. “This is quite a toy.”
He stamped on the steel floor, sending a bong reverberating through the chamber.
“No tunneling out this time,” he announced. “Not like at the souk. Do you speak English, creature? Do you know what I am saying to you?”
The creature rolled her eyes.
I would answer you, her expression said, but there is tape across my mouth.
“And for good reason,” said Kronski, as though the sentence had been spoken aloud. “We know all about your hypnotism tricks. And the invisibility.” He pinched her cheek as one would a cute infant. “Your skin feels almost human. What are you? A fairy, is that it?”
Another eye roll.
If eye-rolling were a sport, this creature would be a gold-medal winner, thought the doctor. Well, perhaps silver medal. Gold would surely go to my ex-wife, who’s no slacker in the eye-rolling department herself.