The Arctic Incident (11 page)

The skylight was secured by a thick padlock. Artemis dribbled two drops into the keyhole. All he could spare. It would have to be enough.

The effect was immediate. The acid ate through the metal like lava through ice. Fairy technology. Best under the world.

The padlock pinged open, exposing the hatch to the wind’s power. The hatch flipped upward, and Artemis tumbled through onto a pallet of barrels. Not exactly the picture of a gallant rescuer.

The train’s motion shook him from the barrels. Artemis landed face up, gazing at the triple-triangle symbol for radiation stamped on the side of each container. At least the barrels were sealed, though rust seemed to have taken hold on quite a few.

Artemis rolled across the slatted floor, clambering to his knees alongside the door. Was Captain Short still anchored there, or was he alone now? For the first time in his life. Truly alone.

“Fowl! Open the door, you pasty-faced mud weasel!”

Ah well. Not alone, then.

Covering his face with a forearm, Artemis drenched the carriage’s triple bolt with fairy acid. The steel lock melted instantly, dripping to the floor like a stream of mercury. Artemis dragged the sliding door back.

Holly was hanging on grimly, her face steaming where radiation was eating through the gel. Artemis grabbed her waistband.

“On three?”

Holly nodded. No more energy for speech.

Artemis flexed his digits.
Fingers, don’t fail me now
. If he ever got out of this, he would buy one of those ridiculous home gymnasiums advertised on the shopping channels.

“One.”

The bend was coming. He could see it out of the corner of his eye. The train would slow down or derail itself.

“Two.”

Captain Short’s strength was almost spent. The wind rippled her frame like a wind sock.

“Three!”

Artemis pulled with all the strength in his thin arms. Holly closed her eyes and let go, unable to believe she was trusting her life to this Mud Boy.

Artemis knew a little something about physics. He timed his count to take advantage of swing, momentum, and the train’s own forward motion. But nature always throws something into the mix that can’t be anticipated.

In this case the
something
was a slight gap between two sections of the track. Not enough to derail a locomotive, but certainly enough to cause a bump.

This bump sent the carriage door crashing into its frame like a five-ton guillotine. But it looked as if Holly had made it. Artemis couldn’t really tell because she had crashed into him, sending them both careering into the wooden siding. But she seemed to be intact, from what he could see. At least her head was still attached to her neck, which was good. But she did seem to be unconscious. Probably trauma.

Meanwhile, Commander Root had just activated his piton-cord winch when he received a most unexpected poke in the eye.

Artemis knew that he was going to pass out too. He could tell by the darkness eating at the corners of his vision.

He slipped sideways, landing on Holly’s chest. This had more severe repercussions than you might think. Because Holly was also unconscious, her magic was on autopilot. And unsupervised magic flows like electricity. Artemis’s face made contact with the fairy’s left hand, diverting the flow of blue sparks. And while this was good for him, it was most definitely bad for her. Because although Artemis didn’t know it, Holly needed every spark of magic she could muster. Not all of her had made it inside the train.

The goblin D’Nall removed a small rectangular mirror from his tunic, and checked to see that his scales were smooth.

“These Koboi wings are great. You think we’ll be allowed keep ’em?”

Aymon scowled. Not that you’d notice. Goblin lizard ancestry meant that facial movement was pretty limited. “Quiet, you hot-blooded fool!”

Hot-blooded. That was a pretty serious insult for one of the B’wa Kell.

D’Nall bristled. “Be careful, friend, or I’ll tear that forked tongue right out of your head.”

“We won’t have a tongue between us if those elves escape!” retorted Aymon.

It was true. The generals did not take disappointment well.

“So what do we do? I got the looks in this outfit. That must make you the brains.”

“We shoot at the train,” interjected Nyle. “Simple.”

D’Nall adjusted his Koboi DoubleDex, hovering across to the squad’s junior member.

“Idiot,” he snapped, administering a swift slap to the head. “That thing is radioactive, can’t you smell it? One stray burst and we’ll all be ash floating on the breeze.”

“Good point,” admitted Nyle. “You’re not as stupid as you look.”

“Thank you.”

“Welcome.”

Aymon throttled down, descending to five hundred feet. It was so tempting. One tightly focused burst to take out the elf clinging to the carriage, another to dispatch the human on the roof. But he couldn’t risk it. One degree off target, and he’d sucked his last stink-worm spaghetti.

“Okay,” he announced into his helmet mike. “Here’s the plan. With all the radiation in that carriage, chances are the targets will be dead in minutes. We follow the train for a while just to make sure. Then we go back and tell the general we saw the bodies.”

D’Nall buzzed down beside him. “And do we see the bodies?”

Aymon groaned. “Of course not, you fool! Do you want your eyeballs to dry up and fall out?”

“Duh.”

“Exactly. So are we clear?”

“Crystal,” said Nyle, drawing his softnose Redboy handgun. He shot his comrades from behind. Close range, point blank. They never had a chance. He followed their bodies to earth on full magnification. The snow would cover them in minutes. Nobody would be stumbling over those particular corpses until the polar caps melted.

Nyle holstered his weapon, punching in the coordinates for the shuttle terminal on his flight computer. If you studied his reptilian face carefully, it was just possible to make out a grin. There was a new lieutenant in town.

CHAPTER 9

Foaly was sitting in front of the LEP mainframe waiting for the results of his latest search. Extensive laser brushing on the goblin shuttle had revealed one complete and one partial thumbprint. The complete print was his own. Easily explicable, as Foaly personally inspected all retired shuttle parts. The partial print could well belong to their traitor. Not enough to identify the fairy who’d been running LEP technology to the B’wa Kell, but certainly enough to eliminate the innocent. Cross-reference the remaining names with everybody who had shuttle-part access, and the list got considerably shorter. Foaly twitched his tail contentedly. Genius. No point in being humble about it.

At the moment, the computer was crunching through personnel files with the partial print. All Foaly could do was twiddle his thumbs and wait for contact with the surface team. The magma flares were still up. Very unusual. Unusual and coincidental.

Foaly’s suspicious train of thought was interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Search complete,” said the computer, in Foaly’s own tones—a little vanity. “Three hundred and forty-six eliminated. Forty possibles remaining.”

Forty. Not bad. They could easily be interviewed. Another opportunity to use the Retimager. But there was another way to narrow the field.

“Computer, cross-reference possibles with level-three clearance personnel.” Level-three clearance would include everybody with access to the recycling smelters.

“Referencing.”

Cudgeon knocked on the booth’s security glass. Now, technically Cudgeon shouldn’t be allowed in Ops, but Foaly buzzed him through. He could never resist having a crack at the ex-commander. Cudgeon had been demoted to lieutenant following a disastrous attempt to replace Root as Recon head honcho. If it hadn’t been for his family’s considerable political clout, he would have been booted off the force altogether. All in all, he might have been better off in some other line of work. At least he wouldn’t have had to suffer Foaly’s constant teasing.

“I have some e-forms for you to initial,” said the lieutenant, avoiding eye contact.

“No problem,
Commander
,” chuckled the centaur.

“How’s the plotting going? Any revolutions planned for this afternoon?”

“Just sign the forms please,” said Cudgeon, holding out a digi-pen. His hand was shaking.

Amazing, thought Foaly. This broken-down shell of an elf was once on the LEP fast track.

“No, but seriously, Cudgeon. You’re doing a great job on the form-signing thing.”

Cudgeon’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Thank you, sir.”

A grin tugged at the corner of Foaly’s mouth. “You’re welcome. No need to get a swelled head.”

Cudgeon’s hand flew to his misshapen forehead. Still a touch of the old vanity left.

“Oops. Sore subject. Sorry about that.”

There was a spark in the corner of Cudgeon’s eye. A spark that should have warned Foaly. But he was distracted by a beep from the computer.

“List complete.”

“Excuse me for a moment,
Commander
. Important business. Computer stuff—you wouldn’t understand it.”

Foaly turned to the plasma screen. The lieutenant would just have to wait for his signature. It was probably just an order for shuttle parts anyway.

The penny dropped. A big penny with a clang louder than a dwarf’s underpants hitting a wall. Shuttle parts. An inside job. Someone with a grudge to settle. A line of sweat filled each groove on Foaly’s forehead. It was so obvious.

He looked at the plasma screen for confirmation of what he already knew. There were only two names. The first, Bom Arbles, could be eliminated immediately. The Retrieval officer had been killed in a core-diving accident. The second name pulsed gently. Lieutenant Briar Cudgeon. Demoted to recycling crew around the time Holly retired that starboard booster. It all fit.

Foaly knew that if he didn’t acknowledge the message in ten seconds, the computer would read the name aloud. He casually punched the delete button.

“You know, Briar,” he croaked. “All those jibes about your head problem. It’s all in fun. My way of being sympathetic. Actually, I have some ointment . . .”

Something cold and metallic pressed against the back of the centaur’s head. Foaly had seen too many action movies not to know what it was.

“Save your ointment, donkey boy,” said Cudgeon’s voice in his ear. “I have a feeling you’ll be developing some head problems of your own.”

The first thing Artemis felt was a rhythmical knocking, jarring along the length of his spine. I’m at the spa in Blackrock, he thought. Irina is massaging my back. Just what my system needs, especially after all that horseplay on that train . . . The train!

Obviously they were still aboard the Mayak train. The jerking motion was actually the carriage jolting over the track joins. Artemis forced his eyes open, expecting gargantuan doses of stiffness and pain. But instead, he realized, he felt fine. More than fine. Great, in fact. It must be magic. Holly must have healed his various cuts and bruises while he was unconscious.

Nobody else was feeling quite so chipper. Especially Captain Short, who was still unconscious. Root was draping a large coat over his fallen officer.

“Oh, you’re awake, are you?” he said, without so much as a glance at Artemis. “I don’t know how you can sleep at all after what you’ve just done.”

“Done? But I saved you—at least, I helped.”

“You helped, all right, Fowl. You helped yourself to the last of Holly’s magic while she was unconscious.”

Artemis groaned. It must have happened when they fell. Somehow her magic had been diverted.

“I see what must have happened. It was an . . .”

Root raised a warning finger. “Don’t say it. The great Artemis Fowl doesn’t do anything by accident.”

Artemis fought against the train’s motion, climbing to his knees.

“It can’t be anything serious. Just exhaustion, surely.”

And suddenly Root’s face was an inch from his own, his complexion rosy enough to generate heat.

“Nothing serious!” spluttered the commander, barely able to get the words out past his rage. “Nothing serious! She lost her trigger finger! The door cut it clean off. Her career is over. And because of you, Holly barely had enough magic to stop the bleeding. She’s drained of power now. Empty.”

“She lost a finger?” echoed Artemis numbly.

“Not lost, exactly,” said the commander, waving the severed digit. “It poked me in the eye on the way past.” His eye was already beginning to blacken.

“If we go back now, surely your surgeons can graft it on?”

Root shook his head. “
If
we could go back now. I have a feeling that the situation underground is a lot different than when we left. If the goblins sent a hit team to get us, you can bet something big is going on underground.”

Artemis was shocked. Holly had saved all their lives, and this was how he had repaid her. While it was true that he was not directly to blame for the injury, it had been inflicted while trying to save his father. There was a debt to be paid here.

“How long?” he snapped.

“What?”

“How long ago did it happen?”

“I don’t know. A minute.”

“Then there’s still time.”

The commander sat up. “Time for what?”

“We can still save the finger.”

Root rubbed a welt of fresh scar tissue on his shoulder, a reminder of his trip along the side of the train. “With what? I barely have enough power left for the
mesmer
.”

Artemis closed his eyes. Concentrating.

“What about the Ritual? There must be a way.”

All the People’s magic came from the earth. In order to top up their powers, they had to periodically complete the Ritual.

“How can we complete the Ritual here?”

Artemis racked his brain. He had committed large sections of the fairy Book to memory in preparation for the previous year’s kidnapping operation.

From the earth thy power flows,

Given through courtesy, so thanks are owed.

Pluck thou the magick seed,

Where full moon, ancient oak, and twisted water meet.

And bury it far from where it was found,

So return your gift into the ground.

He scrambled across the flooring and began patting down Holly’s jumpsuit. Root’s heart nearly shut down there and then.

“In heaven’s name, Mud Boy, what are you doing?”

Artemis didn’t even look up. “Last year, Holly escaped because she had an acorn.”

Through some miracle, the commander managed to restrain himself.

“Five seconds, Fowl. Talk fast.”

“An officer like Holly wouldn’t forget something like that. I’d be willing to bet . . .”

Root sighed. “It’s a good idea, Mud Boy. But the acorns have to be freshly picked. If it hadn’t been for the time stop, that seed mightn’t have worked. You’ve got a couple of days, tops. I know Foaly and Holly put together some proposal for a sealed acorn unit, but the Council rejected it. Heresy apparently.”

It was a long speech for the commander. He wasn’t used to explaining himself. But a part of him was hoping. Maybe, just maybe. Holly had never been averse to bending a few rules.

Artemis unzipped Captain Short’s tunic. There were two tiny items on the gold chain around her neck. Her copy of the Book, the fairy bible. Artemis knew that it would combust if he tried to touch it without Holly’s permission. But there was another item. A small Plexiglas sphere filled with earth.

“That’s against regulations,” said Root, not sounding too upset.

Holly stirred, half emerging from her stupor.

“Hey, Commander. What happened to your eye?”

Artemis ignored her, cracking the tiny sphere against the carriage floor. Earth and a small acorn tumbled into his palm.

“Now all we need to do is bury it.”

The commander slung Holly over his shoulder. Artemis tried not to look at the space where her index finger used to be.

“Then it’s time to get off this train.”

Artemis glanced at the Arctic landscape whipping past outside the carriage. Getting off the train wasn’t as easy as the commander made it sound.

Butler dropped nimbly through the overhead hatch, where he’d been keeping an eye on the goblin hit squad. “Nice to see you’re so limber,”commented Artemis dryly. The manservant smile.“Good to see you, too, Artemis.” “Well? What did you see up there?” said Root, interrupting the reunion. Butler placed a hand on his young master’s shoulders. They could talk later.

“The goblins are gone. Funny thing. Two of them dropped low for reconnaissance, then the other one shot them in the back.”

Root nodded. “Power play. Goblins are their own worst enemies. But right now, we’ve got to get off this train.” “There’s another bend coming up in about half a klick,” said Butler. “That’s our best chance.” “So, how do we disembark?” asked Artemis. Butler grinned. “
Disembark
is a pretty gentle term for

what I have in mind.” Artemis groaned. More running and jumping.

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.