They were locked in Mikhael’s apartment on Lenin Prospekt, waiting for the call from Britva. They didn’t even dare to go out for air. Not that there was much to see. Murmansk was one of those Russian cities that had been made by pouring concrete directly into a mold. The only time Lenin Prospekt looked good was when it was buried in snow.
Kamar emerged from the bedroom. His sharp features were stretched in disbelief.
“He wants caviar, can you believe it? I give him a nice bowl of stroganina and he wants caviar, the ungrateful Irlandskii.”
Mikhael rolled his eyes. “I liked him better asleep.”
Kamar nodded, spitting into the fireplace. “The sheets are too rough, he says. He’s lucky I don’t wrap him in a sack, and roll him into the bay.”
Then the phone rang, interrupting Vassikin’s empty threats.
“This is it, my friend,” he said, clapping Kamar on the shoulder. “We are on our way.”
Vassikin picked up the phone.
“Yes?”
“It’s me,” said a voice, made tinny by old wiring.
“Mister Brit . . .”
“Shut up, idiot! Never use my name!”
Mikhael swallowed. The Menidzher didn’t like to be connected to his various businesses. That meant no paperwork and no mention of his name where it could be recorded. It was his custom to make his calls while driving around the city, so his location could not be triangulated.
“I’m sorry, boss.”
“You should be,” continued the Mafiya kingpin. “Now listen and don’t talk. You have nothing to contribute.”
Vassikin covered the handset.
“Everything’s fine,” he whispered, giving Kamar the thumbs up. “We’re doing a great job.”
“The Fowls are a clever outfit,” continued Britva.“And I have no doubt they are concentrating on tracing the last e-mail.”
“But I spiked the last—”
“What did I tell you?”
“You said not to talk, Mister Brit—Sir.”
“That’s right. So send the ransom message and then move Fowl to the drop point.”
Mikhael paled. “The drop point?”
“Yes, the drop point. No one will be looking for you there, I guarantee it.”
“But—”
“No more talking! Get yourself a spine, man. It’s only for a couple of days. So you might lose a year off your life, it won’t kill you.”
Vassikin’s brain churned, searching for an excuse. Nothing came.
“Okay, boss. Whatever you say.”
“That’s right. Now listen to me. This is your big chance. Do this right, and you move up a couple of steps in the organization.”
Vassikin grinned. A life of champagne and expensive cars beckoned.
“If this man really is young Fowl’s father, the boy will pay up. When you get the money, dump them both in the Kola. I don’t want any survivors to start a vendetta. Call me if there’s any trouble.”
“Okay, boss.”
“Oh, and one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t call me.”
The line went dead. Vassikin was left staring at the handset as though it were a handful of plague virus.
“Well?” asked Kamar.
“We are to send the second message.”
A broad grin split Kamar’s face.
“Excellent. At last this thing is nearly over.”
“Then we are to move the package to the drop zone.”
The broad grin disappeared like a fox down a hole.
“What? Now?”
“Yes. Now.”
Kamar paced the tiny living room. “That is crazy. Completely insane. Fowl cannot be here for a couple of days at the earliest. There’s no need for us to spend two days breathing in that poison. What is the reasoning?”
Mikhael extended the phone. “You tell him. I’m sure the Menidzher will appreciate being told he is a madman.”
Kamar sank to the threadbare sofa, dropping his head into his hands.
“Will this thing never end?”
His partner fired up their ancient sixteen-megabyte hard drive.
“I don’t know for certain,” he said, sending the prepared message. “But I do know what will happen if we don’t do what Britva says.”
Kamar sighed. “I think I’ll go shout at the prisoner for a while.”
“Will that help?”
“It won’t,” admitted Kamar. “But it will make me feel better.”
E93, Arctic Shuttleport
The Arctic Station had never been high on the fairy tourist list. Sure, icebergs and polar bears were pretty, but nothing was worth saturating your lungs with irradiated air.
Holly docked the shuttle in the only serviceable bay.
The terminal itself resembled nothing more than a deserted warehouse. Static conveyor belts snaked along the floor, and low-level heating pipes rattled with insect life.
Holly handed out human overcoats and gloves from an ancient locker.
“Wrap up, Mud Boys. It’s cold outside.”
Artemis did not need to be told. The terminal’s solar batteries had long since shut down, and the ice’s grip had cracked the walls like a nut in a vice.
Holly tossed Butler his coat from a distance.
“You know something, Butler, you stink.”
The manservant growled. “You and your radiation gel. I think my skin’s changed color.”
“Don’t worry about it. Fifty years and it’ll wash right off.”
Butler buttoned a Cossack greatcoat to his neck.
“I don’t know why you’re getting all wrapped up. You’ve got the fancy suits.”
“The coats are camouflage,” explained Holly, smearing rad gel on her face and neck. “If we shield, the vibration makes the suits useless. Might as well dip your bones in a reactor core. So for tonight only, we’re all humans.”
Artemis frowned. If the fairies couldn’t shield, it would make rescuing his father all the more difficult. His evolving plan would have to be adjusted.
“Less of the chat,” growled Root, pulling a bearskin hat over his pointed ears. “We move out in five. I want everybody armed and dangerous. Even you, Fowl, if your little wrists can support a weapon.”
Artemis selected a fairy handgun from the shuttle’s arsenal. He jacked the battery into its slot, flicking the setting up to three.
“Don’t worry about me, Commander. I’ve been practicing. We have quite a stash of LEP weaponry at the manor.”
Root’s complexion cranked up one more notch.
“Well, there’s a big difference between stunning a cardboard cutout and a real person.”
Artemis smiled his vampire smile. “If everything proceeds according to plan, there will be no need for weapons. The first stage is simplicity itself; we set up a surveillance post near Vassikin’s apartment. When the opportunity arises, Butler will snatch our Russian friend and the five of us can have a little chat. I’m sure that he will tell us everything we need to know under the influence of your mesmer. Then, it will be a simple matter to stun any guards and rescue my father.”
Root pulled a heavy scarf over his mouth. “And what if things don’t go according to plan?”
Artemis’s eyes were cold and determined.
“Then, Commander, we will have to improvise.”
Holly felt a shiver rattle around her stomach. And it was nothing to do with the climate.
The terminal was buried fifty feet below an ice pack. They took the courtesy elevator to the surface, and the party emerged into the Arctic night looking for all the world like an adult and three children. Albeit three children with inhuman weaponry clanking under every loose fold of cloth.
Holly checked the GPS locator on her wrist.
“We’re in the Rosta district, Commander. Twenty klicks north of Murmansk.”
“What’s Foaly got on the weather? I don’t want to be caught in the middle of a blizzard twenty miles from our destinat