Artemis drummed his fingers on the table. It was difficult to see how he could take on Spiro without fairy assistance. After several moments, the commander reappeared in his own screen.
“This is serious. We cannot afford to risk that this Spiro person will activate another probe. However small the possibility, there’s still a chance. I have to put together an insertion team. The works, a fully tooled-up Retrieval team.”
“A full team?” protested Holly. “In an urban area? Commander, you know what Retrieval are like. This could turn into a disaster. Let me take a crack at it.”
Root considered.“It will take forty-eight hours to clear an operation, so that’s what you have. I can cover for you for a couple of days. I can’t let you have Foaly. He’ll have enough to do putting this operation together. Diggums can help if he wants, it’s his choice. I might drop a couple of the burglary charges, but he’s still facing five to ten for the bullion robbery. That’s all I can do. If you fail, then the Retrieval team is waiting in the wings.”
Artemis thought about it. “Very well.”
Root took a breath. “There is a condition.”
“I thought as much,” said Artemis. “You want a mind wipe. Correct?”
“That’s right, Artemis. You are becoming a severe liability to the People. If we are to assist you in this matter, then you and your staff will have to submit to mind wipes.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Then we go straight to plan B, and you get wiped anyway.”
“No offense, Commander, but this is a technical matter. . . .”
Foaly stepped in. “There are two kinds of mind wipe. A block wipe, which takes out everything in the chosen period—Holly can do that with the equipment in her bag. And a fine-tune wipe, which only deletes certain memo-ries. This is a more specialized procedure, but there is less danger of a drop in IQ. We do a fine-tune wipe on all of you. I detonate a data charge in your computer system that automatically deletes any fairy-related files. Also, I will need your permission to do a sweep of your house just in case there is any fairy memorabilia lying around. In practical terms, you will wake up the day after this operation with absolutely no record or memory of the fairy People.”
“You’re talking about nearly two years of memories.”
“You won’t miss them. Your brain will invent some new ones to fill the gaps.”
It was a tough decision. On the one hand, his knowledge of the People was now a large part of Artemis’s psychological makeup. On the other, he could no longer ut people’s lives at risk.
“Very well,” said the teenager. “I accept your offer.”
Root tossed the cigar into a nearby incinerator. “Okay, then. We have a deal. Captain Short, keep a channel open at all times.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Holly.”
“Commander?”
“Be careful on this one. Your career won’t survive another blow.”
“Understood, sir,” said Holly.
“Oh, and Convict?”
Mulch sighed. “You mean me, I suppose, Julius?”
Root scowled. “It’s over, Mulch. You won’t escape again, so get your brain ready for cold food and hard walls.”
Mulch stood, presenting his back to the screen. Somehow the bum flap on his specially adapted tunneling trousers flopped open, presenting the commander with a lovely view of his rear end. In the dwarf world, presenting your behind was the ultimate insult, as it is in most cultures.
Commander Root terminated the link. After all, there was no comeback after an affront like that.
West of Wajir, Kenya
Loafers McGuire woke up with a debilitating headache. It was so painful that he felt obliged to come up with some imagery, in case he had to describe it later. His head felt, he decided, like there was an angry porcupine crawling around inside his cranium. Not bad, he thought. I should put that in the book.
Then he thought, What’s a book?
His next thought was, Who am I? Shoes, something to do with shoes.
It was always this way when memory-implant subjects first regained consciousness. The old identity hangs around for a few moments trying to assert itself until outside stimuli wash it away.
Loafers sat up and the porcupine went crazy, jamming needles into every square inch of his soft brain tissue.
“Oh,” groaned Loafers, cradling his aching skull. What did all this mean? Where was he? And how did he get here?
Loafers looked at his arms. For a second his brain projected tattoos onto the skin, but the images quickly disappeared. His skin was unblemished. Sunlight rolled across his forearms like white lightening.
All around him was scrubland. Terra-cotta earth stretched off to indigo hills in the distance. A golden disc of sun blasted cracks in the shimmering earth. Two figures ran through the heat waves, elegant as cheetahs.
The men were giants, easily seven feet tall. Each carried an oval, hide-covered shield, a thin spear, and a cell phone. Their hair, necks, and ears were decorated with multicolored beads.
Loafers jumped to his feet. Feet that, he noticed, were clad in leather sandals. The men were wearing Nikes.
“Help,” he cried. “Help me!”
The men altered their course, jogging across to the confused mobster.
“Jambo, brother. Are you lost?” asked one.
“I’m sorry,” said Loafers, in perfect Swahili. “I don’t speak Swahili.”
The man glanced at his partner.“I see. And what is your name?”
Loafers, said Loafers’ brain. “Nuru,” said his mouth.
“Well, Nuru. Unatoka wapi? Where are you from?”
The words were out before Loafers could do anything about it.
“I don’t know where I’m from, but I want to go with you. To your village. That’s where I should be.”
The Kenyan warriors stared down at the little stranger. He was the wrong color, true, but he seemed sane enough.
The taller of the two unhooked a cell phone from his leopard-skin belt. He punched in the village chieftain’s number.
“Jambo, Chief, this is Bobby. The earth spirits have left us another one.”
Bobby laughed, looking Loafers up and down.
“Yes, he’s tiny, but he looks strong and he’s got a smile bigger than a peeled banana.”
Loafers stretched his smile, just in case it was a factor. For some reason, all he wanted in this world was to go to the village and live a productive life.
“Okay, Chief, I’ll bring him in. He can have the missionary’s old hut.”
Bobby clipped the cell phone onto his belt. “Very well, brother Nuru. You’re in. Follow us, and try to keep up.”
The warriors set off at a brisk run. Loafers, henceforth to be known as Nuru, raced after them, his leather sandals flapping beneath his feet. He really would have to see about getting a pair of Nikes.
Fifty meters over their heads, Captain Holly Short hovered, shielded from view, recording the entire incident.
“Relocation complete,” she said into her helmet mike. “The subject has been adopted successfully. No apparent signs of original personality. But he will be monitored at monthly intervals, just in case.”
Foaly was on the other end of the line. “Excellent, Captain. Return to shuttle port E77 immediately. If you open the thrott
le, you might just make the evening shuttle. We’ll have you back in Ireland in a couple of hours.”
Holly did not need to be told twice. It wasn’t often you got clearance for a speed run. She activated her radar in case of buzzards and set the stopwatch on her visor.
“Now,” he said. “Let’s see if we can’t break the airspeed record.”
A record that had been set eighty years before by Julius Root.
PART 2
COUNTERATTACK
CHAPTER 8
HOOKS, LINES, AND SINKERS
Excerpt from Artemis Fowl’s diary, disk 2 (encrypted)
Today Father was fitted for his prosthetic limb. He joked throughout the entire process, as though he were being measured for a new suit on Grafton Street. I must admit, his good humor was infectious, and I found myself making excuses just to sit in the corner of the hospital room and enjoy his presence.
It wasn’t always this way. In the past, one needed valid grounds to visit my father. Of course he wasn’t generally available, and even when he was, his time was limited. One did not burst into the Fowl study without good reason. But now, I feel welcome at his side. It is a nice feeling.
My father always liked to impart wisdom, but now it is more philosophical that financial. In the old days, he would direct my attention to the latest share prices in the Financial Times.
“Look, Artemis,” he would say. “Everything else falls, but gold stays steady. That is because there is not enough of it. And there never will be. Buy gold, boy, and keep it safe.” I liked to listen to these pearls, but now they are harder to understand.
On the third day of his consciousness, I fell asleep on the hospital bed, while my father did his walking exercises. I woke to find him regarding me thoughtfully.
“Shall I tell you something, Arty?”he said.
I nodded, unsure what to expect.
“While I was a prisoner, I thought about my life, how I had wasted it gathering riches whatever the cost to my family and others around me. In a man’s life, he gets few chances to make a difference. To do the right thing. To be a hero, if you will. I intend to become involved in that struggle.”