And it doesn’t get any bigger than a brand-new sentient species. The Extinctionists are about to go global.
And just in time. Truth be told, the Extinctionists were old news. Subscriptions were dropping off, and for the first time since its inception, the conference was not a total sellout. In the beginning it had been wonderful, so many exciting species to hunt and nail to the wall. But now countries were protecting their rare animals, especially the big ones. There was no flying to India for a tiger shoot anymore. And the sub-Saharan nations took it extremely badly if a group of well-armed Extinctionists showed up in one of their reserves and began taking potshots at elephants. It was getting to the point where government officials were refusing bribes. Refusing bribes.
There was another problem with the Extinctionists, though Kronski would never admit it aloud. The group had become a touchstone for the lunatic fringe. His heartfelt hatred for the animal kingdom was attracting bloodthirsty crazies who could not see past putting a bullet in a dumb beast. They could not grasp the philosophy of the organization. Man is king, and animals survive only so long as they contribute to the comfort of their masters. An animal without use is wasting precious air and should be wiped out.
But this new creature changed everything. Everyone would want to see her. They would film the entire trial and execution, leak the tape, and then the world would come to Damon Kronski.
One year of donations, thought Kronski. Then I retire to enjoy my wealth. Five million. This fairy, or whatever it is, is worth ten times that. A hundred times.
Kronski jiggled in front of the air conditioner for a minute then selected a suit from his wardrobe.
Purple, he thought. Tonight I shall be emperor.
As an afterthought he plucked a matching tasseled Caspian tiger-skin hat from an upper shelf.
When in Fez, he thought brightly.
The Fowl Lear Jet, 30, 000 Feet Over Gibraltar
Ten-year-old Artemis Fowl tried his best to relax in one of the Lear jet’s plush leather chairs, but there was a tension knot at the base of his skull.
I need a massage, he thought. Or some herbal tea.
Artemis was perfectly aware what was causing the tension.
I have sold a creature . . . a person . . . to the Extinctionists.
Being as smart as he was, Artemis was perfectly capable of constructing an argument to justify his actions.
Her friends will free her. They almost outsmarted me, they can certainly outsmart Kronski. That fairy creature is probably on her way back to wherever she came from right now, with the lemur under her arm.
Artemis distracted himself from this shaky reasoning by concentrating on Kronski.
Something really should be done about that man.
A titanium PowerBook hummed gently on Artemis’s fold-out tray. He woke the screen and opened his personal Internet browser program that he had written as a school project. Thanks to a powerful and illegal antenna in the jet’s cargo bay, he was able to pick up radio, television, and Internet signals almost anywhere in the world.
Organizations like the Extinctionists live and die on their reputations, he thought. It would be an amusing exercise to destroy Kronski’s reputation using the power of the Web.
All it would take was some research and the placement of a little video on a few of the Net’s more popular networking sites.
Twenty minutes later Artemis junior was putting the finishing touches to his project when Butler ducked through the cockpit door.
“Hungry?” asked the bodyguard. “There’s some hummus in the fridge, and I made yogurt-and-honey smoothies.”
Artemis embedded his video project onto the final Web site.
“No, thank you,” mumbled Artemis. “I’m not hungry.”
“That will be the guilt gnawing at your soul,” said Butler candidly, helping himself from the fridge. “Like a rat on an old bone.”
“Thank you for the simile, Butler, but what’s done is done.”
“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 Saïss 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 wond
erment. “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?”