The Time Paradox (Artemis Fowl 6)

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.

Kronski addressed the guards. “Est-ce qu’elle a bougé?” he asked. “Has she moved?”

The men shook their heads. It was a stupid question. How could she move?

“Very well. Good. All proceeds according to my plan.”

Now Kronski rolled his own eyes. “Listen to me. All proceeds according to my plan. That is so Doctor No. I should go and get myself some metal hands. What do you think, gentlemen?”

“Metal hands?” said the newest guard, unaccustomed to Kronski’s rants. The other two were well aware that many of the doctor’s questions were rhetorical, especially the ones about Andrew Lloyd Webber or James Bond.

Kronski ignored the new guy. He placed a finger on pursed lips for a moment, to communicate the importance of what he was about to say, then took a deep whistling breath through his nose.

“Okay, gentlemen. Everyone listening? This evening couldn’t be more important. The future of the entire organization depends on it. Everything must be totally perfect. Do not take your eyes off the prisoner and do not remove her restraints or gag. No one is to see her until the trial begins. I paid five million in diamonds for the privilege of a grand reveal, so no one gets in here but me. Understood?”

This was not a rhetorical question, though it took the new guy a moment to realize it.

“Yes, sir. Understood,” he blurted, a fraction after the other two.

“If something does go wrong, then your final job of the evening will be burial duty.” Kronski winked at the new guard. “And you know what they say: last in first out.”

* * *

The atmosphere at the banquet was a little jaded until the food arrived. The thing about Extinctionists was that they were picky eaters. Some hated animals so much that they were vegetarians, which limited the menu somewhat. But this year Kronski had managed to poach a chef from a vegetarian restaurant in Edinburgh who could do things with a zucchini that would make the most hardened carnivore weep.

They started with a subtle tomato-and-pepper soup in baby turtle shells. Then a light parcel of roast vegetables in pastry with a dollop of Greek yogurt, served in a monkey-skull saucer. All very tasty, and by now the wine was relaxing the guests.

Kronski’s stomach was so churned with nerves that he could not eat a single bite, which was most unusual for him. He hadn’t felt this giddy since his very first banquet in Austin all those years ago.

I am on the verge of greatness. Soon my name will be mentioned in the same sentence as Bobby Jo Haggard or Jo Bobby Saggart. The great evangelist Extinctionists. Damon Kronski, the man who saved the world.

Two things would make this banquet the greatest ever held.

The entrée and the trial.

The entrée would delight everyone, meat-eaters and vegetarians alike. The vegetarians could not eat it, but at least they could marvel at the artistry it took to prepare the dish.

Kronski tapped a small gong beside his place setting and stood to introduce the dish, as was the custom.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “Let me tell you a story of extinction. In July 1889, Professor D. S. Jordan visited Twin Lakes in Colorado and published his discoveries in the 1891 Bulletin of the United States Fish Commission. He found what he proclaimed to be a new species, the yellowfin cutthroat. In his report Jordan described the fish as silvery olive with a broad lemon-yellow shade along the sides, lower fins bright golden yellow, and a deep red dash on each side of the throat, hence the “cutthroat.” Until about 1903, yellowfin cutthroats survived in Twin Lakes. The end for the yellowfin came soon after the introduction of the rainbow trout to Twin Lakes. Other trout interbred with the rainbows, but the yellowfins quickly disappeared and are now completely extinct.”

Nobody shed a tear. In fact, there was a smattering of applause for the E word.

Kronski raised a hand. “No, no. This is not a cause for joy. It is said that the yellowfin was a very tasty fish, with a particularly sweet flavor. What a pity we shall never taste it.” He paused dramatically. “Or shall we . . . ?”

At the rear of the room a large false wall slid aside to reveal a red velvet curtain. With great ceremony, Kronski drew a remote control from his jacket and zapped the curtain, which pulled back with a smooth swish. Behind it was an enormous trolley bearing what appeared to be a miniature glacier. Silver and steaming.

The guests sat forward, intrigued.

“What if there had been a flash freeze more than a hundred years ago in Twin Lakes?”

A twittering began among the diners.

No.

Surely not.

Impossible.

“What if a frozen chunk of lake had been trapped by a landslide deep in an uncharted crevasse and was kept solid by near zero currents.”

Then that would mean . . .

Inside that chunk . . .

“What if that chunk surfaced a mere six weeks ago on the land of my good friend Tommy Kirkenhazard. One of our own faithful members.”

Tommy stood to take a bow, waving his Texas gray wolf Stetson. Though his teeth were smiling, his eyes were shooting daggers at Kronski. It was obvious to the entire room that there was bad blood between the two.

“Then it would be possible, outrageously expensive, and difficult, but possible to transport that chunk of ice here. A chunk that contains a sizeable shoal of yellowfin cutthroat trout.” Kronski drew breath to allow this information to sink in. “Then we, dear friends, could be the first people to eat yellowfin in a hundred years.”

This prospect even had a few of the vegetarians salivating.

“Watch, Extinctionists. Watch and be amazed.”

Kronski clicked his fingers, and a dozen kitchen staff wheeled the ponderous trolley into the center of the banqueting area, where it rested on a steel grille. The workers then stripped off their uniforms to reveal monkey costumes underneath.

Have I gone over the top with the monkey rigs? Kronski wondered. Is it just too Broadway?

But a quick survey of his guests assured him that they remained enthralled.

The kitchen staff were actually trained circus acrobats from one of the Cirque du Soleil knockoffs touring north Africa. They were only too glad to take a few days out of their schedule to put on this private show for the Extinctionists.

They swarmed up the huge ice block, anchoring themselves on with ropes, crampons, or grappling hooks, and began demolishing it with chainsaws, flaming swords, and flamethrowers, all produced seemingly from nowhere.

It was a spectacular indulgence. Ice flew, showering the guests, and the buzz of machinery was deafening.

Quickly the shoal of yellowfin poked through the blue murk of ice. They hung, wide-eyed and frozen in midturn, their bodies caught by the flash freeze.

What a way to go, thought Kronski. With absolutely no inkling. Wonderful.

The performers began carving the fish in blocks from the ice, and each one was passed down to one of a dozen line cooks, who had appeared from the side doors wheeling gas burners. Each individual block was slid into a heated colander to steam off excess ice, then the fish were expertly filleted

and fried in olive oil with a selection of chunky cut vegetables and a crushed clove of garlic.

For the vegetarians there was a champagne mushroom risotto, though Kronski did not anticipate many takers. The nonmeat eaters would accept the fish just to stab it.

The meal was a huge success, and the level of delighted chatter rose to fill the hall.

Kronski managed to eat half a fillet, in spite of his nerves.

Delicious. Exquisite.

They think that was the highlight, he thought. They ain’t seen nothing yet.

After coffee, when the Extinctionists were loosening their cummerbunds or turning fat cigars for an even burn, Kronski instructed his staff to set up the courtroom.

They responded with the speed and expertise of a Formula One pit team, as well they should after three months of being whipped into shape. Literally. The team of workers swarmed across the grid where the melted ice sloshed below like a disturbed swimming pool, a few stray yellowfins floating on the surface. They covered this section of floor and exposed a second pit, this one lined with steel and covered with scorch marks.

Two podiums and a dock were wheeled into the center of the hall, taking the place of the ice trolley. The podiums had computers on their swivel tops, and the wooden dock was occupied by a cage. The cage’s resident was masked by a curtain of leopard skin.

The diners’ chatter ceased as everybody held their breath for the big reveal. This was the moment everyone had waited for, these millionaires and billionaires paying through the nose for a few moments of ultimate power: holding the fate of an entire species in their hands, showing the rest of the planet who was boss. The guests did not notice the dozen or so sharpshooters placed discreetly on the upper terrace in case the creature on trial displayed any new magical powers. There was little chance of a subterranean rescue, as the entire hall was built on a foundation of steel rods and concrete.

Kronski milked the moment, rising slowly from his seat and sauntering across to the prosecutor’s podium.