The Artemis Fowl Files (Artemis Fowl 0.50)

“Because the self-destruct has been switched off, meaning someone clever has got hold of it. Previously the helmet was active, which means someone was wearing it. We couldn’t risk blowing off a fairy’s head, even if he or she is a criminal.”

Root chewed the butt of his cigar. “I’m tempted, believe me. Where did this helmet come from? And who is wearing it?”

Foaly consulted a computer file on the com-card in his palm. “It’s an old model. Best guess, a surface fence sold it to a rogue dwarf.”

Root crushed the cigar into an ashtray. “Dwarfs. If they’re not mining protected areas, they’re stealing from the humans. Do we have a name?”

“No. The signal is too weak for us to run a voice-pattern analysis. Anyway, even if we could, as you know, due to the unique positioning of their larynx, all dwarf males have basically the same voice.”

“This is all I need,” groaned the commander. “Another dwarf on the surface. I thought we’d seen the last of that when …” He paused, saddened by a sudden memory. The dwarf Mulch Diggums had been killed months earlier, tunneling out of Artemis Fowl’s manor. Mulch had been a huge pain in the rear end, but he hadn’t been without charisma.

“So, what do we know?”

Foaly read from a list on his screen. “Our unidentified subject burrows into a Manhattan basement, where he meets Artemis Fowl Junior. Then they leave together, so something is definitely up.”

“What is up, exactly?”

“We don’t know. Fowl knew enough about our technology to turn off the mike, and the self-destruct, probably because Butler took a load of equipment from LEP Retrieval during the Fowl Manor siege.”

“What about global positioning? Did Artemis know enough to turn that off?”

Foaly grinned smugly. “That can’t be turned off. Those old helmets had a tracker layer sprayed on.”

“How fortunate for us. Where are they now?”

“In Fowl’s jet, heading for Ireland. It’s a Lear, top of the line.” Foaly noticed the commander’s laser stare. “But you probably don’t care about the jet, so let’s move on, shall we?”

“Yes, let’s,” said Root caustically. “Do we have anyone topside?” Foaly activated a large plasma screen on the wall, quickly negotiating his way through files to a world map. There were fairy icons pulsing in various countries.

“We have three Retrieval teams but nobody in the old country.”

“Naturally,” groaned Root. “That would be far too handy.” He paused. “Where’s Captain Short?”

“On vacation aboveground. I would remind you that she’s off field duty, pending a tribunal.”

Root waggled his fingers at imaginary regulations. “Minor detail. Holly knows Fowl better than any fairy alive. Where is she?”

Foaly consulted his computer, as if he didn’t already know. As if he didn’t make a dozen calls from his workstation every day, to see if Holly had picked up that hoof moisturizer he’d asked for.

“She’s in the Cominetto Spa. I don’t know about this, Commander. Holly is tough, but Artemis Fowl kidnapped her. Her judgement could be clouded.”

“No,” said Root. “Holly is one of my best officers, even if she doesn’t believe it. Get me a line to that spa. She’s going back to Fowl Manor.”

CHAPTER 3: THE SEVENTH DWARF

The Island of Cominetto, Off the Coast of Malta, The Mediterranean

THE Cominetto Spa is the most exclusive holiday destination for the People. It took several years of repeated application to get visa approval for a visit, but Foaly had done a little computer hocus-pocus to get Holly on the shuttle to the Spa. She needed the break after what she’d been through. And was still going through. For now, instead of giving her a medal for saving half of the ransom fund, LEP Internal Affairs was actually investigating her.

In the past week, Holly had been exfoliated, laser peeled, purged (don’t ask), and tweezered within an inch of her life, all in the name of relaxation. Her coffee-colored skin was smooth and blemish free, and her cropped auburn hair glowed with internal luster. But she was bored out of her skull.

The sky was blue, the sea was green, and the living was easy. And Holly knew that she would go completely berserk if she had to spend one more minute being pampered. But Foaly had been so pleased when he had set this trip up that she didn’t have the heart to tell him how fed up she was.

Today she was lying in a bubble pool of algae sludge having her pores rejuvenated and playing Guess the Crime. This was a game in which you assumed everyone who passed by was a criminal, and you had to guess what they were guilty of.

The white-suited algae therapist wandered over with a phone on a transparent tray.

“A call from Police Plaza, Sister Short,” he said. His tone left Holly in no doubt what he thought of phone calls in this oasis of calm.

“Thank you, Brother Hummus,” she said, snatching the handset. Foaly was on the other end.

“Bad news, Holly,” said the centaur. “You’ve been recalled to active duty. A special assignment.”

“Really?” said Holly, simultaneously punching the air and trying to sound disappointed. “What’s the assignment?”

“Take a couple of deep breaths,” advised Foaly. “And maybe a few pills.”

“What is it, Foaly?” insisted Holly, though her gut already knew.

“It’s …”

“Artemis Fowl,” said Holly. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” admitted Foaly. “The Irish boy is back. And he’s teamed up with a dwarf. We don’t know what they’re planning, so you need to find out.”

Holly clambered from the sludge tub, leaving a trail of green algae on the white carpet.

“I can’t imagine what they are planning,” she said, bursting into the locker room. “But I can tell you two things. We won’t like it, and it won’t be legal.”

* * *

The Fowl Lear Jet, Over the Atlantic Ocean

Mulch Diggums was soaking in the Lear jet’s high tech Jacuzzi bath. He absorbed gallons of water through his thirsty pores, flushing the toxins from his system. When he felt sufficiently refreshed, he emerged from the bathroom wrapped in an oversize bathrobe. He looked like nothing more than the world’s ugliest bride, trailing a train behind him.

Artemis Fowl was toying with an iced tea while he waited for the dwarf. Butler was flying the plane.

Mulch sat down at the coffee table and poured an entire saucer of nuts down his gullet, shells and all.

“So, Mud Boy,” he said. “What’s going on in that devious brain of yours?”

Artemis steepled his fingers, peering around them through wide-set blue eyes. There was quite a lot going on in his devious mind, but Mulch Diggums would only be hearing a small portion of it. Artemis did not believe in sharing all the details of his schemes with anyone. Sometimes the success of these plans depended on nobody knowing exactly what they were doing. Nobody but Artemis himself.

Artemis put on his friendliest face, leaning forward in his chair.

“The way I see it, Mulch,” he said. “You already owe me a favor.”

“Really, Mud Boy? And how do you figure that?”

Artemis patted the LEP helmet on the table beside him. “No doubt you bought this on the black market. It is an older model, but it still has the standard LEP voice-activated mike, and the self-destruct.”

Mulch tried to swallow the nuts, but his throat was suddenly dry.

“Self-destruct?”

“Yes. There’s enough explosive packed in here to turn your head to jelly. There would be nothing left but teeth. Of course there would be no need to activate the self-destruct if the voice-activated mike leads the LEP right to your door. I have switched these functions off.”

Mulch frowned. He would be having words with the fence who had sold him the helmet. “Okay. Thanks. But you don’t expect me to believe that you saved me out of the goodness of your heart.”

Artemis chuckled. He could hardly expect anyon

e who knew him to believe that.

“No. We have a common goal. The Fei Fei tiara.”

Mulch folded his arms across his chest. “I work alone. I don’t need you to help me steal the tiara.”

Artemis plucked a newspaper from the table, spinning it across to the dwarf. “Too late, Mulch. Someone already beat us to it.”

The headline was in bold capitals: CHINESE TIARA STOLEN FROM MET.

Mulch frowned. “I’m getting a bit confused here, Mud Boy. The tiara was at the Met? It was supposed to be at the Fleursheim.”

Artemis smiled. “No, Mulch. The tiara was never at the Fleursheim. That was just what I needed you to believe.”

“How did you know about me?”