The Eternity Code (Artemis Fowl 3)

This was not the kind of wisdom I was accustomed to hearing from my father. Was this his natural personality, or the fairy magic? Or a combination of both?

“I never got involved before. I always thought the world could not be changed.”

Father’s gaze was intense, burning with new passion.

“But things are different now. My priorities are different. I intend to seize the day. Be the hero that every father should be.”

He sat on the bed beside me.

“And what about you, Arty? Will you make the journey with me? When the moment comes, will you take your chance to be a hero?”

I couldn’t respond. I did not know the answer. I still do not.

Fowl Manor

For two hours Artemis locked himself in his study, sitting cross-legged in the meditative position taught to him by Butler. Occasionally, he would voice an idea aloud, to be picked up by a voice-activated digital recorder placed on the mat before him. Butler and Juliet knew better than to interrupt the planning process. This period was crucial to the success of their mission. Artemis had the ability to visualize a hypothetical situation and calculate the likely outcomes. It was almost a dream state, and any disturbance could send the thread of his ideas flying like vapors.

Eventually Artemis emerged, tired but satisfied. He handed the team members three writable CDs.

“I want you to study these files,” he said. “They contain details of your assignments. When you have memorized the contents, destroy the disks.”

Holly took the disks. “A CD. How quaint. We have these in museums.”

“There are several computers in the study,” continued Artemis. “Use any terminal you wish.”

Butler was empty-handed. “Nothing for me, Artemis?”

Artemis waited until the others had gone. “I needed to give you your instructions verbally. I don’t want to risk Foaly’s picking them up from the computer.”

Butler sighed deeply, sinking into a leather armchair by the fireplace.

“I’m not going with you. Am I?”

Artemis sat on the chair’s arm. “No, old friend. But I have an important task for you.”

“Really, Artemis,” said Butler. “I’ve skipped right over my midlife crisis. You don’t have to invent a job just to make me feel useful.”

“No, Butler. This is of vital importance. It concerns the mind wipes. If my plan succeeds, we will have to submit to them. I see no way to sabotage the process itself, so I must ensure that something survives Foaly’s search. Something that will trigger our memories of the People. Foaly once told me that a strong enough stimulus can result in total recall.”

Butler shifted his position in the chair, wincing. His chest was still giving him trouble. Not surprising, really. He had been alive again less than two days.

“Any ideas?” Artemis asked.

“We need to lay a couple of false trails. Foaly will be expecting that.”

“Of course. A hidden file on the server. I could send an e-mail to ourselves, but not pick it up. Then the first time we check our mail, all this information will come through.”

Artemis handed the bodyguard a folded sheet of paper. “No doubt we will be mesmerized and questioned. In the past we have hidden from the mesmer behind mirrored sunglasses. We won’t get away with that on this occasion. So, we need to come up with something else. Here are the instructions.”

Butler studied the plans. “It’s possible. I know someone in Limerick. The best man in the country for this kind of specialized work.”

“Excellent,” said Artemis. “After that, you need to put everything we have on the People on a disk. All documents, video, schematics. Everything. And don’t forget my diary. The whole story is there.”

“And where do we hide this disk?” asked the ex-bodyguard.

Artemis untied the fairy pendant from around his neck.

“I’d say this was about the same size as a laser disk. Wouldn’t you?”

Butler tucked the gold medallion into his jacket pocket.

“It soon will be,” he said.

Butler prepared them a meal. Nothing fancy. Vegetarian spring rolls, followed by mushroom risotto with crème caramel to finish. Mulch opted for a bucket of diced worms and beetles, sautéed in a rainwater-and-moss vinaigrette.

“Has everybody studied their files?” Artemis asked, when the group had adjourned to the library.

“Yes,” said Holly. “But I seem to be missing a few key pieces.”

“Nobody has the entire plan. Just the parts concerning them. I think it’s safer that way. Do we have the equipment I specified?”

Holly dumped the contents of her pack on the rug.

“A complete LEP surveillance kit, including camouflage foil, mikes and video clips, and a first-aid box.”

“Plus we still have two intact LEP helmets and three laser handguns left over from the siege,” added Butler. “And of course one of the prototype Cubes from the lab.”

Artemis passed the cordless phone to Mulch.

“Very well, then. We may as well get started.”

The Spiro Needle

Jon Spiro sat in his opulent office, staring glumly at the C Cube on his desk. People thought it was easy being him. How little they knew. The more money you had, the more pressure you were under. He had eight hundred employees in this building alone, all relying on him for a paycheck. They wanted yearly salary reviews, medical plans, daycare centers, regular coffee breaks, double pay for overtime, and even stock options, for heaven’s sake. Sometimes, Spiro missed the times when a troublesome worker would be thrown out a high window and that was the end of him. These days, if you threw someone out of a window, they’d phone their lawyer on the way down.

But this Cube could be the answer to his prayers. A once-in-a-lifetime deal, the brass ring. If he could get this weird little gizmo working, the sky was the limit. Literally. The world’s satellites would be his to command. He would have complete control over spy satellites, military lasers, communications’ networks, and most important of all, elevision stations. He could feasibly rule the world.

His secretary buzzed from reception.

“Mr. Blunt to see you, sir.”

Spiro jabbed the intercom button.

“Okay, Marlene, send him in. And tell him he better look sorry.”

Blunt did indeed look sorry when he pushed through the double doors. The doors themselves were imposing enough. Spiro had them stolen from the ballroom of the sunken Titanic. They were a perfect example of power gone mad.

Arno Blunt was not quite so cocky as he had been in London. Then again, it is difficult to look arrogant when your forehead is a mass of bruises and your mouth is full of gums and nothing else.

Spiro winced at the sight of his sunken cheeks.

“How many teeth did you lose?”

Blunt touched his jaw gingerly. “All ob ’em. Dentish shaid de roods were shaddered.”

“It serves you right,” said Spiro matter-of-factly. “What do I gotta do, Arno? I hand you Artemis Fowl on a platter, and you mess it up. Tell me what happened. And I don’t want to hear about any earthquakes. I want the truth.”

Blunt wiped a blob of drool from the corner of his mouth.

“I doh undershtan’ ih. Shomeshin’ explohduh. dunno wha. Shome kinna shoun’ grenay. Buh I tell you shomeshin’. Butlah ish dead. I sho’ him in de har. No way he’sh geddin’ uh affer da.”

“Oh, shut up!” snapped Spiro. “You’re giving me a headache. The sooner you get those new teeth, the better.”

“My gumsh wi’ be healed suffishently by thish afernoo’.”

“I thought I told you to shut up!”

“Shorry, bosh.”

“You’ve put me in a very difficult situation, Arno. Because of your incompetence I had to hire a team from the Antonellis. Carla is a smart girl. She could decide that they deserve a percentage. It could cost me millions.”

Arno tried his best to look remorseful.

&n

bsp; “And don’t bother with the puppy-dog look, Blunt. It doesn’t cut any ice with me. If this deal goes south, you’ll be losing a lot more than a couple of teeth.”

Arno decided to change the subject. “Sho, di’ your shientishts geh de gube worging?”

“No,” said Spiro, twisting his gold identity bracelet. “Fowl has it sealed up tight. An eternity code, or some such thing. That idiot, Pearson, couldn’t get a peep out of it.”

It was at that moment, dramatically enough, that a voice emanated from the C Cube’s micro speaker mesh.

“Mr. Spiro?” said the voice. “This is Ireland calling. Do you read, Mr. Spiro?”

Jon Spiro was not a man who spooked easily. He hadn’t seen a horror movie yet that could make him jump in his seat, but the voice coming out of that speaker almost knocked him off his chair. The quality was incredible. Close your eyes, and you’d swear that the person speaking was standing right in front of you.

“You wan’ me to ansher da?”

“I told you to shut up! Anyway, I don’t know how to answer this thing.”

“I can hear you, Mr. Spiro,” said the voice. “You don’t need to do anything. Just talk. The box does the rest.”