He made it. Barely. He could feel the explosion rattling his torso as he threw himself into a reverse loop. Flames latched on to his jumpsuit, licking along his legs. Root continued his maneuver, crashing directly into the icy water. He broke the surface swearing.
Above him, the whaler had been totally consumed by noxious flames.
“Commander,” came a voice in his earpiece. It was Foaly. He was back in range.
“Commander. What’s your status?”
Root lifted free of the water’s grip.
“My status, Foaly, is extremely annoyed. Get on your computers. I want to know everything there is to know about one Artemis Fowl, and I want to know it before I get back to base.”
“Yessir, Commander. Right away.”
No wisecrack. Even Foaly realized that this was not the time.
Root hovered at three hundred yards. Below him the blazing whaler drew emergency vehicles like moths to a light. He dusted charred threads from his elbows. There will be a reckoning for this Artemis Fowl, he vowed. Count on it.
CHAPTER 6
SIEGE
Artemis leaned back in the study’s leather swivel chair, smiling over steepled fingers. Perfect. That little explosion should cure those fairies of their cavalier attitude. Plus there was one less whaler in the world. Artemis Fowl did not like whalers. There were less objectionable ways to produce oil by-products.
The pinhole camera concealed in the locator had worked perfectly. With its high-resolution images he had picked out the fairy’s telltale breath crystals.
Artemis consulted the basement surveillance monitor. His captive was sitting on the cot now, head in hands. Artemis frowned. He hadn’t expected the fairy to appear so . . . human. Until now, they had merely been quarry. Animals to be hunted. But now, seeing one like this, in obvious discomfort—it changed things.
Artemis put the computer to sleep and crossed to the main doors. Time for a little chat with their guest. Just as his fingers alighted on the brass handles, the door flew open before him. Juliet appeared in the doorway, cheeks flushed from haste.
“Artemis,” she gasped. “Your mother. She . . .”
Artemis felt a lead ball drop in his stomach.
“Yes?”
“Well, she says, Artemis . . . Artemis, that your . . .”
“Yes, Juliet. For heaven’s sake, what is it?”
Juliet placed both hands over her mouth, composing herself. After several seconds she parted spangled nails, speaking through her fingers.
“It’s your father, sir. Artemis Senior. Madam Fowl says he’s come back!”
For a split second, Artemis could have sworn his heart had stopped. Father? Back? Was it possible? Of course he’d always believed his father was alive. But lately, since he’d hatched this fairy scheme, it was almost as if his father had shifted to the back of his mind. Artemis felt guilt churn his stomach. He had given up. Given up on his own father.
“Did you see him, Juliet? With your own eyes?”
The girl shook her head.
“No, Artemis, sir. I just heard voices. In the bedroom. But she won’t let me through the door. Not for anything. Not even with a hot drink.”
Artemis calculated. They had returned barely an hour ago. His father could have slipped past Juliet. It was possible. Just possible. He glanced at his watch, synchronized with Greenwich Mean Time by constantly updated radio signals. Three A.M. Time was ticking on. His entire plan depended on the fairies making their next move before daylight.
Artemis started. He was doing it again, pushing family to one side. What was he becoming? His father was the priority here, not some moneymaking scheme.
Juliet was still in the doorway, watching him with those enormous blue eyes. She was waiting for him to make a decision, as he always did. And for once, there was indecision scrawled across his pale features.
“Very well,” he mumbled eventually. “I had better go up there immediately.”
Artemis brushed past the girl, taking the steps two at a time. His mother’s room was two flights up, a converted attic space.
He hesitated at the door. What would he say if it was his father miraculously returned? What would he do? It was ridiculous dithering about it. Impossible to predict. He knocked lightly.
“Mother?”
No response, but he thought he heard a giggle and was instantly transported into the past. Initially this room had been his parents’ lounge. They would sit on the chaise longue for hours, tittering like schoolchildren, feeding the pigeons or watching the ships sailing past on Dublin sound. When Artemis Senior had disappeared, Angeline Fowl had become more and more attached to the space, eventually refusing to leave altogether.
“Mother? Are you all right?”
Muffled voices from within. Conspiratorial whispers.
“Mother. I’m coming in.”
“Wait a moment. Timmy, stop it, you beast. We have company.”
Timmy? Artemis’s heart thumped like a snare drum in his chest. Timmy, her pet name for his father. Timmy and Arty. The two men in her life. He could wait no longer. Artemis burst through the double doors.
His first impression was of light. Mother had the lamps on. A good sign surely. Artemis knew where his mother would be. He knew exactly where to look. But he couldn’t. What if . . . What if . . .
“Yes, can we help you?”
Artemis turned, his eyes still downcast. “It’s me.”
His mother laughed. Airy and carefree.
“I can see it’s you, Papa. Can’t you even give your boy one night off? It is our honeymoon after all.”
Artemis knew then. It was just an escalation of her madness. Papa? Angeline thought Artemis was his own grandfather. Dead over ten years. He raised his gaze slowly.
His mother was seated on the chaise longue, resplendent in her own wedding dress, face clumsily coated with makeup. But that wasn’t the worst of it.
Beside her was a facsimile of his father, constructed from the morning suit he’d worn on that glorious day in Christchurch Cathedral fourteen years ago. The clothes were padded with tissue, and atop the dress shirt was a stuffed pillowcase with lipstick features. It was almost funny. Artemis choked back a sob, his hopes vanishing like a summer rainbow.
“What do you say, Papa?” said Angeline in a deep bass, nodding the pillow like a ventriloquist manipulating her dummy. “One night off for your boy, eh?”
Artemis nodded. What else could he do?
“One night then. Take tomorrow, too. Be happy.”
Angeline’s face radiated honest joy. She sprang from the couch, embracing her unrecognized son.
“Thank you, Papa. Thank you.”
Artemis returned the embrace, though it felt like cheating.
“You’re welcome, Mo—Angeline. Now, I must be off. Business to attend to.”
His mother settled beside her imitation husband.
“Yes, Papa. You go, don’t worry, we can keep ourselves amused.”
Artemis left. He didn’t look back. There were things to be done. Fairies to be extorted. He had no time for his mother’s fantasy world.
Captain Holly Short was holding her head in her hands.
One hand to be precise. The other was scrabbling down the side of her boot, on the camera’s blind side. In actuality her head was crystal clear, but it would do no harm for the enemy to believe her still out of action. Perhaps they would underestimate her. And that would be the last mistake they ever made.