Root caught up with Foaly at the base of the north tower. The centaur had parked a shuttle by the three-foot-thick wall. Already the work area was a mess of tangled wires and pulsating fiber optics.
“Foaly? Are you in here?”
The centaur’s foil-capped head emerged from the belly of a disemboweled hard drive.
“Over here, Commander. You’ve come to push a button with my face, I presume.”
Root almost laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re looking for an apology, Foaly. I’ve already used my quota for today. And that was to a lifelong friend.”
“Cudgeon? Forgive me, Commander, but I wouldn’t waste my apologies on the lieutenant. He won’t be wasting any on you when he stabs you in the back.”
“You’re wrong about him. Cudgeon is a good officer. A bit eager, certainly, but he’ll do the right thing when the time comes.”
“The right thing for himself, maybe. I don’t think Holly is at the top of his priority list.”
Root didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
“And another thing. I have a sneaking suspicion that young Artemis Fowl wanted us to stop time. After all, everything else we’ve tried has played straight into his hands.”
Root rubbed his temples. “That’s impossible. How could a human know about time-stoppage? Anyway, this is no time for theorizing, Foaly. I have less than eight hours to clean up this mess. So what have you got for me?”
Foaly clopped over to an equipment rack clamped to the wall.
“No heavy armament, that’s for sure. Not after what happened to Retrieval One. No helmet either. That beast of a Mud Man seems to collect them. No, to show good faith, we’re going to send you in unarmed and unarmored.”
Root snorted. “What manual did you get this from?”
“It’s standard operating procedure. Fostering trust speeds communication.”
“Oh, stop quoting and give me something to shoot.”
“Suit yourself,” sighed Foaly, selecting what looked like a finger from the rack.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a finger. What does it look like?”
“A finger,” admitted Root.
“Yes, but not any ordinary finger.” He glanced around to make sure that no one else was watching. “The tip contains a pressurized dart. One shot only. You tap the knuckle with your thumb and someone goes beddie-bye.”
“Why haven’t I seen this before?”
“It’s a covert kinda thing. . . .”
“And?” said Root suspiciously.
“Well, there have been accidents. . . .”
“Tell me, Foaly.”
“Our agents keep forgetting they have it on.”
“Meaning they shoot themselves.”
Foaly nodded miserably. “One of our best sprites was picking his nose at the time. Three days on the critical list.”
Root rolled the memory latex on to his index finger, where it immediately assumed the shape and flesh tone of the host digit.
“Don’t worry, Foaly, I’m not a complete idiot. Anything else?”
Foaly unhooked what appeared to be a false bottom from the equipment rack.
“You’re not serious! What does that do?”
“Nothing,” admitted the centaur. “But it gets a great laugh at parties.”
Root chuckled. Twice. That was a major lapse for him.
“Okay, levity over. Are you going to wire me?”
“Naturally. One iris-cam. What color?” He peered into the commander’s eyes. “Hmm. Mud brown.” He selected a small vial from the shelf and removed the electronic contact lens from a fluid capsule. Plucking Root’s eyelid with thumb and forefinger, he slotted in the iris-cam. “That might irritate you. Try not to rub or it could end up in the back of your eye. Then we’d be looking into your head, and there’s nothing interesting in there, heaven knows.”
Root blinked, resisting the urge to knead his watering eye.
“That’s it?”
Foaly nodded. “That’s all we dare risk.”
The commander agreed reluctantly. His hip felt very light without a tri-barreled blaster dangling from it.
“Okay. I suppose this amazing dart finger will have to do. Honestly, Foaly, if this blows up in my face, you’ll be on the next shuttle back to Haven.”
The centaur snickered. “Just be careful in the toilet.”
Root didn’t laugh. There were some things you didn’t joke about.
Artemis’s watch had stopped. It was as though Greenwich wasn’t there anymore. Or perhaps, mused Artemis, we’re the ones who have disappeared. He checked CNN. It had frozen. A picture of Riz Khan jittered slightly on the screen. Artemis could not hold back a satisfied smile. They had done it, just like the Book said. The LEP had stopped time. All according to plan.
Time to check out a theory. Artemis wheeled over to the monitor bank and punched up the Mam Cam on the twenty-eight-inch main monitor. Angeline Fowl was no longer on the chaise lounge. Artemis panned around the room. It was empty. His mother had gone. Disappeared. His smile widened. Perfect. Just as he’d suspected.
Artemis switched his attention to Holly Short. She was banging the bed again. Occasionally she would rise from the mattress, pounding the wall with her bare fists. Maybe it was more than frustration. Could there be method in her madness? He tapped the monitor with a slim finger.
“What are you up to, Captain? What’s your little plan?”
He was distracted by a movement on the avenue monitor.
“At last,” he breathed. “The games begin.”
A figure was advancing down the avenue. Small, but imposing nonetheless. Unshielded too. Finished playacting then.
Artemis punched the intercom button.
“Butler? We have a guest. I’ll show him in. You get back here and police the surveillance cameras.”
Butler’s voice came back tinny through the speaker.
“Ten four, Artemis. On my way.”
Artemis buttoned his designer jacket, pausing at the mirror to straighten his tie. The trick to negotiation was to hold all the cards going in, and even if you didn’t, to try to look as though you did.
Artemis put on his best sinister face. Evil, he told himself, evil but highly intelligent. And determined, don’t forget determined. He put a hand on the doorknob. Steady now. Deep breaths, and try not to think about the possibility that you have misjudged this situation and are about to be shot dead. One, two, three . . . He opened the door.
“Good evening,” he said, every inch the gracious host, albeit a sinister, evil, intelligent, and determined one.
Root stood on the doorstep, palms up, the universal gesture for Look, I’m not carrying a big murderous weapon.
“You’re Fowl?”
“Artemis Fowl, at your service. And you are?”
“LEP Commander Root. Right, we know each other’s names, so could we get on with this?”
“Certainly.”
Root decided to chance taking out his weapon. “Step outside then. Where I can see you.”
Artemis’s face hardened. “Have you learned nothing from my demonstrations? The ship? Your commandos? Do I need to kill someone?”
“No,” said Root hurriedly. “I only—”