Artemis Fowl: The Eternity Code af-3

by Eoin Colfer

  ‘Cryogenics,’ said Barre, noting the vehicle’s inscription. ‘Do you think you can do anything for him?’

  ‘You looked in the freezer then?’ said Artemis.

  The officer nodded. ‘How could I resist? Curiosity is my business.

  I’m sorry I checked now; he was a good man.’

  ‘Is a good man,’ insisted Artemis. ‘I am not ready to give up on him yet.’

  Barre stood aside to admit two uniformed Ice Age paramedics.

  ‘According to my men, a group of armed bandits attempted to rob the establishment, but they were interrupted by an earthquake. And if that’s what really happened, I’ll eat my badge. I don’t suppose you can throw any light on the situation?’

  ‘A competitor of mine disagreed with a business strategy. It was a violent disagreement.’

  ‘Who pulled the trigger?’

  ‘Arno Blunt. A New Zealander. Bleached hair, rings in his ears,

  tattoos on his body and neck. Most of his teeth are missing.’

  Barre took a note. ‘I’ll circulate the description to the airports. You never know, we might catch him.’

  Artemis rubbed his eyes.

  ‘Butler saved my life. The bullet was meant for me.’

  ‘That’s Butler all right,’ said Barre, nodding. ‘If there’s anything I can do. .?’

  ‘You’ll be the first to know,’ said Artemis. ‘Did your officers find anyone on the scene?’

  Barre consulted his notebook. ‘Some customers and staff. They all checked out, so we let them go. The thieves escaped before we arrived.’

  ‘No matter. Better I deal with the culprits myself.’

  Barre made a concerted effort to ignore the activity in the kitchen behind him.

  ‘Artemis, can you guarantee this is not going to come back to haunt me? Technically, we’re looking at a homicide.’

  Artemis looked Barre in the eye, which was quite an effort.

  ‘Detective Inspector, no body, no case. And I guarantee that by tomorrow Butler will be alive and kicking. I shall instruct him to call you, if that would set your mind at rest.’

  ‘It would.’

  The paramedics rolled Butler past on a trolley. A frosting of ice covered his face. Tissue damage was already turning his fingers blue.

  ‘Any surgeon who could fix this would have to be a real magician!’

  Artemis glanced downwards.

  ‘That’s the plan, Detective Inspector. That’s the plan.’

  Doctor Lane administered glucose injections in the van.

  ‘These are to stop the cells collapsing,’ she informed Artemis, massaging Butler’s chest to circulate the medication. ‘Otherwise the water in his blood will freeze in spikes and puncture the cell walls.’

  Butler was lying in an open cryo unit, with its own gyroscopes. He had been dressed in a special silver freezer suit, and cold packs were heaped on his body like sachets of sugar in a bowl.

  Constance was unaccustomed to people actually paying attention when she explained the process, but this pale youth absorbed facts faster than she could present them.

  ‘Won’t the water freeze anyway? Glucose can’t prevent that.’

  Constance was impressed. ‘Why, yes it will. But in small pieces, so it can float safely between cells.’

  Artemis jotted a note in his hand-held computer. ‘Small pieces, I understand.’

  ‘The glucose is only a temporary measure,’ continued the doctor.

  ‘The next step is surgery; we need to completely wash out his veins, and replace the blood with a preservative. Then we can lower the patient’s temperature to minus thirty degrees. We’ll have to do that back at the institute.’

  Artemis shut down his computer. ‘No need for that. I just need him held in stasis for a few hours. After that it won’t make any difference.’

  ‘I don’t think you understand, young man,’ said Doctor Lane.

  ‘Current medical practices have not evolved to the point where this kind of injury can be healed. If I don’t do a complete blood substitution soon, there will be severe tissue damage.’

  The van jolted as a wheel crashed into one of London’s numerous potholes. Butler’s arm jerked and, for a moment, Artemis could pretend he was alive.

  ‘Don’t worry about that, Doctor.’

  ‘But. .’

  ‘A hundred thousand pounds, Constance. Just keep repeating that figure to yourself. Park the mobile unit outside and forget all about us. In the morning we’ll be gone. Both of us.’

  Doctor Lane was surprised.

  ‘Park outside?You don’t even want to come in?’

  ‘No, Butler stays outside,’ said Artemis. ‘My. . ah. . surgeon, has a problem with dwellings. But may I enter for a moment to use your phone? I need to make a rather special phone call.’

  LONDON AIRSPACE

  The lights of London were spread out below Holly like the stars of some turbulent galaxy. England’s capital was generally a no-fly area for Recon officers, because of the four airports feeding planes into the sky.

  Five years ago, Captain Trouble Kelp had narrowly missed being impaled by a Heathrow-JFK airbus. Since then, all flight plans involving airport cities had to be cleared personally by Foaly.

  Holly spoke into her helmet mike.

  ‘Foaly. Any flights coming in I should know about?’

  ‘Let me just bring up the radar. OK, let’s see. I’d drop down to five hundred feet if I were you. There’s a 747 coming in from Malaga in a couple of minutes. It won’t hit you, but your helmet computer could interfere with its navigation systems.’

  Holly dipped her flaps until she was at the correct altitude.

  Overhead, the giant jet screamed across the sky. If it hadn’t been for Holly’s sonic filter sponges, both her eardrums would have popped.

  ‘OK. One jet full of tourists successfully avoided. What now?’

  ‘Now we wait. I won’t call again unless it’s important.’

  They didn’t have to wait long. Less than five minutes later Foaly broke radio silence.

  ‘Holly. We got something.’

  ‘Another probe?’

  ‘No. Something from Sentinel. Hold on, I’m sending the file to your helmet.’

  A sound file appeared in Holly’s visor. Its wave resembled a seismograph’s readout.

  ‘What is it, a phone tap?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Foaly. ‘It’s one of a billion throwaway files that

  Sentinel sends us every day.’

  The Sentinel system was a series of monitoring units that Foaly had piggybacked to obsolete US and Russian satellites. Their function was to monitor all human telecommunications. Obviously, it would be impossible to review every phone call made each day. So the computer was programmed to pick up on certain key words. If, for example, the words ‘fairy’, ‘haven’ and ‘underground’ appeared in a conversation, the computer would flag the call. The more People-related phrases that appeared, the more urgent the rating.

  ‘This call was made in London minutes ago. It’s loaded with keywords. I’ve never heard anything like it.’

  ‘Play,’ said Holly clearly, using voice command. A vertical line cursor began scrolling across the sound wave.

  ‘People,’ said a voice, hazy with distortion. ‘LEP, magic, Haven, shuttle ports, sprites, B’wa Kell, trolls, time-stop, Recon, Atlantis.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘That’s not enough? Whoever made that call could be writing our biography.’

  ‘But it’s just a string of words. It makes no sense.’

  ‘Hey, there’s no point arguing with me,’ said the centaur. ‘I just collect information. But there has to be a connection to the probe. Two things like this don’t just happen on the same day.’

  ‘OK. Do we have an exact location?’

  ‘The call came from a cryogenics institute in London. Sentinel quality is not enough to run a voice-recognition scan. We just know it came from inside the building.’
r />   ‘Who was our mystery Mud Man calling?’

  ‘Strange thing. He was calling The Times newspaper crossword hotline.’

  ‘Maybe those words were the answers to today’s crossword?’ said Holly hopefully.

  ‘No. I checked the correct solution. Not a fairy-related word in sight.’

  Holly set her wings to manual. ‘OK. Time to find out what our caller is up to. Send me the institute’s coordinates.’

  Holly suspected that it was a false alarm. Hundreds of these calls came in every year. Foaly was so paranoid that he believed the Mud

  People were invading every time someone mentioned the word ‘magic’ on a phone line. And with the recent trend for human fantasy movies and video games, magical phrases cropped up quite a lot. Thousands of police hours were wasted staking out the dwellings of residents where these phone calls originated, and it usually turned out to be some kid playing on his PC.

  More than likely this phantom phone call was the result of a crossed line, or some Hollywood hack pitching a screenplay, or even an undercover LEP operative trying to phone home. But then, today of all days, everything had to be checked.

  Holly kicked up her legs behind her, dropping into a steep dive.

  Diving was against Recon regulations. All approaches were supposed to be controlled and gradual, but what was the point of flying if you couldn’t feel the slipstream tugging at your toes?

  ICE AGE CRYOGENICS INSTITUTE, LONDON

  Artemis leaned against the cryogenics mobile unit’s rear bumper. It was funny how quickly a person’s priorities could change. This morning he had been worried about which loafers to wear with his suit, and now all he could think about was the fact that his dearest friend’s life hung in the balance. And the balance was rapidly shifting.

  Artemis wiped a coating of frost from the spectacles he’d retrieved from his bodyguard’s jacket. These were no ordinary spectacles. Butler had 20/20 vision. These particular eye glasses had been specially tooled to accommodate filters taken from an LEP helmet. Anti-shield filters.

  Butler had carried them since Holly Short almost got the jump on him at Fowl Manor.

  ‘You never know,’ he’d said. ‘We’re a threat to LEP security, and some day Commander Root could be replaced with someone who isn’t quite so fond of us.’

  Artemis wasn’t convinced. The fairies were, by and large, a peaceful people. He couldn’t believe they would harm anyone, even a Mud Person, on the basis of past crimes. After all, they had parted friends. Or, at least, not enemies.

  Artemis presumed the call would work — there was no reason to believe it wouldn’t: several government security agencies monitored phone lines using the key word system, recording conversations that could compromise national security. And if humans were doing it, it was a safe bet that Foaly was two steps ahead.

  Artemis donned the glasses, climbing into the vehicle’s cabin. He had placed the call ten minutes ago. Presuming Foaly got working on a trace straight away, it could still be another two hours before the LEP could get an operative on the surface. That would make it almost five hours since Butler’s heart had stopped. The record for a revival was two hours and fifty minutes for an Alpine skier frozen in an avalanche. There had never been a revival after three hours. Maybe there shouldn’t be.

  Artemis glanced at the tray of food sent out by Doctor Lane. Any other day he would have complained about virtually everything on the plate, but now the meal was simply sustenance to keep him awake until the cavalry arrived. Artemis took a long drink from a polystyrene cup of tea. It sloshed audibly around his empty stomach. Behind him, in the van’s surgery, Butler’s cryo unit hummed like a common household freezer. Occasionally the computer emitted electronic beeps and whirrs as the machine ran self-diagnostics. Artemis was reminded of the weeks spent in Helsinki waiting for his father to regain consciousness. Waiting to see what the fairy magic would do to him. .

  EXCERPT FROM ARTEMIS FOWL’S DIARY DISK 2 ENCRYPTED

  Today my father spoke to me. For the first time in over two years I heard his voice, and it is exactly as I remembered it. But not everything was the same.

  It had been over two months since Holly Short used her healing magic on his battered body, and still he lay in his Helsinki hospital bed.

  Immobile, unresponsive. The doctors could not understand it.

  ‘He should be awake,’ they informed me. ‘His brainwaves are strong, exceptionally so. And his heart beats like a horse. It is incredible; this man should be at death’s door, yet he has the muscle tone of a twenty-year-old.’

  Of course, it is no mystery to me. Holly’s magic has overhauled my father’s entire being, with the exception of his left leg, which was lost when his ship went down off the coast of Murmansk. He has received an infusion of life, body and mind.

  The effect of the magic on his body does not worry me, but I cannot help but wonder what effect this positive energy will have on my father’s mind. For my father, a change like this could be traumatic. He is the Fowl patriarch, and his life revolves around moneymaking.

  For sixteen days we sat in my father’s hospital room, waiting for some sign of life. I had, by then, learned to read the instruments and noticed immediately the morning that my father’s brainwaves began spiking. My diagnosis was that he would soon regain consciousness, and so I called the nurse.

  We were ushered from the room to admit a medical team of at least a dozen. Two heart specialists, an anaesthetist, a brain surgeon, a psychologist and several nurses.

  In fact, my father had no need of medical attention. He simply sat up, rubbed his eyes and uttered one word: ‘Angeline’.

  Mother was admitted. Butler, Juliet and I were forced to wait for several more agonizing minutes until she reappeared at the door.

  ‘Come in, everyone,’ she said. ‘He wants to see you.’

  And suddenly I was afraid. My father, the man whose shoes I had been trying to fill for two years, was awake. Would he still live up to my expectations? Would I live up to his?

  I entered hesitantly. Artemis Fowl the First was propped up by several pillows. The first thing that I noticed was his face. Not the scar traces — which were already almost completely healed, but the expression. My father’s brow, usually a thunderhead of moody contemplation, was smooth and carefree.

  After such a long time apart, I didn’t know what to say.

  My father had no such doubts.

  ‘Arty,’ he cried, stretching his arms towards me. ‘You’re a man now. A young man.’

  I ran into his embrace, and while he held me close all plots and schemes were forgotten. I had a father again.

  ICE AGE CRYOGENICS INSTITUTE, LONDON

  Artemis’s memories were interrupted by a sly movement on the wall above. He peered out the rear window and fixed his gaze on the spot, watching through filtered eyes. There was a fairy crouching on a third-storey window sill: a Recon officer, complete with wings and helmet. After only fifteen minutes! His ruse had worked. Foaly had intercepted the call and sent someone to investigate. Now all that remained was to hope this particular fairy was full to the brim with magic and willing to help.

  This had to be handled sensitively. The last thing he wanted to do was spook the Recon officer. One wrong move and he’d wake up in six hours, with absolutely no recollection of the day’s events. And that would be fatal for Butler.

  Artemis opened the van door slowly, stepping down into the yard.

  The fairy cocked its head, following his movements. To his dismay, Artemis saw the creature draw a platinum handgun.

  ‘Don’t shoot,’ said Artemis, raising his hands. ‘I am unarmed. And I need your help.’

  The fairy activated its wings, descending slowly until its visor was level with Artemis’s eyes.

  ‘Do not be alarmed,’ continued Artemis. ‘I am a friend to the People. I helped to defeat the B’wa Kell. My name is —’

  The fairy unshielded, her opaque visor sliding up. ‘I know what your name is, Ar
temis,’ said Captain Holly Short.

  ‘Holly,’ said Artemis, grasping her by the shoulders. ‘It's you.’

  Holly shrugged off the human’s hands. ‘I know it’s me. What’s going on here? I presume you made the call?’

  ‘Yes, yes. No time for that now. I can explain later.’

  Holly opened the throttle on her wings, rising to a height of four metres.

  ‘No, Artemis. I want an explanation now. If you needed help, why didn’t you call on your own phone?’

  Artemis forced himself to answer the question.

  ‘You told me that Foaly had pulled surveillance on my communications, and anyway I wasn’t sure you’d come.’

  Holly considered it.

  ‘OK. Maybe I wouldn’t have.’ Then she noticed. ‘Where’s Butler? Watching our backs as usual, I suppose.’

  Artemis didn’t answer, but his expression told Holly exactly why the Mud Boy had summoned her.

  Artemis pressed a button, and a pneumatic pump opened the cryo pod’s lid. Butler lay inside, encased in a centimetre of ice.

  ‘Oh no,’ sighed Holly. ‘What happened?’

  ‘He stopped a bullet that was meant for me,’ replied Artemis.

  ‘When are you going to learn, Mud Boy?’ snapped the fairy. ‘Your little schemes have a tendency to get people hurt. Usually the people who care about you.’

  Artemis didn’t answer. The truth was the truth after all.

  Holly peeled away a cold pack from the bodyguard’s chest.

  ‘How long?’

  Artemis consulted the clock on his mobile phone.

  ‘Three hours. Give or take a few minutes.’

  Captain Short wiped away the ice, laying her hand flat on Butler’s chest.

  ‘Three hours. I don’t know, Artemis. There’s nothing here. Not a flicker.’

  Artemis faced her across the cryo pod.

  ‘Can you do it, Holly? Can you heal him?’

  Holly stepped back. ‘Me? I can’t heal him. We need a professional warlock to even attempt something like this.’

  ‘But you healed my father.’

  ‘That was different. Your father wasn’t dead. He wasn’t even critical. I hate to say it, but Butler is gone. Long gone.’