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CHAPTER 9: GHOSTS IN THE MACHINE

VACANT LOT, MALTHOUSE INDUSTRIAL ESTATE,

SOUTH CHICAGO

JON Spiro had not hired Pex and Chips for their debating skills. In the job interview they had only been set one task. A hundred applicants were handed a walnut and asked to smash it however they could. Only two succeeded. Pex had shouted at the walnut for a few minutes, then flattened it between his giant palms. Chips opted for a more controversial method.

He placed the walnut on the table, grabbed his interviewer by the ponytail and used the man’s forehead to smash the nut. Both men were hired on the spot. They quickly established themselves as Arno Blunt’s most reliable lieutenants for in-house work. They were not allowed outside Chicago as this could involve map reading - something Pex and Chips were not very good at.

At the moment, Pex and Chips were bonding under a full moon while Mulch dug a dwarf-sized pit in the dry clay behind an abandoned cement factory.

‘You wanna guess why they call me Pex?’ asked Pex, flexing his chest muscles as a hint.

Chips opened a packet of the potato chips he was forever crunching.

‘I dunno. Is it, like, short for something?’

‘Like what?’

‘I dunno,’ said Chips. He used the phrase a lot. ‘Francis?’ This sounded dumb, even to Pex. ‘Francis? How could Pex be short for Francis?’ Chips shrugged. ‘Hey. I had an Uncle Robert and everyone called him Bobby. That don’t make no sense neither.’ Pex rolled his eyes. ‘It’s pec-tor-als, moron. Pex is short for pectorals, on account of me having big chest muscles.’ In the pit, Mulch groaned. Listening to this mindless banter was almost as bad as having to dig a hole with a shovel. Mulch was tempted to deviate from the plan and launch himself into the flaky soil. But Artemis did not want any display of fairy powers at this stage of the proceedings. If he took off, and these goons escaped without being mesmerized, then Spiro’s paranoia would be driven up another notch.

On the surface, Chips was eager to continue the game.

‘Guess why they call me Chips,’ he said, hiding the bag of chips behind his back.

Pex kneaded his forehead. He knew this one.

‘Don’t tell me,’ he said. ‘I can work it out.’

Mulch poked his head from the hole. ‘It’s because he eats chips, you idiot.

Chips eats chips. You two are the thickest Mud Men I have ever met. Why don’t you just kill me? At least I won’t have to listen to your drivel.’ Pex and Chips were stunned. With all the mental exercise, they had almost forgotten about the little man in the hole. Plus, they were unaccustomed to prospective victims saying anything besides, ‘Oh no, please, God, no.’ Pex leaned over the grave’s lip. ‘What do you mean drivel?’ ‘I mean that whole Chips Pex thing.’

Pex shook his head. ‘No, I mean what does the word “drivel” mean? I’ve never heard that one.’ Mulch was delighted to explain. ‘It means rubbish, garbage, claptrap, twaddle, baloney. Is that clear enough for you?’ Chips recognized the last one. ‘Baloney? Hey, that’s an insult! Are you insulting us, little man?’ Mulch clasped his hands in mock prayer. ‘Finally, a breakthrough.’ The musclemen were uncertain how to react to actual abuse. There were only two people alive who insulted them regularly: Arno Blunt and Jon Spiro. But that was part of the job – you just ignored that by turning up the music in your head.

‘Do we have to listen to his smart mouth?’ Pex asked his partner.

‘I don’t think so. Maybe I should phone Mister Blunt.’ Mulch groaned. If stupidity were a crime, these two would be public enemies one and two.

‘What you should do is kill me. That was the idea, wasn’t it? Just kill me and get it over with.’ ‘What do you think, Chips? Should we just kill him?’

Chips chewed on a handful of barbecue Ruffles. ‘Yeah. Course. Orders is orders.’ ‘But I wouldn’t just kill me,’ interjected Mulch.

‘You wouldn’t?’

‘Oh no. After the way I just insulted your intelligence? No, I deserve something special.’ You could almost see the steam coming out of Pex’s ears as his brain overheated.

‘That’s right, little man. We’re gonna do something special to you. We don’t take no insults from anybody!’ Mulch did not bother pointing out the double negative.

‘You’re right. I’ve got a smart mouth, and I deserve everything I’ve got coming to me.’ There followed a short silence as Pex and Chips tried to come up with something worse than the usual straight shooting.

Mulch gave them a minute, then made a polite suggestion.

‘If it were me, I’d bury me alive.’

Chips was horrified.

‘Bury you alive? That’s terrible! You’d be screaming and clawing the dirt.

I could get nightmares.’

‘I promise to lie still. Anyway, I deserve it. I did call you a pair of overdeveloped, single-celled Cro-Magnons.’ ‘Did you?’

‘Well, I have now.’

Pex was the more impulsive of the duo. ‘OK, Mister Digence. You know what we’re gonna do? We’re going to bury you alive.’ Mulch clapped two hands to his cheeks. ‘Oh, the horror!’ ‘You asked for it, buddy.’

‘I did, didn’t I?’

Pex grabbed a spare shovel from the boot. ‘Nobody calls me an overdeveloped, signal bell crow magnet.’ Mulch lay down obligingly in his grave. ‘No. I bet nobody does.’ Pex shovelled furiously, gymnasium-sculpted muscles stretching his suit jacket. In minutes, Mulch’s form was completely covered.

Chips was feeling a bit squeamish. ‘That was horrible. Horrible. That poor little guy.’ Pex was unrepentant. ‘Yeah, well, he asked for it. Calling us . . . all those things.’ ‘But buried alive?! That’s like in that horror movie. Y’know, the one with all the horror.’ ‘I think I saw that one. With all the words going up the screen at the end?’ ‘Yeah, that was it. Tell you the truth, those words kinda ruined it for me.’ Pex stamped on the loose earth. ‘Don’t worry, buddy. There are no words in this movie.’ They climbed back into their Chevrolet automobile. Chips was still a bit upset.

‘You know, it’s much more real than a movie when it’s real.’ Pex ignored a no-access sign and pulled on to the motorway. ‘It’s the smell. You can’t smell stuff in a movie.’ Chips sniffed emotionally. ‘Digence musta been upset right there at the end.’ ‘I’m not surprised.’

“Cause I could see him cryin’. His shoulders were shaking, like he was laughing. But he must have been crying. I mean, what sort of crazy whacko would laugh when he’s getting buried alive?’ ‘He musta been crying.’

Chips opened a bag of smoky bacon curls. ‘Yeah. He musta been crying.’ Mulch was laughing so much that he nearly choked on the first mouthful of soil. What a pair of clowns! Then again, it was lucky for them that they had been clowns, otherwise they might have chosen their own method of execution.

Jaw unhinged, Mulch tunnelled straight down for five metres and then veered north to the cover of some abandoned warehouses. His beard hair sent out sonar signals in all directions. You couldn’t be too careful in built-up areas. There was always some wildlife, and Mud People had a habit of burying things in places you wouldn’t expect them. Pipes, septic tanks and barrels of industrial waste were all things he had taking an unwitting bite of in his day. And there is nothing worse than finding something in your mouth that you weren’t expecting to be there, especially if it’s wriggling.

It felt good to be tunnelling again. This was what dwarfs were born to do.

The earth felt right between his fingers, and he soon settled into his distance rhythm. Scooping muck between his grinding teeth, breathing through slitted nostrils, and pumping waste material out the other end.

Mulch’s hair antennae informed him that there were no vibrations on the surface, so he kicked upwards using the last vestiges of dwarf gas to propel him from his hole.

Holly caught him a metre from the ground.

‘Charming,’ she said.

‘What can I tell you?’ said Mulch unapologetically. ‘I’m a force of nature.

You were up there all that time?’

‘Yes, just in case things got out of hand. You put on quite a show.’ Mulch slapped the clay from his clothes. ‘A couple of Neutrino blasts could have saved me a lot of digging.’ Holly smiled in spooky imitation of Artemis. ‘That’s not in the plan. And we must stick to the plan now, mustn’t we?’ She draped a sheet of cam foil around the dwarf’s shoulders, and hooked him on to her Moonbelt.

‘Take it easy now, won’t you?’ said Mulch anxiously. ‘Dwarfs are creatures of the soil. We don’t like flying; we don’t even like jumping too high.’ Holly opened the throttle on her wings, heading downtown.

‘I’ll be just as considerate of your feelings as you are of the LEP’s.’ Mulch paled. Funny how this diminutive elf was much scarier than two six-foot hit men.

‘Holly, if I ever did anything to offend you, I unreservedly –’ He never finished that particular sentence, because their sudden acceleration forced the words back down his throat.

THE SPIRO NEEDLE

Arno Blunt walked Artemis to his cell. It was comfortable enough, with its own bathroom and entertainment system. There were a couple of things missing: windows and a handle on the door.

Blunt patted Artemis on the head.

‘I don’t know what happened in that London restaurant, but you try anything like that here, and I will turn you inside out and eat your organs.’ He gnashed his pointy teeth to make the point and leaned close, whispering into Artemis’s ear. Artemis could hear the teeth click with every syllable.

‘I don’t care what the boss says, you’re not going to be useful forever, so if I were you, I’d be very nice to me.’ ‘If you were me,’ responded Artemis, ‘then I’d be you, and if I were you, then I’d hide somewhere far away.’ ‘Oh, really? And why would you do that?’

Artemis paused to give him the full effect of his words.

‘Because Butler is coming for you. And he’s extremely annoyed.’ Blunt backed off a few steps. ‘No way, kid. I saw him go down. I saw the blood.’ Artemis grinned. ‘I didn’t say he was alive. I just said he was coming.’ ‘You’re just messing with my mind. Mister Spiro warned me about this.’ Blunt edged out of the door, never taking his eyes off Artemis.

‘Don’t worry, Blunt. I don’t have him here in my pocket. You have hours, maybe days, before the time comes.’ Arno Blunt slammed the door so hard that the frame shook. Artemis’s grin widened. Every cloud had a silver lining.

Artemis stepped into the shower, allowing the jet of hot water to pound him on the forehead. In truth, he felt a little anxious. It was one thing to formulate a plan in the safety of one’s own home. It was quite another to execute that plan while trapped in the lion’s den. And even though he would never admit it, his confidence had taken quite a pounding in the last few days. Spiro had outwitted him back in London, and without apparent effort. He had strolled into the entrepreneur’s trap as naively as a tourist down a back alley.

Artemis was well aware of his talents. He was a plotter, a schemer, a planner of dastardly deeds. There was no thrill greater than the execution of a perfect plan. But lately his victories had been tainted by guilt, especially over what had happened to Butler. Artemis had been so close to losing his old friend that it made him queasy just thinking about it.

Things had to change. His father would be watching soon, hoping that Artemis would make the right choices. And if he didn’t, Artemis Senior would quite possibly take those choices away from him. He remembered his father’s words. ‘And what about you, Arty? Will you make the journey with me? When the moment comes will you take your chance to he a hero?’ Artemis still did not have the answer to that question.

Artemis wrapped himself in a robe monogrammed with his captor’s initials. Not only was Spiro reminding him of his presence with the gold letters, but a motion-sensitive closed-circuit camera was following Artemis around the room.

Artemis focused on the challenging task of breaking into Spiro’s vault and stealing back the C Cube. He had anticipated many of Spiro’s security measures and packed accordingly. Although some were unforeseen and quite ingenious, Artemis had fairy technology on his side, and hopefully Foaly too. The centaur had been ordered not to help, but if Holly presented the break-in as a test, Artemis felt sure that the centaur would be unable to resist.

He sat on the bed, casually scratching his neck. The mike’s latex covering had survived the shower, as Holly had assured him it would. It was comforting to know that he was not alone in his prison.

Because the microphone operated on vibrations, Artemis did not have to speak aloud for his instructions to be transmitted.

‘Good evening, friends,’ he whispered, his back to the camera.

‘Everything proceeds according to plan, taking it as read that Mulch made it back alive. I must warn you to expect a visit from Spiro’s goons. I am certain his personnel have been monitoring the streets, and it should lull him into a false sense of security if he believes my people to be wiped out.

Mister Spiro has kindly given me a tour of the facility, and hopefully you have recorded everything we need to complete our mission. I believe the local term for this kind of operation is heist. This is what I want you to do.’ Artemis whispered slowly, enunciating each point clearly. It was vital that his team members followed his instructions to the letter. If they did not, the entire plot could explode like an active volcano. And at the moment, he was sitting in the volcano’s crater.

Pex and Chips were in a good mood. On their return to the Needle, not only had Mister Blunt handed over their five-grand bonus for the Mo Digence job, but he had also given them another assignment. The Needle’s external surveillance cameras had picked up a black van parked opposite the main door. It had been there for over three hours and a review of the tapes showed the vehicle circling the building for over an hour looking for a space.

Mister Spiro had warned them to look out for suspicious vehicles, and this was certainly suspicious.

‘Go down there,’ Blunt had ordered from his chair in the security office.

‘And if there’s anything breathing inside, ask them why they’re breathing outside my building.’ This was the kind of instruction that Pex and Chips understood. No asking questions, no operating complex machinery. Just open the door, scare everything, close the door. Easy. They kidded around in the lift, punching each other in the shoulder until their upper arms went numb.

‘We could make big bucks tonight, partner,’ said Pex, massaging his biceps to get the circulation going.

‘We sure could,’ enthused Chips, thinking about all the Barney DVDs he could buy. ‘This must be worth another bonus. Five grand at least.

Altogether that’s . . .’

There followed several moments’ silence while both men counted on their fingers.

‘That’s a lot of cash,’ said Pex finally.

‘A lot of cash,’ agreed Chips.

Juliet had her binoculars trained on the Needle’s revolving door. It would have been easier to use the Optix on a fairy helmet, but unfortunately her head had grown too large in the past couple of years. That wasn’t the only thing to have changed. Juliet had transformed from gangly kid to toned athlete. She wasn’t perfect bodyguard material though; there were still a few wrinkles to be ironed out. Personality wrinkles.

Juliet Butler was a fun-loving creature; she couldn’t help it. She found the idea of standing po-faced at the shoulder of some opinionated politician appalling. She’d go crazy from boredom — unless Artemis asked her to stay on professionally. A person could never be bored at Artemis Fowl’s side. But that was not likely to happen. Artemis had assured everyone that this was his last job. After Chicago he was going straight. If there was an after Chicago.

This stakeout business was boring too. Sitting quietly was not in Juliet’s nature. Her hyperactive disposition had caused her to fail more than one class at Madame Ko’s Academy.

‘Be at peace with yourself, girl,’ the Japanese instructor had said. ‘Find that quiet place at your core and inhabit it.’ Juliet generally had to stifle a yawn when Madame Ko started on the kung fu wisdom stuff. Butler, on the other hand, ate it up. He was forever finding his quiet place and inhabiting it. In fact, he only came out of his quiet place to pulverize whoever was threatening Artemis at the time.

Maybe that was why he had his blue diamond tattoo and Juliet didn’t.

Two burly figures emerged from the Needle. They were grinning and punching each other on the shoulder.

‘Captain Short, we’re on,’ said Juliet into a walkie-talkie tuned to Holly’s frequency.

‘Understood,’ responded Holly from her position above the Spiro Needle.

‘How many hostiles?’

‘Two. Big and dumb.’

‘You need back-up?’

‘Negative. I’ll wrap these two. You can have a word on your return.’ ‘OK. I’ll be down in five, as soon as I’ve had a talk with Foaly. And, Juliet, don’t mark them.’ ‘Understood.’

Juliet switched off the radio, climbing into the rear of the van. She swept a pile of surveillance equipment under a fold-up seat, just in case the two heavies actually managed to incapacitate her. It wasn’t likely, but her brother would hide the incriminating equipment just in case. Juliet pulled off her suit jacket and placed a baseball cap backwards on her head. She then popped the rear door and clambered out on to the road.

Pex and Chips crossed State Street to the suspect van. It certainly looked suspicious, with its blacked-out windows, but the pair were not unduly concerned. Every testosterone-fuelled college freshman had blacked-out windows these days.

‘Whatcha think?’ Pex asked his partner.

Chips curled his fingers into fists. ‘I think we don’t bother knocking.’ Pex nodded. This was the plan that they generally went with. Chips would have proceeded to wrench the door from its hinges had a young lady not appeared from around the bonnet.

‘You guys looking for my dad?’ said the girl in perfect MTV tones.

‘People are always, like, looking for him, and he’s never around. Daddy is so not here. And I mean that spiritually.’ Pex and Chips blinked in unison. The blink being universal body language for ‘ Huh?’ This girl was a stunning blend of Asian and Caucasian, but she might as well have been talking Greek for all the comprehension that registered on the security men’s faces. ‘Spiritually’ had five syllables, for heaven’s sake.

‘You own this van?’ asked Chips, taking the offensive.

The girl twisted her ponytail. ‘As much as any of us can, like, own anything. One world, one people, right, man? Ownership is, like, you know, an illusion. Maybe we don’t even own our own bodies. We could be, like, the daydreams of some greater spirit.’ Pex cracked.

‘Do you own the van?’ he shouted, wrapping thumb and forefinger round the girl’s neck.

The girl nodded. There wasn’t enough air in her windpipe for speech.

‘That’s better. Anyone inside?’

A shake of the head this time.

Pex relaxed his grip slightly.

‘How many more in the family?’

The girl answered in a whisper, using as little air as possible.

‘Seven. Dad, Mom, two grandparents and the triplets: Beau, Mo and Joe.

They’re gone for sushi.’

Pex cheered up considerably. Triplets and grandparents, that didn’t sound like any problem.

‘OK. We wait. Open her up, kid.’

‘Sushi?’ said Chips. ‘That’s raw fish. You ever have that, buddy?’ Pex held the girl by the neck while she fiddled with the key.

‘Yeah. I bought some in the supermarket once.’

‘Was it good?’

‘Yeah. I threw it in the deep-fat fryer for ten minutes. Not bad.’ The girl slid back the van door and climbed into the interior. Pex and Chips followed, ducking under the rim. Pex released the girl’s neck momentarily to take the step. That was his mistake. A properly trained private soldier would never allow an untethered prisoner to lead the way into an unsecured vehicle.

The girl stumbled accidentally, dropping to both knees on the interior’s carpet.

‘Sushi,’ said Pex. ‘It’s good with French fries.’

Then the girl’s foot snapped back, catching him in the chest. The hired muscle collapsed, gasping, on to the floor.

‘Oops,’ said the girl, straightening. ‘Accident.’

Chips thought he must be having some kind of waking dream, because there was no way a little pop princess clone could have decked ninety kilograms of muscle and attitude.

‘You . . . you just . . .,’ he stuttered. ‘That’s impossible. No way.’ ‘Way,’ said Juliet, pirouetting like a ballerina. The jade ring in her ponytail swung round, loaded with centrifugal force. It struck Chips between the eyeballs, like a stone from a sling. He staggered backwards, landing in a heap on a leatherette sofa.

Behind her, Pex’s breath was returning. His eyeballs stopped rolling wildly and focused on his assailant.

‘Hi,’ said Juliet, bending over him. ‘Guess what.’

‘What?’ said Pex.

‘You’re not supposed to deep-fry sushi,’ said the girl, clapping the assassin on both temples with the palms of her hands. Unconsciousness was immediate.

Mulch emerged from the bathroom, buttoning the bum-flap on his tunnelling trousers.

‘What did I miss?’ he asked.

*

Holly hovered one hundred and fifty feet above Chicago’s downtown district — known locally as the Loop after the curve of elevated track that enclosed the area. She was up there for two reasons. Firstly, they needed an X-ray scan of the Spiro Needle in order to construct 3D blueprints. And secondly, she wanted to talk to Foaly alone.

She spotted a stone eagle perched on the roof of an early twentieth-century apartment block, and alighted on its head. She would have to move perch after a few minutes, or her shield vibration would begin to pulverize the rock.

Juliet’s voice sounded in her earpiece.

‘Captain Short, we’re on.’

‘Understood,’ responded Holly. ‘How many hostiles?’

‘Two. Big and dumb.’

‘You need back-up?’

‘Negative. I’ll wrap these two. You can have a word on your return.’ ‘OK. I’ll be down in five, as soon as I’ve had a talk with Foaly. And, Juliet, don’t mark them.’ ‘Understood.’

Holly smiled. Juliet was a piece of work. A chip off the Butler block. But she was a wild card. Even on stakeout she couldn’t stop chattering for more than ten seconds. None of her brother’s discipline. She was a happy teenager. A kid. She should not be in this line of business. Artemis had no business dragging her into his crazy Schemes. But there was something about the Irish boy that made you forget your reservations. In the past sixteen months she had fought a troll for him, healed his entire family, dived into the Arctic Ocean and now she was preparing to disobey a direct order from Commander Root.

She opened a channel to LEP Operations.

‘Foaly. Are you listening?

Nothing for several seconds, then the centaur’s voice burst through the helmet’s micro-speaker.

‘Holly. Hold on. You’re a bit fuzzy; I’m just going to fine-tune the wavelength. Talk to me. Say something.’ ‘Testing. One two. One two. Trolls cause terrible trouble in a tantrum.’ ‘OK. Gotcha. Crystal clear. How goes it in the Land of Mud?’ Holly gazed down at the city below her.

‘No mud here. Just glass, steel and computers. You’d like it.’ ‘Oh no. Not me. Mud People are Mud People, no matter if they’re wearing suits or loincloths. The only good thing about humans is the television. All we get on PPTV is reruns. I’m almost sorry the goblin generals’ trial is over. Guilty on all counts, thanks to you. Sentencing is next month.’ Anxiety loosened its grip on Holly’s stomach. ‘Guilty. Thank heavens.

Things can finally go back to normal.’

Foaly snickered. ‘Normal? You’re in the wrong job for normal. You can kiss normal goodbye if we don’t get Artemis’s gizmo back from Spiro.’ The centaur was right. Her life had not been normal since she’d been promoted to Recon from the vice squad. But did she really want a normal life? Wasn’t that the reason she transferred from vice in the first place?

‘So why the call?’ asked Foaly. ‘Feeling a bit homesick, are you?’ ‘No,’ replied Holly. And it was true. She wasn’t. The elf captain had barely thought of Haven since Artemis embroiled her in his latest intrigue.

‘I need your advice.’

‘Advice? Oh, really? That wouldn’t be another way of asking for help now, would it? I Jaelieve Commander Root’s words were “You got what you got.” Rules are rules, Holly.’ Holly sighed. ‘Yes, Foaly. Rules are rules. Julius knows best.’ ‘That’s right. Julius knows best,’ said Foaly, but he didn’t sound convinced.

‘You probably couldn’t help anyway. Spiro’s security is pretty advanced.’ Foaly snorted, and a centaur snorting is something to hear.

‘Yeah, sure. What has he got? A couple of tin cans and a dog? Ooh scary.’ ‘I wish. There’s stuff in this building that I’ve never seen before. Smart stuff.’ A small liquid-crystal screen flickered into life in the corner of Holly’s visor. Foaly was broadcasting a visual from Police Plaza. Technically, not something he should be doing for an unofficial operation. The centaur was curious.

‘I know what you’re doing by the way,’ said Foaly, wagging a finger.

‘I have no idea what you mean,’ said Holly innocently.

‘You probably couldn’t help anyway. Spiro’s security is pretty advanced,’ mimicked the centaur. ‘You’re trying to light a fire under my ego. I’m not stupid, Holly.’ ‘OK. Maybe I am. Do you want the straight truth?’

‘Oh, you’re going to tell me the truth now? Interesting tactic for the LEP.’ ‘The Spiro Needle is a fortress. There’s no way in without you, even Artemis admits it. We’re not looking for equipment, or extra fairy-power.

Just advice over the airwaves, maybe a bit of camera work. Keep the lines open, that’s all I’m asking.’ Foaly scratched his chin. ‘No way in, eh? Even Artemis admits it.’ ‘ “We can’t do it without Foaly.” His exact words.’

The centaur struggled to keep the smugness from his features.

‘Have you got any video?’

Holly took a hand-held computer from her belt.

‘Artemis shot some film inside the Needle. I’m mailing it to you now.’ ‘I need a blueprint of the building.’

Holly panned her visor left and right, so Foaly could see where she was.

‘That’s why I’m up here. To do an X-ray scan. It’ll be in your mainframe in ten minutes.

Holly heard a bell chime in her speakers. It was a computer alert. Her mail had arrived in Police Plaza. Foaly opened the file.

‘Key codes. OK. Cameras. No problem. Wait until I show you what I’ve developed for CCTV cameras. I’m fast-forwarding through the corridors.

Dum de dum de dum. Ah, the vault. On the eighty-fifth. Pressure pads, antibiotic mats. Motion sensors. Temperature sensitive lasers. Thermal cameras. Voice-recognition, retina and gel-thumbprint scanners.’ He paused. ‘Impressive, for a Mud Man.’ ‘You’re telling me,’ agreed Holly. ‘A bit more than two tin cans and a dog.’ ‘Fowl is right. Without me you’re sunk.’

‘So, will you help?’

Foaly had to milk the moment. ‘I’m not promising anything, mind . . .’ ‘Yes?’

‘I’ll keep a screen open for you. But if something comes up . . .’ ‘I understand.’

‘No guarantees.’

‘No guarantees. I owe you a carton of carrots.’

‘Two cartons. And a case of beetle juice.’

‘Done.’

The centaur’s face was flushed with the promise of a challenge.

‘Will you miss him, Holly?’ he asked suddenly.

Holly was caught off-guard by the question.

‘Miss who?’ she said, though she already knew.

‘The Fowl boy, of course. If everything goes according to plan, we’ll be wiped from his memory. No more wild plots or seat-of-the-pants adventures. It will be a quiet life.’ Holly made to avoid Foaly’s gaze, although the helmet cam was point-of-view and the centaur could not see her.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I will not miss him.’

But her eyes told the real story.

Holly circled the Needle several times at various altitudes, until the X-ray scanner had accumulated enough data for a 3D model. She mailed a copy of the file to Foaly in Police Plaza and returned to the van.

‘I thought I told you not to mark them,’ she said, bending over the fallen hit men.

Juliet shrugged. ‘Hey. No big deal, fairy girl. I got carried away in the heat of battle. Just give him a shot of blue sparks and send him on his way.’ Holly traced a finger round the perfectly circular bruise on Chips’s forehead.

‘You should have seen me,’ said Juliet. ‘Bang, bang, and they were down.

Never had a chance.’

Holly sent a solitary spark down her finger; it wiped away the bruise like a damp cloth cleaning a coffee ring.

‘You could have used the Neutrino to stun them, you know.’ ‘The Neutrino? Where’s the fun in that?’

Captain Short removed her helmet, glaring up at the teenage human.

‘This is not supposed to be fun, Juliet. It’s not a game. I thought you realized that, considering what happened to Butler.’ Juliet’s grin disappeared. ‘I know it’s not a game, Captain. Maybe this is the way I deal with things.’ Holly held her gaze. ‘Well then, maybe you’re in the wrong line of work.’ ‘Or maybe you’ve been in this line of work too long,’ argued Juliet.

‘According to Butler, you used to be a bit of a wild card yourself.’ Mulch emerged from the bathroom. This time he had been applying a layer of sunblock. It was now the middle of the night, but the dwarf wasn’t taking any chances. If this insertion went pear-shaped, as it probably would, then he could very well be on the run by morning.

‘What’s the problem, ladies? If you’re fighting over me, don’t bother. I make it a point never to date outside my species.’ The tension deflated like a punctured balloon.

‘Dream on, hairball,’ said Holly.

‘Nightmare, more like,’ added Juliet. ‘I make it a point never to date anyone who lives in a dung heap.’ Mulch was unperturbed. ‘You’re both in denial. I have that effect on females.’ ‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Holly, grinning.

The LEP captain folded out a stowaway table and placed her helmet on top. She switched her helmet cam to Project, and opened the 3D plan of the Spiro Needle. It revolved in the air, a lattice of neon-green lines.

‘OK, everyone. Here’s the plan. Team One burns their way in through the wall of the eighty-fifth floor. Team Two goes in through the helipad door.

Here.’

Holly marked the entrances by tapping the corresponding spot on the screen of her hand-held computer. An orange pulse appeared on the floating plan.

‘Foaly has agreed to help, so he’ll be with us over the airwaves. Juliet, you take this hand-held computer. You can use it to conference with us on the move. Just ignore the Gnommish symbols; we’ll send you any files you need to view. Wear an earpiece though, to cut out the speakers. The last thing we need is computers beeping at the wrong moment. That little indent below the screen is a mike. Whisper-sensitive, so no need to shout.’ Juliet strapped the credit-card-sized computer on to her wrist.

‘What are the teams, and what are their objectives?’

Holly stepped into the 3D image. Her body was surrounded by strobes of light.

‘Team One goes after the security and switches the vault guards’ oxygen canisters. Team Two goes after the box. Simple. We go in pairs. You and Mulch. Artemis and me.’ ‘Oh no,’ said Juliet, shaking her head. ‘I have to go with Artemis. He’s my principal. My brother would stick to Artemis like glue, and so will I.’ Holly stepped out of the hologram. ‘Won’t work. You can’t fly and you can’t climb walls. There has to be one fairy per team. If you don’t like it, take it up with Artemis next time you see him.’ Juliet scowled. It made sense. Of course it did. Artemis’s plans always made sense. It was only too clear now why Artemis had not revealed the entire thing in Ireland. He knew she would object. It was bad enough being separated for the past six hours. But the most difficult phase of the mission lay ahead, and Artemis would not have a Butler at his shoulder.

Holly stepped back into the hologram. ‘Team One, you and Mulch, climb the Needle and burn through on the eighty-fifth floor. From there, you place this video clip on a CCTV cable.’ Holly held up what looked like a twist of wire. ‘Loaded fibre optic,’ she explained. ‘Allows for remote hijacking of any video system. With this in place, Foaly can send the signal from every camera in the building to our helmets. He can also send the humans any signal he wants them to see.

You will also replace two oxygen cylinders with our own special mix.’ Juliet placed the video clip in her jacket pocket.

‘I will enter from the roof,’ continued Holly. ‘From there, I proceed to Artemis’s room. As soon as Team One gives us the all clear, we’ll go after the C Cube.’ ‘You make it sound so easy,’ said Juliet.

Mulch laughed. ‘She always does that,’ he said. ‘And it never is.’ TEAM ONE, THE SPIRO NEEDLE’S BASE

Juliet Butler had been trained in seven martial arts disciplines. She had learned to ignore pain and sleep deprivation. She could resist torture both physical and psychological. But nothing had prepared her for what she would have to endure to get into this building.

The Needle had no blind sides, with twenty-four-hour activity on each face, so they were forced to begin their ascent from the pavement. Juliet pulled the van round, double-parking it as close to the wall as she could.

They went out through the sunroof, draped in Holly’s single sheet of camouflage foil. Juliet was clipped on to the Moonbelt on Mulch’s waist.

She rapped on Mulch’s helmet. ‘You stink.’

Mulch’s reply came through the cylindrical transmitter in Juliet’s ear.

‘To you, maybe, but to a dwarf female I am the essence of a healthy male.

You’re the one that stinks, Mud Girl. To me, you smell worse than a skunk in two-month-old socks.’ Holly stuck her head through the sunroof.

‘Quiet!’ she hissed. ‘Both of you! We’re on a tight schedule in case you’d forgotten. Juliet, your precious principal is stuck in a room up there waiting for me to show up. It’s five minutes past four already. The guards are due to change in less than an hour, and I still have to finish mesmerizing these goons. We have a fifty-five-minute window here. Let’s not waste it arguing.’ ‘Why can’t you just fly us up to the ledge?’

‘Basic military tactics. If we split up, then one team might make it. If we’re together, then one goes down we all go down. Divide and conquer.’ Her words sobered Juliet. The fairy girl was right; she should have known that. It was happening again — she was losing concentration at a vital moment. ‘OK. Let’s go. I’ll hold my breath.’ Mulch stuck both palms in his mouth, sucking any last vestiges of moisture from the pores.

‘Hold on,’ he said, having removed his hands from his palate. ‘Here we go.’ The dwarf flexed his powerful legs, leaping one and a half metres to the wall of the Spiro Needle. Juliet bobbed along behind, feeling for all the world as though she were underwater. The problem with riding a Moonbelt was that, as well as the weightlessness, you got the loss of coordination and sometimes the space nausea too. Moonbelts were designed for carrying inanimate objects, not live fairies, and certainly not human beings.

Mulch had not had a drink for several hours, causing his dwarf pores to open to the size of pinholes. They sucked noisily, latching on to the smooth external surface of the Spiro Needle. The dwarf avoided the tinted windows, sticking to the metal girders, because, even though the pair were draped in a sheet of camouflage foil, there were still enough limbs sticking out to be spotted. Cam foil did not render the wearer completely invisible.

Thousands of micro-sensors, threaded through the material, analysed and reflected the surroundings, but one shower of rain could short out the whole thing.

Mulch climbed quickly, settling into a smooth rhythm. His double-jointed fingers and toes curled to grip the smallest groove. And where there were no grooves, the dwarf’s pores adhered to the flat surface. His beard hair fanned out under the helmet’s visor, probing the building’s face.

Juliet had to ask. ‘Your beard? That’s a bit freaky. What’s it doing?

Searching for cracks?’

‘Vibrations,’ grunted Mulch. ‘Sensors, currents, maintenance men.’ Obviously, he wasn’t going to devote any energy to full sentences.

‘Motion sensor picks us up. We’re finished. Foil or not.’ Juliet didn’t blame her partner for saving his breath. They had a long way to go. Straight up.

As they cleared the buffer provided by the adjacent buildings the wind picked up. Juliet’s feet were plucked from beneath her, and she fluttered from the dwarf’s neck like a scarf. Rarely had she felt so helpless. Events were utterly beyond her control. Training counted for absolutely nothing in this situation. Her life was in Mulch’s hands completely.

The floors slid by in a blur of glass and steel. The wind pulled at them with grabby fingers, threatening to spin the pair into the night.

‘There’s a lot of moisture up here from the wind,’ gasped the dwarf. ‘I can’t hold on much longer.’ Juliet reached in, running a finger along the outer wall. It was slick with tiny beads of dew. Sparks were popping along the sheet of cam foil as the moisture-laden wind shorted out its micro-sensors. Patches of the foil failed altogether. The effect was of blocks of circuits apparently suspended in the night. The entire building was swaying too — maybe just enough to shake off a tired dwarf and his passenger.

Finally, the dwarf’s fingers locked on to the ledge of the eighty-fifth floor.

Mulch climbed on to the narrow outcrop, directing his visor into the building.

‘This room is no good,’ he said. ‘My visor is picking up two motion detectors and a laser sensor. We need to move along.’ He scampered down the ledge, sure-footed as a mountain goat. This was his business, after all. Dwarfs did not fall off things. Not unless they were pushed. Juliet followed cautiously. Not even Madame Ko’s Academy could have prepared her for this.

Finally Mulch arrived at a window that satisfied him.

‘OK,’ he said, his voice sounding strained in Juliet’s earpiece. ‘We got a sensor with a dead battery.’ His beard hair latched on to the windowpane. ‘I don’t feel any vibration, so nothing electrical running and no conversation. It seems safe.’ Mulch trickled a few drops of dwarf rock polish on to the toughened pane.

It liquefied the glass immediately, leaving a puddle of turgid fluid on the carpet. With any luck the hole would remain undiscovered over the weekend.

‘Ooh,’ said Juliet. ‘That stinks nearly as much as you do.’ Mulch did not bother returning the insult, preferring instead to tumble indoors to safety.

He checked the moonometer in his visor.

‘Four twenty. Human time. We’re behind schedule. Let’s go.’ Juliet hopped through the hole in the window.

‘Typical Mud Man,’ said Mulch. ‘Spiro spends millions on a security system, and it all falls apart because of one battery.’ Juliet drew an LEP Neutrino 2000. She flicked aside the safety cap and pressed the power button. The light changed from green to red.

‘We’re not in yet,’ she said, making for the door.

‘Wait!’ hissed Mulch, grabbing her arm. ‘The camera!’

Juliet froze. She’d forgotten the camera. They were barely a minute inside the building and she was already making mistakes. Concentrate, girl, concentrate.

Mulch aimed his visor at the recessed CCTV camera. The helmet’s ion filter highlighted the camera’s arc as a shimmering gold stream. There was no way past to the camera itself.

‘There’s no blind spot,’ he said. ‘And the camera cable is behind the box.’ ‘We’ll just have to huddle close together behind the cam foil,’ said Juliet, her lip curling at the idea.

Foaly’s image popped up on the computer screen on her wrist. ‘You could do that. But unfortunately cam foil doesn’t work on-screen.’ ‘Why not?’

‘Cameras have better eyes than humans. Did you ever see a TV picture on television? The camera breaks down the pixels. If you go down that corridor behind cam foil, you’re going to look like two people behind a projector screen.’ Juliet glared at the monitor. ‘Anything else, Foaly? Maybe the floor is going to dissolve into a pool of acid?’ ‘Doubt it. Spiro is good, but he’s not me.’

‘Can’t you loop the video feed, pony boy?’ said Juliet into the computer’s mike. ‘Just send them a false signal for a minute?’ Foaly gnashed his horsey teeth. ‘I am so unappreciated. No, I cannot set up a loop unless I am on-site, as I was during the Fowl siege. That is what the video clip is for. I’m afraid you’re on your own up there.’ ‘I’ll blast it then.’

‘Negatori. A Neutrino blast would certainly knock out one camera, and possibly chain-react along the entire network. You may as well dance a jig for Arno Blunt.’ Juliet kicked the skirting board in frustration. She was falling at the first hurdle. Her brother would know what to do, but he was on the other side of the Atlantic. A mere six metres of corridor separated them from the camera, but it might as well have been a thousand metres of broken glass.

She noticed that Mulch was unbuttoning his bum-flap.

‘Oh, great. Now the little man needs a potty break. This is hardly the time.’ ‘I’m going to ignore your sarcasm,’ said Mulch, lying flat on the floor, ‘because I know what Spiro can do to people he doesn’t like.’ Juliet knelt beside him. Not too close.

‘I hope your next sentence is going to begin with “I have a plan.” ‘ The dwarf appeared to be aiming his rear end.

‘Actually . . .’

‘You’re not serious.’

‘Deadly. I have quite a considerable force at my disposal here.’ Juliet couldn’t help smiling. The little guy was a dwarf after her own heart. Metaphorically. He was adapting to the situation, just as she would.

‘All we have to do is swing the camera about twenty degrees on its stand and we have a clear run to the cable.’ ‘And you’re going to do that with . . . wind power?’

‘Precisely.’

‘What about the noise?’

Mulch winked. ‘Silent, but deadly. I’m a professional. All you have to do is squeeze my little toe when I give you the word.’ In spite of arduous training in some of the world’s toughest terrain, Juliet was not quite prepared to be involved in a wind offensive.

‘Do I have to participate? It seems like a one-man operation to me.’ Mulch squinted at the target, adjusting his posterior accordingly.

‘This is a precision burst. I need a gunner to pull the trigger so I can concentrate on aiming. Reflexology is a proven science with dwarfs.

Every part of the foot is connected to a part of the body. And it just so happens that the left little toe is connected to my . . .” ‘OK,’ said Juliet hurriedly. ‘I get the picture.’

‘Let’s get on with it then.’

Juliet pulled Mulch’s boot off. The socks were open-toed, and five hairy digits wiggled with a dexterity no human toes possessed.

‘This is the only way?’

‘Unless you have a better idea.’

Juliet gingerly grasped the toe, its black curly hairs obligingly parting to allow her access to the joint.

‘Now?’

‘Wait.’ The dwarf licked his forefinger, testing the air.

‘No wind.’

‘Not yet,’ muttered Juliet.

Mulch fine-tuned his aim. ‘OK. Squeeze.’

Juliet held her breath, and squeezed. And in order to do the moment justice, it has to be described in slow motion.

Juliet felt her fingers close round the joint. The pressure sped up Mulch’s leg in a series of jolts. The dwarf fought to keep his aim true, in spite of the spasms.

Pressure built in his abdomen and exploded through his bum-flap with a dull thump. The only thing Juliet could relate the experience to was crouching beside a mortar. A missile of compressed air shot across the room, heat blur surrounding it like -waves of water.

‘Too much top-spin,’ groaned Mulch. ‘I loaded it.’

The air ball spiralled towards the ceiling, shedding layers like an onion.

‘Right,’ urged Mulch. ‘Right a bit.’

The next unlikely missile impacted against the wall a metre ahead of its target. Luckily, the ricochet clipped the camera box, sending it spinning like a plate on a stick. The intruders waited for it to settle with bated breath. The camera finally creaked to a halt after a dozen revolutions.

‘Well?’ asked Juliet.

Mulch sat up, checking the camera’s ion stream through his visor.

‘Lucky,’ he breathed. ‘Very lucky. We have a path straight through.’ He slapped shut his smoking bum-flap. ‘It’s been a while since I launched a torpedo.’ Juliet took the video clip from her pocket, waving it in front of her wrist computer so Foaly could see it.

‘So, I just wind this round any old cable? Is that it?’ ‘No, Mud Maid,’ sighed Foaly, comfortable in his familiar role as unappreciated genius. ‘That is a complex piece of nanotechnology, complete with microfilaments that act as receivers, broadcasters and clamps. Naturally it leeches its power from the Mud People’s own system.’ ‘Naturally,’ said Mulch, trying to keep his eyes open.

‘You need to ensure that it is firmly clamped to one of the video cables.

Luckily, its multi-sensor does not have to be in contact with all the wires, just one.’ ‘And which ones are the video wires?’

‘Well. . . all of them.’

Juliet groaned. ‘So I just wind it round any old cable?’ ‘I suppose so,’ admitted the centaur. ‘But wind it tightly. All the filaments have to penetrate.’ Juliet reached up, selected a wire at random and wound the clip round it.

‘OK?’

There was a moment’s pause while Foaly waited for reception. Below the surface, picture-in-picture screens began popping up on the centaur’s plasma screen.

‘Perfect. We have eyes and ears.’

‘Let’s go then,’ said Juliet impatiently. ‘Start the loop.’ Foaly wasted a minute delivering another lecture. ‘This is much more than a loop, young lady. I am about to completely wipe moving patterns from the surveillance footage. In other words, the pictures they see in the surveillance booth will be exactly as they should be, except you won’t be in them. Just be careful never to stand still or you’ll become visible. Keep something moving, even if it’s only your little finger.’ Juliet checked the digital clock on the computer face. ‘Four thirty. We need to hurry.’ ‘OK. The security centre is one corridor over. We take the shortest route.’ Juliet projected the schematic into the air. ‘Down this corridor here, two rights and there we are.’ Mulch strode past her to the wall.

‘I said the shortest route, Mud Girl. Think laterally.’ The office was an executive suite, with a skyline view and floor-to-ceiling pine shelving. Mulch hauled back a section of the pine and knocked on the wall behind it.

‘Plasterboard,’ he said. ‘No problem.’

Juliet closed the panel behind them. ‘No debris, dwarf. Artemis said we weren’t to leave any trace.’ ‘Don’t worry. I’m not a messy eater.’

Mulch unhinged his jaw, expanding his oral cavity to basketball proportions. He opened his mouth to an incredible one hundred and seventy degrees, and took a whopping bite out of the wall. A ring of tombstone teeth soon reduced the wall to dust.

‘A bi’ dry,’ he commented. ‘Har’ oo shwallow.’

Three bites later they were through. Mulch climbed into the next office without a crumb dropping from his lips. Juliet followed, pulling the pine shelving across to cover the hole.

The next office was not quite so salubrious, the dark cubby of a vice president. No city view, and plain metal shelving. Juliet rearranged the shelving to cover the newly excavated entrance. Mulch knelt at the door, his beard hair latching on to the wood.

‘Some vibration outside. That’s probably the compressor. Nothing irregular, so no conversation. I’d say we were safe.’ ‘You could just ask me,’ said Foaly, in his helmet earpiece. ‘I do have footage from every camera in the building. That’s over two thousand, in case you’re interested.’ ‘Thanks for the update. Well, are we clear?’

‘Yes. Remarkably so. No one in the immediate vicinity, except a guard at the lobby desk.’ Juliet took two grey canisters from her backpack. ‘OK. This is where I earn my keep. You stay here. This shouldn’t take more than a minute.’ Juliet cracked open the door, creeping along the corridor on rubber-soled boots. Aeroplane-style lighting strips were inlaid in the carpet; otherwise, the only lighting came from exit boxes over the fire-escape doors.

The schematic on her wrist computer told her that she had twenty metres to go before reaching the security office. After that, she could only hope that the oxygen rack was unlocked. And why shouldn’t it be? Oxygen canisters were hardly high-risk objects. At least she would have ample warning if any personnel happened to be doing their rounds.

Juliet crept, panther-like, down the corridor, her footfalls muffled by the carpet. On reaching the final corner she lay flat and inched her nose round the bend. She could see the floor’s security station. Just as Pex had revealed under the mesmer, the vault guard’s oxygen canisters were slotted in a rack in front of the desk.

There was only one guard on duty, and he was busy watching basketball on a portable television. Juliet moved forward on her stomach until she was directly below the rack. The guard had his back to her, concentrating on the game.

‘What the hell?’ exclaimed the security man, who was roughly the size of a refrigerator. He had noticed something in a security monitor.

‘Move!’ hissed Foaly in Juliet’s earpiece. ‘What?’

‘Move! You’re showing up on the monitors.’ Juliet wiggled her toe. She had forgotten to keep moving. Butler would never have forgotten that.

Over her head, the guard employed the age-old method of rapid repair, slapping the monitor’s plastic casing. The fuzzy figure disappeared.

‘Interference,’ he muttered. ‘Stupid satellite TV.’ Juliet felt a bead of sweat run along the bridge of her nose. The younger Butler reached up slowly and slipped two substitute oxygen canisters into the rack. Although ‘oxygen canisters’ was a bit of a misnomer, because it wasn’t oxygen in these canisters.

She checked her watch. It might already be too late.

TEAM TWO, ABOVE THE SPIRO NEEDLE

Holly hovered six metres above the Needle, waiting for the green light.

She was not comfortable with this operation. There were too many variables. If this mission weren’t so vital to the future of the fairy civilization, she would have refused to participate in it altogether.

Her mood did not improve as the night progressed. Team One was proving extremely unprofessional, bickering like a pair of adolescents. Although, to be fair to Juliet, she was barely beyond adolescence. Mulch, on the other hand, couldn’t find his childhood with an encyclopaedia.

Captain Short followed their progress on her helmet visor, wincing at each new development. Finally, and against all the odds, Juliet managed to switch the canisters.

‘Go,’ said Mulch, doing his best to sound military. ‘I say again, we have a go situation on the black op. code red thing.’ Holly shut off Mulch’s communication in the middle of the dwarf’s giggling fit. Foaly could open a screen in her visor if there was a crisis.

Below her the Spiro Needle pointed spacewards like the world’s biggest rocket. Low fog gathered around its base, adding to the illusion. Holly set her wings to descend, dropping gently towards the helipad. She called up the video file of Artemis’s entry to the Needle on her visor and slowed it down at the point where Spiro keyed in the access code for the rooftop door.

‘Thank you, Spiro,’ she said, grinning, as she punched in the code.

The door slid open pneumatically. Automatic lights flickered into life along the stairwell. There was a camera every six metres. No blind spots.

This didn’t matter to Holly, as human cameras could not detect a shielded fairy - unless they were of the type with an extremely high frame-per-second rate. And even then, the frames had to be viewed as stills to catch a glimpse of the fairy folk. Only one human had ever managed to do this.

An Irish one, who was twelve years old at the time.

Holly floated down the stairwell, activating an Argon laser filter on her visor. This entire building could be crisscrossed with laser beams and she wouldn’t know it until she set off an alarm. Even a shielded fairy had mass enough to stop a beam reaching its sensor, if only for a. millisecond. The view before her turned a cloudy purple, but there were no beams. She was certain that wouldn’t be the case when they came to the vault.

Holly continued her flight to the brushed-steel lift doors.

‘Artemis is on eighty-four,’ said Foaly. ‘The vault is on eighty-five; Spiro’s penthouse is on eighty-six, where we are now.’ ‘How are the walls?’

‘According to the spectrometer, mostly plaster and wood in the partition walls. Except round key rooms, which are reinforced steel.’ ‘Let me guess: Artemis’s room, the vault and Spiro’s penthouse.’ ‘Dead on, Captain. But do not despair. I have plotted the shortest course. I am sending it to your helmet now.’ Holly waited a moment until a quill icon flashed in the corner of her visor, informing her that she had mail.

‘Open mail,’ she said into the helmet mike, enunciating clearly. A matrix of green lines superimposed themselves in front of her regular vision. Her trail was marked by a thick red line.

‘Follow the laser, Holly. Foolproof. No offence.’

‘None taken, for now. But if this doesn’t work, I’ll be so offended you won’t believe it.’ The red laser led straight into the belly of the lift. Holly floated into the metal box and descended to the eighty-fifth floor. The guiding laser led her out of the lift and down the corridor.

She tried the door to an office on her left. Locked. Hardly surprising.

‘I’m going to have to unshield to pick this lock. Are you sure my pattern is wiped from the video?’ ‘Of course,’ said Foaly.

Holly could imagine the childish pout on his lips. She unshielded and took an Omnitool from her belt. The Omnitool’s sensor would send an X-ray of the lock’s workings to the chip and select the right bit. It even did the turning. Of course, the Omnitool only worked on keyhole locks, which, in spite of their unreliability, the Mud People still used.

In less than five seconds the door lay open before her.

‘Five seconds,’ said Holly. ‘This thing needs a new battery.’ The red line in her visor ran to the office’s centre, and then took a right-angle turn downwards, through the floor.

‘Let me guess. Artemis is down there?’

‘Yes. Asleep, judging by the pictures coming in from his iris-cam.’ ‘You said the cell was lined with reinforced steel.’

‘True. But no motion sensors in the walls or roof. So all you have to do is burn through.’ Holly drew her Neutrino 2000. ‘Oh, is that all?’

She chose a spot adjacent to a wall air conditioner and peeled back the carpet. Underneath, the floor was dull and metallic.

‘No trace, remember?’ said Foaly in her earpiece. ‘That’s vital.’ ‘I’ll worry about that later,’ said Holly, adjusting the air con to extract.

‘For now, I need to get him out of there. We’re on a schedule.’ Holly adjusted the Neutrino’s output, concentrating the beam so it cut through the metal floor. Acrid smoke billowed from the molten gash, and was immediately siphoned off into the Chicago night by the air con.

‘Artemis isn’t the only one with brains around here,’ grunted Holly, sweat streaming down her face in spite of the helmet’s climate control.

‘The air con stops the fire alarm going off. Very good.’ ‘Is he awake?’ asked Holly, leaving the last centimetre of a half-metre square uncut.

‘Wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, to use Centaurian imagery. A laser carving through the ceiling will do that to a person.’ ‘Good,’ said Captain Short, cutting through the final section. The metal square twisted on a final strand of steel.

‘Won’t that make a lot of noise?’ asked Foaly.