فصل دهم

Chapter 10: Horse Sense

Police Plaza, Haven City, the Lower Elements

Everybody in Police Plaza was all talk about the Zito probe. In truth it was a bit of a distraction from recent events. The LEP didn’t lose many officers in the field. And now two in the same shift. Foaly was taking it hard, especially the loss of Holly Short. It was one thing to lose a friend in the line of duty, but for that friend to be falsely accused of murder was unbearable. Foaly could not stand the idea that the People would forever remember Holly as a cold-blooded killer. Captain Short was innocent. What’s more, she was a decorated hero, and deserved to be remembered as such.

A com screen flickered into life on his wall. One of his technical assistants in the outer office appeared. The elf’s pointed ears were quivering with excitement.

“The probe is down to sixty-five miles. I can’t believe the humans have gotten this far.” Foaly opened a screen on his wall. He couldn’t believe it either. In theory, it should have been decades before humans developed a laser sophisticated enough to puncture the crust without frying half a continent. Obviously, Giovanni Zito went right ahead and developed the laser without worrying about Foaly’s projections for his species.

Foaly almost regretted having to shut Zito’s project down. The Sicilian was one of the brightest hopes for the human race. His plan to harness the power of the outer core was a good one, but the cost was fairy exposure, and that was too high a price to pay.

“Keep a close eye on it,” he said, trying to sound interested. “Especially when it runs parallel to E7. I don’t anticipate any trouble, but eyes peeled just in case.” “Yes, sir. Oh, and we have Captain Verbil on line two, from the surface.”

A tiny spark of interest lit the centaur’s eyes. Verbil? The sprite had allowed Mulch Diggums to steal an LEP shuttle. Mulch escaped a few hours after his friends on the force had been killed. Coincidence? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Foaly opened a window to the surface. In it he could see Verbil’s chest.

Foaly sighed. “Chix! You’re hovering. Come down where I can see you.”

“Sorry,” said Chix, alighting on the floor. “I’m a bit emotional. Trouble Kelp gave me a real grilling.” “What do you want, Chix? A hug and a kiss? I have things on my mind here.” Verbil’s wings flared up behind him. It was a real effort to stay on the ground. “I have a message for you, from Mulch Diggums.” Foaly fought the urge to whinny. No doubt Mulch would have some choice words for him.

“Go on, then. Tell me what our foul-mouthed friend thinks of me.”

“This is between us, right? I don’t want to be pensioned off on the grounds that I’m unstable.” “Yes, Chix, it’s between us. Everyone has a right to be temporarily unstable. Today of all days.” “It’s ridiculous, really. I don’t believe it for a minute.” Chix attempted a confident chuckle.

Foaly snapped. “What’s ridiculous? What don’t you believe? Tell me, Chix, or I’ll reach down this com link and drag it out of you.” “Are we secure?”

“Yes!” the centaur screeched. “We’re secure. Tell me. Give me Mulch’s message.” Chix took a deep breath, saying the words as he let it out. “Opal Koboi is back.” Foaly’s laughter started somewhere around his hooves and grew in volume and intensity until it burst out of his mouth. “Opal is back! Koboi is back! I get it now. Mulch conned you into letting him steal the shuttle. He played on your fear of Opal waking up, and you bought it. Opal is back; don’t make me laugh.” “That’s what he said,” Chix mumbled sulkily. “There’s no need to laugh so hard. You’re spitting on the screen. I have feelings, you know.” Foaly’s laughter petered out. It wasn’t real laughter anyway, it was just an outburst of emotion. Mostly sadness, with some frustration mixed in.

“Okay, Chix. It’s not your fault. Mulch has fooled smarter sprites than you.” It took Chix a moment to realize that he was being insulted.

“It could be true,” he said, miffed. “You could be wrong. It is possible, you know. Maybe Opal Koboi conned you.” Foaly opened another window on his wall. “No, Verbil, it is not possible. Opal could not be back, because I’m looking at her right now.” Live feed from the Argon Clinic confirmed that Opal was indeed still suspended in her coma harness. She’d had her DNA swab minutes beforehand.

Chix’s petulance crumbled. “I can’t believe it,” he muttered. “Mulch seemed so sincere. I actually thought Holly was in danger.” Foaly’s tail twitched. “What? Mulch said Holly was in danger? But Holly is gone. She died.” “Yes,” said Chix morosely. “Mulch was shoveling more horse dung, I suppose. No offense.” Of course. Opal would set Holly up to take the blame for Julius. That little cruel touch would be just like Opal. If she wasn’t right there, in her harness. DNA never lies.

Chix rapped the screen surround at his end, to get Foaly’s attention. “Listen, Foaly, remember what you promised. This is between us. No need for anyone else to know I got duped by a dwarf. I’ll end up scraping vole curry off the sidewalk after crunchball matches.” Foaly absently shut the window. “Yes, whatever. Between us. Right.”

Opal was still secure. No doubt about it. Surely she couldn’t have escaped. If she had, then maybe this probe was more sinister than it seemed. She couldn’t have escaped. It wasn’t possible.

But Foaly’s paranoid streak couldn’t let it go. Just to be sure, there were a few little tests he could perform. He really should get authorization, but if he was wrong, nobody had to know. And if he was right, nobody would care about a few hours of computer time.

The centaur ran a quick search on the surveillance database and selected the footage from the chute access tunnel where Julius had died. There was something he wanted to check.

Uncharted Chute, Three Miles Below Southern Italy

The stolen shuttle made good time to the surface. Holly flew as fast as she could without burning the gearbox or smashing them into a chute wall. Time may have been of the essence, but the motley crew would be of little use to anyone if they had to be scraped off the wall like so much crunchy pâté.

“These old rigs are mainly for watch changes,” explained Holly. “The LEP got this one secondhand at a criminal assets auction. It’s souped up to avoid customs ships. It used to belong to a curry smuggler.” Artemis sniffed. A faint yellow odor still lingered in the cockpit. “Why would anyone smuggle curry?” “Extra-hot curry is illegal in Haven. Living underground, we have to be careful of emissions, if you catch my drift.” Artemis caught her drift and decided not to pursue the subject.

“We need to locate Opal’s shuttle before we venture aboveground and give our position away.” Holly pulled over next to a small lake of black oil, the shuttle’s downdraft rippling the surface.

“Artemis, I think I mentioned that it’s a stealth shuttle. Nothing can detect her. We don’t have sensors sophisticated enough to spot her. Opal and her pixie sidekicks could be sitting in their craft just around the next bend, and our computers wouldn’t pick them up.” Artemis leaned in over the dashboard readouts. “You’re approaching this the wrong way, Holly. We need to find out where the shuttle is not.” Artemis launched various scans, searching for traces of certain gases within a hundred-mile radius. “I think we can assume that the stealth shuttle is very close to E7, perhaps right at the mouth; but that still leaves us with a lot of ground to cover, especially if our eyes are all we have to rely on.” “That’s what I’ve been saying. But do go on; I’m sure you have a point.”

“So I’m using this shuttle’s limited sensor dishes to scan from here right up the chute to the surface and down about thirty miles.” “Scanning for what?” said Holly in exasperation. “A hole in the air?”

Artemis grinned. “Exactly. You see, normal space is made up of various gases: oxygen, hydrogen, and so on, but the stealth shuttle would prevent any of these from being detected inside the ship’s hull. So if we find a small patch of space without the usual ambient gasses…” “Then we’ve found the stealth shuttle,” said Holly.

“Exactly.”

The computer completed its scan quickly, building an on-screen model of the surrounding area. The gases were displayed in various whirling hues.

Artemis instructed the computer to search for anomalies. It found three: one with an abnormally high saturation of carbon monoxide.

“That’s probably an airport. A lot of exhaust fumes.”

The second anomaly was a large area with only trace elements of any gas.

“A vacuum, probably a computer plant,” surmised Artemis.

The third anomaly was a small area just outside the lip of E7 that appeared to contain no gas of any kind.

“That’s her. The volume is exactly right. She’s on the north side of the chute entrance.” “Well done,” said Holly, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “Let’s get up there.” “You know, of course, that as soon as we put our nose into the main chute system, Foaly will pick us up.” Holly gave the engines a few seconds to warm up. “It’s too late to worry about that. Haven is more than six hundred miles away. By the time anyone gets here, we’ll either be heroes or outlaws.” “We’re already outlaws,” said Artemis.

“True,” agreed Holly. “But soon we could be outlaws with no one chasing us.” Police Plaza, the Lower Elements

Opal Koboi was back. Could it be possible? The thought niggled at Foaly’s ordered mind, unraveling any chain of thought that he tried to compose. He would not find any peace until he found out for certain. One way or the other.

The first place to check was the video footage from E37. If one began with the assumption that Koboi was indeed alive, then a number of details could be explained. Firstly, the strange haze that had appeared on all the tapes was not simply interference, but manufactured to hide something. The loss of audio signal, too, could have been orchestrated by Koboi to cover whatever had passed between Holly and Julius in the tunnel. And the calamitous explosion could have been Koboi’s doing and not Holly’s. The possibility brought tremendous peace to Foaly, but he contained it. He hadn’t proven anything yet.

Foaly ran the tape through a few filters without result. The strange blurred section refused to be sharpened, cloned, or shifted. That in itself was unusual. If the blurred spot was just computer glitchery, Foaly should have been able to do something about it. But the indistinct patch stood its ground, repelling everything Foaly threw at it.

You may have the hi-tech ground covered, thought the centaur, but what about good old lo-tech?

Foaly zoomed the footage to moments before the explosion. The blurred patch had transferred itself to Julius’s chest, and indeed at times, the commander appeared to be looking at it. Was there an explosive device under there? If so, then it must have been remotely detonated. The jammer signal was probably sent from the same remote. The detonation command would override all other signals, including the jammer. This meant that for perhaps a thousandth of a second before detonation, whatever was on Julius’s chest would become visible. Not long enough for the fairy eye to capture, but a camera would see it just fine.

Foaly fast-forwarded to the explosion and then began to work his way backward, frame by frame. It was agonizing work, watching his friend being reassembled by the reversed film. The centaur tried to ignore it and concentrate on the work. The flames shrank from orange plumes to white shards, eventually containing themselves inside an orange minisun. Then, for a single frame, something appeared. Foaly flicked past it, then returned. There! On Julius’s chest, right where the blur used to be. A device of some kind.

Foaly’s fingers jabbed the enlarge tool. There was a square foot metal panel secured to Julius’s chest with octo-bonds. It had been picked up by the camera for a single frame. Less than one thousandth of a second, which was why it had been missed by the investigators. On the face of the panel was a plasma screen. Someone had been communicating with the commander before he died. That someone had not wanted to be overheard, hence the audio jammer. Unfortunately, the screen was now blank, as the detonation signal which disrupted the jammer would also have disrupted the video.

But I know who it is, thought Foaly. It’s Opal Koboi, back from limbo.

But he needed proof. The centaur’s word was worth about as much to Ark Sool as a dwarf’s denial that he had passed wind.

Foaly glared at the live feed from the Argon Institute. There she was. Opal Koboi, still deep in her coma. Apparently.

How did you do it? Foaly wondered. How could you swap places with another fairy?

Plastic surgery wouldn’t do it. Surgery couldn’t change DNA. Foaly opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a piece of equipment that resembled two miniature kitchen plungers.

There was only one way to find out what was going on here. He would have to ask Opal directly.

When Foaly arrived at the institute, Dr. Argon was reluctant to allow him into Opal’s room.

“Miss Koboi is in a deep state of catatonia,” said the gnome peevishly. “Who knows what effect your devices will have on her psyche. It’s difficult, nigh impossible, to explain to a layfairy what damage intrusive stimuli may have on the recovering mind.” Foaly whinnied. “You had no trouble letting the TV networks in. I suppose they pay better than the LEP. I do hope you are not beginning to view Opal as your personal possession, Doctor. She is a state prisoner, and I can have her moved to a state facility any time I like.” “Maybe just five minutes,” said Jerbal Argon, tapping in the door’s security code.

Foaly clopped past him and plonked his briefcase on the table. Opal swung gently in the draft from the doorway. And it did seem to be Opal. Even this close, with every feature in focus, Foaly would have sworn that this was his old adversary. The same Opal who had competed with him for every prize at college. The same Opal who had very nearly succeeded in having him blamed for the goblin uprising.

“Get her down from there,” he ordered.

Argon positioned a bunk below the harness, complaining with every step. “I shouldn’t be doing physical labor,” he moaned. “It’s my hip. No one knows the pain I’m in. No one. The warlocks can’t do a thing for me.” “Don’t you have staff to do this sort of thing?”

“Normally, yes,” said Argon, lowering the harness. “But my janitors are on leave. Both at the same time. Normally I wouldn’t allow it, but good pixie workers are hard to find.” Foaly’s ears pricked up. “Pixies? Your janitors are pixies?”

“Yes. We’re quite proud of them around here, minor celebrities, you know. The pixie twins. And of course they have the highest respect for me.” Foaly’s hands shook as he unpacked his equipment. It all seemed to be coming together. First Chix, then the strange device on Julius’s chest, now pixie janitors who were on leave. He just needed one more piece of the puzzle.

“What is it you have there?” asked Argon anxiously. “Nothing that could cause any damage.” Foaly tilted the unconscious pixie’s head backward. “Don’t worry, Argon. It’s just a Retimager. I’m not going in any farther than the eyeballs.” He held open the pixie’s eyes one at a time, sealing the plunger-like cups around the sockets. “Every image is recorded on the retinas. This leaves a trail of microscratches that can be enhanced and read.” “I know what a Retimager is,” snapped Argon. “I do read science journals occasionally, you know. So you can tell what the last thing Opal saw was. What good will that do?” Foaly connected the eyepieces to a wall computer. “We shall see,” he said, endeavoring to sound cryptic rather than desperate.

He opened the Retimager’s program on the plasma screen, and two dark images appeared.

“Left and right eyes,” explained Foaly, toggling a key until the two images overlapped. The image was obviously a head from a side angle, but it was too dark to identify.

“Ooh, such brilliance,” gushed Argon sarcastically. “Shall I call the networks? Or should I just faint in awe?” Foaly ignored him. “Lighten and enhance,” he said to the computer.

A computer-generated paintbrush swabbed the screen, leaving a brighter and sharper picture behind it.

“It’s a pixie,” muttered Foaly. “But still not enough detail.” He scratched his chin. “Computer, match this picture with patient Koboi, Opal.” A picture of Opal flashed up on a separate window. It resized itself and revolved until the new picture was at the same angle as the original. Red arrows flashed between the pictures, connecting identical points. After a few moments the space between the two pictures was completely blitzed with red lines.

“Are these two pictures of the same person?” asked Foaly.

“Affirmative,” said the computer. “Though there is a point zero five percent possibility of error.” Foaly jabbed the PRINT button. “I’ll take those odds.”

Argon stepped closer to the screen, as though in a daze. His face was pale, and growing paler as he realized the implications of the picture.

“She saw herself from the side,” he whispered. “That means…”

“There were two Opal Kobois,” completed Foaly. “The real one, that you let escape. And this shell here, which can only be…” “A clone.”

“Precisely,” said Foaly, plucking the hard copy from the printer. “She had herself cloned, and then your janitors waltzed her right out of here under your nose.” “Oh dear.”

“Oh dear hardly covers it. Maybe now would be a good time to call the networks, or faint in awe.” Argon took the second option, collapsing to the floor in a limp heap. The sudden evaporation of his dreams of fame and fortune was too much to handle all at once.

Foaly stepped over him and galloped all the way to Police Plaza.

E7, Southern Italy

Opal Koboi was having a hard time being patient. She had used up every last drop of her patience in the Argon Clinic. And now she wanted things to happen on her command. Unfortunately, a hundred million tons of hematite will only sink through the earth at sixteen feet per second, and there isn’t a lot anybody can do about it.

Opal decided to pass the time by watching Holly Short die. That cretinous captain. Who did she think she was, with her crew cut and cute bow lips? Opal glanced at herself in a reflective surface. Now, there was real beauty. There was a face that deserved its own currency, and it was quite possible that she would soon have it.

“Mervall,” she snapped. “Bring me the Eleven Wonders disk. I need something to cheer me up.” “Right away, Miss Koboi,” said Merv. “Would you like me to finish preparing the meal first, or bring you the disk directly?” Opal rolled her eyes at her reflection. “What did I just say?”

“You said to bring you the disk.”

“So what do you think you should do, my dearest Mervall?”

“I think I should bring you the disk,” said Merv.

“Genius, Mervall. Pure genius.”

Merv left the shuttle’s kitchenette and ejected a disk from the recorder. The computer would have the film on its hard drive, but Miss Koboi liked to have her personal favorites on disk so she could be cheered up wherever she happened to be. Highlights from the past included her father’s nervous breakdown, the attack on Police Plaza, and Foaly bawling his eyes out in the LEP operations booth.

Merv handed the disk to Opal.

“And?” said the tiny pixie.

Merv was stumped for a moment, then he remembered. One of Opal’s new commandments was that the Brill brothers should bow when they approached their leader. He swallowed his pride and bowed low from the waist.

“Better. Now, weren’t you supposed to be preparing dinner?”

Merv retreated, still bowing. There was a lot of pride-swallowing going on around here in the last few hours. Opal was unhappy with the level of service and respect provided by the Brill brothers, and so she had drawn up a list of rules. These directives included the aforementioned bowing, never looking Opal in the eyes, going outside the shuttle to pass wind, and not thinking too loudly within ten feet of their employer.

“Because I know what you are thinking,” Opal had said, in a low tremulous voice. “I can see your thoughts swirling around your head. Right now, you’re marveling at how beautiful I am.” “Uncanny,” gasped Merv, while traitorously wondering if there was a cuckoo flitting about her head at that very moment. Opal was going seriously off the rails with all this changing her species and world domination. Scant and himself would have deserted her by now, if she hadn’t promised that they could have Barbados when she was Queen of the Earth. That and the fact that if they deserted her now, Opal would add the Brill brothers to her vengeance list.

Merv retreated to the kitchen and continued with his efforts to prepare Miss Koboi’s food without actually touching it. Another new rule. Meanwhile, Scant was in the cargo bay checking the detonator relays on the last two shaped charges. One for the job, and one for backup. The charges were about the size of melons, but would make a much bigger mess if they exploded. He checked that the magnetic relay pods were secure on the casings. The relays were standard mining sparker units that would accept the signal from the remote detonator and send a neutron charge into the bellies of the charges.

Scant winked at his brother through the kitchen doorway.

Merv pursed his lips in silent imitation of a cuckoo. Scant nodded wearily. They were both getting tired of Opal’s outrageous behavior. Only the thought of drinking piña coladas on the beach in Barbados kept them going.

Opal, oblivious to all the discontent in her camp, popped the video disk into the multidrive. To watch one’s enemies die in glorious color and surround sound was surely one of the greatest advantages of technology. Several video windows opened on the screen. Each one represented the view from one of the hemisphere’s cameras.

Opal watched delightedly as Holly and Artemis were driven into the river by a pack of slobbering trolls. She oohed and aahed as they took refuge on the tiny island of corpses. Her tiny heart beat faster as they scaled the temple scaffolding. She was about to instruct Mervall to fetch her some chocolate truffles from the booty box to go with the movie, when the cameras blacked out.

“Mervall,” she squealed, wringing her delicate fingers. “Descant! Get in here.” The Brill brothers rushed into the lounge, handguns drawn.

“Yes, Miss Koboi?” said Scant, laying the shaped charges down on a fur-covered lounger.

Opal covered her face. “Don’t look at me!” she ordered.

Scant lowered his eyes. “Sorry. No eye contact. I forgot.”

“And stop thinking that.”

“Yes, Miss Koboi. Sorry, Miss Koboi.” Scant had no idea what he was supposed to be thinking, so he tried to blank out everything.

Opal crossed her arms and tapped her fingers on her forearms until both brothers were bowed before her.

“Something has gone wrong,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Our Temple of Artemis cameras seem to have malfunctioned.” Merv backed the footage up to the last image. In it the trolls were advancing on Artemis and Holly across the temple roof.

“It looks like they were done for anyway, Miss Koboi.”

“Yep,” agreed Scant. “No way out of that one.”

Opal cleared her throat. “Firstly, yep is not a word, and I will not be spoken to in slang. New rule. Secondly, I assumed that Artemis Fowl was dead once before, and I spent a year in a coma as a result. We must proceed as though Fowl and Short have survived and are on our trail.” “With respect, Miss Koboi,” said Merv, directing the words at his own toes. “This is a stealth shuttle; we didn’t leave a trail.” “Moron,” said Opal casually. “Our trail is on every television screen aboveground, and doubtless below it. Even if Artemis Fowl were not a genius, he would guess that I am behind the Zito probe. We need to plant the final charge now. How deep is the probe?” Scant consulted a computer readout. “One hundred miles. We have ninety minutes to go to the optimum blast point.” Opal paced the deck for a few moments. “We have not picked up any communication with Police Plaza, so if they are alive they are alone. Best not to risk it. We will plant the charge now and guard it. Descant, check the casings again. Mervall, run a systems check on the shuttle. I don’t want a single ion escaping through the hull.” The pixie twins stepped backward, bowing as they went. They would do as they were told, but surely the boss was being a bit paranoid.

“I heard that thought,” screeched Opal. “I am not paranoid.”

Merv stepped behind a steel partition to shield his brain waves. Had Miss Koboi really intercepted the thought? Or was it just the paranoia again? After all, paranoid people usually believe that everyone thinks they are paranoid. Merv poked his head out from behind the partition and beamed a thought at Opal, just to be sure.

Holly Short is prettier than you, he thought as loudly as he could. A treasonous thought, to be sure. One Opal could hardly fail to pick up on if she could indeed read minds.

Opal stared at him. “Mervall?”

“Yes, Miss Koboi?”

“You’re looking directly at me. That’s very bad for my skin.”

“Sorry, Miss Koboi,” said Merv, averting his eyes. His eyes happened to glance through the cockpit windshield, toward the mouth of the chute. He was just in time to see an LEP shuttle rise through the holographic rock outcrop that covered the shuttlebay door. “Em, Miss Koboi, we have a problem.” He pointed out the windshield.

The shuttle had risen to thirty feet and was hovering above the Italian landscape, obviously searching for something.

“They’ve found us,” said Opal in a horrified whisper. Then she quelled her panic, quickly analyzing the situation.

“That is a transport shuttle, not a pursuit vehicle,” she noted, walking quickly into the cockpit, closely followed by the twins. “We must assume that Artemis Fowl and Captain Short are aboard. They have no weapons and only basic scanners. In this poor light we are virtually invisible to the naked eye. They are blind.” “Should we blast them from the skies?” asked the younger Brill brother eagerly. At last some of the action he had been promised.

“No,” replied Opal. “A plasma burst would give our position to human and fairy police satellites. We go silent. Turn off everything. Even life support. I don’t know how they got this close, but the only way they’re going to find out our exact location is to run into us. And if that happens, their sad little shuttle will crumple like cardboard.” The Brills obeyed promptly, switching off all of the shuttle’s systems.

“Good,” whispered Opal, placing a slim finger over her lips. They watched the shuttle for several minutes until Opal decided to break the silence.

“Whoever is passing wind, please stop it, or I will devise a fitting punishment.” “It wasn’t me,” mouthed the Brill brothers simultaneously. Neither was anxious to find out what the fitting punishment for passing wind was.

E7, Ten Minutes Earlier

Holly eased the LEP shuttle through a particularly tricky secondary shaft and into E7. Almost immediately, two red lights began pulsing on the console.

“The clock is ticking,” she announced. “We just triggered two of Foaly’s sensors. They’re going to put the shuttle together with the probe and come running.” “How long?” asked Artemis.

Holly calculated in her head. “If they come supersonic in the attack shuttle, less than half an hour.” “Perfect,” said Artemis, pleased.

“I’m glad you think so,” moaned Mulch. “Supersonic LEP officers are never a welcome sight among burglars. As a general rule we prefer our police officers subsonic.” Holly clamped the shuttle to a rocky outcrop on the chute wall. “Are you backing out, Mulch? Or is this just the usual moaning?” The dwarf rotated his jaw, warming it up for the work ahead. “I think I’m entitled to a little moan. Why do these plans always involve me putting myself in harm’s way, while you three get to wait it out in the shuttle?” Artemis handed him a cooler sack from the galley. “Because you are the only one who can do this, Mulch. You alone can foil Koboi’s plan.” Mulch was not impressed. “I’m not impressed,” he said. “I’d better get a medal for this. Real gold, too. No more gold-plated computer disks.” Holly hustled him to the starboard hatch. “Mulch, if they don’t lock me in prison for the rest of my life, I will start the campaign to give you the biggest medal in the LEP cabinet.” “And amnesty for any past and future crimes?”

Holly opened the hatch. “Past, maybe. Future, not a chance. But no guarantees. I’m not exactly flavor of the month at Police Plaza.” Mulch tucked the sack inside his shirt. “Okay. Possible big medal and probable amnesty. I’ll take it.” He put one foot outside onto the flat surface of the rock. Tunnel wind sucked at his leg, threatening to tumble him into the abyss. “We meet back here in twenty minutes.” Artemis handed the dwarf a small walkie-talkie from the LEP locker. “Remember the plan,” shouted Artemis over the roar of the wind. “Don’t forget to leave the communicator. Only steal what you are supposed to. Nothing else.” “Nothing else,” echoed Mulch, looking none too pleased. After all, who knew what valuables Opal may have lying about up there. “Unless something really jumps out at me.” “Nothing,” insisted Artemis. “Now, are you sure you can get in?”

Mulch’s grin revealed rows of rectangular teeth. “I can get in. You just make sure their power is off and they’re looking the other way.” Butler hefted the bag of tricks that he had brought with him from Fowl Manor. “Don’t worry, Mulch. They’ll be looking the other way. I guarantee it.” Police Plaza, the Lower Elements

All the brass were in the Operations Room, watching live television updates on the probe’s progress when Foaly burst in.

“We need to talk,” blurted the centaur to the general assembly.

“Quiet,” hissed Council Chairman Cahartez. “Have a bowl of curry.”

Chairman Cahartez ran a fleet of curry vans in Haven City. Vole curry was his specialty. Obviously he was catering this little viewing session.

Foaly ignored the buffet table. He snatched a remote control from a chair armrest and muted the master volume.

“We have big trouble, ladies and gentlemen. Opal Koboi is loose, and I think she’s behind the Zito probe.” A high-back swivel chair swung around. Ark Sool was lounging in it. “Opal Koboi? Amazing. And she’s doing all this psychically, I suppose.” “No. What are you doing in that chair? That’s the commander’s chair. The real commander, not Internal Affairs.” Sool tapped the golden acorns on his lapel. “I’ve been promoted.”

Foaly blanched. “You’re the new Recon commander?”

Sool’s smile could have illuminated a dark room. “Yes. The Council felt that Recon had been getting a bit out of hand lately. They felt, and I must say I agree, that Recon needs a firm hand. Of course I will stay on at Internal Affairs until a suitable replacement can be found.” Foaly scowled. There was no time for this. Not now. He had to get clearance for a supersonic launch immediately.

“Okay, Sool, Commander. I can lodge my objection later. Right now we have an emergency on our hands.” Everyone was listening now. But none with much enthusiasm, except Commander Vinyáya, who had always been a staunch supporter of Julius Root, and would certainly have not voted for Sool. Vinyáya was all ears.

“What’s the emergency, Foaly?” she asked.

Foaly slipped a computer disk into the room’s multidrive. “That thing in the Argon Clinic is not Opal Koboi; it’s a clone.” “Evidence?” demanded Sool.

Foaly highlighted a window on the screen. “I scanned her retinas and found that the last image the clone saw was Opal Koboi herself. Obviously during her escape.” Sool was not convinced. “I’ve never trusted your gadgets, Foaly. Your Retimager is not accepted as actual evidence in a courtroom.” “We’re not in a courtroom, Sool,” said Foaly through ground teeth. “If we accept that Opal could be loose, then the events of the past twenty-four hours take on a whole new significance. A pattern begins to emerge. Scalene is dead, pixies are missing from the clinic, Julius is murdered, and Holly is blamed. Then within hours of this, a probe is sent down a decade ahead of schedule. Koboi is behind all of this. That probe is on its way here and we’re sitting around watching it on PPTV…eating stinking vole curry!” “I object to the disparaging curry remark,” said Cahartez, wounded. “But otherwise I get your point.” Sool jumped from his chair. “What point? Foaly is connecting dots that don’t exist. All he is trying to do is exonerate his late friend, Captain Short.” “Holly may be alive!” snapped Foaly. “And trying to do something about Opal Koboi.” Sool rolled his eyes. “But her vitals flatlined, centaur. We remote-destructed her helmet. I was there, remember?” A head poked into the room. One of Foaly’s lab apprentices. “I got that case, sir,” he panted. “Quick as I could.” “Well done, Roob,” said Foaly, snatching the case from the apprentice’s hand. He spun the case around. “I issued Holly and Julius with new suits. Prototypes. They both have bio-sensors and trackers. They are not linked with the LEP mainframe. I never thought to check them earlier. Holly’s helmet may be out of action, but her suit is still functioning.” “What do the suit’s sensors tell us, Foaly?” asked Vinyáya.

Foaly was almost afraid to look. If the suit sensors were flatlining, it would be like losing Holly again. He counted to three, then consulted the small screen in the case. There were two readouts on the screen. One was flat. Julius. But the other was active in all areas.

“Holly is alive!” shouted the centaur, kissing Commander Vinyáya soundly on the cheek. “Alive and reasonably well, apart from elevated blood pressure and next to zero magic in her tank.” “And where is she?” asked Vinyáya, smiling.

Foaly enlarged the locator section of the screen. “On her way up E7, in the shuttle that was stolen by Mulch Diggums, if I’m not mistaken.” Sool was delighted. “Let me get this straight. Murder suspect Holly Short is in a stolen shuttle next to the Zito probe.” “That’s right.”

“That would make her the prime suspect in any irregularities concerning the probe.” Foaly was very tempted to actually trample Sool, but he held his temper in check, for Holly’s sake. “All I’m asking, Sool, is that you give me a green light to send the supersonic shuttle to investigate. If I’m right, then your first act as commander will be to avert a calamity.” “And if you’re wrong? Which you probably are.”

“If I’m wrong, then you get to bring in public enemy number one, Captain Holly Short.” Sool stroked his goatee. It was a win-win situation. “Very well. Send the shuttle. How long will it take to prep?” Foaly pulled a phone from his pocket and hit a number on the speed dial.

“Major Kelp,” he said into the mouthpiece. “Green light. Go.” Foaly smiled at Ark Sool. “I briefed Major Kelp on my way over. I felt sure you’d see it my way. Commanders generally do.” Sool scowled. “Don’t get familiar with me, ponyboy. This is not the start of a beautiful relationship. I’m sending the shuttle because it is the only option. If you are somehow manipulating me, or bending the truth, I will bury you in tribunal hearings for the next five years. Then I will fire you.” Foaly ignored him. There would be plenty of time for trading threats later. He needed to concentrate on the shuttle’s progress. He had gone through the shock of Holly’s death once before; he did not intend to go through it again.

E7

Mulch Diggums could have been an athlete. He had the jaw and recycling equipment for sprint digging, or even cross-country. Plenty of natural ability, but no dedication. He tried it for a couple of months in college, but the strict regime of training and diet did not suit him. Mulch could still remember his college tunneling coach giving him a pep talk after training one night.

“You got the jaw, Diggums,” the old dwarf admitted. “And you sure got the behind. I ain’t never seen no one who could pump out the bubbles like you do. But you ain’t got the heart, and that’s what’s important.” Maybe the old dwarf was right: Mulch never did have the heart for selfless activity. Tunneling was a lonely job, and there wasn’t much money in it either. And because it was an ethnic sport, the TV networks were not interested. No advertising meant no big pay deals for the athletes. Mulch decided his digging prowess could be more profitably utilized on the shady side of the law. Maybe if he had some gold, then female dwarfs would be more likely to return his calls.

And now here he was, breaking all his rules, preparing to break into a craft that was bristling with fairy sensors and occupied by armed hostiles. Just to help someone else. Of all the vehicles on the planet or under it, Artemis just had to get into the most technologically advanced shuttle in existence. Every square inch of the stealth shuttle’s plating would be alarmed with lasers, motion sensors, static sheets, and who knew what else. Still, alarms were no good if they weren’t activated, and that was what Mulch was counting on.

Mulch waved good-bye in the general direction of the shuttle, just in case anyone was still watching him, and traversed the rocky outcrop to the safety of the chute wall. Dwarfs do not like heights, and being technically below sea level was not helping his vertigo.

The dwarf sank his fingers into a vein of soft clay sprouting through the rock wall. Home. Anywhere on earth was home to a dwarf, as long as there was clay. Mulch felt calm settle over him. He was safe now, for the time being, at any rate.

The dwarf unhinged his jaw with twin cracks that would make any other sentient species wince. He popped the snaps on his bum-flap and launched himself into the clay. His gnashing teeth scooped buckets of clay from the chute wall, creating an instant tunnel. Mulch crawled into the space, sealing the cavity behind him with recycled clay from his rear end.

After half a dozen mouthfuls, the sonar filaments in his hair detected a shelf of rock ahead, so he adjusted his course accordingly. The stealth shuttle would not be set down on rock because it was top of the range, and as such would have a battery rod. The rods telescoped from the belly of the ship, drilling fifty feet below the ground and recharging the shuttle’s batteries with the power of the earth. The cleanest of energies.

The battery rod vibrated slightly as it harvested, and it was this vibration that Mulch homed in on now. It took him just over five minutes of steady munching to clear the rock shelf and reach the tip of the battery rod. The vibrations had already loosened the earth, and it was a simple matter for Mulch to clear himself a little cave. He spread saliva on the walls and waited.

Holly piloted the LEP craft through the small shuttleport, overriding the shuttle doors with her Recon access code. Police Plaza hadn’t bothered to change her code, because as far as they were concerned, she was dead.

A sheet of black rain clouds was spreading shadows across the Italian countryside as they cleared the holographic outcrop that shielded the shuttleport. A light frost coated the reddish clay, and a southerly wind lifted the shuttle’s tail.

“We can’t stay out here for long,” said Holly, throttling back to a hover. “This transporter doesn’t have defenses.” “We won’t need long,” said Artemis. “Fly in a grid search pattern, as though we’re not certain where exactly the stealth shuttle is.” Holly punched some coordinates into the flight computer. “You’re the genius.” Artemis turned to Butler, who was cross-legged in the aisle. “Now, old friend, can you make certain that Opal is looking this way?” “Can do,” said Butler, crawling to the port side exit. He knuckled the access button and the door slid back. The shuttle bucked slightly as the cabin pressure equalized, then settled.

Butler opened his bag of weaponry and selected a handful of metal spheres, roughly the size of tennis balls. He flicked back the safety cap on one, then depressed the button below with his thumb. The button began to rise to its original position.

“Ten seconds until the button is flush with the surface. Then it makes a connection.” “Thank you for the lecture,” said Artemis dryly. “Though now is hardly the time.” Butler smiled, tossing the metal sphere into the air. Five seconds later it exploded, blowing a small crater in the earth below. Scorch lines emanated from the crater, giving it the appearance of a black flower.

“I bet Opal is looking now,” said Butler, priming the next grenade.

“I’m sure others will be looking soon. Explosions don’t tend to go unnoticed for long. We are relatively isolated here. The nearest village is approximately ten miles away. If we are lucky, that gives us a ten-minute window. Next grid square, please, Holly. But not too close; we don’t want to scare them off.” Fifty feet below the ground, Mulch Diggums waited in his little DIY cave, watching the tip of the battery rod. As soon as it stopped vibrating, he began working his way upward through the loose clay. The telescopic rod was warm to the touch, heated by the energy it conducted to the shuttle’s batteries. Mulch used it to help him on his journey, pulling himself upward, hand over hand. The clay he consumed was broken and aerated from the rod’s drilling action, and Mulch was glad for that extra air. He converted it to wind, using it to boost himself upward.

Mulch increased his pace, pumping the air and clay through his recycling passages. Opal would only be distracted by the shuttle for so long before it occurred to her that it was a diversion. The rod thickened as he went along, until he arrived at a rubber seal in the belly of the shuttle itself, which was raised on three retractable legs two feet off the ground. When the shuttle was in flight, this seal would be covered by a metal panel; but the shuttle was not in flight at the moment, and the sensors were turned off.

Mulch climbed from his tunnel and rehinged his jaw. This was precision work and he needed fine control of his teeth. Rubber was not a recommended part of a dwarf’s diet, and so could not be swallowed. Half-digested rubber could seal up his insides as effectively as a barrel of glue.

It was an awkward bite. Difficult to get a grip. Mulch flattened his cheek against the battery rod, worming upward until his incisors could get some purchase on the seal. He bore down on the heavy rubber, rotating his jaw in small circles until his upper tooth broke through. Then he ground his teeth, enlarging the rent until there was a six-inch tear in the rubber. Now Mulch could get one side of his mouth into the gap. He tore off large chunks, careful to spit them out immediately.

In less than a minute Mulch had torn a foot-square hole. Just enough for him to squeeze through. Anyone unfamiliar with dwarfs would have bet money that Mulch would never squeeze his well-fed bulk through such a narrow aperture, but they would have lost their cash. Dwarfs have spent millennia escaping from cave-ins, and have developed the ability to squeeze through tighter holes than this one.

Mulch sucked in his gut and wiggled through the torn seal, headfirst. He was glad to be out of the faint, morning sunlight. Sun was another thing dwarfs did not like. After mere minutes in direct sunlight, a dwarf’s skin would be redder than a boiled lobster’s. He shinned along the battery rod into the shuttle’s engine compartment. Most of the small space was taken up with flat batteries and a hydrogen generator. There was an access hatch overhead that led into the cargo bay. Light ropes ran the length of the compartment, giving off pale green light. Any radiation leak from the generator would show up purple. The reason that the light ropes were still working without power was that illumination was supplied by specially cultivated decaying algae. Not that Mulch knew any of this; he just knew that the light was very similar to the luminescence from dwarf spittle, and the familiarity made him relax. He relaxed a bit too much, as it happened, allowing a small squib of tunnel gas to escape through his bum-flap. Hopefully nobody would notice that.… Maybe half a minute later, he heard Opal’s voice from outside.

“Now, whoever is passing wind, please stop it, or I will devise a fitting punishment.” Oops, thought Mulch guiltily. In dwarf circles it is considered almost criminal to allow someone else to be blamed for your air bubbles. Through sheer force of habit, Mulch almost raised his hand and confessed, but luckily his instinct for self-preservation was stronger than his conscience.

Moments later the signal came. It was hard to miss. The explosion rocked the entire shuttle twenty degrees off center. It was time to make his move and trust Artemis when he said that it was almost impossible not to watch an explosion.

Mulch nudged the hatch open a crack with the crown of his head. The dwarf half expected someone to stamp on the hatch, but the cargo bay was empty. Mulch folded the hatch back and crept all the way into the small chamber. There was a lot here to interest him. Crates of ingots, Perspex boxes of human currency, and antique jewelry hanging from mannequins. Obviously Opal did not intend on being poor in her new role as a human. Mulch snagged a single diamond earring from a nearby bust. So Artemis had told him not to take anything. So what? One earring wouldn’t slow him down.

Mulch popped the pigeon’s egg–size diamond into his mouth and swallowed. He could pass that later when he was on his own. Until then it could lodge in his stomach wall, and it would come out shinier than it went in.

Another explosion bucked the floor beneath his feet, reminding Mulch to move on. He crossed to the bay door, which was slightly ajar. The next chamber was the passenger area, and it was just as plush as Holly had described. Mulch’s lips rippled at the sight of fur-covered chairs. Repulsive. Beyond the passenger area was the cockpit. Opal and her two friends were clearly visible, staring intently out of the front windshield. They were making not a sound, and saying not a word. Just as Artemis had said.

Mulch dropped to his knees and crawled across the lounge’s carpet. He was now completely exposed. If one of the pixies decided to turn around, he would be stranded in the center of the lounge with nothing but a smile to hide behind.

Just keep going and don’t think about that, Mulch told himself. If Opal catches you, pretend you’re lost or have amnesia, or just came out of a coma. Maybe she’ll sympathize, give you some gold, and send you on your way. Yeah, right.

Something creaked slightly beneath Mulch’s knee. The dwarf froze, but the pixies didn’t react to the sound. Presumably that was the lid of the booty box. Opal’s little hidey hole. Mulch crawled around the box. If there was one thing he didn’t need, it was more creaks.

Two shaped charges lay on a chair, level with Mulch’s nose. He couldn’t believe it. Right there, less than a yard away. This was the one part of the plan that relied on luck. If one of the Brill brothers had the charge tucked under his arm or if there were more charges than he could carry, then they would have to ram the shuttle and hope to disable her. But here it was, almost begging to be stolen. When he was committing a robbery, Mulch often gave voices to the objects he was about to steal. This, he knew, would sound a little crazy to the rest of the world, but he spent a lot of time on his own and he needed someone to talk to.

Come on, Mister Handsome Dwarf, said one of the charges in a breathy falsetto. I’m waiting. I don’t like it here, you know. Please rescue me.

Very well, Madame, said Mulch silently, taking the bag from inside his shirt. I’ll take you, but we’re not going very far.

Me, too, said the other charge. I want to go, too.

Don’t worry, ladies. Where you’re going, there’s plenty of room for both of you.

When Mulch Diggums crept out through the torn seal a minute later, the charges were no longer on the chair. In their place was a small handheld communicator.

The three pixies sat quietly in the stealth shuttle’s cockpit. One was concentrating on the transport craft hovering two hundred yards off their bows. The other two were concentrating on not passing wind, and not thinking about not passing wind.

The transport shuttle’s side entrance opened, and something winked in the morning light as it tumbled earthward. Seconds later the something exploded, rocking the stealth shuttle on its suspension bags.

The Brill brothers gasped, and Opal cuffed them both on the ear.

Opal was not worried. They were searching. Shooting in the dark, or very close to it. Maybe in thirty minutes there would be enough light to see the ship with the naked eye, but until then they were blending very nicely with the surrounding countryside, thanks to a hull made from stealth ore and cam-foil. Fowl must have guessed where they were because of this chute’s proximity to the probe. But all he had was an approximation. Of course it would be delightful to blast them out of the air, but plasma bursts would light up Foaly’s satellite scanners and paint a bull’s-eye on their hull.

She plucked a digi-pad and pen from the dash and scrawled a message on it.

Stay quiet and calm. Even if one those charges hits us, it will not penetrate the hull.

Mervall took the pad. Maybe we should leave. Mud Men will be coming.

Opal wrote a response. Dear Mervall, please don’t start thinking; you will hurt your head. We wait until they leave. At this close range, they could actually hear our engines starting.

Another explosion rocked the stealth shuttle. Opal felt a bead of sweat roll down her forehead. This was ridiculous: she didn’t perspire, certainly not in front of the help. In five minutes the humans would come to investigate. It was their nature. So she would wait five minutes, then try to slip past the LEP shuttle, and if she couldn’t slip past, then she would blast them out of the sky and take her chances with the supersonic shuttle that would no doubt come to investigate.

More grenades dropped from the LEP craft, but they were farther away now, and the shock waves barely caused a shudder in the stealth shuttle. This went on for two or three minutes without the remotest danger to Opal or the Brills, then suddenly the transport shuttle sealed its door and peeled off back down the chute.

“Hmm,” said Opal. “Surprising.”

“Maybe they ran out of ammunition,” offered Merv, though he knew that Opal would punish him for offering an opinion.

“Is that what you think, Mervall? They ran out of explosives and so they decided just to let us go? Do you really imagine that to be true, you imbecilic excuse for a sentient being? Don’t you have any frontal lobes?” “I was just playing devil’s advocate,” mumbled Merv weakly.

Opal rose from her seat, waving a hand at each Brill brother. “Just shut up. I need to talk to myself for a minute.” She paced the narrow cockpit. “What’s going on here? They track us to the chute, then put on a big fireworks display, then leave. Just like that. Why? Why?” She rubbed both temples with a knuckle. “Think.” Suddenly Opal remembered something. “Last night. A shuttle was stolen in E1. We heard about it on the police band. Who stole it?” Scant shrugged. “I dunno. Some dwarf. Is it important?”

“That’s right. A dwarf. And wasn’t there a dwarf involved in the Artemis Fowl siege? And weren’t there rumors of the same dwarf helping Julius to break into Koboi labs?” “Rumors. No actual evidence.”

Opal turned on Scant. “Maybe that’s because, unlike you, this dwarf is smart. Maybe he doesn’t want to be caught.” The pixie took a moment to connect the dots. “So they have a dwarf burglar, a shuttle, and explosives. Holly must know that those pathetic grenades can’t penetrate our hull, so why drop them? Unless…” The truth hit her like a physical blow in the stomach. “Oh no,” she gasped. “Distraction. We sat here like fools watching the pretty lights. And all the time…” She heaved Scant aside, rushing past him to the lounge.

“The charges,” she shrieked. “Where are they?”

Scant went straight to the chair. “Don’t worry, Miss Koboi, they’re right—” He stopped, the sentence’s final word stuck in his throat. “I, ah, they were right there. In the chair.” Opal picked up the small handheld radio. “They’re toying with me. Tell me you put the backup somewhere safe.” “No,” said Scant miserably. “They were together.”

Merv pushed past him into the cargo bay. “The engine compartment is open.” He stuck his head through the hatch. His voice wafted up, muffled by the floor panels. “The battery rod seal has been ripped apart. And there are footprints. Someone came through here.” Opal threw back her head and screamed. She held it for a long time for such a small individual.

Finally her breath ran out. “Follow the shuttle,” she gasped when her wind returned. “I modified those charges myself and they cannot be disarmed. We can still detonate. At the very least we will destroy my enemies.” “Yes, Miss Koboi,” said Merv and Scant together.

“Don’t look at me,” howled Opal.

The Brill brothers fled to the cockpit, trying to simultaneously bow, look at their feet, not think anything dangerous, and above all, not pass wind.

Mulch was waiting at the rendezvous site when the LEP shuttle arrived. Butler opened the door and hauled the dwarf in by the collar.

“Did you get it?” asked Artemis anxiously.

Mulch passed him the bulging bag. “Right here. And before you ask, I left the radio.” “So everything went according to plan?”

“Completely,” replied Mulch, neglecting to mention the diamond nestled in his stomach wall.

“Excellent,” said Artemis, striding past the dwarf to the cockpit.

“Go,” he shouted, thumping Holly’s headrest.

Holly already had the shuttle ticking over, and was holding it with the brake.

“We’re gone,” she said, releasing the brake and flooring the throttle. The LEP craft bolted from the rocky outcrop like a pebble from a catapult.

Artemis’s legs were dragged from the floor, flapping behind him like windsocks. The rest of him would have followed if he hadn’t held on to the headrest.

“How much time do we have?” asked Holly, through lips rippled by G-force.

Artemis pulled himself into the passenger seat. “Minutes. The orebody will hit a depth of one hundred and five miles in precisely one quarter of an hour. Opal will be after us any second.” Holly shadowed the chute wall, spinning between two towers of rock. The lower portion of E7 was quite straight, but this stretch corkscrewed through the crust, following the cracks in the plates.

“Is this going to work, Artemis?” said Holly.

Artemis pondered the question. “I considered eight plans, and this was the best one. Even so, we have a sixtyfour percent chance of success. The key is to keep Opal distracted so she doesn’t discover the truth. That’s up to you, Holly. Can you do it?” Holly wrapped her fingers around the wheel. “Don’t worry. It’s not often I get a chance to do some fancy flying. Opal will be so busy trying to catch us that she won’t have time to consider anything else.” Artemis looked out of the windshield. They were pointing straight down toward the center of the earth. Gravity fluctuated at this depth and speed, so they were alternately pinned to their chairs and straining to be free of their seat belts. The chute’s blackness enveloped them like tar, except for the cone of light from the shuttle’s headlamps. Gigantic rock formations darted in and out of the cone heading straight for their nose. Somehow Holly steered them through, without once tapping the brake.

On the plasma dash, the icon representing the gaseous anomaly that was Opal’s ship inched across the screen.

“They’re on to us,” said Holly, catching the movement from the corner of one eye.

Artemis’s stomach was knotted from flight nausea, anxiety, fatigue, and exhilaration. “Very well,” he said, almost to himself. “The chase is on.” * * *

At the mouth of E7, Merv was at the wheel of the stealth shuttle. Scant was on instruments, and Opal was in charge of giving orders and general ranting.

“Do we have a signal from the charge?” she screeched from her chair.

Her voice is really getting annoying, thought Scant, but not too loudly. “No,” he replied. “Nothing. Which means it must be in the other shuttle. Their shields must be blocking the charge’s signal. We need to get closer, or I could send the detonation signal anyway; we might get lucky.” Opal’s screech grew more strident. “No! We must not detonate before that shuttle reaches one hundred and five miles. If we do, the orebody will not change course. What about this stupid communicator? Anything from that?” “Negative,” said Scant. “If there’s another one, it must be switched off.” “We could always return to Zito’s compound,” said Merv. “We have a dozen more charges there.” Opal leaned forward in her seat, punching Merv’s shoulders with her tiny fists. “Idiot. Moron. Half-wit. Are you in some kind of stupidity competition? Is that it? If we return to Zito’s, the orebody will be too deep by the time we return. Not to mention the fact that Captain Short will present the LEP with her version of events and they will have to investigate, at the very least. We must get closer and we must detonate. Even if we miss the probe window, at least we destroy any witnesses against me.” The stealth shuttle had proximity sensors linked into the navigating software, which meant that Opal and company did not have to worry about colliding with the chute wall or stalactites.

“How long before we’re in detonation range?” Opal barked. To be honest, it was more of a yip.

Merv did some quick calculations. “Three minutes. No more.”

“How deep will they be at that point?”

A few more sums. “One hundred and fifty-five miles.”

Opal pinched her nose. “It could work. Presuming they have both charges, the resulting explosion, even if not directed as we planned, may be enough to blow a crack in the wall. It’s our only option. If it fails, at least we have time to regroup. As soon as they hit one hundred and five, send the detonate signal. Send it continuously. We may get lucky.” Merv flipped a plastic safety cover off the DETONATE button. Only minutes to go.

Artemis’s insides were trying to force their way out his throat. “This heap needs new gyroscopes,” he said.

Holly barely nodded, too busy concentrating on a particularly tricky series of jinks and loops in the chute.

Artemis consulted the dashboard’s readout. “We’re at a depth of one hundred and five now. Opal will be trying to detonate. She’s closing fast.” Mulch stuck his head through from the passenger section. “Is all this jiggling about really necessary? I’ve had a lot to eat recently.” “Nearly there,” said Artemis. “The ride is just about over. Tell Butler to open the bag.” “Okay. Are you sure Opal will do what she’s supposed to?”

Artemis smiled reassuringly. “Of course I am. It’s human nature, and Opal is a human now, remember? Now, Holly. Pull over.” Mervall tapped the readout. “You’re not going to believe this, Op…Miss Koboi.” The merest hint of a smile flickered across Opal’s lips. “Don’t tell me. They have stopped.” Merv shook his head, astounded. “Yes, they are hovering at one hundred and twenty-five. Why would they do that?” “There’s no point trying to explain it, Mervall. Just keep sending the detonation signal, but slow us down. I don’t want to be too close when we get a connection.” She drummed her nails on the handheld communicator left behind by the dwarf. Any second now.

A red call light flashed on the communicator, accompanied by a slight vibration. Opal smiled, flipping open the walkie-talkie’s screen.

Artemis’s pale face filled the tiny screen. He was trying to smile, but it was obviously forced. “Opal, I am giving you one chance to surrender. We have disarmed your charges and the LEP is on its way. It would be better for you to turn yourself over to Captain Short than shoot it out with an armed LEP ship.” Opal clapped her hands. “Bravo, Master Fowl, what a wonderful fiction. Now, why don’t I tell you the real truth. You have realized that the charges cannot be disarmed. The mere fact that I can receive your communications signal means that my detonation signal will soon penetrate your shields. You cannot simply jettison the explosives, or I will set them off in the chute, exactly as I had originally planned. Then I will simply fire a few heat seekers at your craft. And if you attempt further flight, then I will follow and penetrate your shields before you clear the parallel stretch. You are not in communication with the LEP. If you were, we would have picked up your broadcast. So your only alternative is this pathetic bluff. And it is pathetic. You are obviously attempting to stall me until the orebody passes your depth.” “So you refuse to surrender?”

Opal pretended to think about it, tapping her chin with a manicured nail. “Why, yes. I think I will fight on, against all odds. And by the way, please don’t look directly at the screen; it’s bad for my skin.” Artemis sighed dramatically. “Well, if we have to go, at least we’ll go on full stomachs.” This was an unusually cavalier comment to make with seconds to live, even for a human. “Full stomachs?” “Yes,” said Artemis. “Mulch took something else from your shuttle.”

He picked up a small chocolate-covered ball and wiggled it before the screen.

“My truffles?” gasped Opal. “You took them. That’s just mean.”

Artemis popped the treat into his mouth and chewed slowly. “They really are divine. I can see why you missed them in the institute. We’re really going to have to work hard to eat all we took before you blow us to smithereens.” Opal hissed, catlike. “Killing you will be so easy.” She turned to Merv. “Do we have a signal yet?” “Nothing, Miss Koboi. But soon. If we have communications, it can’t be long now.” Holly squeezed her head into the viewfinder. One cheek was swollen with truffles. “They really melt in the mouth, Opal. The condemned crew’s final meal.” Opal actually poked the screen with her nail. “You survived twice, Short. You won’t do it again, I guarantee it.” Holly laughed. “You should see Mulch. He’s shoveling those truffles down his gullet.” Opal was livid. “Any signal?” Even now, with certain destruction only moments away, they were still mocking her.

“Not yet. Soon.”

“Keep trying. Keep your finger on that button.”

Opal unstrapped herself and strode through to the lounge. The dwarf couldn’t have carried all the truffles and the explosives. Surely not. She had been so looking forward to a handful of the heavenly chocolate once Haven was destroyed.

She knelt on the carpet, worming her hand underneath the seam to the hidden catch. It popped beneath her fingers, and the booty box’s lid slid up and back.

There was not a single truffle left in the box. Instead there were two shaped charges. For a moment Opal could not understand what she was seeing. Then it became terrifyingly clear. Artemis had not stolen the charges; he had simply told the dwarf to move them. Once in the booty box they could not be detected or detonated, as long as the lid was sealed. She had opened the box herself. Artemis had goaded her into sealing her own fate.

The blood drained from Opal’s face. “Mervall,” she screamed. “The detonation signal!” “Don’t worry, Miss Koboi,” the pixie shouted from the cockpit. “We just got contact. Nothing can stop it now.” Green countdown clocks activated on both charges and began counting back from twenty. A standard mining fuse.

Opal lurched into the cockpit. She had been tricked. Duped. Now the charges would detonate uselessly at seventy-five miles, well above the parallel stretch. Of course her own shuttle would be destroyed and she would be left stranded, ready to be scooped up by the LEP. At least that was the theory. But Opal Koboi never left herself without options.

She strapped herself into a seat in the cockpit.

“I advise you to strap in,” she said curtly to the Brill brothers. “You have failed me. Enjoy prison.” Merv and Scant barely had time to buckle up before Opal activated the ejector gel-pods under their seats. They were immediately immersed in a bubble of amber impact-gel and ejected through panels that had opened in the hull.

The impact-gel bubbles had no power source and relied on the initial gas propulsion to get them out of harm’s way. The gel was fireproof, blast resistant, and contained enough oxygen for thirty minutes of shallow breathing. Merv and Scant were catapulted through black space until they came into contact with the chute wall. The gel stuck to the rocky surface, leaving the Brill brothers stranded thousands of miles from home.

Opal, meanwhile, was rapidly keying codes into the shuttle’s computer. She had less than ten seconds left to complete her final act of aggression. Artemis Fowl may have beaten her this time, but he wouldn’t live to gloat about it.

Opal expertly activated and launched two heat-seeking plasma rockets from the nose tubes, then launched her own escape pod. No plasma-gel for Opal Koboi. She had, of course, included a luxury pod in the ship’s design. Just one, though; no need for the help to travel in comfort. In fact, Opal didn’t care much what happened to the Brill brothers, one way or the other. They were of no further use to her.

She opened the throttles wide, ignoring safety regulations. After all, who cared if she scorched the shuttle’s hull. It was about to get a lot more than just scorched. The pod streaked toward the surface at over five hundred miles per hour. Pretty fast, but not fast enough to completely escape the shock wave from the two shaped charges.

The stealth shuttle exploded in a flash of multicolored light. Holly pulled the LEP shuttle close to the wall to avoid falling debris. After the shock waves had passed, the shuttle’s occupants waited in silence for the computer to run a scan on the stretch of chute above them. Eventually three red dots appeared on the 3-D representation of the chute. Two were static, the other was moving rapidly toward the surface.

“They made it,” sighed Artemis. “I have no doubt that the moving dot is Opal. We should pick her up.” “We should,” said Holly, not looking as one would expect. “But we won’t.”

Artemis picked up on Holly’s tone. “Why not? What’s wrong?”

“That’s wrong,” said Holly, pointing to the screen. Two more dots had appeared on the screen and were moving toward them at extreme speed. The computer identified the dots as missiles, and quickly ran a match in its database.

“Heat-seeking plasma rockets. Locked on to our engines.”

Mulch shook his head. “That Koboi is a bitter little pixie. She couldn’t let it go.” Artemis stared at the screen as if he could destroy the missiles through concentration. “I should have anticipated this.” Butler poked his massive head past his charge’s shoulders. “Do you have any hot waffle to draw the missiles away?” “This is a transport shuttle,” replied Holly. “We were lucky to have shields.” “The missiles are coming after our heat signature?”

“Yes,” said Holly, hoping there was an idea on the way.

“Is there any way to significantly alter that signature?”

An option occurred to Holly then. It was so extreme that she didn’t bother running it past the shuttle’s other occupants.

“There is one way,” she said, and turned off the engines.

The shuttle dropped like a rock through the chute. Holly tried to maneuver using the flaps, but without propulsion it was like trying to steer an anchor.

There was no time for fear or panic. There was only time to hang on to something and try to keep her last meal inside her body.

Holly gritted her teeth, swallowing the panic that was trying to claw its way out, and fought the steering wheel. If she could keep the flaps centered, then they shouldn’t collide with the chute walls. At least this way, they had a chance.

She flicked her eyes toward the readouts. The core temperature was dropping, but would it be quickly enough? This section of the chute was reasonably straight, but there was a kink coming up in thirty-one miles, and they would crash into it like a fly hitting an elephant.

Butler crawled upward toward the rear of the ship. On the way he snagged two fire extinguishers and popped their pins. He tossed the extinguishers into the engine room and closed the door. Through the hatch, he could see the extinguishers cartwheeling, covering the engine with freezing foam.

The engine temperature dropped another notch.

The missiles were closer now, and gaining.

Holly opened all the vents wide, flooding the shuttle with cool air. Another notch toward green on the temperature readout.

“Come on,” she said through rippling lips. “A few more degrees.”

They hurtled down and down, spinning into blackness. Little by little the ship was drifting to starboard. Soon it would smash into the kink that rose to meet them. Holly’s finger hovered over the ignition. She would wait until the last possible moment.

The engines cooled even further. They were efficient energy-saving units. When they were not in use, they quickly funneled excess heat to the life-support batteries. But still the missiles held their course.

The kink in the chute wall appeared in their headlights. It was bigger than an average mountain and composed of hard, unforgiving rock. If the shuttle crashed, it would crumple like a tin can.

Artemis squeezed words from between his lips. “Not working. Engines.”

“Wait,” Holly replied.

The flaps were vibrating now, and the shuttle went into a tumble. They could see the heat seekers roaring up behind them, then in front of them, then behind them again.

They were close to the rock now. Too close. If Holly delayed even one more second, she would not have sufficient room to maneuver. She punched the ignition, veering to port at the last millisecond. The bow plates sent up an arc of sparks as they scraped along the rocky outcrop. Then they were free, zooming into the black void. That is, if you can count being pursued by two heat seekers as being free.

The engine temperature was still dropping and would be for maybe half a minute while the turbines heated up. Would it be enough? Holly punched the rear camera view up on the front screen. The rockets were still coming. Unrelenting. Purple fuel burning in their wake. Three seconds to impact. Then two.

Then they lost contact, veering away from their target. One went over the top, the other under the keel.

“It worked,” sighed Artemis, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Well done, soldier.” Butler grinned, ruffling Holly’s hair.

Mulch poked his head through from the passenger area. His face was slightly green. “I had a little accident,” he said. No one inquired further.

“Let’s not celebrate just yet,” said Holly, checking her instruments. “Those missiles should have detonated against the chute wall, but they didn’t. I can only think of one reason why they wouldn’t keep traveling in a straight line.” “If they acquired another target,” offered Butler.

A red dot appeared on the plasma screen. The two missiles were headed directly for it.

“Exactly. That’s an LEP supersonic attack shuttle, and as far as they’re concerned, we’ve just opened fire on them.” Major Trouble Kelp was behind the wheel of the LEP attack shuttle. The craft was traveling at more than three times the speed of sound, booming along the chute like a silver needle. Supersonic flights were very rarely cleared, as they could cause cave-ins and, in rare cases, be detected by human seismographic equipment.

The shuttle’s interior was filled with impact-gel to dampen the otherwise bone-breaking vibration. Major Kelp was suspended in the gel in a modified pilot’s suit. The ship’s controls were connected directly to his gloves, and the video ran in to his helmet.

Foaly was in constant contact from Police Plaza.

“Be advised that the stolen shuttle is back in the chute,” he informed Trouble. “It’s hovering at one hundred and twenty-five miles.” “I have it,” said Trouble, locating the dot on his radar. He felt his heart race. There was a chance that Holly was alive and aboard that shuttle. And if that were true, he would do whatever it took to bring her home safely.

A sunburst of white, yellow, and orange flared on his scopes.

“We have an explosion of some kind. Was it the stolen shuttle?”

“No, Trouble. It came from nowhere. There was nothing there. Watch out for debris.” The screen was streaked with dozens of jagged yellow lines, as hot metal shards plummeted toward the center of the earth. Trouble activated the nose lasers, ready for anything that might head his way. It was unlikely that his vessel would be threatened; the chute was wider than the average city at this depth. The debris from the explosion would not spread more than half a mile. He had plenty of time to steer himself out of harm’s way.

Unless some of the debris followed him. Two of the yellow streaks were veering unnaturally in his direction. The onboard computer ran a scan. Both items had propulsion and guidance systems. Missiles.

“I am under fire,” he said into his microphone. “Two missiles incoming.”

Had Holly fired on him? Was it true what Sool said? Had she really gone bad?

Trouble reached into the air and tapped a virtual screen. He touched the representations for both missiles, targeting them for destruction. As soon as they came into range, the computer would hit them with a beam of laser fire. Trouble steered into the middle of the chute so that the lasers would have the longest possible line of fire. Lasers were only any good in a straight line.

Three minutes later, the missiles powered around the bend in the chute. Trouble barely spared them a glance, and the computer loosed two quick bursts, dispatching the missiles efficiently. Major Kelp flew straight through the shock wave, insulated by layers of impact-gel.

Another screen opened in his visor. It was the newly promoted Commander Ark Sool. “Major, you are authorized to return fire. Use all necessary force.” Trouble scowled. “But, Commander, Holly may be on board.”

Sool raised a hand, silencing all objections. “Captain Short has made her allegiances clear. Fire at will.” Foaly could not remain silent. “Hold your fire, Trouble. You know Holly isn’t behind all of this. Somehow Opal Koboi fired those missiles.” Sool pounded the desk. “How can you be so blind to the truth, donkey boy? What does Short have to do to convince you she’s a traitor? Send you an e-mail? She has murdered her commander, allied herself with a felon, and fired on an LEP shuttle. Blast her out of the air.” “No!” insisted Foaly. “It sounds bad, I grant you. But there must be another explanation. Just give Holly a chance to tell us what it is.” Sool was apoplectic. “Shut up, Foaly! What are you doing giving tactical orders? You are a civilian, now get off the line.” “Trouble, listen to me,” began Foaly, but that was all he managed to say before Sool cut him off.

“Now,” said the commander, calming himself. “You have your orders. Fire on that shuttle.” The stolen shuttle was actually in view now. Trouble magnified its image in his visor and immediately noticed three things. First, the shuttle’s communications mast was missing. Second, this was a transport shuttle and not rigged for missiles, and third, he could actually see Holly Short in the cockpit, her face drawn and defiant.

“Commander Sool,” he said. “I think we have some extenuating circumstances here.” “I said fire!” screeched Sool. “You will obey me.”

“Yes, sir,” said Trouble, and fired.

Holly had watched the radar screen, following Opal’s missiles through unblinking eyes. Her fingers had gripped the steering wheel until the rubber squeaked. She did not relax until the needle-like attack shuttle destroyed the missiles and coasted through the wreckage.

“No problem,” she said, smiling bright eyed at the rest of the crew.

“Not for him,” said Artemis. “But perhaps for us.”

The attack shuttle hovered off their port bow, sleek and deadly, bathing them with a dozen spotlights. Holly squinted into the pale light, trying to see who was in the captain’s chair. A tube opened and a metallic cone nosed out.

“That’s not good,” said Mulch. “They’re going to fire at us.”

But strangely, Holly smiled. It is good, she thought. Someone down there likes me.

The communications spike traveled the short distance between the two shuttles, burying itself in the stolen craft’s hull. A quick-drying sealant erupted from nozzles at the base of the spike, sealing the breach, and the nose cone unscrewed itself and dropped to the floor with a clang. Underneath was a conical speaker.

Trouble Kelp’s voice filled the room. “Captain Short, I have orders to blow you out of the air. Orders that I’d just as soon disobey. So start talking, and give me enough information to save both our careers.” So Holly talked. She gave Trouble the condensed version. How this entire affair was orchestrated by Opal, and how they would pick her up if they searched the chute.

“That’s enough to keep you alive, for now,” said Trouble. “Though, officially, you and any other shuttle occupants are under arrest until we find Opal Koboi.” Artemis cleared his throat. “Excuse me. I don’t believe you have any jurisdiction over humans. It would be illegal to arrest me or my associate.” Trouble sighed. Over the speaker it sounded like a rasp of sandpaper. “Let me guess: Artemis Fowl, right? I should have known. You people are becoming quite the team. Well, let’s say you are a guest of the LEP, if that makes you any happier. Now, a Retrieval squad is in the chute. They will take care of Opal and her associates. You follow me back to Haven.” Holly wanted to object. She wanted to catch Opal herself. She wanted the personal pleasure of tossing the poisonous pixie into an actual jail cell. And then throwing away the key. But their position was precarious enough as it was, so for once she decided to follow orders.