Sool nodded. “Run your tests, though I don’t expect you’ll find anything. Short is a burnout, simple as that. She always was. I nearly had her before, but this time it’s cut-and-dried.”
Foaly knew he should bite his tongue, but he had to defend his friend. “Isn’t this all a bit convenient. First we lose sound, so we don’t know what was said. Then there’s this fuzzy patch that could be anything; and now we’re expected to believe that a decorated officer just up and shot her commander, an elf who was like a father to her.”
“Yes, I see your point, Foaly,” said Sool silkily. “Very good. Nice to know you’re thinking on some level. But let’s stick to our respective jobs, eh? You build the machinery, and I operate it. For example, these new Neutrinos that our field personnel are armed with?”
“Yes, what about them?” said Foaly suspiciously.
“They are personalized to each officer, am I right? Nobody else can fire them. And each shot is registered?”
“That is correct,” admitted Foaly, all too aware where this was leading.
Sool waved his cane like a symphony conductor. “Well then, surely all we have to do is check Captain Short’s weapon’s log to see if she fired a shot at the precise time indicated on the video. If she did, then the film is authentic, and Holly Short did indeed murder her commander, regardless of what we can or cannot hear.”
Foaly ground his horsey teeth. Of course it made perfect sense. He had thought of it half an hour ago, and already knew what the cross-referencing would reveal. He pulled up Holly’s weapon’s log and read the relevant passage.
“Weapon registered at zero nine forty, HMT. Six pulses at zero nine fifty-six, and then one level two pulse fired at zero nine fifty-eight.”
Sool slapped the cane into his palm in triumph. “One level two pulse fired at zero nine fifty-eight. Exactly right. Whatever else happened in that chute, Short fired on her commander.”
Foaly leaped out of his specially tailored office chair. “But a level two pulse couldn’t cause such a big explosion. It practically caved in the entire access tunnel.”
“Which is why Short isn’t in custody right now,” said Sool. “It will take weeks to clean out that tunnel. I’ve had to send a Retrieval team through E1, in Tara. They will have to travel over ground to Paris and pick up her trail from there.”
“But what about the explosion itself?”
Sool grimaced, as though Foaly’s questions were a bitter nugget in an otherwise delicious meal. “Oh, I’m sure there’s an explanation, centaur. Combustible gas, or a malfunction, or just bad luck. We’ll figure that out. For now my priority, and yours, is to bring Captain Short back here for trial. I want you to liaise with the Retrieval team. Feed them constant updates on Short’s position.”
Foaly nodded without enthusiasm. Holly was still wearing her helmet. And the LEP helmet could verify her identity and relay a constant stream of diagnostic information back to Foaly’s computers. They had no sound or video but there was plenty of information to track Holly wherever she might go in the world, or under it. At the moment, Holly was in Germany. Her heart rate was elevated but otherwise she was okay.
Why did you run, Holly? Foaly asked his absent friend silently. If you’re innocent, why did you run?
“Tell me where Captain Short is now,” demanded Sool.
The centaur maximized the live feed from Holly’s helmet on the plasma screen.
“She’s still in Germany, Munich, to be precise. She’s stopped moving now. Maybe she will decide to come home.”
Sool frowned. “I seriously doubt it, centaur. She’s a bad egg, through and through.”
Foaly fumed. Manners dictated that only a friend refer to another fairy by species, and Sool was no friend of his. Or anyone’s.
“We can’t say that for sure,” said Foaly, through his clenched teeth.
Sool leaned even closer to the plasma screen, a slow smile stretching his tight skin. “Actually, centaur, you’re wrong there. I think we can safely say for sure that Captain Short won’t be coming back. Recall the Retrieval team immediately.”
Foaly checked Holly’s screen. The life signs from her helmet were all flatlining. One second she was stressed but alive, and the next she was gone. No heartbeat, no brain activity, no temperature reading. She couldn’t have simply taken off the helmet, as there was an infrared connection between each LEP officer and their helmet. No, Holly was dead, and it hadn’t been by natural causes.
Foaly felt the tears brimming on his eyelids. Not Holly too.
“Recall the Retrieval team? Are you insane, Sool? We have to find Holly. Find out what happened.”
Sool was unaffected by Foaly’s outburst. If anything, he appeared to enjoy it.
“Short was a traitor and she was obviously in collusion with the goblins. Somehow her nefarious plan backfired and she was killed. I want you to remote-activate the incinerator in her helmet immediately, and we’ll close the book on a rogue officer.”
Foaly was aghast. “Activate the remote incinerator! I can’t do that.”
Sool rolled his eyes. “Again with the opinions. You don’t have authority here; you just obey it.”
“But I’ll have a satellite picture in thirty minutes,” protested the centaur. “We can wait that long, s
urely.”
Sool elbowed past Foaly to the keyboard. “Negative. You know the regulations. No bodies are left exposed for the humans to find. It’s a tough rule, I know, but necessary.”
“The helmet could have malfunctioned,” said Foaly, grasping at straws.
“Is it likely that all the life-sign readings could have flatlined at the same moment through equipment failure?”
“No,” admitted Foaly.
“And just how unlikely is it?”
“About one chance in ten million,” said the technical adviser miserably.
Sool picked his way around the keyboard. “If you don’t have the stomach for it, centaur. I’ll do it myself.” He entered his password and detonated the incinerator in Holly’s helmet. On a rooftop in Munich, Holly’s helmet dissolved in a pool of acid. And in theory, so did Holly’s body.
“There,” said Sool, satisfied. “She’s gone, and now we can all sleep a little easier.”
Not me, thought Foaly, staring forlornly at the screen. It will be a very long time before I sleep easy again.
Temple Bar, Dublin, Ireland
Artemis Fowl woke from a sleep haunted by nightmares. In his dreams, strange, red-eyed creatures had ripped open his chest with scimitar tusks and dined on his heart. He sat up in an undersized cot, both hands flying to his chest. His shirt was caked with dried blood, but there was no wound. Artemis took several deep shuddering breaths, pumping oxygen through his brain. Assess the situation, Butler always told him. If you find yourself in unfamiliar territory, become familiar with it before opening your mouth. Ten seconds of observation could save your life.
Artemis looked around, eyelids fluttering like camera shutters, absorbing every detail. He was in a small box room, about ten square feet. One wall was completely transparent and appeared to look out over the Dublin quays. From the position of the Millennium Bridge, the room was somewhere in the Temple Bar area. The chamber itself was constructed from a strange material. Some kind of silver-gray fabric. Rigid, but malleable, with several plasma screens on the opaque walls. It was all extremely hi-tech, but seemed years old, and almost abandoned.