what have you got for me?'
Foaly clopped over to an equipment rack clamped to the wall.
'No heavy armament, that's for sure. Not after what happened to Retrieval One. No helmet either.
That beast of a Mud Man seems to collect them. No, to show good faith, we're going to send you in
unarmed and unarmoured.'
Root snorted. 'What manual did you get this from?'
'It's standard operating procedure. Fostering trust speeds communication.'
'Oh, stop quoting and give me something to shoot.'
'Suit yourself,' sighed Foaly, selecting what looked like a finger from the rack.
'What's that?'
'It's a finger. What does it look like?'
'A finger,' admitted Root.
'Yes, but not any ordinary finger.' He glanced around to make sure that no one else was watching.
'The tip contains a pressurized dart. One shot only. You tap the knuckle with your thumb and
someone goes sleepy-bye.'
'Why haven't I seen this before?'
'It's a covert kinda thing ...'
'And?' said Root suspiciously.
'Well, there have been accidents ...'
'Tell me, Foaly.'
'Our agents keep forgetting they have it on.'
'Meaning they shoot themselves.'
Foaly nodded miserably. 'One of our best sprites was picking his nose at the time. Three days on
the critical list.'
Root rolled the memory latex on to his index finger, where it immediately assumed the shape and
flesh tone of the host digit.
'Don't worry, Foaly, I'm not a complete idiot. Anything else?'
Foaly unhooked what appeared to be a false bottom from the equipment rack.
'You're not serious! What does that do?'
'Nothing,' admitted the centaur. 'But it gets a great laugh at parties.'
Root chuckled. Twice. That was a major lapse for him.
'OK, levity over. Are you going to wire me?'
'Naturally. One iris-cam. What colour?' He peered into the commander's eyes. 'Hmm. Mud
brown.' He selected a small vial from the shelf and removed the electronic contact lens from a fluid
capsule. Plucking Root's eyelid with thumb and forefinger, he slotted in the iris-cam. 'That might
irritate you. Try not to rub or it could end up in the back of your eye. Then we'd be looking into
your head, and there's nothing interesting in there, heaven knows.'
Root blinked, resisting the urge to knead his watering eye.
'That's it?'
Foaly nodded. 'That's all we dare risk.'
The commander agreed reluctantly. His hip felt very light without a tri-barrelled blaster dangling
from it.
'OK. I suppose this amazing dart finger will have to do. Honestly, Foaly, if this blows up in my
face, you'll be on the next shuttle back to Haven.'
The centaur snickered. 'Just be careful in the toilet.'
Root didn't laugh. There were some things you didn't joke about.
Artemis's watch had stopped. It was as though Greenwich wasn't there any more. Or perhaps,
mused Artemis, we're the ones who have disappeared. He checked CNN. It had frozen. A picture of
Riz Khan jittered slightly on the screen. Artemis could not hold back a satisfied smile. They had
done it, just like the Book said. The LEP had stopped time. All according to plan.
Time to check out a theory. Artemis wheeled over to the monitor bank and punched up the Mam
Cam on the seventy-centimetre main monitor. Angeline Fowl was no longer on the chaise longue.
Artemis panned around the room. It was empty. His mother had gone. Disappeared. His smile
widened. Perfect. Just as he'd suspected.
Artemis switched his attention to Holly Short. She was banging the bed again. Occasionally she
would rise from the mattress, pounding the wall with her bare fists. Maybe it was more than
frustration. Could there be method in her madness? He tapped the monitor with a slim finger.
'What are you up to, Captain? What's your little plan?' He was distracted by a movement on the
avenue monitor.
'At last,' he breathed. 'The games begin.' A figure was advancing down the avenue. Small, but
imposing nonetheless. Unshielded too. Finished playacting then.
Artemis punched the intercom button.
'Butler? We have a guest. I'll show him in. You get back here and police the surveillance cameras.'
Butler's voice came back tinny through the speaker.
'Ten four, Artemis. On my way.'
Artemis buttoned his designer jacket, pausing at the mirror to straighten his tie. The trick to
negotiation was to hold all the cards going in and, even if you didn't, to try to look as though you
did.
Artemis put on his best sinister face. Evil, he told himself, evil but highly intelligent. And
determined, don't forget determined. He put a hand on the doorknob. Steady now. Deep breaths,
and try not to think about the possibility that you have misjudged this situation and are about to be
shot dead. One, two, three…He opened the door.
'Good evening,' he said, every inch the gracious host, albeit a sinister, evil, intelligent and
determined one.
Root stood on the doorstep, palms up, the universal gesture for Look, I'm not carrying a big
murderous weapon.
'You're Fowl?'
'Artemis Fowl, at your service. And you are?'
'LEP Commander Root. Right, we know each other's names, so could we get on with this?'
'Certainly.'
Root decided to chance his arm. 'Step outside then. Where I can see you.'
Artemis's face hardened. 'Have you learned nothing from my demonstrations? The ship? Your
commandos? Do I need to kill someone?'
'No,' said Root hurriedly. 'I only -'
'You only meant to lure me outside, where I could be snatched and used to trade. Please,
Commander Root, raise your game or send someone intelligent.'
Root felt the blood pump through his cheeks.
'Now you just listen to me, you young ...'
Artemis smiled, in command again. 'Not very good negotiation techniques, Commander, to lose
your cool before we even get to the table.'
Root took several deep breaths.
'Fine. Whatever you say. Where would you prefer to conduct our talks?'
'Inside of course. You have my permission to enter, but remember, Captain Short's life is in your
hands. Be careful with it.'
Root followed his host down the vaulted hallway. Generations of Fowls glared down at him from
classical portraits. They passed through a stained-oak doorway to a long conference room. There
were two places set at a round table, complete with pads, ashtrays and water jugs.
Root was delighted to see the ashtrays and immediately pulled a half-chewed cigar from his vest.
'Maybe you're not such a barbarian after all,' he grunted, exhaling a huge cloud of green smoke.
The commander ignored the water jugs, instead pouring himself a shot of something purple from a
hip flask. He drank deeply, belched and sat.
'Ready?' Artemis shuffled his notes, like a newsreader. 'Here is the situation as I see it. I have the
means to expose your subterranean existence, and you are powerless to stop me. So, basically,
whatever I ask for is a small price to pay.'
Root spat out a shred of fungus tobacco. 'You think you can just put all this information out over
the Internet.'
'Well, not immediately, not with the time-stop in effect.'
Root choked on a lungful of smoke. Their ace in the hole. Rumbled.
'Well, if you know about the time-stop, you must also know that you are completely cut off from
the outside world. You are, in effect, powerless.'
Artemis jotted a note on the pad. 'Let's save some time here. I grow weary of your clumsy bluffs.
In the case of an abduction, the LEP will first send a crack Retrieval team to get back what has been
lost. You have done so. Excuse me while I titter. Crack team? Honestly. A Cub-Scout patrol armed
with water pistols could have defeated them.'
Root fumed silently, taking out his anger on the cigar butt.
'The next official step is negotiation. And finally, when the eight-hours' time limit is about to run
out, and if no solution can be reached, a bio-bomb is detonated, contained by the time-field.'
'You appear to know an awful lot about us, Master Fowl. I don't suppose you'll tell me how?'
'Correct.'
Root mashed the remains of his cigar into the crystal ashtray.
'So let's have it, what are your demands?'
'One demand. Singular.'
Artemis slid his notepad across the polished table. Root read what was written there.
'One tonne of twenty-four-carat gold. Small unmarked ingots only. You can't be serious.'
'Oh, but I am.'
Root sat forward in his chair. 'Don't you see? Your position is untenable. Either you give us back
Captain Short or we will be forced to kill you all. There is no middle ground. We don't negotiate.
Not really. I'm just here to explain the facts to you.'
Artemis smiled his vampire smile. 'Oh, but you will negotiate with me, Commander.'
'Oh, really? And what makes you so special?'
'I am special, because I know how to escape the time-field.'
'Impossible,' snorted Root. 'Can't be done.'
'Oh yes it can. Trust me, I haven't been wrong yet.'
Root tore off the top page, folding it into his pocket.
'I'll have to think about this.'
'Take your time. We have eight hours…excuse me, seven and a half hours, then time's up for
everybody.'
Root said nothing for a long while, tapping his nails on the tabletop. He took a breath to speak,
then changed his mind and stood abruptly.
'We'll be in touch. Don't worry, I'll see myself out.'
Artemis pushed his chair back.
'You do that. But remember this, none of your race has permission to enter here while I'm alive.'
Root stalked down the hallway, glaring back at the oil paintings. Better to leave now and process
this new information. The Fowl boy was indeed a slippery opponent. But he was making one basic
mistake - the assumption that Root would play by the rules. However, Julius Root hadn't got his
Commander's bars by following any rule book. Time for a bit of unorthodox action.
The videotape from Root's iris-cam was being reviewed by experts.
'You see there,' said Professor Cumulus, a behavioural specialist. 'That twitch, he's lying.'
'Nonsense,' huffed Doctor Argon, a psychologist from below the United States. 'He's itchy, that's
all. He's itchy so he scratches. Nothing sinister in it.'
Cumulus turned to Foaly.
'Listen to him. How can I be expected to work with this charlatan?'
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