The boy groaned. That water was as deadly as any bullet. He’d been afraid that something like this would happen.

  Root had been following the rescue attempt. “Okay. She’s over the water. Can you see him, Holly?”

  No answer. Just static in his earphones.

  “Status, Captain? Respond.”

  Nothing.

  “Holly?”

  She’s not talking because it’s too late, thought Artemis. There’s nothing she can do to save my father, and it’s all my fault.

  Root’s voice cut through his thoughts.

  “The Russians are evacuating,” he said. “Holly’s at the sub now, over the hole in the ice. She’s going in. Holly, what have you got? Come on, Holly. Talk to me.”

  Nothing. For the longest time.

  Then Holly erupted through the ice like a mechanized dolphin. She arced briefly through the Arctic night, crash landing on the Nikodim’s deck.

  “She has your father,” said the commander.

  Artemis slipped on the spare Recon helmet, willing Holly’s voice to sound through the speakers. He magnified the picture in his visor until it seemed as though he could touch his father. Artemis watched Holly lean over his father’s chest, pulses of magic shooting down her fingers.

  After several moments, Holly looked up, straight into Artemis’s eyes, as though she knew he was watching.

  “I got him,” she gasped. “One live Mud Man. He’s not pretty, but he’s breathing.”

  Artemis sank to the ground, sobs of relief shaking his thin shoulders. He cried for a whole minute. Then he was himself again.

  “Well done, Captain. Now let’s get out of here before Foaly activates one of these incinerator packs by accident.”

  In the bowels of the earth, the centaur leaned back from his communications console.

  “Don’t tempt me,” he chuckled.

  AN EPILOGUE, OR TWO

  Tara

  Artemis was heading back to Saint Bartleby’s. This was where he had to be when the Helsinki medical services identified his father from the suitably weathered passport Foaly had run up for him.

  Holly had done her best for the injured man, healing his chest wound and even restoring sight to his blinded eye. But Artemis Senior needed prolonged medical attention, and it had to begin somewhere that could be rationally explained. So Holly had flown southwest to Helsinki, depositing the unconscious man at the doors of the University Hospital. One porter had spotted the flying patient, but he had been successfully mind-wiped.

  When Artemis Senior regained consciousness, his the past two years would be a blur, and his most recent memory would be a happy one: bidding his family farewell at Dublin Harbor. Thanks again to Foaly and his mindwiping technology.

  “Why don’t I just move in with you?” the centaur had quipped when they returned to Police Plaza. “Do your ironing while I’m at it.”

  Artemis smiled. He had been doing that a lot lately. Even the parting with Holly had gone better than he could have expected, considering she’d seen him shoot his own father. Artemis shuddered. He anticipated many sleepless nights over that particular strategy.

  The captain escorted them to Tara, slipping them out through a holographic hedge. There was even a holographic cow chewing the virtual leaves to throw humans off the fairy scent.

  Artemis was back in his school uniform, which had been miraculously restored by the People’s technology. He sniffed his lapel.

  “This blazer smells unusual,” he commented. “Not unpleasant, but unusual.”

  “It’s completely clean.” Holly smiled. “Foaly had to put it through three cycles in the machine to purge—”

  “To purge the Mud Man from it,” said Artemis.

  “Exactly.”

  There was a full moon overhead, bright and pocked like a golf ball. Holly could feel its magic singing to her.

  “Foaly said, in light of the help you’ve given us, he’s pulling the surveillance on Fowl Manor.”

  “That’s good to know,” said Artemis

  “Is it the right decision?”

  Artemis considered it. “Yes. The People are safe from me.”

  “Good. Because a large section of the Council wanted you mind-wiped. And with a chunk of memory that big, your IQ could take a bit of a dip.”

  Butler extended a hand.

  “Well, Captain. I don’t suppose I’ll see you again.”

  Holly shook it. “If you do, it’ll be too late.” She turned toward the fairy fort. “I had better go. It will be light soon. I don’t want to be caught unshielded on a spy satellite. The last thing I need is my photo all over the Internet, not when I’ve just been reinstated at Recon.”

  Butler elbowed his employer gently.

  “Oh, Holly…eh, Captain Short.”

  Eh? Artemis couldn’t believe he’d actually said eh. It wasn’t even a word.

  “Yes, Mud B…yes, Artemis?”

  Artemis looked Holly in the eye, just as Butler had instructed him to. This being civil business was more difficult than one would think.

  “I would like to…I mean…what I mean is…”

  Another elbow from Butler.

  “Thank you. I owe you everything. Because of you I have my parents. And the way you flew that craft was nothing short of spectacular. And on the train…well, I could never have done what you…”

  A third elbow. This time to stop the babbling.

  “Sorry. Well, you get the idea.”

  Holly’s elfin features wore a strange expression. Somewhere between embarrassment, and could it possibly be, delight? She recovered quickly.

  “Maybe I owe you something too, human,” she said, drawing her pistol. Butler almost reacted, but decided to give Holly the benefit of the doubt.

  Captain Short plucked a gold coin from her belt, flicking it fifty feet into the moonlit sky. With one fluid movement, she brought her weapon up and loosed a single blast. The coin rose another fifty feet, then spun earthward. Artemis somehow managed to snatch it from the air. The first cool moment of his young life.

  “Nice shot,” he said. The previously solid disk now had a tiny hole in the center.

  Holly held out her hand, revealing the still raw scar on her finger. “If it wasn’t for you, I would have missed altogether. No mech-digit can replicate that kind of accuracy. So, thank you too, I suppose.”

  Artemis held out the coin.

  “No,” said Holly. “You keep it, to remind you.”

  “To remind me?”

  Holly stared at him frankly. “To remind you that deep beneath the layers of deviousness, you have a spark of decency. Perhaps you could blow on that spark occasionally.”

  Artemis closed his fingers around the coin. It was warm against his palm.

  “Yes, perhaps.”

  A small two-seater plane buzzed overhead. Artemis glanced skyward, and when he looked back, Holly was gone. A slight heat haze hovered above the grass.

  “Good-bye, Holly,” he said softly.

  The Bentley started on the first turn of the key. In less than an hour they arrived at Saint Bartleby’s main gate.

  “Make sure your phone’s switched on,” Butler said, holding the door. “The Helsinki officials should be getting the results of their trace from Interpol soon. Your father’s file has been reactivated in their mainframe, thanks, once again, to Foaly.”

  Artemis nodded, checking that his phone was activated. “Try to locate Mother and Juliet before the news comes through. I don’t want to be hunting through every spa in the south of France looking for them.”

  “Yes, Artemis.”

  “And check that my accounts are well hidden. No need for Father to know exactly what I’ve been up to for the past two years.”

  Butler smiled. “Yes, Artemis.”

  Artemis took a few steps toward the school gates, then turned.

  “And, Butler, one more thing. In the Arctic…”

  Artemis couldn’t ask, but his bodyguard knew the answer anyway.

  “Yes, Artemis,” he said gently. “You did the right thing. It was the only way.”

  Artemis nodded, standing by the gates until the Bentley had disappeared down the avenue. From this moment on, life would be different. With two parents in the manor, his schemes would have to be much more carefully planned. Yes, he owed it to the People to leave them alone for a while, but Mulch Diggums—that was a different matter. So many secure facilities, so little time.

  Counselor’s Office, Saint Bartleby’s School for Young Gentlemen

  Not only was Dr. Po still employed at Saint Bartleby’s, but he seemed to have been fortified by his break from Artemis. His other patients were relatively straightforward cases of anger management, exam stress, and chronic shyness. And that was just the teachers.

  Artemis settled onto the couch, taking care not to accidentally press the power button on his mobile.

  Dr. Po nodded at his computer. “Dean Guiney forwarded me your e-mail. Charming.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” muttered Artemis, surprised to find that he actually was sorry. Upsetting other people didn’t usually bother him. “I was in denial. So, I projected my anxieties onto you.”

  Po half chuckled. “Yes, very good. Just what it says in the book.”

  “I know,” said Artemis. And he did know. Dr. F. Roy Dean Schlippe had contributed a chapter to that particular book.

  Dr. Po laid down his pen, something he had never done before.

  “You know, we still haven’t resolved that last issue.”

  “Which issue is that, Doctor?”

  “The one we touched on at our last session. About respect?”

  “Ah, that issue.”

  Po steepled his fingers. “I want you to pretend I’m as smart as you are, and give me an honest answer.”

  Artemis thought of his father, lying in a Helsinki hospital, of Captain Holly Short risking her life to help him, and, of course, of Butler, without whom he would never have made it out of Koboi Laboratories. He looked up, and found Dr. Po smiling at him.

  “Well, young man, have you found anyone worthy of your respect?”

  Artemis smiled back. “Yes,” he said. “I believe I have.”

  Knightsbridge, London

  Artemis Fowl was almost content. His father would be discharged from Helsinki’s University Hospital any day now. He himself was looking forward to a delicious lunch at En Fin, a London seafood restaurant, and his business contact was due to arrive at any moment. All according to plan.

  His bodyguard, Butler, was not quite so relaxed. But then again, he was never truly at ease. One did not become one of the world’s deadliest men by dropping one’s guard. The giant Eurasian man flitted between tables in the Knightsbridge bistro, hiding the usual security items and clearing exit routes.

  “Are you wearing the earplugs?” he asked his employer. Artemis sighed deeply. “Yes, Butler, though I hardly think we are in danger here. It’s a perfectly legal business meeting in broad daylight, for heaven’s sake.”

  The earplugs were actually sonic filter sponges cannibalized from fairy Lower Elements Police helmets. Butler had obtained the helmets, along with a treasure trove of fairy technology, when one of Artemis’s schemes had pitted him against a fairy SWAT team more than a year before. The sponges were grown in LEP labs, and had tiny porous membranes that sealed automatically when decibel levels surpassed safety standards.

  “Maybe so, Artemis, but the thing about assassins is that they like to catch you unawares.”

  “Perhaps,” replied Artemis, perusing the menu’s entrée section. “But who could possibly have a motive to kill us?”

  Butler shot one of the half dozen diners a fierce glare, just in case she might be planning something. The woman must have been at least eighty.

  “They might not be after us. Remember, Jon Spiro is a powerful man. He put a lot of companies out of business. We could be caught in a crossfire.”

  Artemis nodded. As usual, Butler was right, which explained why they were both still alive. Jon Spiro, the American he was meeting, was just the kind of man who attracted assassins’ bullets—a successful IT billionaire with a shady past and alleged Mob connections. Rumor had it that his company, Fission Chips, had made it to the top on the back of stolen research. Of course, nothing was ever proven. Not that Chicago’s district attorney hadn’t tried. Several times.

  A waitress wandered over, smiling a dazzling smile. “Hello there, young man. Would you like to see the children’s menu?”

  A vein pulsed in Artemis’s temple.

  “No, mademoiselle, I would not like to see the children’s menu. I have no doubt that the children’s menu itself tastes better than the meals on it. I would like to order à la carte. Or don’t you serve fish to minors?”

  The waitress’s smile shrunk by a couple of molars. Artemis’s vocabulary had that effect on most people. Butler rolled his eyes. And Artemis wondered who would want to kill him? Most of the waiters and tailors in Europe, for a start.

  “Yes, sir,” stammered the unfortunate waitress. “Whatever you like.”

  “What I would like is a medley of shark and swordfish. Pan seared. On a bed of julienned vegetables and new potatoes.”

  “And to drink?”

  “Spring water. Irish, if you have it. And no ice, please. As your ice is no doubt made from tap water, which rather defeats the purpose of spring water.”

  The waitress scurried to the kitchen, relieved to escape from the pale youth at table six. She’d seen a vampire movie once. The undead creature had had the very same hypnotic stare. Maybe the kid spoke like a grown-up because he was actually five hundred years old.

  Artemis smiled in anticipation of his meal, unaware of the consternation he’d caused.

  “You’re going to be a big hit at the school dances,” Butler commented.

  “Pardon?”

  “That poor girl was almost in tears. It wouldn’t hurt you to be nice occasionally.”

  Artemis was surprised. Butler rarely offered opinions on personal matters.

  “I don’t see myself at school dances, Butler.”

  “Dancing isn’t the point. It’s all about communication.”

  “Communication?” scoffed young Master Fowl. “I doubt there is a teenager alive with a vocabulary equal to mine.” Butler was about to point out the difference between talking and communicating when the restaurant door opened. A small, tanned man entered, flanked by a veritable giant. Jon Spiro and his security.

  Butler bent low to whisper in his charge’s ear. “Be careful, Artemis. I know the big one by reputation.”

  Spiro wound through the tables arms outstretched. He was a middle-aged American, thin as a javelin, and barely taller than Artemis himself. In the eighties, shipping had been his thing; in the nineties, he had made a killing in the stock market. Now, it was communications. He wore his trademark white linen suit, and there was enough jewelry hanging from his wrists and fingers to gold-leaf the Taj Mahal.

  Artemis rose to greet his associate. “Mr. Spiro, welcome.”

  “Hey, little Artemis Fowl. How the hell are you?”

  Artemis shook the man’s hand. His jewelry jangled like a rattlesnake’s tail.

  “I am well. Glad you could come.”

  Spiro took a chair. “Artemis Fowl calls with a proposition, I would walk across broken glass to be here.”

  The bodyguards appraised each other openly. Apart from their bulk, the two were polar opposites. Butler was the essence of understated efficiency. Black suit, shaven head, as inconspicuous as it was possible to be at almost seven feet tall. The newcomer had bleached-blond hair, a cut-off T-shirt, and silver pirate rings in both ears. This was not a man who wanted to be forgotten, or ignored.

  “Arno Blunt,” said Butler. “I’ve heard about you.”

  Blunt took up his position at Jon Spiro’s shoulder.

  “Butler. One of the Butlers,” he said in a New Zealand drawl. “I hear you guys are the best. That’s what I hear. Let’s hope we don’t have to find out.”

  Spiro laughed. It sounded like a box of crickets. “Arno, please. We are among friends here. This is not a day for threats.”

  Butler was not so sure. His soldier’s sense was buzzing like a nest of hornets at the base of his skull. There was danger here.

  “So, my friend. To business,” said Spiro, fixing Artemis with his close set, dark eyes. “I’ve been salivating all the way across the Atlantic. What have you got for me?”

  Artemis frowned. He’d hoped business could wait until after lunch.

  “Wouldn’t you like to see a menu?”

  “No. I don’t eat much anymore. Pills and liquids mostly. Gut problems.”

  “Very well,” said Artemis, laying an aluminum briefcase on the table. “To business, then.”

  He flipped open the case’s lid, revealing a blue cube the size of a mini-disk player nestled in blue foam.

  Spiro cleaned his spectacles with the tail end of his tie.

  “What am I seeing here, kid?”

  Artemis placed the shining box on the table.

  “The future, Mr. Spiro. Ahead of schedule.”

  Jon Spiro leaned in, taking a good look. “Looks like a paperweight to me.”

  Arno Blunt snickered, his eyes taunting Butler.

  “A demonstration, then,” said Artemis, picking up the metal box. He pressed a button and the gadget purred into life. Sections slid back to reveal speakers and a screen.

  “Cute,” muttered Spiro. “I flew three thousand miles for a micro TV?”

  Artemis nodded. “A micro TV. But also a verbally controlled computer, a mobile phone, a diagnostic aid. This little box can read any information on absolutely any platform, electronic or organic. It can play videos, laser disks, DVDs, go online, retrieve e-mail, hack any computer. It can even scan your chest to see how fast your heart’s beating. Its battery is good for two years, and of course it’s completely wireless.”

  Artemis paused, to let it sink in.

  Spiro’s eyes grew huge behind his spectacles.

  “You mean, this box…”

  “Will render all other technology obsolete. Your computer plants will be worthless.”