Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer [24]
Root was silent for a moment, formulating his strategy.
“Go to full alert, and get Retrieval out of their bunks and back down here. Prep them for a surface shot. I want full tactical and a couple of techies. You too, Foaly. We may have to stop time on this one.”
“Ten four, Commander. You want Recon in on this?”
Root nodded. “You bet.”
“I’ll call in Captain Vein. He’s our number one.”
“Oh, no,” said Root. “For a job like this, we need our very best. And that’s me. I’m reactivating myself.”
Foaly was so amazed, he couldn’t even formulate a smart comment.
“You’re . . . You’re . . .”
“Yes, Foaly. Don’t act so surprised. I have more successful recons under my belt than any officer in history. Plus I did my basic training in Ireland. Back in the top hat and shillelagh days.”
“Yes, but that was five hundred years ago, and you were no spring bud then, not to put too fine a point on it.”
Root smiled dangerously. “Don’t worry, Foaly. I’m still running red hot. And I’ll make up for my age with a really big gun. Now get a pod ready. I’m leaving on the next flare.”
Foaly did what he was told without a single quip. When the commander got that glint in his eyes, you hopped to and kept your mouth shut. But there was another reason for Foaly’s silent compliance. It had just hit him that Holly could be in real trouble. Centaurs don’t make many friends, and Foaly was worried he might lose one of the few he had.
Artemis had anticipated some technological advances, but nothing like the treasure trove of fairy hardware spread out on the four-wheel drive’s dashboard.
“Impressive,” he murmured. “We could abort this mission right now and still make a fortune in patents.”
Artemis ran a handheld scanner bar over the unconscious elf’s wristband. He then fed the fairy characters into his PowerBook translator.
“This is a locator of some kind. No doubt this leprechaun’s comrades are tracking us right now.”
Butler swallowed. “Right now, sir?”
“It would seem so. Or at any rate they’re tracking the locator—”
Artemis stopped speaking suddenly, his eyes losing focus as the electricity in his cranium sparked off another brainwave.
“Butler?”
The manservant felt his pulse quicken. He knew that tone. Something was afoot.
“Yes, Artemis?”
“That Japanese whaler. The one seized by the port authorities. Is she still tied up at the docks?”
Butler nodded. “Yes, I believe so.”
Artemis twirled the locator’s band around his index finger.
“Good. Take us down there. I believe it’s time to let our diminutive friends know exactly who they’re dealing with.”
Root rubber-stamped his own reactivation with remarkable speed—very unusual for LEP upper management. Generally it took months, and several mind-crushingly dull meetings, to approve any application to the Recon Squad. Luckily, Root had a bit of influence with the commander.
It felt good to be back in a field uniform, and Root even managed to convince himself that the jumpsuit was no tighter around the middle than it used to be. The bulge, he rationalized, was caused by all the new equipment they jammed into these things. Personally, Root had no time for gadgetry. The only items the commander was interested in were the wings on his back and the multiphase, water-cooled, tribarreled blaster strapped to his hip—the most powerful production handgun under the world. Old, to be sure, but it had seen Root through a dozen firefights and it made him feel like a field officer again.
The nearest chute to Holly’s position was E1:Tara. Not exactly an ideal location for a stealth mission, but with barely two hours of moon time left there was no time for an overground jaunt. If there was to be any chance of sorting out this mess before sunrise, speed was of the essence. He commandeered the E1 shuttle for his team, bumping a tour group that had apparently been on line for two years.
“Tough nuggets,” Root growled at the holiday rep. “And what’s more, I’m shutting down all nonessential flights until the present crisis is past.”
“And when might