Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer [44]
“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 taking out his weapon. “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 news anchor. “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. “So, 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. Gone.
“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-hour 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 ton of twenty-four-carat gold. Small unmarked ingots only.