Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer [53]
Selecting a sturdy chin hair, Mulch fed it gently into the tiny hole. When the tip reappeared, he pulled the root from his chin. The hair immediately stiffened, retaining the shape of the lock’s interior.
Mulch held his breath and twisted. Smooth as a goblin’s lie, the lock opened. Beautiful. At moments like these, it was almost worth all the jail time.
The kleptomaniac dwarf swung back the little door. Beautiful work. Almost worthy of a fairy forge. Light as a wafer. Inside was a small chamber. And in the chamber was ...
“Oh, gods above,” breathed Mulch.
Then things came to a head rather rapidly. The shock that Mulch had experienced communicated itself to his bowels, and they decided the excess air had to go. Mulch knew the symptoms. Jelly legs, bubbling cramps, wobbly behind. In the seconds remaining to him, he snatched the object from the safe and, leaning over, he clasped his knees for support.
The constrained wind had built itself up to mini-cyclone intensity and could not be constrained. And so it exited. Rather abrasively. Blowing open Mulch’s back flap, and slamming into the rather large gentleman who had been sneaking up behind him.
Artemis was glued to the monitors. This was the time when things traditionally went wrong for kidnappers— the third quarter of operations. Having been successful thus far, the abductors tended to relax, light up a few cigarettes, get chatty with their hostages. Next thing they knew, they were flat on their faces with a dozen guns pointed at the backs of their heads. Not Artemis Fowl. He didn’t make mistakes.
No doubt the fairies were reviewing the tapes of their first negotiating session, searching for anything that would give them a way in. Well, it was there all right. All they had to do was look. Buried just deep enough to make it look accidental.
It was possible that Commander Root would try another ruse. He was a wily one, no doubt about it. One who would not take kindly to being bested by a child. He would bear watching.
The mere thought of Root gave Artemis the shivers. He decided to check in again. He inspected the monitors. Juliet was still in the kitchen, scrubbing at the sink. Washing the vegetables.
Captain Short was on her bunk. Quiet as the grave. No more bed banging. Perhaps he had been wrong about her. Perhaps there was no plan.
Butler stood at his post outside Holly’s cell. Odd. He should have been on his rounds by now. Artemis grabbed a walkie-talkie.
“Butler?”
“Roger, base. Receiving.”
“Shouldn’t you be on your rounds?”
There was a pause. “I am, Artemis. Patrolling the main landing. Coming up on the safe room. I’m waving at you right now.”
Artemis glanced at the landing cameras. Deserted. From every angle. Definitely no waving manservant. He studied the monitors, counting under his breath . . . There! Every ten seconds, a slight jump. On every screen.
“A loop!” he cried, jumping from his chair. “They’re feeding us a loop!”
Over the speaker, he could hear Butler’s pace quickening to a run.
“The safe room!”
Artemis’s stomach dropped into queasy hell. Duped! He, Artemis Fowl, had been duped, even though he’d known it was coming. Inconceivable. It was arrogance that had done it. His own blinding arrogance, and now the entire plan could collapse around his ears.
He switched the walkie-talkie to Juliet’s band. It was a pity now that he’d taken the house’s intercom off-line, but it didn’t operate on a secure frequency.
“Juliet?”
“Receiving.”
“Where are you right now?”
“In the kitchen. Wrecking my nails on this grater.”
“Leave it, Juliet. Check on the prisoner.”
“But, Artemis, the carrot sticks will dry out!”
“Leave it, Juliet!” shouted Artemis. “Drop everything and check on the prisoner!”
Juliet obediently dropped everything, including the walkie-talkie. She’d sulk for days now. Never mind. There was no time to worry about a teenage girl’s bruised ego. He had more important matters to tend to.
Artemis depressed the master switch on the computerized