Artemis Fowl_ The Arctic Incident - Eoin Colfer [25]
Cudgeon decided to use Luc for three reasons. One, Foaly’s files showed that Carrère had a reputation as a wheeler-dealer. In spite of his ineptness as an investigator, Luc had a knack for laying his hand on whatever it was the client wanted to buy. Two, the man was greedy and had never been able to resist the lure of easy money. And three, Luc was stupid. And as every little fairy knows, weak minds are easier to mesmerize.
The fact that he had located Carrère in Foaly’s database was nearly enough to make Cudgeon smile. Of course, Briar would have preferred not to have any human link in the chain. But a chain comprised completely of goblin links is one dumb chain.
Establishing contact with any Mud Man was not something Cudgeon took lightly. Deranged as he was, Briar was well aware of what would happen if the humans got wind of a new market below ground. They would swarm to the Earth’s core like an army of red-backed flesh-eating ants. Cudgeon was not ready to meet the humans head on. Not yet. Not until he had the might of the LEP behind him.
So instead, Cudgeon sent Luc Carrère a little package. First class, shielded goblin mail…
Luc Carrère had shuffled into his office apartment one July evening to find a small parcel lying on his desk. The package was nothing more than a FedEx delivery. Or something that looked very much like a FedEx delivery.
Luc slit the tape. Inside the box, cushioned on a nest of hundred-euro bills, was a small flat device of some kind. Like a portable CD player, but made from a strange black metal that seemed to absorb light. Luc would have shouted to recepion and instructed his secretary to hold all calls. If he had had a reception. If he had had a secretary. Instead the PI began stuffing cash down his grease-stained shirt as though the notes would disappear.
Suddenly, the device popped open, clam-like, revealing a micro-screen and speakers. A shadowy face appeared on the display. Though Luc could see nothing but a pair of red-rimmed eyes, that was enough to set goose bumps popping across his back.
Funny though, because when the face began to speak, Luc’s worries slid away like an old snakeskin. How could he have been worried? This person was obviously a friend. What a lovely voice. Like a choir of angels, all on its own.
‘Luc Carrère?’
Luc nearly cried. Poetry.
‘Oui. It’s me.’
‘Bonsoir. Do you see the money, Luc? It’s all yours.’ Sixty miles below ground, Cudgeon almost smiled. This was easier than expected. He had been worried that the dribble of power left in his brain wouldn’t be sufficient to mesmerize the human. But this particular Mud Man seemed to have the will-power of a hungry hog faced with a trough of turnips.
Luc held two wads of cash in his fists. ‘This money. It’s mine? What do I have to do?’
‘Nothing. The money is yours. Do whatever you want.’
Now Luc Carrère knew that there was no such thing as free cash, but that voice… That voice was truth in a micro-speaker.
‘But there’s more. A lot more.’
Luc stopped what he was doing, which was kissing a hundred-euro bill. ‘More? How much more?’
The eyes seemed to glow crimson. ‘ As much as you want, Luc. But to get it, I need you to do me a favour.’
Luc was hooked. ‘Sure. What kind of favour?’
The voice emanating from the speaker was as clear as spring water. ‘It’s simple, not even illegal. I need batteries, Luc. Thousands of batteries. Maybe millions. Do you think you can get them for me?’
Luc thought about it for about two seconds. The banknotes were tickling his chin. As a matter of fact, he had a contact on the river who regularly shipped boatloads of hardware to the Middle East, including batteries. Luc was confident that some of those shipments could be diverted.
‘Batteries. Oui, certainment, I could do that.’
And so it went on for several months. Luc Carrère hit his contact for every battery he could lay his hands on. It was a sweet deal. Luc would crate the cells up in