The Artemis Fowl Files - Eoin Colfer [27]
The white-suited algae therapist wandered over with a phone on a transparent tray.
“A call from Police Plaza, Sister Short,” he said. His tone left Holly in no doubt what he thought of phone calls in this oasis of calm.
“Thank you, Brother Hummus,” she said, snatching the handset. Foaly was on the other end.
“Bad news, Holly,” said the centaur. “You’ve been recalled to active duty. A special assignment.”
“Really?” said Holly, simultaneously punching the air and trying to sound disappointed. “What’s the assignment?”
“Take a couple of deep breaths,” advised Foaly. “And maybe a few pills.”
“What is it, Foaly?” insisted Holly, though her gut already knew.
“It’s …”
“Artemis Fowl,” said Holly. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” admitted Foaly. “The Irish boy is back. And he’s teamed up with a dwarf. We don’t know what they’re planning, so you need to find out.”
Holly clambered from the sludge tub, leaving a trail of green algae on the white carpet.
“I can’t imagine what they are planning,” she said, bursting into the locker room. “But I can tell you two things. We won’t like it, and it won’t be legal.”
* * *
The Fowl Lear Jet, Over the Atlantic Ocean
Mulch Diggums was soaking in the Lear jet’s high tech Jacuzzi bath. He absorbed gallons of water through his thirsty pores, flushing the toxins from his system. When he felt sufficiently refreshed, he emerged from the bathroom wrapped in an oversize bathrobe. He looked like nothing more than the world’s ugliest bride, trailing a train behind him.
Artemis Fowl was toying with an iced tea while he waited for the dwarf. Butler was flying the plane.
Mulch sat down at the coffee table and poured an entire saucer of nuts down his gullet, shells and all.
“So, Mud Boy,” he said. “What’s going on in that devious brain of yours?”
Artemis steepled his fingers, peering around them through wide-set blue eyes. There was quite a lot going on in his devious mind, but Mulch Diggums would only be hearing a small portion of it. Artemis did not believe in sharing all the details of his schemes with anyone. Sometimes the success of these plans depended on nobody knowing exactly what they were doing. Nobody but Artemis himself.
Artemis put on his friendliest face, leaning forward in his chair.
“The way I see it, Mulch,” he said. “You already owe me a favor.”
“Really, Mud Boy? And how do you figure that?”
Artemis patted the LEP helmet on the table beside him. “No doubt you bought this on the black market. It is an older model, but it still has the standard LEP voice-activated mike, and the self-destruct.”
Mulch tried to swallow the nuts, but his throat was suddenly dry.
“Self-destruct?”
“Yes. There’s enough explosive packed in here to turn your head to jelly. There would be nothing left but teeth. Of course there would be no need to activate the self-destruct if the voice-activated mike leads the LEP right to your door. I have switched these functions off.”
Mulch frowned. He would be having words with the fence who had sold him the helmet. “Okay. Thanks. But you don’t expect me to believe that you saved me out of the goodness of your heart.”
Artemis chuckled. He could hardly expect anyone who knew him to believe that.
“No. We have a common goal. The Fei Fei tiara.”
Mulch folded his arms across his chest. “I work alone. I don’t need you to help me steal the tiara.”
Artemis plucked a newspaper from the table, spinning it across to the dwarf. “Too late, Mulch. Someone already beat us to it.”
The headline was in bold capitals: CHINESE TIARA STOLEN FROM MET.
Mulch frowned. “I’m getting a bit confused here, Mud Boy. The tiara was at the Met? It was supposed to be at the Fleursheim.”
Artemis smiled. “No, Mulch. The tiara was never at the Fleursheim. That was just what I needed you to believe.”
“How did you know about me?”
“Simple,” replied Artemis. “Butler told me of your unique tunneling talents, so I began to research recent robberies. A pattern