Chapter 12

~ And Back to Val ~


~ Sorry, I wasn't able to write last week. Happy St. Patrick's Day! (only a few days late) ~


Artemis Fowl II waited silently in his blacked-out limousine. He tapped out a beat on the side panel, then impatiently rolled down the separator.

"Any sign of them?" asked the teenager.

"No sign," responded Butler, his- well Butler.

Artemis shuffled. Carlos had called him the night before. Jon was suspicious. Artemis wasn't worried. He'd thought the man would be overly paranoid, almost all the genii were.

And so, here Artemis sat, waiting for the signal. His plan was a simple one, and yet it depended on the complexest of calculations. Everything had to happen in the precise amount of time in the same precise fashion.


The Valkyrie sat in her lair. That's what she called it. Every Bodyguard needed something cool about them- Val had two; a name and a codename for a house.

She swiveled around in her chair, the plush white cushion making the slightest of noises as she did so. A small screeching sound emanated from the thing- she needed a new one or an oil can; either way, she was too lazy to get them.

She sipped contentedly from her wine glass containing Vino. She was pleased with her remodeling abilities. Her friends said she couldn't, but she could.

She had finished the hour before- the last sofa was in place, the last lamp was set, the last painting nailed into the wall- even the Iron Maiden was in its corner. Her authentic Katana from her years training with her Sensei was in a display case, the glass showing no faults such as scratches and dust.

She sighed contentedly once more, took a deep breath – and her phone rang.

Slowly, she released the breath – meditatively – then reached over and flipped the screen up. Private number, yeah right!

Butler.

Val giggled to herself contentedly. She briskly ran fingers through her hair, ruffling the edges. Gaining a new expression – she always had an expression on her face when she talked on phones – she pressed the green call button.

"Yes!" she snapped, in character as usual.

"Valkyrie, I presume?" responded the deep voice from the other end.

"Who wants to know?"

"Artemis Fowl II, Lady."

"Ahhh, so I'm speaking to Butler – his pristine Manservant," Val had to sit on her arm to stop it from fist pumping. Her expression changed from the strict person she was interpreting, to the slightly intrigued associate. "And what does the young prodigy ask of me?" Talking about Boss's, that could eventually end up somewhere around dating, right, Val quickly thought before Butler responded.

"He requests a conciliation- just a quick five minute meeting over brunch." Brunch, that can definitely be turned into a date.

"Great," she said, a cheeky smile spreading her face, "whens the da- locations, time, et cetera?"

"Chicago, in about half an hour – the Starbucks across your apartment complex," Butlers voice rung it's content, and then – silence.

Val quickly screamed, getting it out of her system; to her outfit!


Artemis, in his usual Armani suit and tie combo – though he'd never call anything a combo – was sipping at his Dolce Espresso con Panna, a caramel and cream infused shot of espresso, when she entered. Butler sat to his left, drinking casually the Pike Place Roast in front of his; it was as black and bitter as possible.

Dressed in a black frock, with a black silver threaded bolero, high heeled black boots - size five – and a chain linked necklace, she gazed around the room. Black eyeliner – well lined her eyes, and a perfect pale red lipstick laced her lips. Her hair was clasped to the back of her head in a bun, and a showpurse was held in one hand.

Not trying too hard at all, was she?

They didn't need to motion to her; she was already on her way.

"So, Mr. Fowl, how may I help you?" she said as she sat down, accent heavy, without ordering a drink.

Mr. Fowl almost sighed, but at the last minute held it together.

"I have a little vendetta, very minor, with someone. I'll be strait forward with you, Lady Val; it's Jon Spiro, and anyone working under his name . . ."

She hadn't made the connection yet, as I doubt you have as well.

"I . . . decline," She said, faltering. This was her chance to Butler. Though not even that should fog her mind when faced with her business. She couldn't betray her boss, as she thought Artemis would've asked her if given another minute. And it wouldn't have benefited her to be a double agent, working for Artemis and then reporting it all to Jon- that was just asking for trouble.

After a moment of silence, Artemis regretfully said, as if it actually hurt him.

"I see . . . Well, nice doing business with you."

With that, the teenager finished his drink calmly, watching Val with intent eyes. He took his last sip, the last drop of espresso, and exited the venue- Butler in toe.

Val reluctantly, awkwardly, turned to go outside when she caught sight of something – what, she didn't know, but her instincts told her something was there.

She left the Starbucks, for perhaps the eleventh time that month, and walked right into it . . .


"Are you sure it was a good idea?" Holly asked Artemis, from an altitude higher then most 747's. "We've already relocated Loafers here, don't you think this could light the spark that relights the embers of his memory."

"Quite imaginative, Holly; have you been working on your linguistics?"

"O' bug off, Mudman. I'm serious here. You've gotten the People involved in you little vendetta, for what . . . maybe the eighth time?" she accused.

"Honestly Holly, we've exhausted all other locations, Butler and I- this is the best place for her. She's the fairest person they've ever seen, she'll probably be treated like a Goddess." And then, under his breath, he said, "As long as they don't eat her . . ."

"Artemis!"

"What?"

"You know I can hear everything you say! I'm taking her out of here before they . . . find her . . ."

At that moment, precisely as planned, Loafers headed a group of hunters. Each wielded a spear, a loincloth, a headdress, and a mobile phone.

They each surrounded her, the tall lady dressed in a simple white dress. Three men attacked, and three men were beaten head to toe.

They had chosen to attack her instead of greet here, like with Loafers – who again, led the hunting party – stopping in his tracks, the young addition to their hierarchy, remembered his own past. This precise piece of land.

"She'll be fine, Holly, now just come back to the Fowl Manor . . ."

Reluctantly, one of the last emotions felt by Val when she still had her memory, Holly swiveled around in her hummingbird 2100, and back to base for here indeed.


"First Loafers, and now Val? Jon, do you have no care for my people? My best people!" Carla screamed at Jon, who was shrugging into a corner – remembering what Carla used to be like, what she might soon become once more – when Carlos stepped in.

"You called me?" the young heir inquired.

"Carlos!" Jon charmed – anything to distract Carla from their current predicament – and led the boy over to his desk.

"Take a seat . . ."

Carlos sat.

"Can you just tell me what it is? I've a shotgun shooting range to go to," he whined.

"Yes, yes – Well, we're ready for our sabotage of Fowl Manor. Vlad Vulkov and his men are at top speed for Ireland, in their boats . . ." he listed off another half a dozen military commanders, Kim Kommando, a Chinese dramatic triad Lieutenant. Nasim Faraj, the terrorist, and Sgt. Balod, a retired sour man from the United States Military. "And all you have to do is lure Fowl out of that pretty Manor, out from behind those walls."

"With all that firepower, you could nock down those walls," suggested Carlos.

"Now that," Jon said, pointing a thin finger at Carlos, "is a good idea. But . . . I don't know – there are too many complications. It would be much simpler to just shoot him as he exits."

"But Spiro, you have a mixture of men which account to seventy-five – plus commanders such as Vlad – why have them when you'll just need one sniper bullet of 50. calibers."

Carlos saw the light from the mans eyes relinquish- he obviously hadn't thought farther then get firepower in his plan.

"I tell you what, Spiro; I'll throw together a plan, a plan filled with pain and regret . . ." The elder man's face was a mirror to his soul; it shone with glee.

"'Nuff said, I'll get together my drawing pad and clipboard," the boy left, remember one last line Artemis had told him to say, "I'll have Arno help with the particularly gruesome parts . . ." he said under his breath.

Jon smiled, Carla's anger forgotten – it would all turn out just fine.


Sorry I wasn't able to write last week - if it helps I was too busy. I had a camping trip with my Troop last Sunday, and unfortunately didn't write it all in time. So, here it is.

Happy St. Patrick's Day, hope you feasted on enough cabbage and corned beef!

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~