Hey everyone—I know I didn't have much of an introduction last time, so here goes!
This fic is meant to be long—It's currently about 50 pages in Word but I'm not halfway done. There are sequel possibilities. I'm having trouble finding any one genre to place it in. So, general.
Kitty Rainbow—Thanks for your review! You pointed out the glasses thing, well…
I have an explanation. Kind of. I have no idea where that came from. None. I think I must be going crazy. Of course, I wrote this right after Arctic Incident came out, a while ago. I hadn't glanced at it until I dusted it off and decided to post it.
Kelti—Yeah, not much humor yet but I'm still in the exposition-y type stage. I put that on a whim, for lack of a better genre.
God, longest A/N ever. Not really
This is why I need a beta. ^_^
Chapter 2
The woman seated behind the desk is tall, slender, and at this moment, extremely panicked. At fifty-nine years of age, she is not the average businesswoman, but with her cold blue eyes, designer suit, and gray-streaked hair, she isn't anybody's grandmother either.
The phone at her ear is custom made, supporting both normal telephone lines and another, exotic frequency that made the well-paid manufacturers scratch their heads and increase their bills. Only one person has access to that other frequency, and it is this person that is now talking loudly on the other end.
This person's voice is rough, grating, and male, and the woman sits still, examining the excellent view of the Munich skyline that her office provides, while this person talks.
"You tried to kill Artemis Fowl? You tried to kill Artemis Fowl! You sent an assassin to kill Artemis Fowl! What were you thinking?!"
"The 'assassin' is one of the best in his trade. Or, was." says the woman sulkily, in flawless English, and is immediately interrupted.
"Are you taking this seriously at all? The only hope we have of avoiding Artemis Fowl in this little game is to not let him know anything about it! And sending a hired assassin to the Fowl Mansion doesn't exactly constitute that to me. D'Arvit!" the voice swears, and it is this, an absolutely foreign word that sends chills down the woman's spine and makes her wish more than ever that she had stuck to her own species.
"I had no way of knowing that the man would not succeed," the woman tries again, and again she is cut off.
"I'll tell you how you could have known! You could have asked me! I would have told you, Artemis Fowl is a genius, the criminal prodigy of this century, he is the best-guarded person in the world, you had no chance from the start! But you had to play your little subversive games and now he'll suspect something."
The voice changes suddenly, becomes brisk and businesslike. "I suppose the man is dead?"
"He has not reported back," says the woman. "It is two hours past our rendezvous, so yes, he is most probably dead."
"Good," says the voice. "We cannot let Fowl know that we have anything to do with this. Remember, no mistakes at all!"
The phone is hung up abruptly, but the woman sits motionless for a few seconds, thinking about the powerful equipment she has supplied her assassin with, the technology with patents not held by any human, and she realizes with a dread that she has already made the worst mistake that she could.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Artemis woke up early the next morning, dragging his protesting body out of bed and stumbling down the stairs to his cup of coffee.
Only it wasn't made yet, and he had to do it himself, and when he burned himself and dropped a cup, he realized that this was not going to be a good day. He tossed it down his throat like a shot of vodka, then ran back upstairs to dress in black training pants and a white t-shirt, before flying back to the lab.
Butler was already waiting there, the assassin's dead body spread-eagled on the operating table, and suddenly Artemis felt sick.
"Good morning," Butler said inscrutably and Artemis really couldn't stand the thought of cutting into another person on this morning. He weighed the options in his head, quickly, then decided just as swiftly and turned back to Butler.
"I think," he said, "that we really don't need to do an autopsy on this one. You did the lab sample on the poison?"
"Yes, sir," said Butler. "It was pure powdered cyanide."
"So," Artemis continued, "It's perfectly clear what the cause of death was. We probably won't find any identification, but we can run his face through the computers just in case. Er...call somebody to come dispose of the body anyways."
"Yes, sir," said Butler, and Artemis was much relieved. He pulled out his Pocket PC and scanned the man's face with a patented attachment of his own invention (used mostly by the police, in criminal investigations and identification cases.)
A few minutes later, the man's bump-mapped features were being reconstructed and scanned in select German police files in Artemis' computer lab. Artemis watches the loading bar idly. He didn't really expect anything to come up, these sorts were usually very careful with their records, but it never hurt to check.
There was a beep from the computer and Artemis nearly fell out of his chair in surprise. There again was the mapped face, but now it had skin and hair and a background surimposed over it, all in glorious pixilated color.
Artemis studied the image for a second, then clicked the link beneath the picture. He was taken immediately to the Munich Police Force's files, where he saw the man's short file.
"Johanne Straussburg," he read out loud. He skipped the physical stats and early biography, went straight to more recent information. "Employee of the National German Party, Straussburg is under investigation along with co-workers for political corruption, including bribery, fraud, and fund-raising matters."
Political corruption, Artemis thought. Fund-raising matters. The file isn't very specific, is it? Someone over in Munich's getting a payoff. Someone else over there doesn't want dirt on their organization, too.
His mind spun through this information and stopped at one phrase. The National German Party? I've never heard of them...I've been keeping up with their politics, too. National German Party...employee of...might be worth checking out.
But first, the fairies.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Captain Holly Short fidgeted in her chair before Commander Root's desk.
"Did you hear me?" he asked again. "We have to call Fowl."
"We don't have to," she said, and even to in her own ears it sounded extremely petulant.
"Yes," Root said, "We do. I want you to go up there and get him and bring him down here. He needs to see the girl. You know he does."
Holly shivered, knowing the truth of Root's words. There was no way Artemis would refuse to help them if he saw what she had just seen. And they needed his help. Badly.
"He'll want something in return," she maintained stubbornly. "You know Artemis never does something for nothing."
"If it's gold he wants," Root said. "We're willing to pay it. We'll give him anything within reason, really. Just as long as he doesn't want half the kingdom and the princess' hand in marriage."
"I'm not so sure about the kingdom part," Holly said darkly.
Root sent a glare her way. "Just go see Foaly, okay?" he said irritably. "He'll equip you and after that I want you on the first chute out of here. To Tara."
"Tara," Holly groaned. "It's the beginning of summer! Do you have any idea how hard it'll be to get a ride to Tara? Every rich vacationer in the city will be chartering private rides topside right about now." She was just looking for something to complain about, and the Commander knew it.
"There's never a good time to go to Tara," growled Root. "Now get yourself out of here and go see Foaly!"
Holly strode to Foaly's office in frustration. She knew that they needed Artemis for this case, but she had mixed feelings about working with the human again. On the one hand, she had accumulated a certain amount of respect for him over the time of their acquaintance. On the other hand, he was one of the most annoying, frustrating, career-wrecking creatures she had ever come across.
Foaly was standing over a frantic group of techies, bawling them out over some code glitch or other. The techs gave Holly a relieved look when she tapped Foaly on the shoulder.
He jumped about two feet into the air and let out a horse-like bray of alarm. Looking around frantically, he relaxed only when he spotted Holly.
"Don't do that!" he exclaimed.
Holly rolled her eyes. That was Foaly, still as paranoid as ever. She snickered to herself when she remembered his first (and last) surprise party. They hadn't meant for it to end up in the emergency room. But there was no doubt that he was the most brilliant person living. When it came to technology, at least.
"I'm going topside," she said. "I need a pod, a set of wings- good wings, not those old Hummingbirds you seem so fond of giving me. No weaponry."
"So what grunt work is Root making you do this time?" Foaly asked.
"That's classified information," she snapped.
"So it involves that Fowl Mudboy, huh?"
Holly ignored Foaly. She hated it when he was right. And he was always right.
"Hold on," he said. "I just got a set of Windwings in today. Pre-issue, even. They're faster than anything on the market these days. Nearly soundless too. Now you can't complain about the wings."
"I need a pod too," she told him.
"To Tara?" he asked. She nodded. Foaly shook his head. "How am I supposed to get you a pod to Tara? You'll have to go down to the shuttleport and get one yourself."
"Foaly," she said in exasperation.
He laughed at her. "Okay, okay I'll see what I can do. Wait here."
Foaly disappeared behind one of his computers. Holly listened in interest as he called up the shuttle people, asking politely, then erupting into dire threats when the other end seemed reluctant. After a few minutes of yells, he came sauntering back to Holly.
"I nearly promised those people my first-born son," he said, trying unsuccessfully not to look pleased with himself, "but I got you a chute to Tara. You can worship me now, or later if you're too busy."
"You're not even married," she snarled, snatching the wings he held out to her. "And if I get there and I don't have a pod after all, or they've given it away to some vacationing billionaire, you won't live long enough to have a son."
"Touchy, aren't we?" called Foaly as she stormed through the door.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Artemis was seated in front of one of his ever-present computers, lost in thought.
Or rather, trying to be lost in thought, which was very difficult at the moment. Juliet, Butler's younger sister, had wrestling on the TV next to him, and was enthusiastically imitating the wrestlers' moves. And cheering.
"Juliet," called Artemis. "Keep it down, will you? I'm trying to think."
If she heard him, she gave no indication. She spun around and did a body slam into the floor.
"Juliet," Artemis tried again. "Will you please be quiet? I can't hear myself think in here! Go watch one of the other TV's."
She let out a howl of delight as one of the burly men on stage soared through the air.
"JULIET!" yelled Artemis finally, losing his patience. "Will you shut up already? My God, I can't hear anything, you're screaming so loud."
Juliet glanced up, giving him a hurt look. "Fine," she said. "You didn't have to yell, you know. I would have gone if you had just asked."
Artemis made a wordless noise of exasperation as she stalked out of the room, rigid with indignation. As soon as she was gone, he settled back into his chair, heaving a sigh.
They needed to solve the puzzle of this latest assassin. And to do that, they needed to talk to LEPrecon. He was ready to leave, Butler was ready, the only problem was; how would they get in touch with the fairies? All the other times, the fairies had been the ones to initiate contact. Artemis still didn't know the entrances to any of their chutes, or shuttleports. Maybe if he...
His thoughts were interrupted (again) by the very answer to his dilemma, in the form of a small, angry person flying through the open window, followed closely by Butler, who scrambled over the windowsill.
Captain Holly Short disengaged her wings as she entered the room, hitting the floor in a roll. Almost immediately, she stood up and spun to face the Fowl boy.
Behind her, Butler landed beneath the window, breathless from his climb up the handy trellis on the wall. He dusted himself off, and started toward Holly, who dodged him.
"Artemis Fowl," she said loudly, to the boy in the chair.
Butler noticed Artemis' presence for the first time, and immediately stood up straight, ending his pursuit of Holly.
"Captain Holly Short," said Artemis. "Why do you people never use the door?"
"I would have," she snapped, "but that Mudman guard dog of yours was watching it. He followed me as it is. He's very fast," she added grudgingly.
"Sir, I went after the elf to bring her to you," Butler said stiffly.
"Well here she is anyways," said Artemis. "Good job. Captain Short," he continued, turning towards Holly. "What business brings you here?"
"My orders are to bring you back to Haven City," she said. "I personally don't think that you can help us, but Commander Root has some crazy idea in his head, and he's the boss."
"Help you with what?" asked Artemis.
"All questions will be answered once we reach Police Plaza," Holly said unhelpfully.
"Let me rephrase that," Artemis said. "Why should I come with you?"
"LEPrecon has reason to believe that there is a threat to both Mudm- that is, human and fairy security. As our only human contact, you are needed for consultation." She paused, then went on. "We are willing to provide appropriate compensation -monetarily, or otherwise."
Appropriate compensation. The words lit up in Artemis' mind, and started that old familiar tingle beneath his skin. LEPrecon must want his help badly if they were willing to go to all these lengths to talk to him. Something was up. Something big.
"Butler?" he said, glancing at the big man next to him.
Butler's forehead was furrowed. This was just like Artemis, to go rushing in to any situation, no matter how dangerous. Still, the elf's words didn't seem menacing... they seemed a little desperate, if anything. This felt... it felt right.
He nodded once towards Artemis. It's your decision, his motion said.
Artemis' eyes gleamed. "All right, Short," he said. "We'll come with you."
A/N. Yes, Artemis has an autopsy lab. He is a super genius. Also, a billionaire. And also, as a part-time criminal, he does not like having inconvenient doctors asking questions about random dead bodies. Hence, DIY.