A/N: Thanks again for the constructive reviews, and the back reviewing too! (Don't feel guilty if you can't think of anything to criticise, specific statements about what you liked are just as helpful, in a different way.) As a reward to you all, I am uploading well ahead of schedule. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not mine. Eoin Colfer's.

CHAPTER 6

Artemis was beginning to make some headway – both on the box and with the execution of his plan.

He had also taken the opportunity in the bathroom to wash his face at the tiny knee-level sink, surreptitiously brushing the aggravating contact lenses out of his eyes and down the drain. That annoyance disposed of and the first phase of his plan having been successfully completed, he was now ready to initiate the second phase. And although phase two was not so critical to the future of the fairies, it was looking as though it could be substantially more important to his own survival.

Originally, Artemis had postulated two theories as to why he had not yet been rescued. His first glimpse of the walls of his cell had confirmed the first; the thick, metal from which they were constructed was definitely capable of blocking his transmitter signal. His first priority, therefore, presuming the LEP were still looking for him, was to be found.

As he had learned during his week-long stay in Haven, waiting to be cleared of wrongdoing in his last encounter with Opal Koboi, fairies considered the indoor toilet to be the most disgusting of human inventions – with the possible exception of dirty nuclear weapons, but that was still a debatable point. No fairy building was complete without a tiny garden and, hidden at the back, an outhouse. Once Artemis was outside, there would be nothing to shield his tracking device from Foaly's search.

His trip through the warehouse and garden, however, had also confirmed his second theory; the place he was being held was a veritable fortress. Thick pipes he recognised as the plasma conduits for DNA cannons lined the corridors, the guns themselves sitting in every corner, watching his passage with gleaming red sensors. The windows may have been a weak point, for all he could see them through the thick curtains designed to block out snipers and reconnaissance, but were more likely to be magically reinforced and as impenetrable as the rock walls. Even the garden was covered by a battery of cannons and appeared to be built up over thick asphalt, which he knew to be deadly to dwarves. The LEP may well not be able to enter even if they did manage to obtain some unorthodox help and their efforts would be no use at all unless Foaly could somehow disable the security.

Given the amount of time that had now elapsed, it was clear that there was little hope for Artemis' original naïve plan that the LEP could simply enter the house, disable the guards, and take him away. Given the seriousness of the current situation, Artemis knew that it wouldn't take very long at all before the simple solution of blue-rinsing everything occurred to the fairies, which meant he had only a small window of opportunity in which to act if he was to secure his own safety.

Fortunately, his new plan had included a second phase to deal with this very possibility. Artemis was confident that, if the LEP could not extract him, they would at least provide him with the opportunity he needed to convince Sool to move. They were not, after all, an organisation primarily famed for their stealth.

But he was having second thoughts... His plan was risky. If his deductions were wrong, fairies would die. Innocent fairies. Perhaps a blue-rinse really was the cleanest solution. Artemis didn't want to die, but could he really justify risking so many lives in an effort to save his own?

He had been debating with himself as he worked, for about almost hour, when Sool returned, looking extremely irritated and carrying a steaming ceramic bowl of food.

"Have you worked out how to open it yet?" he demanded, placing his burden on the table.

"No, sir," said Artemis. The smell of the stew was wafting across to him – slightly spicy, but not overly so – a rich, hearty smell that reminded him of Butler's best steak. His stomach rumbled loudly as his long-forgotten hunger was reawakened. "May I eat?" He gestured to the bowl of soup with the box he had been ordered to work on still in his hand.

"Yes, of course," said Sool impatiently. "That's why I brought it. How much longer is it going to take you?"

"I don't know, sir," said Artemis, carefully setting the box down and pulling the bowl towards him. "Pandora spent days figuring it out."

He smiled around his first spoonful of the thick stew. The marvellous thing about the truth, really, was that there was just so much of it to tell. The trick was to choose the parts that suited you and to frame them in such a way that the real meaning was entirely lost – and Artemis had mastered that art before he had learned to speak in full sentences. He had narrowed the solution to Pandora's box down to only half a dozen possibilities, but he couldn't know for certain which one would open it without risking the box popping open – which he had been explicitly ordered not to do. It would only take him a few minutes more at the most, if he hadn't been ordered not to open the box – but that wasn't the question he'd been asked, was it?

Sool looked even more irritated. "You need to work faster!" he ordered. "The LEP's already found us; they've got two retrieval teams sniffing around outside and I'm expecting that blasted centaur's tech shuttle to turn up at the gates any moment. Rheeson made certain little – changes – to their bio-bombs before we left, so they will detonate in the technician's face as soon as they're armed, but that might not buy us much time if the centaur survives the first bomb."

Artemis nearly choked on his stew, furious with himself for not realising that Sool would have anticipated this. And just like that, his mind was suddenly made up. It may not have been just his own life he was risking – but it wasn't just his own life that would be saved either.

Carefully, Artemis chewed and swallowed, pushing down the emotion. As he had expected, the LEP had given him the perfect opening, making Sool this worried, but he couldn't afford to make a mistake here. After a few moments, he felt ready.

"They're probably having trouble believing you're serious about using it," he shrugged casually. Then, in a bitter undertone almost smothered in his stew, he added, "I wish I could have trouble believing it. If they could see what you're willing to put me through, they'd take you seriously."

Sool frowned and then slowly an ugly smile spread across his face. No one liked to be underestimated, least of all those who truly believed in their cause. "I'll show them who's serious," he growled, and then he swept out of the room. "Get back to work as soon as you're finished eating," he called back over his shoulder. "And eat quickly!"

Artemis didn't need to be told to eat quickly, he was quite happy to do that even without orders, suppressing an pleased smile at how easy that had been. Not even a minute had passed before he reached the bottom of the bowl and pushed it away. He picked up Pandora's box carefully, beginning to rotate it slowly and evenly in his hands while his thumbs methodically rearranged the black and white tiles, rehearsing for the gnome's return.

I managed to convince Kelp to allow us to accompany him as he presented the situation to the Council. As he had predicted, they did not like the idea of simply waiting for the next move of a terrorist who held the means to destroy their entire world, piece by piece.

If it hadn't been my son's life at stake, I wouldn't have blamed them. As it was... The order for tactical bombing with a light-based biological weapon, in fact, had almost been signed without any acknowledgement of our presence, when I stepped forward, absolutely livid with rage.

"My son," I fumed, "is innocent, here. This situation is not his fault. You dragged him into this. You failed to protect the most dangerous artefact in your society. Arty's been abducted by your megalomaniac – and he's the one is going to suffer for it!"

I made deliberate eye contact with each member of the Council in turn as I spoke, not allowing them to hide behind the group mentality, forcing them to admit their personal responsibility. Now came the delicate part because, with my contact lenses long corroded past usability, I had absolutely no recourse if they called my bluff. If I didn't get this right, my son would die.

"I'm no more susceptible to the mesmer or a mind wipe than Arty," I lied, raising my chin defiantly and pushing every ounce of sincerity I could muster into my voice. "You'll have to kill me too, because I will have absolutely no regrets about exposing my son's murderers to the human world."

A low murmur ran around the Council chamber. Angeline came to stand by my side and gripped my hand. "That makes two of us," she said. "Kill us if you must, but we will not be silent while you murder our son."

The hair on the back of my neck rose as I felt the sudden threatening presence of the Butlers behind us. One of them, presumably my less experienced Butler, began wordlessly cracking his knuckles. The sound was like tiny fairy bones breaking and, although it was a little overdone, I had to admit it was effective. The message was clear: actually, little fairies, that makes four of us – and don't think we'll be going quietly.

"Mr. Fowl," said the Council chairman wearily. "Mrs. Fowl. Messrs Butler. We are heartily ashamed that we have allowed this situation to arise. Loss of life – any life – is abhorrent to us. The death of your son, especially given some of the services he has provided to our people in the last several years, would be deeply regrettable. You cannot, however, seriously expect us to allow our entire civilisation to be destroyed to save one life – or even five lives."

"I don't," I said, my tongue feeling like it was made of ash as I verbally signed what I knew could be my son's death warrant. "All I ask is that you wait until there are no other options. Arty's a smart boy. If you give him some time, he'll think of something and then you won't have to live with any of our deaths on your consciences."

The chairman exchanged loaded glances with the other seven Council members, then gave a defeated shake of his head. "You have eight hours," he said. "That's all we can risk. I hope you're right, Fowl."

I hoped I was too, but I was saved the trouble of replying because at that moment, Foaly burst into the room, carrying a laptop computer, followed closely by Short.

"We've received a message," said Foaly tersely. "It's definitely Sool who has the box and Fowl, he contacted me directly and showed me both. I've got the video here to play for you."

Angeline leapt forward hopefully, but I was suddenly even more worried than I had been a few minutes ago. Foaly wasn't looking at me as he connected the computer into the wall-screen in the council chamber, but it wasn't simply a symptom of concentrating on his work. He was avoiding my eyes like the plague, the body language of his human torso simply screaming 'bad news'.

When the image was finally thrown up on the screen, I hardly even noticed the gnome who looked directly at the camera. My eyes were fixed on the sight of Arty, who was seated at a small table in a bare-looking cell.

He was naked, or at least it appeared so from what we could see of him, and it would not have been an unusual move to relieve a captive of his clothes to establish a level of psychological vulnerability. There were more effective ways, of course, but those required a level of experience and subtlety I suspected Sool did not possess.

Arty's usually clear blue eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed from lack of sleep, dark smears staining the white skin underneath them. Until this moment, I had never appreciated quite how pale my son was; his skin seemed almost translucent. It was not impossible that he had become slightly anaemic if he had not been adequately fed over the past two days, but the boy had no tan marks whatsoever, no colour graduation at all between his chest and his face. His thin wrists, however, were a much darker colour, mottled with blue and red bruises from pulling against restraints. They were unbound now and in his hands lay an intricate cylindrical puzzle-box, which he steadily rotated clockwise as his thumbs manipulated the black and white tiles on its surface with militaristic precision.

Angeline gave a strangled sob and buried her head in my shoulder after only the briefest of glances. Arty's Butler stared at the screen with an utterly blank face, his knuckles white on his Sig Sauer. My Butler remained unmoved, coolly continuing to scan the room for any immediate threat to my person. At that moment, I despised him for his complete indifference to my son's plight.

"…I will open the box and bring Haven to justice," the gnome was saying, when I finally pulled myself together enough to start listening.

"Why are you doing this?" pleaded the centaur's recorded voice.

"Why?" the gnome scoffed. "What I want to know is why nobody has had the gumption to do it before! Crime is spiralling out of control and the LEP is disorganised, ineffectual, and corrupt – as is the Council. This is the only way to truly enforce order – immediate, permanent consequences for anyone who dares to break the rules."

"Establish order?" demanded Foaly. "Don't you realise you could completely destroy Haven?"

"Sacrifices must be made," returned Sool loftily. "If Haven truly does go down in flames then, like Sodom and Gomorrah, it was hardly worth saving. But since you bleeding-hearted fools can't seem to see what must be done, and will likely try to stop me, I will warn you that we are well protected, here. The DNA cannons are all in operation and they have been programmed to reject anyone but myself, my assistant, … and my new slave, of course," he added nonchalantly, reaching up to ruffle Arty's hair in a hideous parody of paternal affection.

My fists clenched by my sides and, although Arty didn't flinch, keeping his eyes fixed firmly the slowly rotating box, the tension in his jaw didn't loosen until Sool's hand was well away. It took my fists substantially longer to relax as I took deep, calming breaths to dispel the tightness that had settled over my chest.

"You – " Short's recorded voice was stammering. "You made him swear a slave oath? That's monstrous!"

"Ah, Miss Short," sneered Sool. "I might have guessed you'd be involved with the efforts to rescue your little pet human, but I'm afraid you're too late – he's mine now."

"Artemis is my friend," spat Short in response. "Not that you'd know anything about that! And it's Captain Short – since your suspension, I've been reinstated by Commander Kelp."

Sool's face twisted with rage and I spared the real Short a quick glare. If Sool had to hurt Arty now to prove a point, I was going to have to ask my Butler to have rather pointed discussion with her.

I decided it was easier if I pretended that it was someone else's son on the screen, not my Arty. It wasn't my bruised and sleep deprived son pictured there, under the control of an unstable psychopath, it was someone else's son. It wasn't my son who, after the briefest of pauses that conveyed volumes to me about his opinion of Short's abysmal hostage negotiation technique, began working a little faster on Pandora's box.

At that moment, I was glad I had managed to garner some emotional distance, as I came to a sudden realisation. No – this wasn't someone else's son. This was my son. My brilliant, scheming Arty who, as usual, had the situation completely under control…

"You'll get what you deserve, Short," sneered Sool finally. "And so will that trumped-up excuse for a commander who let you back into the LEP. Soon, I will have the ultimate weapon in law enforcement – the power to crush all who oppose me. And don't think I'll hesitate to use it against the LEP. I assure you, it will be a pleasure."

With that, he cut the connection.

I couldn't hold my joy and relief in any longer and the fairies turned, one by one, to stare at me as my laugh cut through the confused and worried babble of voices in the Council-room. Suddenly, I was in my element again. My son was alive and well – or well enough, at least, to be playing his captor like a piano. I may not have been able to pull solutions to insoluble problems out of thin air – but now I had something to work with.

"Masterful, Arty!" I finally managed, gasping for breath to explain myself to the incredulous fairies. "I don't know what his plan is, but I do know that he's got one. It doesn't make the least bit of sense for Sool to show us this; why would he show us that he can't open the box yet? He should be avoiding all contact so that he doesn't give us any concrete knowledge of his plans, or at worst trying to convince us that he can destroy your civilisation at any time he chooses. For some reason, though, Arty's manipulated him into thinking that showing us what's really happening is a good idea – we just have to work out what he wants us to get from it."

I already knew one thing Arty wanted us to get from this. He would certainly be aware of what a pathetic figure he cut at the moment. He would also be aware that the simplest solution, as far as the fairies were concerned, would be a strategic bombing to annihilate both Sool and his captive. Seeing Arty bruised and naked, clearly acting under duress, confirmed his helplessness and innocence in everyone's minds, striking directly at what he considered to be the fairies' most exploitable trait. After seeing this tape, the fairies' imaginations would do the rest, and it would now be very difficult any remotely kind-hearted Council member to order the whole place to be bombed.

Elements in Arty's plans, however, rarely served a single purpose and, without communicating any explicit reason for hope, this would do nothing more than delay their inevitable decision. There must have been something else that he wanted us to see – something that would make this worth what had surely been a delicate effort, especially if he had needed to work around some sort of compulsion.

"Replay it without the sound, Foaly," I instructed and moved over to the screen. "See here – he's not attempting any moves that don't succeed. That means he's already solved the puzzle, at least theoretically. So what's he doing? You'll also notice he speeds up when he realises he's running out of time – there's something he wanted us to see, to do with the box. Something that took all the time he had."

Foaly placed the video on a loop and we all stared at it, examining the rotating box intensely. It was Arty's Butler who saw the pattern first.

"SOS – it's Morse code!" he cried. "Watch the top row of tiles."

I looked closer at the tiles and, after a few moments, I recognised the pattern Butler was talking about just before it rotated out of view. Dot dot dot, dash dash dash, dot dot dot. It was a code every child knew but, having never learned anything other than those two letters, I couldn't make sense of any more than that.

Foaly galloped over to the computer and typed frantically, muttering something about "primitive Mud Men" under his breath. Moments later, he restarted the video from the beginning, this time on fast forward, and a set of clear-text captions began scrolling along the screen.

…OS SOS TME STP ASAP SOS KP OUT SOS SGNL AF1 PRGUE MLCH SOS DNT BLU …

Then the transmission cut. There were a few moments silence as we all puzzled it out, before one of the Council members gave up. "That's all very well," he huffed, "but what does it mean?"

The question was directed at Foaly, who immediately took the floor. "As I understand it," he said "he wants us to execute a time stop as soon as possible, and for us to keep out of the time field. I don't know what use a time stop will be to him – he must know that it won't stop the power inside Pandora's box – but if the Mud Whelp thinks it's a good idea, then I'm all for it. The last bit's probably telling us not to blue-rinse him – well, I guess he knows how we think. The other bit – well, I suspect I'm not the best person to answer."

He gestured to me, and I exchanged a knowing glance with Arty's Butler before I spoke. "It's a message for Artemis Fowl the First," I explained. "Me. The only job we ever did together was in Prague – he was six and I needed an innocent-looking decoy at a chess tournament."

"Timmy!" cried Angline in outrage and I winced. I was going to suffer for that later, I could tell – I could only hope that she didn't start putting dates together and realise that the earrings she had been presented with after our victorious return from the tournament had been a part of our haul.

My wife wasn't stupid; she just trusted me a little more than I deserved sometimes. It was part of what I loved about her, but it did mean I had to be particularly careful not to arouse her suspicions. If she worked out that her earrings were stolen, she would probably insist on sending the priceless rubies back to the Sultan of Brunei with a note of apology – and if there was one thing I really didn't need to contemplate at the moment, it was how I could intercept that package and forge a believable reply.

"He was perfectly safe, dearest," I soothed, hoping more than believing that this would be the end of the matter. "His Butler was with him the whole time. For the moment, be glad that Arty could communicate what he needed to us."

I turned back to face the fairies. "I know what Arty wants me to do. I just don't know how expects me to be able to do it – the team I hired spent months digging tunnels for the Prague operation."

"That, I think," said the round little fairy who had previously claimed to be unable to help us rescue Arty, "is where I come in. Mulch Diggums, tunnel-digger extraordinaire, at your service," he said, emerging from a rather overdone bow with a grin that exposed a disturbingly large number of spade-like teeth.

I hadn't even realised I was smiling back until several of the Council members flinched.

Diggums' grin faded by several molars.

"Er – I recognise that look. I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" he asked nervously. "What exactly is it that you need me to do?"

To be continued...