In the old days, five elfin warlocks would form a pentagram around the target and spread a magic shield over it, temporarily stopping time inside the enchanted enclosure.
This was fine as far as it went, provided the warlocks didn't have to use the bathroom. Many a siege was lost because an elf had one glass of wine too many. Warlocks tire quickly too, and their arms get sore. On a good day, you had maybe an hour and a half, which was hardly worth the trouble in the first place.
It was Foaly's idea to mechanize the whole procedure. He had the warlocks do their thing into lithium batteries, and then he set up a network of receiver dishes around the designated area. Sounds simple? Well, it wasn't. But there were definite advantages. For one thing there were no more power surges. Batteries didn't try to show off to each other. You could calculate exactly how many power cells were needed, and sieges could be extended for up to eight hours.
As it happened, the Fowl estate was the perfect location for a time-stop — isolated with a definite boundary. It even had elevated towers for the dishes, for heaven's sake. It was almost as if Artemis Fowl wanted time stopped…Foaly's finger hesitated over the button.
Could it be possible? After all, the human youth had been one step ahead throughout this whole affair.
'Commander?'
'Are we on-line yet?'
'Not exactly. There's something — '
Root's reaction nearly blew out the woofers in Foaly's earpiece.
'No, Foaly! There isn't something! None of your bright ideas, thank you very much. Captain Short's life is in danger, so push the button before I climb that tower and push it with your face!'
'Touchy,' muttered Foaly, and pushed the button.
Lieutenant Gudgeon checked his moonometer.
'You have eight hours.'
'I know how much time I have,' growled Root. 'And stop following me. Don't you have work to do?'
'Actually, now that you mention it, I have a bio-bomb to arm.'
Root rounded on him. 'Don't annoy me, Lieutenant. Having you pass comments at every turn is not improving my concentration. Just do whatever it is you feel you have to do. But be prepared to back it up at tribunal. If this one goes wrong, heads are going to roll.'
'Indeed,' muttered Gudgeon under his breath. 'But mine is not going to be one of them.'
Root checked the sky. A shimmering azure field had descended over the Fowl estate. Good. They were in limbo. Outside the walls, life continued at an exaggerated pace, but if anyone were to somehow gain access to the manor in spite of the fortified walls and high gate, they would find it deserted, all occupants trapped in the past.
So for the next eight hours, it would be twilight on the Fowl estate. After that, Root could not guarantee Holly's safety. Given the gravity of the situation, it was more than likely that Gudgeon would get the go-ahead to bio-bomb the whole place. Root had seen a blue rinse before. No living thing escaped, not even the rats.
Root caught up with Foaly at the base of the north tower. The centaur had parked a shuttle by the metre-thick wall. Already the work area was a mess of tangled wires and pulsating fibre optics.
'Foaly? Are you in here?'
The centaur's foil-capped head emerged from the belly of a disembowelled hard drive.
'Over here, Commander. You've come to push a button with my face, I presume.'
Root almost laughed.
'Don't tell me you're looking for an apology, Foaly. I've already used my quota for today. And that was to a lifelong friend.'
'Gudgeon? Forgive me, Commander, but I wouldn't waste my apologies on the lieutenant. He won't be wasting any on you when he stabs you in the back.'
'You're wrong about him. Gudgeon is a good officer. A bit eager, certainly, but he'll do the right thing when the time comes.'
'The right thing for himself maybe. I don't think Holly is at the top of his priority list.'
Root didn't answer. He couldn't.
'And another thing. I have a sneaking suspicion that young Artemis Fowl wanted us to stop time. After all, everything else we've tried has played straight into his hands.'
Root rubbed his temples. 'That's impossible. How could a human know about time-stoppage? Anyway, this is no time for theorizing,
Foaly. I have less than eight hours to clean up this mess. So what have you got for me?'
Foaly clopped over to an equipment rack clamped to the wall.
'No heavy armament, that's for sure. Not after what happened to Retrieval One. No helmet either. That beast of a Mud Man seems to collect them. No, to show good faith, we're going to send you in unarmed and unarmoured.'
Root snorted. 'What manual did you get this from?'
'It's standard operating procedure. Fostering trust speeds communication.'
'Oh, stop quoting and give me something to shoot.'
'Suit yourself,' sighed Foaly, selecting what looked like a finger from the rack.
'What's that?'
'It's a finger. What does it look like?'
'A finger,' admitted Root.
'Yes, but not any ordinary finger.' He glanced around to make sure that no one else was watching. 'The tip contains a pressurized dart. One shot only. You tap the knuckle with your thumb and someone goes sleepy-bye.'
'Why haven't I seen this before?'
'It's a covert kinda thing…'
'And?' said Root suspiciously.
'Well, there have been accidents…'
'Tell me, Foaly.'
'Our agents keep forgetting they have it on.'
'Meaning they shoot themselves.'
Foaly nodded miserably. 'One of our best sprites was picking his nose at the time. Three days on the critical list.'
Root rolled the memory latex on to his index finger, where it immediately assumed the shape and flesh tone of the host digit.
'Don't worry, Foaly, I'm not a complete idiot. Anything else?'
Foaly unhooked what appeared to be a false bottom from the equipment rack.
'You're not serious! What does that do?'
'Nothing,' admitted the centaur. 'But it gets a great laugh at parties.'
Root chuckled. Twice. That was a major lapse for him.
'OK, levity over. Are you going to wire me?'
'Naturally. One iris-cam. What colour?' He peered into the commander's eyes. 'Hmm. Mud brown.' He selected a small vial from the shelf and removed the electronic contact lens from a fluid capsule. Plucking Root's eyelid with thumb and forefinger, he slotted in the iris-cam. 'That might irritate you. Try not to rub or it could end up in the back of your eye. Then we'd be looking into your head, and there's nothing interesting in there, heaven knows.'
Root blinked, resisting the urge to knead his watering eye.
'That's it?'
Foaly nodded. 'That's all we dare risk.'
The commander agreed reluctantly. His hip felt very light without a tri-barrelled blaster dangling from it.
'OK. I suppose this amazing dart finger will have to do. Honestly, Foaly, if this blows up in my face, you'll be on the next shuttle back to Haven.'
The centaur snickered. 'Just be careful in the toilet.'
Root didn't laugh. There were some things you didn't joke about.
Artemis's watch had stopped. It was as though Greenwich wasn't there any more. Or perhaps, mused Artemis, we're the ones who have disappeared. He checked CNN. It had frozen. A picture of Riz Khan 145jittered slightly on the screen. Artemis could not hold back a satisfied smile. They had done it, just like the Book said. The LEP had stopped time. All according to plan.
Time to check out a theory. Artemis wheeled over to the monitor bank and punched up the Mam Cam on the seventy-centimetre main monitor. Angeline Fowl was no longer on the chaise longue. Artemis panned around the room. It was empty. His mother had gone.
Disappeared. His smile widened. Perfect. Just as he'd suspected.
Artemis switched his attention to Holly Short. She was banging the bed again. Occasionally she would rise from the mattress, pounding the wall with her bare fists. Maybe it was more than frustration. Could there be method in her madness? He tapped the monitor with a slim finger.
'What are you up to, Captain? What's your little plan?' He was distracted by a movement on the avenue monitor.
'At last,' he breathed. 'The games begin.' A figure was advancing down the avenue. Small, but imposing nonetheless. Unshielded too.
Finished playacting then.
Artemis punched the intercom button.
'Butler? We have a guest. I'll show him in. You get back here and police the surveillance cameras.'
Butler's voice came back tinny through the speaker.
'Ten four, Artemis. On my way.'
Artemis buttoned his designer jacket, pausing at the mirror to straighten his tie. The trick to negotiation was to hold all the cards going in and, even if you didn't, to try to look as though you did.
Artemis put on his best sinister face. Evil, he told himself, evil but highly intelligent. And determined, don't forget determined. He put a hand on the doorknob. Steady now. Deep breaths, and try not to think about the possibility that you have misjudged this situation and are about to be shot dead. One, two, three…He opened the door.
'Good evening,' he said, every inch the gracious host, albeit a sinister, evil, intelligent and determined one.
Root stood on the doorstep, palms up, the universal gesture for Look, I'm not carrying a big murderous weapon.
'You're Fowl?'
'Artemis Fowl, at your service. And you are?'
'LEP Commander Root. Right, we know each other's names, so could we get on with this?'
'Certainly.'
Root decided to chance his arm. 'Step outside then. Where I can see you.'
Artemis's face hardened. 'Have you learned nothing from my demonstrations? The ship? Your commandos? Do I need to kill someone?'
'No,' said Root hurriedly. 'I only — '
'You only meant to lure me outside, where I could be snatched and used to trade. Please, Commander Root, raise your game or send someone intelligent.'
Root felt the blood pump through his cheeks.
'Now you just listen to me, you young…'
Artemis smiled, in command again. 'Not very good negotiation techniques, Commander, to lose your cool before we even get to the table.'
Root took several deep breaths.
'Fine. Whatever you say. Where would you prefer to conduct our talks?'
'Inside of course. You have my permission to enter, but remember, Captain Short's life is in your hands. Be careful with it.'
Root followed his host down the vaulted hallway. Generations of Fowls glared down at him from classical portraits. They passed through a stained-oak doorway to a long conference room. There were two places set at a round table, complete with pads, ashtrays and water jugs.
Root was delighted to see the ashtrays and immediately pulled a half-chewed cigar from his vest.
'Maybe you're not such a barbarian after all,' he grunted, exhaling a huge cloud of green smoke. The commander ignored the water jugs, instead pouring himself a shot of something purple from a hip flask. He drank deeply, belched and sat.
'Ready?' Artemis shuffled his notes, like a newsreader. 'Here is the situation as I see it. I have the means to expose your subterranean existence, and you are powerless to stop me. So, basically, whatever I ask for is a small price to pay.'
Root spat out a shred of fungus tobacco. 'You think you can just put all this information out over the Internet.'
'Well, not immediately, not with the time-stop in effect.'
Root choked on a lungful of smoke. Their ace in the hole.
Rumbled.
'Well, if you know about the time-stop, you must also know that you are completely cut off from the outside world. You are, in effect, powerless.'
Artemis jotted a note on the pad. 'Let's save some time here. I grow weary of your clumsy bluffs. In the case of an abduction, the LEP will first send a crack Retrieval team to get back what has been lost.
You have done so. Excuse me while I titter. Crack team? Honestly. A Cub-Scout patrol armed with water pistols could have defeated them.'
Root fumed silently, taking out his anger on the cigar butt.
'The next official step is negotiation. And finally, when the eight-hours' time limit is about to run out, and if no solution can be reached, a bio-bomb is detonated, contained by the time-field.'
'You appear to know an awful lot about us, Master Fowl. I don't suppose you'll tell me how?'
'Correct.'
Root mashed the remains of his cigar into the crystal ashtray.
'So let's have it, what are your demands?'
'One demand. Singular.'
Artemis slid his notepad across the polished table. Root read what was written there.
'One tonne of twenty-four-carat gold. Small unmarked ingots only. You can't be serious.'
'Oh, but I am.'
Root sat forward in his chair. 'Don't you see? Your position is untenable. Either you give us back Captain Short or we will be forced to kill you all. There is no middle ground. We don't negotiate. Not really. I'm just here to explain the facts to you.'
Artemis smiled his vampire smile. 'Oh, but you will negotiate with me, Commander.'
'Oh, really? And what makes you so special?'
'I am special, because I know how to escape the time-field.'
'Impossible,' snorted Root. 'Can't be done.'
'Oh yes it can. Trust me, I haven't been wrong yet.'
Root tore off the top page, folding it into his pocket.
'I'll have to think about this.'
'Take your time. We have eight hours…excuse me, seven and a half hours, then time's up for everybody.'
Root said nothing for a long while, tapping his nails on the tabletop. He took a breath to speak, then changed his mind and stood abruptly.
'We'll be in touch. Don't worry, I'll see myself out.'
Artemis pushed his chair back.
'You do that. But remember this, none of your race has permission to enter here while I'm alive.'
Root stalked down the hallway, glaring back at the oil paintings.
Better to leave now and process this new information. The Fowl boy was indeed a slippery opponent. But he was making one basic mistake — the assumption that Root would play by the rules. However, Julius Root hadn't got his Commander's bars by following any rule book.
Time for a bit of unorthodox action.
The videotape from Root's iris-cam was being reviewed by experts.
'You see there,' said Professor Cumulus, a behavioural specialist.
'That twitch, he's lying.'
'Nonsense,' huffed Doctor Argon, a psychologist from below the United States. 'He's itchy, that's all. He's itchy so he scratches. Nothing sinister in it.'
Cumulus turned to Foaly.
'Listen to him. How can I be expected to work with this charlatan?'
'Witch doctor,' countered Argon.
Foaly raised his hairy palms.
'Gentlemen, please. We need agreement here. A concrete profile.'
'It's no use,' said Argon. 'I can't work in these conditions.'
Cumulus folded his arms.
'If he can't work, neither can I.'
Root strode through the shuttle double doors. His trademark purple complexion was even rosier than usual.
'That human is toying with us. I will not have it. Now, what did our experts make of the tape?'
Foaly moved slightly to the side, allowing the commander a clear run at the so-called experts.
'Apparently they can't work in these conditions.'
Root's eyes narrowed to slits, bringing his prey into sharp focus.
'Excuse me?'
'The good doctor is a halfwit,' said Cumulus, unfamiliar with the commander's temper.
'I–I'm a halfwit?' stuttered Argon, equally ignorant. 'What about you, you cave fairy? Plastering your absurd interpretations on to the most innocent of gestures.'
'Innocent? The boy is a bag of nerves. Obviously lying. It's textbook.'
Root slammed a clenched fist on to the table, sending a spider's web of cracks scurrying across the surface.
'Silence!'
And silence there was. Instantly.