The Arctic Incident

“The main gate.”


“Good man. I’m on my way.”

Dr. Po whipped off his glasses. “This session is not over, young man. We made some progress today, even if you won’t admit it. Leave now, and I will be forced to inform the dean.”

The warning was lost on Artemis. He was already somewhere else. A familiar electric buzz was crackling over his skin. This was the beginning of something. He could feel it.





CHAPTER 2





CRUISIN’ FOR CHIX


The Lower Elements, Haven City, West Bank


The traditional image of a leprechaun is of a small, green-suited imp. Of course, this is the human image. Fairies have their own stereotypes. The People generally imagine officers of the Lower Elements Police Reconnaissance Squad to be truculent gnomes or bulked-up elves, recruited straight from their college crunchball squads.

Captain Holly Short fits neither of these descriptions. In fact, she would probably be the last person you would pick as a member of the LEPrecon squad. If you had to guess her occupation, the catlike stance and the sinewy muscle might suggest a gymnast, or perhaps a professional spelunker. But if you took a closer look past the pretty face, into the eyes, you would see determination so fiery it could light a candle at ten paces, and a streetwise intelligence that made her one of the Recon Squad’s most respected officers.

Of course, technically, Holly was no longer attached to Recon. Ever since the Artemis Fowl affair, when she had been captured and held for ransom, her position as Recon’s first female officer had been under review. The only reason she wasn’t at home watering her ferns right now was that Commander Root had threatened to turn in his own badge if Holly were suspended. Root knew, even if Internal Affairs wasn’t convinced, that the kidnapping had not been Holly’s fault, and only her quick thinking had prevented loss of life. But the Council members weren’t particularly interested in loss of human life, they were more concerned with loss of fairy gold. And according to them, Holly had cost them quite a chunk from the Recon ransom fund. Holly was quite prepared to fly above ground and wring Artemis Fowl’s neck until he returned the gold, but that wasn’t the way it worked. The Book, the fairy bible, stated that once a human managed to separate fairies from their gold, then that gold was his to keep.

So instead of confiscating her badge, Internal Affairs had insisted Holly handle grunt work somewhere she couldn’t do any harm. Stakeout was the obvious choice. So, Holly was farmed out to Customs and Excise, stuck in a cham pod, and suckered to the rock face overlooking a pressure-elevator chute. Dead-end duty.

Smuggling was a serious concern for the Lower Elements Police. It wasn’t the contraband itself, which was generally harmless junk: designer sunglasses, DVDs, cappuccino machines, and such. It was the method of acquiring these items.

The B’wa Kell goblin triad had cornered the smuggling market, and was becoming increasingly brazen in its aboveground excursions. It was even rumored that the goblins had constructed their own cargo shuttle to make their expeditions more economically viable.

The problem was that goblins were dim-witted creatures. All it would take would be for one of them to forget to shield, and goblin photos would be bouncing from satellites to news stations around the world. Then the Lower Elements, the last Mud People–free zone on the planet, would be discovered. When that happened, human nature being what it was, pollution, strip mining, and exploitation were sure to follow.

This meant that whatever poor souls were in the department’s bad books got to spend months at a time on surveillance duty, which is why Holly was now anchored to the rock face outside a little-used chute’s entrance.

E37 was a pressure elevator that emerged in downtown Paris, France. The European capital was red-flagged as a high-risk area, so visas were rarely approved. LEP business only. No one had been in the chute for decades, but it still merited twenty-four/seven surveillance. Which meant six officers on eight-hour shifts.

Holly was saddled with Chix Verbil for a pod mate. Like most sprites, Chix believed himself God’s green-skinned gift to females, and spent more time trying to impress Holly than doing his job.

“Lookin’ good tonight, Captain,” was Chix’s opening line that particular night. “You do something with your hair?”

Holly adjusted the screen focus, wondering what you could do with an auburn crew cut.

“Concentrate, Private. We could be up to our necks in a firefight at any second.”

“I doubt it, Captain. This place is quiet as the grave. I love assignments like this. Nice ’n’ easy. Just cruisin’.”