The Arctic Incident

“What about the MPG itself? Could we get a geographical fix from the stars?”


Butler smiled. Young Master Artemis was starting to think like a soldier.

“No luck. I sent a shot to a friend of mine in NASA. He didn’t even bother putting it into the computer—not enough definition.”

Artemis was silent for a minute.

“How fast can we get to Russia?”

Butler drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “It depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“On how we go, legal or illegal.”

“Which is quicker?”

Butler laughed, something you didn’t hear very often. “Illegal is usually faster. Either way is going to be pretty slow. We can’t go by air, that’s for sure. The Mafiya is going to have foot soldiers at every airstrip.”

“Are we sure it’s the Mafiya?”

Butler glanced in the rearview mirror. “I’m afraid so. All kidnappings go through the Mafiya. Even if an ordinary criminal managed to abduct your father, he would have to hand him over.”

Artemis nodded. “That’s what I thought. So we will have to travel by sea, and that will take a week at the very least. We could really use some help with transport. Something the Mafiya won’t expect. How’s our ID situation?”

“No problem. I thought we’d go native. Russians arouse less suspicion in Russia. I have passports and visas.”

“Good. What is our cover?”

“What about Stefan Bashkir and his Uncle Constantin?”

“Perfect. The chess prodigy and his chaperone.”

They had used this cover many times before on previous search missions. Once a checkpoint official, himself a chess grandmaster, had doubted their story, until Artemis beat him in six moves. Artemis’s technique had since become known as the Bashkir Maneuver.

“How soon can we leave?”

“Almost immediately. Mrs. Fowl and Juliet are in Nice this week. That gives us eight days. We can e-mail the school, make up some excuse.”

“I daresay Saint Bartleby’s will be glad to be rid of me for a while.”

“We could go straight to the airport from Fowl Manor, the Lear jet is stocked. At least we can fly as far as Scandinavia, and we can try to pick up a boat from there. I just have to pick up a few things at the manor first.”

Artemis could imagine exactly the kind of things his manservant wished to pick up. Dangerous things. “Good. The sooner the better. We’ve got to find these people before they know we’re looking. We can monitor e-mail as we go.”

Butler took the exit for Fowl Manor.

“You know, Artemis,” he said, glancing in the mirror. “We’re going up against the Russian Mafiya. I’ve had dealings with these people before. They don’t negotiate. This could get bloody. If we take these gangsters on, people are going to get hurt. Most likely us.”

Artemis nodded absently, watching his own reflection in the window. He needed a plan. Something audacious and brilliant. Something that had never been attempted before. Artemis was not unduly worried on that front. His brain had never let him down before.





Tara Shuttleport


The fairy shuttleport at Tara was an impressive operation. Thirty thousand cubic feet of terminal concealed beneath an overgrown hillock in the middle of the McGraney farm.

For centuries the McGraneys had respected the fairy fort’s boundaries, and for centuries they had enjoyed exceptional good luck. Illnesses mysteriously cleared up overnight, priceless art treasures popped up with incredible regularity, and mad cow disease seemed to avoid their herds altogether.

Having solved her visa problem, Holly finally made her way to the security door and slipped through the holographic camouflage. She had managed to secure a set of Koboi DoubleDex for the trip. The rig ran on a satellite-bounced solar battery, and employed a revolutionary wing design. There were two sets, or decks; one fixed, for gliding, and a smaller set for maneuverability. Holly had been dying to try the DoubleDex out, but only a few rigs had made their way across from Koboi Labs. Foaly was reluctant to let them out because he hadn’t designed them. Professional envy. Holly had taken advantage of his absence from the lab to swipe a set from the rack.

She soared fifty feet above the ground, allowing unfiltered surface air to fill her lungs. Though laden with pollutants, it was still sweeter than the recycled tunnel variety. For several minutes she enjoyed the experience, before turning her concentration to the mission at hand: how to abduct Artemis Fowl.