Artemis- Having Father Shot

Artemis pulled an LEP field parka closer to his throat, staring at the
rough diagram. “And if we give them the money?”
Foaly had run them up five million in small bills on one of his old
printers. He even had a squad of sprites crumple it up a bit.
Butler shook his head. “That’s not the way these people do business.
Alive, Mister Fowl is a potential enemy. He has to die.”
Artemis nodded slowly. There was absolutely no other way. He
would have to implement the plan he had concocted in the Arctic
shuttleport.
“Very well, everyone,” he said. “I have a plan. But it’s going to sound
a bit extreme.”
…

The two men collected the prisoner from the next cabin. They were
not worried about an escape attempt. Not by a prisoner who had one leg
missing and a hood secured over his head. Vassikin slung Fowl Senior
over his shoulder and climbed the rungs to the conning tower.
Kamar used a radio to check in with the backup. There were more
than a hundred criminals hiding among the petrified bushes and
snowdrifts. igarette tips lit the night like fireflies.
“Put them out, idiots,” he hissed over an open frequency. “It’s almost
midnight. Fowl could be here any second. Remember, no one shoots until
I give the order. Then everybody shoots.”
You could almost hear the hiss as a hundred cigarette butts were
flicked into the snow. A hundred men. It was a costly operation. But a
mere drop in the ocean compared to the twenty percent promised them by
Britva.
Wherever this boy Fowl came from, he would be trapped in a deadly
crossfire. There was no way out for him or his father, while they were safe
behind the steel conning tower. Kamar grinned. Let’s see how much magic
you have then, Irlandskii.
…

Mikhael took deep breaths, settling himself. “Do you have the
money?”
“Of course. Do you have the package?”
“Right here.”
Again the cold chuckle. “All I see is a fat imbecile, a little rat, and
someone with a hood over his head. It could be anyone. I’m not paying
five million for your cousin Yuri.”
Vassikin ducked below the lip of the tower. “Fowl can see us!” he
hissed at Kamar. “Stay low.”
Kamar scuttled to the far side of the tower, opening a line to his men.
“He’s here. Fowl is here. Search the area.”
Vassikin brought the phone back to his ear. “So come down here and
check. You’ll see soon enough.”
“I can see fine from right here. Just take the hood off.”
Mikhael covered the phone. “He wants me to take the hood off. What
should I do?”
Kamar sighed. Now it was becoming plain who was the brains in this
outfit. “Take it off. What difference does it make? Either way they’re both
dead in five minutes.”
“Okay, Fowl. I’m taking off the hood. The next face you see will be
your father’s.” The big Russian propped up the prisoner high over the lip
of the conning tower. He reached up with one hand and pulled off the
rough sackcloth hood.
On the other end of the line, he heard a sharp intake of breath.
…

Butler steadied the fairy Farshoot rifle on its stand. He had selected it
from the LEP armory. Fifteen hundred yards. Not an easy shot. But there
was no wind, and Foaly had given him a scope that did the aiming for him.
Artemis Fowl senior’s torso was centered in the crosshairs.
He took a breath.“Artemis. Are you sure? This is risky.”
Artemis did not reply, checking for the hundredth time that Holly was
in position. Of course he wasn’t sure. A million things could go wrong
with this deception, but what choice did he have?
Artemis nodded. Just once.
Butler fired the shot.
The shot caught Artemis Senior in the shoulder. He spun around,
slumping over the startled Vassikin.
The Russian howled in disgust, heaving the bleeding Irishman over
the lip of the conning tower. Artemis Senior slid along the keel, crashing
through the brittle ice plates clinging to the sub’s hull.
“He shot him,” yelped the khuligany. “That devil shot his own
father.”
Kamar was stunned.
“Idiot!” he howled. “You’ve just thrown our hostage overboard!” He
peered into the black Arctic waters. Nothing remained of the Irlandskii but
ripples.
“Go down and get him, if you wish,” said Vassikin sullenly.
“Was he dead?”
His partner shrugged. “Maybe. He was bleeding badly. And if the
bullet doesn’t finish him, the water will. Anyway, it’s not our fault.”
Kamar swore viciously. “I don’t think Britva will see it that way.”
“Britva,” breathed Vassikin. The only thing the Menidzher
understood was money.
“Oh, gods. We’re dead.”
The cell phone rattled on the deck. The speaker was vibrating. Fowl
was still on the other end. Mikhael picked up the mobile as though it were
a grenade.
“Fowl? You there?”
“Yes,” came the reply.
“You crazy devil! What are you doing? Your father is as good as
dead. I thought we had a deal!”
“We still do. A new one. You can still make some money tonight.”
Mikhael stopped panicking, and started paying attention. ould there
possibly be a way out of this nightmare?
“I’m listening.”
“The last thing I need is for my father to return and destroy what I
have built up over the past two years.”
Mikhael nodded. This made perfect sense to him.
“So he had to die. I had to see it done myself, just to be sure. But I
could still leave you a little something.”
Mikhael could barely breath. “A little something?”
“The ransom. All five million.”
“And why would you do that?”
“You get the money; I get safe passage home. Fair enough?”
“Seems fair to me.”
“Very well. Now look across the bay, above the fjord.”
Mikhael looked. There was a flare burning, right at the snow-covered
hill’s tip.
“There is a briefcase tied to that flare. It goes out in ten minutes. I’d
get there before then if I were you. Otherwise the case could take years to
find.”
Mikhael didn’t bother to cut the connection. He just dropped the
phone and ran.
“The money,” he shouted at Kamar. “Up there. The flare.”
Kamar was after him in a heartbeat, shouting instructions into the
radio. Someone had to reach that money. Who cared about a drowning
Irlandskii when there was five million dollars to be claimed?
…

Holly followed events on the submarine through her visor. She saw
the shot hit Artemis Senior in the shoulder, knocking him against the
larger Russian. Blood registered in her field of vision, still warm enough to
be picked up by her thermal imager. Holly had to admit. It looked
effective. Maybe Artemis’s plan could actually work. Maybe the Russians
would be fooled. After all, humans generally saw what they wanted to see.
Then things went horribly wrong.
“He’s in the water!” shouted Holly into her helmet mike, opening the
wing rig’s throttle to the max. “He’s alive, but not for long, unless we get
him out.”
Holly skimmed silently over the glistening ice, arms crossed over her
chest for speed. She was moving too fast for human vision to pin her
down. She could be a bird, or a seal breaking the waves. The submarine
loomed before her.
On board the Nikodim, the Russians were evacuating, clambering
down the tower ladder, feet slipping in their haste. And ashore, the same.
Men breaking cover, crashing through the frosted undergrowth. The
commander must have set the flare. Those Mud Men would be delirious to
find their precious money, only to have it dissolve in seventy-two hours.
That would just about give them time to deliver it to their boss. Odds were
he wouldn’t be happy with disappearing cash.
…

Fairies hate cold. They hate it. Some are so phobic about low
temperatures that they won’t even eat ice cream. The last thing that Holly
wanted to do right now was to put so much as a toe into that sub-zero,
radioactive water. But what choice did she have? “D’Arvit!” she swore,
and plunged into the water.
The microfilaments in her suit deadened the cold, but they could not
dispel it entirely. Holly knew that she had seconds before the temperature
drop slowed her reactions and sent her into shock.
Below her, the unconscious human was as pale as a ghost. Holly
fumbled with her wing controls. A touch too much on the throttle could
send her too deep; not enough, and she would fall short. And at these
temperatures, she only had one shot only.
Holly hit the throttle. The engine buzzed once, sending her ten
fathoms down. Perfect. She grabbed Fowl senior by the waist, quickly
clipping him on to her Moonbelt. He hung there limply. He needed an
infusion of magic, and the sooner the better.
Holly glanced upward. It seemed as though the ice hole was already
closing. Was there anything else that could go wrong? The commander
was shouting in her ear, but she shut him out, concentrating on getting
back on dry land.
Ice crystals spun themselves across the hole like spiders’ webs. The
ocean seemed determined to claim them.
I don’t think so, thought Holly, pointing her helmeted head at the
surface, and opening the throttle as far as it would go.
They crashed through the ice, landing on the slatted surface of the
sub’s forward deck. The human’s face was the color of the surrounding
landscape. Holly crouched on his chest like a predatory creature, exposing
the supposed wound to the night air. There was blood on the deck, but it
was Artemis Junior’s own blood. They had pried the cap from a hydrosion
shell, and half filled it with blood taken from Artemis’s arm. On impact
the fizzer had knocked Artemis Senior off his feet, sending the crimson
liquid spiraling through the air. Very convincing.
Of course, being thrown into the freezing waters had not been part of
the plan.
The shell had not penetrated the skin, but Mister Fowl was not safe
yet. Holly’s thermal imager showed that his heartbeat was dangerously
slow and weak. Holly laid her hands on his chest.
“Heal,” she whispered. “Heal.”
And the magic scurried down her fingers.
…

Artemis slipped on the spare Recon helmet, willing Holly’s voice to
sound through the speakers. He magnified the picture in his visor until it
seemed as though he could touch his father. Artemis watched Holly lean
over his father’s chest, pulses of magic shooting down her fingers.
After several moments, Holly looked up, straight into Artemis’s eyes,
as though she knew he was watching.
“I got him,” she gasped. “One live Mud Man. He’s not pretty, but he’s
breathing.”
Artemis sank to the ground, sobs of relief shaking his thin shoulders.
He cried for a whole minute. Then he was himself again.

-The Arctic Incident, Chapter 14