Myles shook his head. “No, brother, this is a very important story, so you will need to concentrate. Can you achieve a high level of focus?”
Beckett was dubious, for Myles often declared things to be important when he himself regarded them as peripheral at best.
For example, some of the many things Myles considered important:
1. Science
2. Inventing
3. Literature
4. The world economy
And things Beckett considered hugely important, if not vital:
1. Gloop
2. Talking to animals
3. Peanut butter
4. Expelling wind, however necessary, before bed
Rarely did these lists overlap.
“Is this important to me, or just big brainy Myles?” Beckett asked with considerable suspicion. This was a most exciting day, and it would be just like Myles to ruin it with common sense.
“Both of us, I promise.”
“Wrist-bump promise?” said Beckett.
“Wrist-bump promise,” said Myles, holding up the heel of his hand.
They bumped and Beckett, satisfied that a wrist-bump promise could never be broken, plonked himself down on the giant beanbag.
“Before I tell you the story,” said Myles, “we must become human transports for some very special passengers.”
“What passengers?” asked Beckett. “They must be teeny-tiny if we’re going to be the transports.”
“They are teeny-tiny,” said Myles, not entirely comfortable using such a subjective unit of measurement as teeny-tiny, but Beckett had to be kept calm. He opened the Plexiglas door on top of the insect hotel and scooped out a handful of tiny jumping creatures. “I would even go so far as to say teeny-weeny.”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to touch these guys,” said Beckett.
“We’re not,” said Myles, dividing the insects between them. “Except in an emergency. And this is most definitely an emergency.”
It took a mere two minutes for Myles to relate his story, which was, in fact, an escape plan, and an additional six minutes for him to repeat it three times so Beckett could absorb all the particulars.
Once Beckett had repeated the details back to him, Myles persuaded his twin to don some clothing, namely a white T-shirt printed with the word uh-oh!, a phrase often employed both by Beckett himself upon breaking something valuable, and also by people who knew Beckett when they saw him approach. Myles even had time to disable the villa’s more aggressive defenses, which might decide to blow the helicopter out of the sky with some surface-to-air missiles, before the knock came on the door.
Here comes the cavalry, thought Myles.
In this rare instance, Myles Fowl was incorrect. The woman at the door would never be mistaken for an officer of the cavalry.
She was, in fact, a nun.
“It’s a nun,” said Beckett, checking the intercom camera.
Myles confirmed this with a glance at the screen. It was indeed a nun who appeared to have been winched down in a basket from the hovering helicopter.
If we do nothing, she might go away, thought Myles. After all, perhaps this person doesn’t even know we’re here.
Myles should have voiced this thought instead of thinking it, for, quick as a flash, Beckett pressed the TALK button and said, “Hi, mysterious nun. This is Myles Fowl speaking, one of the Fowl Twins. My brother Beckett is here, too, and we’re home alone. We’ll be with you in a minute—we’re down in the safe room because of the sonic boom. I’m so glad the EMP didn’t kill your helicopter.”
Beckett’s statement contained basically every scrap of information that Myles had wanted to keep secret.
“Gracias,” said the unexpected nun. “I shall await your arrival.”
Beckett was hopping with excitement. “Myles, it’s a nun with a helicopter! You hardly ever see that. This is the start of our first real adventure. It has to be—I can feel it in my elbows.”
Beckett often felt things in his elbows, which he claimed were psychic. He sometimes pointed them at cookie jars to see if there were cookies inside, which Myles had never considered much of a challenge, as one of NANNI’s robot arms filled the kitchen containers as soon as their smart sensors informed the network they were empty.
“Beck, with no disrespect to your extrasensory elbows,” said Myles, “why don’t we stay calm and stick to the plan? If we can stay, we stay, but if we go, remember the story.”
Beckett tapped his forehead. “It’s all in here, brother. Angry Hamster in the Dimension of Fire.”
“No, Beck!” snapped Myles. “Not that story.”
“Ha!” said Beckett. “You snapped at me. I win.”
Myles counted up to ninety-seven in prime numbers to calm himself. One of Beckett’s pleasures in life was teasing his brother until he snapped. It was unfair, really, as it was very difficult to tell the difference between a Beckett who genuinely didn’t know something and a Beckett who was pretending not to know something.
“Ha-ha,” said Myles, without a shred of humor. “You got me. You’re the big comedian, and I’m just Myles the dunce. But, in my defense, I am trying to keep us alive and out of an army cell.”
Beckett relented and hugged his brother. “Okay, Myles. I’ll lay off this time, because you have no sense of humor when you’re stressed. Let’s go upstairs and you can lecture this nun.”
Myles had to admit that sounded wonderful.
A new person to lecture.
As eager as Myles Fowl was to debate, argue with, and deliver a monologue to the mysterious nun, he was determined to take his time reaching the front door. It is always a good idea to keep potential enemies waiting, he knew, as they are more likely to expose their real selves if they become impatient. Beckett was not aware of this tactic, and so Myles had to literally hold him back by hanging on to his belt loops. And thus Beckett dragged his brother along in his wake as a mule might drag a cart.
They passed through the reinforced steel door and climbed the narrow stairwell of polished concrete to the main living area, an open-plan quadrangle marked on three sides with glass walls that were threaded with a conductive mesh, which served both to maintain the integrity of the Faraday cage and reinforce the windows. The reclaimed wooden floors were strewn with rugs, the placement of which might seem random to the untrained eye, but they were actually carefully laid out in accordance with the Ba Zhi school of feng shui. The space was dominated by a driftwood table and a rough stone fireplace that ran on recycled pellets. But the main feature of the villa was the panoramic view of Dublin Bay that it afforded the residents. Myles could remember visiting the island with his father before construction of the villa began.
“Criminal masterminds are always drawn to islands,” Artemis Fowl Senior had said. “All the greats have them. Colonel Hootencamp had Flint Island. Hans Hørteknut had Spider Island, which was more of a glacier, I suppose. Ishi Myishi, the malignant inventor, has an island in the Japanese archipelago. And now we have Dalkey Island.”
And Myles had asked, “Are we criminal masterminds, Father?”
His father did not answer for half a minute, and Myles got the feeling that he was choosing his words carefully.
“No, son,” he said eventually. “But sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.”