Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer [39]
“Safety catches off,” ordered Trouble.
He imagined his men rolling their eyes. Like they hadn’t had their safeties off for the last half an hour. Still, you had to go by the book, in case of a tribunal later on. There was a time when Retrieval blasted first and answered questions never. But not anymore. Now there was always some do-gooder civilian banging on about civil rights. Even for humans, if you can believe it.
The man mountain stopped, right in the middle of the squad. If he had been able to see them, it would be the perfect tactical position. Their own firearms were virtually useless, as they would probably do more damage to each other than the human.
Fortunately, the entire squad was invisible, with the exception of Four who was safely hidden in what appeared to be a rhododendron.
“Buzz batons. Fire ’em up.”
Just in case. No harm in being cautious.
And when the LEP officers were switching weapons, right at that moment when their hands were fumbling with holsters, that’s when the Mud Man spoke.
“Evening, gentlemen,” he said, sweeping back his hood.
Funny that, thought Trouble. It was almost as if . . . Then he saw the makeshift goggles.
“Cover!” he screamed. “Cover!”
But it was too late. No option but to stand and fight. And that was no option at all.
Butler could have taken them from the parapet. One at a time with the ivory hunter’s rifle. But that wasn’t the plan. This was all about making an impression. Sending a message. It was standard procedure with any police force in the world to send in the cannon fodder first before opening negotiations. It was almost expected that they would meet with resistance, and Butler was happy to oblige.
He peeked out through the letter box and, oh happy coincidence, there was a pair of goggled eyes peeking right back at him. It was just too fortuitous to pass up.
“Bedtime,” said Butler, heaving the door with a mighty shoulder. The fairy flew several feet before alighting in the shrubbery. Juliet would be devastated. She loved rhododendrons. One down. Several to go.
Butler pulled up the peaked hood on his field jacket, stepping into the porch. There they were, spread out like a squadron of Action Men. If not for the array of very proficient-looking weaponry hanging from each belt, it would have been almost comical.
Sliding his finger casually under the trigger guard, Butler strode into their midst. The bulky one at two o’clock was giving the orders. You could tell from the heads angled his way.
The leader gave a command and the squad switched to close-quarters weapons. It made sense, they’d only cut themselves to pieces with firearms. Time for action.
“Evening, gentlemen,” Butler said. He couldn’t help it, and it was worth it for that one moment of consternation. Then his gun was up and blazing.
Captain Kelp was the first casualty, a titanium-tipped dart puncturing the neck of his suit. He went down sluggishly, as though the air had turned to water. Two more of the squad were dropped before they had any idea what was going on.
It must be quite traumatic, thought Butler dispassionately, to lose an advantage that you’ve held for centuries.
By now, the remains of Retrieval One had their buzz batons fired up and raised. But they made the mistake of hanging back, waiting for a command that was not forthcoming. This gave Butler an opportunity to take the fight to them. As if he needed another advantage.
Even so, for a second the manservant hesitated. These beings were so small. Like children. Then Grub clipped him on the elbow with his buzz baton and a thousand volts spread across Butler’s chest. All sympathy for the little people vanished instantly.
Butler grabbed the offending baton, swinging weapon and bearer like a set of bolas. Grub squealed as he was released, his newfound momentum carrying him directly into three of his comrades.
Butler continued the swinging motion, driving punishing punches into