Artemis Fowl_ The Arctic Incident - Eoin Colfer [28]
Carrère’s apartment was on Rue Bonaparte, opposite the church. Apartments in St Germain cost more per month than most Parisians made in a year. Butler ordered a coffee and croissant at the Bonaparte cafe, settling himself at an outside table. According to his calculations, it gave him the perfect view of Monsieur Carrère’s balcony.
Butler didn’t have long to wait. In less than an hour, the chunky Parisian appeared on the balcony, leaning on the ornate railing for several minutes. He very obligingly presented front and side views of himself.
Holly’s voice sounded in Butler’s ear. ‘That’s our boy. Is he alone?’
‘I can’t tell,’ muttered the bodyguard into his hand. The flesh-tone mike glued to his throat would pick up any vibrations and translate them for Holly.
‘Just a sec’
Butler heard a keyboard being tapped, and suddenly the iris-cam in his eye sparked. The vision in one eye jumped into a completely different spectrum.
‘Heat-sensitive,’ Holly informed him. ‘Hot equals red. Cold equals blue. Not a very powerful system, but the lens should penetrate an outer wall.’
Butler cast a fresh eye over the apartment. There were three red objects in the room. One was Carrère’s heart, which pulsed crimson in the centre of his pink body. The second appeared to be a kettle or possibly a coffee pot, and the third was a TV.
‘OK. All clear, I’m going in.’
‘Affirmative. Watch your step. This is a bit too convenient.’
‘Agreed.’
Butler crossed the cobbled street to the four-storey apartment building. There was an intercom security system, but this structure was nineteenth century, and a solid shoulder at the right point popped the bolt right out of its housing.
‘I’ m in.’
There was noise on the stairs above. Someone coming this way. Butler wasn’t unduly concerned. Nevertheless he slid a palm inside his jacket, fingers resting on his handgun’s grip. It was unlikely he would need it. Even the most boisterous young bucks generally gave Butler a wide berth. Something to do with his merciless eyes. Being over two metres tall didn’t hurt either.
A group of teenagers rounded the corner.
‘Excusez-moi,’ said Butler, gallantly stepping aside.
The girls giggled. The boys glared. One, a mono-eyebrowed rugby type, even thought about passing comment. Then Butler winked at him. It was a peculiar wink, somehow simultaneously cheerful and terrifying. No comments were passed.
Butler ascended to the fourth floor without incident. Carrère’s apartment was on the gable end. Two walls of windows. Very expensive.
The bodyguard was considering his breaking and entering options when he noticed the door was open. Open doors generally meant one of two things: one, nobody was left alive to close it, or two, he was expected. Neither of these options appealed to him particularly.
Butler entered cautiously. The apartment walls were lined with open crates. Battery packs and fire suits poked through the Styrofoam packing. The floor was littered with thick wads of currency.
‘Are you a friend?’ It was Carrère. He was slumped in an oversized armchair, a weapon of some kind nestling in his lap.
Butler approached slowly. An important rule of combat is that every opponent is taken seriously.
‘Take it easy.’
The Parisian raised the weapon. The grip was made for smaller fingers. A child, or a fairy. ‘I asked if you were a friend.’
Butler cocked his own pistol. ‘No need to shoot.’
‘Stand still,’ ordered Carrère. ‘I’m not going to shoot you, just take your photo maybe. The voice told me.’
Holly’s voice sounded in Butler’s earpiece. ‘Get closer. I need to see the eyes.’
Butler holstered his weapon, taking a step forward. ‘You see, no one has to get hurt here.’
‘I’m going to enhance the image,’ said Holly. ‘This may sting a bit.’
The tiny camera in his eye buzzed, and suddenly Butler’s vision was magnified by four – which would have been just fine had the magnification not been accompanied