Thanks to: spencerblue, Steinbock, 6000j for reviewing. I've had to do too much 'peopling' this weekend and having reviews to read was a nice distraction.

WARNINGS: threat of violence, actual violence, weaponry, injuries, swearing... is there really any need to prewarn you at this point? What have you been reading if you got this far without noticing?

CHAPTER 5

'HEIR'

Definition: a person who inherits and carries on the work of a predecessor

Rural Lanes, Outskirts of Dublin

Dom shut the door behind him. It was a sharper kind of quiet outside the muffled protection of the Bentley. Inside the car, everything out here had sounded almost as though it was underwater. Now his ears strained so hard he could hear the whistle of silence ringing through his head. He stepped quietly around the guns strewn in the small area his uncle had been shooting from and took up the very same crouched position he had by the wheel.

He couldn't see anything from here – certainly not where his uncle had got to, at any rate.

He would just have to trust that the threat had been neutralised.

He took a deep breath, holstered the handgun in the belt of his suit trousers at stood; hopeful that from here he would be able to see his uncle checking the area was secure and on his way back to reassure them that everything was fine. Or at least as fine as it could be tonight.

Unfortunately for him, his hopes were about to be dashed.

As he rounded the edge of the Bentley, a cry went up like a hound that had seen a fox and before he could so much as make more than a few-strided sprint for the woods, a man had grabbed him. Going against all training, he began to holler and scream as loudly as he could, in the desperate hope that Artemis would hear him and take the appropriate action of getting the hell under the rear seats of the Bentley and laying as still as he could until it was safe.

"Get off me!" he shouted, struggling as the man held him by the upper arm. The man was only holding him with one hand, the other was clamped across his chest and Dom could see he was bleeding from the shoulder.

Good.

"What's your name, kid?" he demanded.

Dom clamped his mouth tightly shut.

"I said, what is your name?" the man spat, shaking him roughly and dragging him towards the middle of the road.

Dom felt the gun slip slightly in his waistband and forced himself not to reach for it.

Suddenly he knew what to say.

Safely cowering under the rear seat of the Bentley – for they were not quite as stupid as their bodyguards often feared – Sophia's grip on his hand tightened suddenly as the Fowl boy heard, not for the first and certainly not for the last time, the young Butler put himself in direct line of fire for the family his family served.

"OK, ouch! Stop it! I'm Artemis!" said Domovoi, channelling his inner Bartelby's Brat. "My… my name is Artemis."

"Fowl?" the man said, seemingly genuinely surprised.

Dom nodded, keeping his gaze as far away from the back of the Bentley as possible. If the group attacking them had not done their research properly, they would not notice the differences. He looked older than he actually was. He knew the Fowl family inside out if they questioned him. And, most importantly, he was apparently the only other person in the car. Which fitted just right with the man that was sat up against the Bentley, leaning on it as though it was the only thing holding him in any semblance of upright; the bodyguard of Artemis Fowl.

"Perfect," the crook who had hold of him said and his face broke into a nasty smile and he shouted to his leader; "Hey boss, you're gonna like this!"

"I doubt it," drawled the older man. "What are you expecting a raise for now?"

"I got the Fowl kid!"

On the floor The Major groaned internally. He did everything he could to keep the boy safe and still…

But even he found it hard not to react when the wrong boy rounded the edge of the stricken car and was slung forward in front of the boss. Dom tripped and fell heavily, looking up at the man, wide-eyed.

"Fuck," his uncle muttered under his breath. Shoulder-Shot stepped over the boy and kicked him in the ribs. The Major made no attempt to block him. It would only antagonise the man to punish him further and besides, he wasn't even certain the extra few units of pain even registered when the boot made contact.

"Some bodyguard you are, Diamond," he sneered.

Myles said nothing, calculating. If Dom was out here, that meant Artemis was safe – for the time being. The pair of them, however…

"Check the car," the man in charge said to another who appeared to have been uninjured by the shootout.

Dom clenched his fists, praying silently to whatever bodyguard gods there were that Artemis had worked out how to open the hatch.

There was a few long seconds, then the door slammed.

"Nowt, boss."

"And the boot."

"The boot, boss?"

"Yes - the boot. Jesus Christ - how have I ended up with you two?"

He didn't actually verbalise that he would have happily traded both these men for the ones lying face down on the road, but it was true.

"Sorry, boss."

"Right. Get the other Forbes on the radio," the boss told Shoulder-Shot whilst his other remaining teammate tried to work out how to open the Bentley's secure boot. "Tell him and that chump Gary to hurry the fuck up. The garda will be over this place as soon as they get their shit together."

"You'll be waiting a while," The Major rasped, determined to be a thorn in their side until his very last breath. "If you mean the amateurs I took out in the theatre."

"What?" Shoulder-Shot snorted. "What's this chump chatting? You got lead in your head, Diamond geezer? Or you just want some?""

The Major held up four bloodied fingers, a crimson grin on his face.

"Four down by me," he breathed raggedly, holding up a thumb next. "One by a friend."

Shoulder-Shot sneered again. "Keep dreaming."

But he reached for a radio all the same.

"Yo, Forbes - check in."

"Here - what you talking about?"

"Not you, you prat," Shoulder Shot scoffed.

The radio fizzled.

"Forbes, quit pissing about. Answer - pronto. Boss wants ya."

The 'Boss' himself raised an eyebrow.

"Out of signal," Shoulder-Shot provided as explanation, but he eyed The Major as he said it.

Or maybe, maybe this man was telling the truth and he had indeed dispatched two thirds of their team already.

There was a silence which made it clear this eventuality had not been factored into their plans.

The other man bounced the car in frustration and The Major thought the henchman's idiocy was killing him faster than the bloodloss.

"Press the fucking lock in and lift it from the groove above the reg, for fuck's sake," he growled.

"What?"

"It's a security lock," The Major grimaced as he sat up. "Two buttons."

"It's a security lock, two buttons," the man mimicked. "Fuck off, I can open a boot."

"Clearly," The Major spat.

"What kind of backwards fucking lock..."

"Your brother was no better at following instructions either," The Major took a punt at something he had deduced from what had been said.

"What?" - this time there was a layer of menace to the word. "What did you just say?"

"I said you can see the family resemblance," The Major panted. "'Cept you're still spouting stupid."

The man strode from the back of the Bentley and a hefty boot bounced off The Major again – but he was beyond feeling much more pain now. He chuckled, coughing as the man kicked him viciously, once, twice…

Give me a third belt and I'll rip that leg of yours off and beat you around the head with the soggy end…

Wishful thinking.

"Enough! We move on," said the boss, irritably. "If he's lying, the others can catch us up."

"What about the boy?" Shoulder-Shot said, gesturing at Dom who flinched automatically away from the muzzle of his gun as he waved it at him. "Ransom?"

"To who? Fowl is supposed to be dead," the other man spat, angrily. He did indeed happen to be the brother of the man The Major had killed back in the corridor outside the caretaker's office, though was thus-far doing better than his sibling in avoiding the bodyguard's bullets. "That was the deal!"

Myles, as much as he would like to know the reasoning behind this attack, was not keen on learning their plan. The more they said around him, the less they were intending on keeping him alive. Not that things were looking promising on that front, intentions or not.

"But thanks to your idiotic brother, he isn't, is he?" the boss said, rounding on him.

"My brother… If my brother is dead I want Fowl's head on a plate myself!" he snarled.

"Oh don't be so dramatic, Forbes!"

Dom got slowly to his knees.

"Stay down… sir," The Major said, lowly. "Just do as they say."

Dom nodded, unable to communicate that he had no plans of doing such a thing. The gun was heavy on his back; he just had to find a way to get it to him.

"I say we kill them both and get after the big game. These two are nothing. Fowl is the target and where is he whilst we're standing around getting shot at by this Butler offcut?" Shoulder-Shot said, clamping his hand down harder over his bullet wound bitterly and jerking his head at the crippled bodyguard.

"We kill the Diamond, the boy comes with us for bargaining," the boss said, turning and pointing his gun lazily at The Major. Why would he be anything else? He still had two men – albeit one injured – as well as himself and the remaining Fowl bodyguard was lying half-dead on the floor. What could he do?

Nothing, apparently, but that wasn't to say the boy wouldn't…

"No!" snapped the other Forbes suddenly, aiming his own gun much more vehemently. "I want to do it if he killed my brother!"

"Fine," the boss sighed, holstering his weapon. "But make it quick. Every moment you piss about avenging your brother's honour or whatever it is you're intending, Fowl is another step out of reach. And make the boy watch – I want him to know what the situation is."

He turned away, disinterested in the deaths of side-targets.

Shoulder-Shot grabbed Dom, pulling him from the floor, and held him by the collar of the jacket, forcing him to look at his uncle.

"This is what will happen to you if you don't behave – understood?" he hissed into his ear, breath rasping on his cheek.

Dom said nothing, his heart racing, unable to believe what was happening.

It was going to be miraculous. His uncle was about to leap to his feet and disarm the man – shoot him dead with his own gun and take out Shoulder-Shot in the same movement.

But the seconds ticked on and The Major made not even an effort to move.

He was biding his time, surely? Milking the element of surprise.

Get up. Get up, Uncle. Please get up.

"You – piece of shit!" the younger Forbes brother snarled at the prone bodyguard. "On your knees."

Myles bared his teeth and breathed bloody defiance; "I don't do so well with instructions either."

More to the point, he wasn't sure if he actually could pull himself to his knees and he didn't want an embarrassing belly-flop to the ground to be his final action on this Earth.

"You want to die lying in the dirt? Look at me before I send you straight after your bastard father!"

Myles looked at Dom instead. The boy was on the verge of breaking.

"It's OK," he said calmly, his gaze steady despite his laboured breathing. "Don't watch. Close your eyes. It's going to be OK."

"Stop talking to him!" the brother henchman shouted. "And you – look at the one that was supposed to keep you safe and see how he's failed you!"

"I told you," Myles said, pushing himself upwards slightly on one arm. "I don't take orders from you. And neither does he."

"Fuck you then," spat the man, taking loose aim before he made the shot.

"No!" Dom yelled, spinning and hammering his fist smack in the bullet wound of his captor as hard as he could.

The man all-but shrieked and the boy ripped free of the one-handed grip he was held in, leaping at the avenging brother. He caught his shooting arm with both hands and swung from it as though it was a low-hanging tree limb, pulling the shot wide as he fired the weapon more in surprise than by design. Myles ducked away from it and the bullet ricocheted off the bulletproof metal of the Bentley, burying itself instead in the leg of Shoulder-Shot guy who bellowed in agony once more.

"You fucking idiot!" he howled, dropping to the floor and clutching his latest injury.

The shooter swore in fury and clouted Dom with his free hand.

"You little bastard!" he spat at him.

The hit dazed the boy, making him lose his grip and his attacker kicked him solidly in the gut, winding him. Dom wasted no time in scrambling towards the perceived safety of his uncle and though the giant grabbed him as soon as he was close enough and slung him into the small space he made between his back and the car, it was all he could do to provide any measure of protection at all. Dom pressed himself close, reaching urgently for the giant's hand. At first The Major thought he was seeking comfort - like any little boy would when faced with a nightmare like this. Only if it wasn't reality, it was doing a bloody good impression. He closed his eyes momentarily. Had it only been a matter of days since he had watched the same child piggy-backing his schoolmate across a stage in a school hall, dressed as some likeness of a donkey?

"Dom," he breathed, as quietly as he could. "You'll be alright. No more heroics. Just be grey."

He was instructing him not to draw any more attention to himself. To behave as they asked and be no trouble. It was his best hope of getting out of this situation alive. He reached for his hand, willing to give him that at least now, if it was what he needed. But instead of a small, warm clutch of fingers, a cold, hard, heavy object was pressed against his palm. His grip closed around it automatically and he slipped it behind his back.

This wasn't any little boy. Oh how could he have forgotten that even for a moment? This was his nephew. The latest in a long line of ruthless guardians. He was trained. He was sharp. And he most certainly was not going to let him go down without a fight.

You wonderful, wonderful kid, he thought, as his downtrodden spirit soared suddenly once more.

The boy had handed him a lifeline. But only if life itself handed him the opportunity to use it.

"What the hell is going on?" the boss demanded, stepping back out of the only functioning vehicle his party had left - a car which had been on the other side of the smashed van. "Jesus Christ! You can't even handle a child, let alone a gun!"

He ripped the handgun off his man, pistol whipping him across the face with it angrily.

"But boss!" Forbes the younger complained, clasping at his cheek.

"Fuck 'but boss!' – cut him dead before I shoot you as well!" the boss snapped angrily. "And you – quit whinging and get in the car!"

Shoulder – and now knee as well, it would seem – Shot, whimpered to his feet and began to drag himself to their getaway vehicle. The dead man's brother drew a long knife from his belt holster, fuming.

"When I start shooting," Myles murmured to his nephew without moving his lips. "Make for cover. Don't wait for me."

Dom responded as surreptitiously as he could, squeezing his elbow tightly for a moment.

"Can I kill the brat?"

"Goddamnit Forbes! I'll kill you if you don't hurry up – and no! I told you; bring the damn kid!"

"Fine," the other Forbes said, stalking towards them, glaring at the youngest Butler, who was buried his face into his uncle's shoulder. "He never said you had to be in one piece, you little shit…"

He was going to enjoy this.

"Ready?" Myles muttered, tensing the muscles in his back as the man approached.

Dom fisted his hands into his uncle's blood-soaked shirt under his jacket and closed his eyes, acting scared was easier, but in reality he was on his knees and primed to push himself off the cold floor and into a run. He had done all he could now. It was down to The Major, as per usual, to save the day.

The man slammed the heel of his hand onto The Major's forehead, smacking his skull backwards against the Bentley's side and exposing his neck.

"I bet you'll look at me now," he said, through gritted teeth as he brought the knife tight against his captive's jugular – not his carotid; he wanted the man to suffer slowly as he bled out. "How's it feel to fail? I'm going to kill this Fowl brat as soon as I get chance, you hear me? You've failed. The Fowl line ends today because of you."

"Wrong... heir..." The Major breathed.

"What?" the man pulled back to look at him.

Dom glared up defiantly from behind his uncle. Two pairs of identical eyes and very similar faces… Something buzzed in the man's brain and suddenly he wasn't entirely sure the kid here was Fowl's son at all. Deciding to deal with that possibility as soon as he dispatched the Diamond, he readjusted his grip on his knife...

"Fowl's kid, not Fowl's kid- I couldn't give a fuck who's heir he is," he verbalised scornfully, lining up his knife once more.

"You should," Myles bared his teeth. "'Cause he's... my... heir."

There was a single flicker of uncertainty in the stranger's eyes before the life went out of them.

The Major had brought his armed hand between them and shot him straight through the chest at point blank range, following it up with one to the head as the man fell, just to make sure. Dom sprinted for the back of the Bentley, slinging himself around the corner of the taillights and to the safety of the other side and slapping both hands over his ears, all by the time the body had stopped moving on the floor. Shoulder-Shot made a much clumsier run for their own car, but the warning he was shouting died in his throat with him before he could make it. Myles all but emptied the magazine at the leader of the group as he too ran for the vehicle. The man turned and shot with the gun he had taken from Forbes, throwing himself behind the open door for cover.

Myles kept firing.

Straight through the single-plane window.

Three perfect circles appeared in the glass and the boss crumpled, landing half-in, half-out of the safety of the vehicle.

And there is the beauty of spending an extra few quid on bulletproof, The Major thought to himself, energy more spent than his bullets, chest heaving like bellows as he struggled to maintain his oxygen level at all costs.

The night was still again. Quiet, but for the hissing of wounded vehicles leaking their vital engine fluids onto the ground. Much like himself, he mused humourlessly, as he gazed numbly around the scene he had created.

As satisfied as he could be that his job was done, Myles let the tension ebb out of his muscles, slumping against his faithful Bentley.

"Well, old girl," he mumbled, barely aloud, patting a bloody hand print onto the paintwork. "Least we're going out together, eh?"

I love the Butlers. Really I do. The whole family. Honestly.

Wolfy
ooo
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