Free Novel - The Supernaturalist by Eoin Colfer Page A

leader. “Don’t interrogate anyone until they’ve signed a waiver.”
    The lawyers rappelled after the sound of Stefan’s voice. They were gung-ho now, but would shortly feel very stupid.
    Ditto chuckled. “The oldest trick in the book. We have a crate of those walkie-talkies in the warehouse. I remember when lawyers were smarter.”
    Mona peeped over the rim. “Some of them still are.”
    Two of the lawyers were coming their way, lightning-rod rifles drawn tight against their shoulders.
    “Beautiful equipment,” said Ditto. “Those rappelling rigs are hands-free. And the rods can shoot forever. Nothing short of an electro magnetic pulse will stop those weapons firing.”
    Cosmo was too busy being scared to admire their equipment. “They’re coming. What are we going to do?”
    Stefan unhooked his backpack, placing his lightning rod on the roof. “We surrender.”
    Mona grinned. “Watch this, Cosmo. A thing of beauty.”
    Cosmo noticed that both Mona and Ditto were switching cartridges in their weapons.
    Stefan rose slowly to his feet, hands raised high above his head. “Don’t shoot!” he cried. “I’m unarmed.”
    The lawyers split apart, becoming two targets. Both guns were pointed at Stefan’s head. “You fled the scene!” one shouted across the divide. “We’re legally entitled to wrap you.”
    “I know, but come on, guys. I just wanted to see the show. I didn’t touch anything. Anyway, my Dad’s an ambassador. We have diplomatic immunity.”
    The lawyers started. Diplomatic immunity had become more or less redundant since the One World treaty, but there was still the odd remote republic that held on to its rights. If you wrapped a genuine diplomat, you’d spend the next five years in court and the twenty after that in prison.
    “If you have diplomatic immunity, why are you wearing that fuzz plate?” Fuzz plate was the slang for the night-vision masks Stefan and his team were wearing. The low-level radiation in the plastic meant that they could not only repel X-rays but also wipe video. Even if the Supernaturalists were caught on camera, their heads would show up as static fuzz.
    “Ultraviolet protection, that’s all. I swear. I don’t want to get my brain fried.”
    One of the lawyers cocked his weapon. “UV? At night? Okay, Mister Diplomatic Immunity. Let’s see some diplomatic identification. And it had better not be fake, or you won’t see a vat until morning.”
    Stefan reached inside his overcoat and, using two fingers only, withdrew an ID card. “I’m going to throw it across. Ready? Don’t get trigger-happy. My Dad knows Mayor Shine.”
    “One hand. Put the other one on top of your head.”
    Stefan did as he was told, flicking the ID card high into to air. The wind caught it, spinning the plastic rectangle another twenty yards up.
    “Moron,” said lawyer number one, his eyes tracking the card.
    “I got it,” said number two.
    At that moment, while both lawyers were watching the card, Ditto and Mona popped up simultaneously, squeezing off one round from their new cartridges.
    Two green slugs sped across to the Stromberg Building, viscous trails in their wake. They splatted onto the lawyers’ visors, spreading green goo across the lawyers’ heads and shoulders. The two rapid-response lawyers keeled over, clawing at the blinding gunk on their visors.
    “Gumballs,” explained Mona, smiling her dazzling smile. “The most disgusting substance on the planet. Those helmets are history. I got clipped with a gumball one time, ruined my favorite flak jacket. Those guys are out of the game until their squad shows up.”
    Stefan watched the blank plastic card spiral toward the streets of Satellite City. Then his phone pulsed gently in his pocket. He pulled it out, consulting the small screen.
    “A message from the computer. A citizen has pressed her panic button down on Journey and Eighth. Let’s go. We’ll take the street.”
    “One second,” said Ditto. He laid down a