¡¡The girl twisted her ponytail. ‘As much as any of us can, like, own anything. One world, one people, right, man? Ownership is, like, you know, an illusion. Maybe we don’t even own our own bodies. We could be, like, the daydreams of some greater spirit.’

Spiro squeezed the air, as though it were Artemis’s neck.

‘But also because you have an Irish passport.’

The girl slid back the van door and climbed into the interior. Pex and Chips followed, ducking under the rim. Pex released the girl’s neck momentarily to take the step. That was his mistake. A properly trained private soldier would never allow an untethered prisoner to lead the way into an unsecured vehicle.

‘I hope you got that,’ he muttered, feeling the mike vibrating on his throat.

The hired muscle stared at Artemis as though he had just appeared from nowhere. Which, for their mesmerized brains, he had.

Artemis consulted the clock on his mobile phone.

‘OK, what do we need for now? The throat mike and an iris-camera.’