Jules smiled bitterly. ‘Our investigation consisted of sneaking into New York and getting our arses shot off. Look, I’ll admit, my due diligence wasn’t the best. But it was a plausible story. Establishing exactly who owns what in America right now is a nightmare. Anyway, long story short, we were duped into a free-fire zone by this Rubin character, or his pretend lawyer at least, and there was a team waiting for us near the apartment we were supposed to clean out. Neat, really. I mean, who’s going to notice two more dead bodies in New York? They could’ve dropped anvils tied to elephants on us from the top of the bloody Chrysler Building and nobody would’ve batted an eye. But anyway. They thought they had us and one of these losers called out, “Mr Cesky sends his regards!” Would have been all over red rover if Commando Barbie hadn’t stuck her psychotic, perky little nose in at that point.’

The car grunted forward again and they turned off the main strip into a warren of dusty streets, crowded with light trucks and four-wheel drives. It was a busy part of town, if not the most salubrious locale.

‘You mention this commando named Barbie, again,’ said Shah, looking intrigued. ‘Surely Barbie had a name tag if she was a soldier? A unit patch? Did Mr Rhino not take note of his rescuer?’

Jules smiled, but she was tired and distressed and the gesture faded before reaching her eyes. ‘Again, sorry, Shah. We’ve been picking it over for months now. “Commando Barbie” is just a nickname I gave her. I have no idea who she was, but I’d bet the family silver – if my family still had any – that she was no garden-variety squaddie. She was too good for one thing, and she was operating alone, deep in the badlands. She went through our would-be executioners like a dose of salts, and for a while I thought she might very well neck us too, just for the sake of convenience. No name tags. No unit patches. Just urban-combat battle dress and enough artillery to kit out the Brigade of Gurkhas, with a few whizz-bangs left over for shits and giggles. She never gave us a name, but in the helicopter I thought I heard one bloke call her Cate, or Katie, or something like that.’

The trio of Land Rovers rolled past the Winnellie Hotel-Motel, which seemed to be enjoying full occupancy, to judge by the car park full of pick-ups and utility vehicles, and then turned right into a dogleg corner. A high steel fence, topped by razor wire protected the compound into which they drove. A pair of armed guards, both of them looking like ex-Gurkhas as well, waved them in. The men wore kukri daggers at the hip, although the submachine guns both carried impressed Jules more.