Butler stopped at the enquiries desk, casting a broad shadow across the slim-line monitor perched there. The thin man who had been working on the monitor lifted his head to complain, then thought better of it. Butler’s sheer bulk often had that effect on people.

‘How can I help you, Herr…?’

‘Lee. Colonel Xavier Lee. I wish to open my deposit box,’ replied Butler in fluent German.

‘Yes, Colonel. Of course. My name is Bertholt, and I will be assisting you today.’

Bertholt opened Colonel Xavier Lee’s file on his computer with one hand; the other was twirling a pencil like a mini-baton. ‘We just need to complete the usual security check. If I may have your passport?’

‘Of course,’ said Butler, sliding a People’s Republic of China passport across the desk. ‘I expect nothing less than the most stringent security procedures.’

Bertholt took the passport in slim fingers, first checking the photograph, then placing it on a scanner.

‘Alfonse,’ snapped Butler at Artemis, ‘stop fidgeting and stand up straight, son. You slouch so much that sometimes I think you don’t have a spine.’

Bertholt smiled with an insincerity a toddler could have seen through.

‘Alfonse, nice to meet you.’

‘Dude,’ said Artemis, with equal hypocrisy.

Butler shook his head. ‘My son does not communicate well with the rest of the world. I look forward to the day he can join the army. Then we shall see if there is a man beneath all these moods.’

Bertholt nodded sympathetically. ‘I have a girl. Sixteen years old. She spends more on phone calls in a week than the entire family spends on food.’