Angelmaker

by Nick Harkaway

The onward march of progress has wandered off down a dark alley and been mugged.

“And you, you poor rube, are standing there at the crime scene up to your neck in shit.” “Yes.” “Bethany? Police?” “On their way, Mr. Cradle. Someone called them five minutes ago.” “Joe, you are a pillock. Was that you?” Joe doesn’t know. It may have been. “Never mind, then. First question: are you Colonel Mustard?” “No.” “You are not the Colonel in any way, shape or form?” “No.” “Could anyone unkindly imagine that you have the look of a military man? Have you been seen entering the library carrying plumbing supplies?”

The point is that insofar as we are anything, we are things which think. Not Homo sapiens but Res cogitans.”