Mulch stepped on to a parquet corridor. The whole place smelled of
money. He could make a fortune here, if only he had the time.
There were cameras just below the architrave. Tastefully done,
nestling in the natural shadows. But vigilant nonetheless. Mulch stood for
a moment, calculating the system’s blind spot. Three cameras on the
corridor. Ninety-second sweep. No way through.
“You could ask for help,” said a voice in his ear.
“Foaly?” Mulch pointed his wired eyeball at the nearest camera. “Can
you do anything about those?” he whispered.
…

He shuffled along the corridor, skipping through the first doorway he
encountered.
More cameras. Quite a lot of them, in fact. Mulch studied the lenses’
sweep. Four were surveying the general floorspace, but another three were
fixed.

- Artemis Fowl, Chapter 7