Elle snapped her phone shut after her call went to voicemail for the third time.

This wasn't good. They should be here by now. There was a very strict schedule to follow. She blew air out from between her teeth. It misted in the air in front of her.

The alleyway she stood in was long and cold. She was glad she'd decided to bring along a jacket. The days were always temperamental in mid-May, especially in Wales.

If her buyer didn't arrive within the next ten minutes, Elle would have no choice but to leave and head onto her next task.

Her phone began to buzz in her pocket. She retrieved it and looked at the name on the screen. No Caller ID. Great.

She answered the call and waited for something to be said. At first there was static, and then she made out a deep voice on the other end of the line.

"The postman was late this morning. Will the package still be delivered?" It was said very robotically, but it was all the confirmation Elle needed.

"The package is available for pick up." She replied, equally emotionless.

The static resumed, and then the line went dead. She closed the phone.

About a minute later, a man wearing a fedora entered the opposite end of the alleyway. He had one hand on the front of it, which told Elle all she needed to know.

She began to walk until they were next to each other. Briefly, they grasped hands, exchanged goods, and continued walking.

1000mg of cyanide, sold. Elle had been searching for a buyer for a month or so. It had been difficult to find anyone willing to take it, even with her many contacts.

Not one of them had gotten back to her. They were all preoccupied with other business, which tended to mean they weren't interested in whatever she had.

Elle hadn't had cyanide for years. Most things, she could sell in a number of days, sometimes a week, but that was because she had a near limitless supply of contacts.

She had lost the majority of her cyanide contacts after not having it for so long. That was just how it went in this business.

She turned left once she reached the end of the alleyway and moved her right hand to her pocket.

She could feel the small capsule in her palm. It was perfect for what she had in mind.

Elle hadn't been taking on contracts for a while. She'd almost been caught once, around twelve years previous, and after that she'd retreated to backhand sales instead.

The Black Market was a constantly moving line of business. She was kept on her toes by the demand. Cyanide had been in high demand back when she'd originally wanted it, and then by the time she'd gotten around to selling it, no one was biting.

Finding that buyer had been a stroke of luck. Even luckier still had been that they were selling exactly what she needed for her next target.

The thrill of that first contract just a few days ago – Darius McGallogat – had reminded her why she'd gotten into the business of contract killing in the first place. It was exhilarating; a rush like no other she'd ever experienced.

However, she was determined not to make this 'A Thing' again. Her last experience, when she'd almost been caught, had been enough to make her change her ways.

That didn't mean she couldn't take on the odd contract though, right? Eighteen years later, when she'd very nearly forgotten what it felt like, surely, she was justified in entering the field once again? Elle believed so.

It made no differences to her personal life; her family would continue to believe she worked for an accounting firm, and that her salaries depended on how well the company did.

It wasn't a complete lie anyway. Elle had at one point worked for an accounting firm, and she'd been damn good at her job, too.

But the firm had fallen on hard times, and she'd lost her job. She'd told everyone she knew that she'd found work in Fosters; a well-known, more successful rival of her old workplace.

It was believable, but very far from the truth.

In reality, Elle had been devastated by losing her job, and had said as such to a colleague who'd been let go at the same time as she herself had. Her name had been Shona, and she'd offered Elle a temporary position in a whole different kind of company.

Of course, Elle was curious. As a teenager, she'd been heavily involved with the British army. She'd completed basic training with flying colours at 18, and had been posted to Northern Ireland two years later after being offered a position in a post that would teach her the art of spycraft. It had all seemed like it would be exciting, so of course she'd said yes.

She must have been involved with spycraft for a good five years. It was interesting, but after some bad experiences, Elle had left.

She'd planned to just go on to Accounting since she had the qualifications for a job.

Throughout her time with the accounting agency, Elle had never really been able to leave her past behind; she was never truly satisfied with such a mundane, constant life. Sure, Elle had loved her job, but it was always boring. Nothing ever changed, nothing exciting ever happened.

She'd been twenty-seven at the time, and in a semi-serious relationship that she'd soon ended up breaking off to focus on her new 'career'.

It became evident relatively quickly that this would be no normal, average job.

She was told very little initially, and then she'd been given her first task; deliver ten pounds of cocaine to someone she was told to address as 'the contract'. In return, she'd be paid £2000.

It sounded easy enough. The most difficult part had been remembering the codewords, but she'd done it, and she'd been paid as promised.

That had started her on a whole new path. Elle had often thought of it as the right path, like she'd been pushed back onto the main road rather than tossed into the sea.

Many people would disagree. How was a life in the shadows, constantly watching your back, any better than one spent in the open, one spent being safe, even if it was boring?

It was a difficult question to answer, most wouldn't understand her reasoning at all, but in her opinion, it was a much better life. It was riveting, just as spycraft had been, and brought a new kind of excitement to her life. She hadn't realised just how much she'd missed that life until she got it back.

Elle didn't work for those people anymore. That contract had only lasted for a year before she'd moved on. It wasn't smart to stay with the same people, doing the same things in the same ways. Over time, it became riskier.

Now, she worked for herself, in cooperation with her hundreds of contacts. Some of them had been with her since the beginning, but most came and went with the seasons.

It was better that way. It meant that less could be traced back to her, and it made things more interesting.

Of course, there were also the odd few contacts who went silent for months, sometimes even years, and then popped up out of nowhere to resume business as before.

Her contacts gave her hints and tips, and Elle got them what they needed. For each successful deal, she'd be paid handsomely.

By this point in her career, she knew how much to expect, and when to point out what was too little, what was too much. In most jobs, too much money would only be a good thing, but in her line of work, Elle had soon realised that it generally meant something was amiss.

It was exactly that that had nearly gotten her imprisoned in the first place, after all. She'd been wilder back then, had revelled in the risks she now made sure to avoid.

Risks just weren't practical in a job like this. Risks got you hurt. Risks got you killed.

There were a few people on Hickens Street, going about their morning routine. The sun could just be seen through the cloud cover above, but it brought no heat to the streets.

The café was just up ahead, nestled at the mouth of a tunnel. A train clattered past on the tracks above. It had six carriages.

The sign hanging limply above the door of the café read 'The Coffee Bean' in slanted white letters. The café itself was painted a light, pea green. The paint seemed chipped in some places, and it definitely wasn't the most flattering colour, but there was something charming about the place regardless.

A bell rung merrily as Elle opened the door and stepped inside. It was much warmer than it was outside. She removed her jacket and folded it over her arm.

She was here to meet with an old contact who had a favour to call in. It apparently couldn't be discussed over the phone due to some kind of technicality. Elle hadn't pressed for details, yet.

She scanned the café for anyone who looked familiar. There were around a dozen people at tables, and some more in the queue she'd now joined.

Elle had been told to order an espresso with cream, two cookies of the same flavour, and a sandwich with ham and cheese.

It was one of the more complicated sets of codes she'd been given, and there were codewords too, but Elle didn't see this as much of an issue.

After what felt like an age, she was served. The order came to £11.30, which was to be expected. She paid with cash.

It wasn't difficult to get a table. Elle slid into a booth beside the window. She put her purse under her thigh, both to make sure she didn't forget it, and to make it harder for it to be stolen.

She'd been to this café a lot in her life, mostly on business, but a few times with past boyfriends and fellow accountants back when she'd still been employed.

It was a nice café in a very bad area. On the other side of the bridge, there tended to be a lot of crime. It was a hotspot for the gangs in the area, many of whom she had worked with once or twice.

There were the lower level criminals of course too; the petty thieves and teenagers in need of money to fund their addictions.

She'd learned from experience that it was best to keep your possessions close in this café, as quaint as it seemed.

A tray with two plates and a small teacup were brought to her by a waitress who seemed like she'd rather be anywhere else. She wore a uniform and apron the same colour as the wall outside.

"Thank you." Elle said as she walked away. She took a sip of the espresso, felt it burn the back of her throat with its bitterness, and placed the cup back on its saucer.

She left the rest of the items on the tray as she'd been instructed. Her watch read 08:55. Now, it was a waiting game.

At exactly 9 o'clock, Elle's contract arrived. She came into the café and scanned the tables. She wore sunglasses and had her dark hair tied back into a low bun. She wore suit trousers and a shirt, no tie. Her tan coloured shoes had a slight heel that made her seem more imposing. Shona Patterson; her contact.

Elle couldn't tell if she'd been recognised or not. Today, she wore a strawberry blonde wig and light blue contact lenses. Her hair ran in loose curls down to her shoulders.

Even with her oldest contacts, Elle didn't reveal her true identity. It was just safer this way. It was difficult to remember which combination she had to use for each contact, but she had managed so far. It was something she could keep only handwritten notes on, and even that was a bit of a risk lest they were discovered by her children, but in the long run, it paid off.

Of course, Shona had seen what she looked like once - back at the accounting firm – but that had been nearly three decades ago now. Elle supposed she had probably changed a lot since then, so the chance of her still being recognisable to this woman was low. Shona would remember her real name, Elle assumed, but she didn't know her married surname. That was a small part of the reason Elle had agreed to get married in the first place.

The woman waltzed through the café towards Elle. She pushed her sunglasses down her short nose and looked her up and down. "Miss Rivers, how nice it is to see you again." She spoke with a voice as sweet as treacle, and extended her hand towards Elle.

"Likewise, Mrs Patterson. I trust you have been well since our last meeting?" She shook the woman's hand and smiled back at her.

"Yes, these last few months have been a blessing. Can I sit?" Shona sat down before Elle could reply and picked up one of the cookies. She held it to her face, turning it over to see the other side, and then took a bite. She chewed in silence.

"Has work been busy?" Elle asked. She cut the sandwich in half diagonally, took one of the pieces, and began to eat.

Mrs Patterson hummed. "Business has gone well. I may have a vacancy that would be of interest to you. In Human Resources?"

Elle stayed silent, considering what that meant. Shona was very high up in the Trading business. She had a lot of power, and could get a lot of jobs for anyone who worked beneath her.

Elle figured that was what she was being asked; if she wanted to work for the Pattersons. The answer in Elle's mind was crystal clear.

"As honoured as I am by an offer like that, I'll have to decline. I have been self-employed for a number of years now, and business is picking up." She replied.

There was no way that Elle wanted to go back to working beneath a boss again. She'd never regretted leaving that part of the life behind. It was much better working for herself.

Shona nodded sagely. "I expected as much. I have heard of your business; things do indeed seem to be going well. In that case, I have another proposition to offer you. This one, I am sure you will be interested in, but first, do you have my charger?"

The question seemed innocent enough, but that was the code. "Yes, I have it here." Elle unzipped her pocket and removed the folded plastic bag she'd been handed in the alleyway.

Shona took it from her, and picked up the other half of the sandwich. She tucked it into the inside pocket of her cropped jacket, took a bite of the sandwich, swallowed, and then spoke again. "Fantastic. Have you heard the news of poor Darius McGallogat?"

Elle frowned slightly. Patterson knew exactly what had gone on that night; she'd been the one to give Elle the contract in the first place. "Oh yes, it's absolutely tragic. It wasn't his time at all." She shook her head from side to side in a sympathetic manner. She hoped her voice sounded sincere enough, just in case anyone was listening in.

"Quite. Amanda Farrows has been asking for you. The CEO of Astwell's? She recently signed a deal regarding insider trading." Shona was hinting at something here, but Elle was unsure what just yet.

"I've heard of her." She replied, nodding curtly. Astwell's was the company that rivalled the one Darius had worked for, but how did either of those pieces of information connect?

"She had an upset recently, amongst staff. A man by the name of Tobias Wallace was at the heart of it. She asked if I knew anyone who could take over his position." Shona stared at Elle, from above her glasses. She wiped the edge of her mouth with her napkin.

Elle's eyes glittered with interest. This was an offer for another contract. Tobias had been in the headlines of the BBC a few days ago. Elle hadn't paid the article much attention, but she recalled reading something about a success on a project his superiors had failed at.

He was one position beneath Amanda, and a success like that would mean a promotion. It was then that she understood exactly what she was being asked.

"Thank you for letting me know of the opportunity. Tell Ms Farrows to give me a call sometimes, and we can talk business." She could hear the eagerness in her own voice. The prospect of another contract was too delightful to ignore.

"I'll pass the message along." Shona slid the glasses back up her nose. "If you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to elsewhere. Thank you for the sandwich, I hope to see you again soon, Evelyn." With that, Shona adjusted her jacket and left.

Elle finished off the rest of her now cold espresso. Electricity sparked through her veins. She was over the moon to have been give this second contract.

And, she reckoned, she had just enough cyanide left to do the job.