One whole week after the meeting with Shona Patterson, and still no phone call. Elle was impatient. She had been looking forward to this job, and it was now beginning to look like it wouldn't even happen at all.

She stood in a small, square room on the top floor of a biscuit factory. It was a place of constant noise, which helped to drown out any that she might make.

Dasker's biscuits were well known by the world. They came in a range of flavours, from chocolate orange, to strawberry, to mint, and were perfect with tea or coffee. She'd had tried a few of them herself, delivered to her 'office' when they weren't deemed good enough for customers. There never seemed to be much wrong with the biscuits, aside from their odd shapes.

Many had been astonished by how quickly the business had established itself and become popular, but none had ever really dug deep enough to find out what was behind such a success.

Robert Dasker had been involved with back handed dealing most of his life, and so had his mother before him. They had been well off for generations, claiming that their success was the result of diligence, determination, and luck.

These were all key factors, but they weren't the main reason the Daskers had always had it so good.

They had started out selling parts from stolen vehicles below the public eye. They would steal cars, tractors, vans, motorbikes, anything with an engine and in good condition, and have it transported to Ireland for disassembly. The parts were brought back to a number of storage units across Britain within two months, and sold on to buyers from their various outlets across the world.

Then they'd moved on to bigger, bolder projects, and had slowly but surely secured themselves a place at the top of the food chain.

They kept all of this out of the public eye, disposing of anyone who threatened them quickly and effectively.

A flicker of a smile crossed Elle's face. That was how she'd first come into contact with the family, nearly twenty-five years ago.

At that time, she'd been working almost non-stop. She'd only just left to begin her own career, after two years in the business, and was determined to make it work.

As well as that, she'd had a boyfriend at the time, and it was something she was determined would work out, even if he would always come second to her job.

She had been assigned her very first mercenary job as a guard to Cecilia Dasker while she attended a conference in Italy. It was a nerve-wracking time; she could still remember the sleepless night before hand.

The operation had been largely uneventful, but she and Cecilia had discovered that they had a lot in common, and through this discovery, Elle had been offered a second job.

This one had been more high-risk. She'd had to meet with a gang to deliver a cargo of weapons. There were pistols, grenades, UMPs, all jammed into assorted bags and cases. None were loaded, of course, but that didn't make it a safe job.

Back then, Elle hadn't even hesitated before she'd accepted the proposition. She'd known from the beginning that contacts were crucial to survival in this line of work. Becoming affiliated with the Daskers was a very important and strategic move for her career at the time; they were powerful assets.

Now, years later, Elle's earlier determination had paid off; she had her own room in one of their factories, and the trust of a very influential family. In this room, she kept extra supplies, and a few of her more recent wares.

Elle had been careful never to keep too much in the one place. She owned lockers and storage units across the city of Cardiff, and a few further away. They were all signed to different names, so if one was found to contain illegal equipment, it would be much easier for her to distance herself from blame.

Elle lifted a small cardboard box from the floor beneath the desk. It was surprisingly heavy, but she'd expected that.

This was her newest buy. It wasn't something she planned on selling, no, this was for her.

She peeled back the see-through tape that kept the box closed, and lifted one of the flaps to expose the contents. At first glance, it was nothing but a bronze statue of the Buddha, with a clear, shining crystalline orb held in his hands.

That wasn't what interested her in this box, however. It was what lay beneath the white packing peanuts that was of interest.

Elle reached into them, and felt the cool metal of what she'd been looking for. Elle had bought and sold many guns in her time. She knew how to handle them, how to hit a target, and how to reload quickly. She was experienced, but she had never owned a gun of her own.

She pulled the weapon free of the box and held it in her hand, pointed at ninety degrees towards the wall beside her. It was a 1911 Desert Eagle. Elle had bought herself a pistol to commemorate her latest successful contract.

Just looking at the polished silver weapon made her eyes light up. It had a very sleek build, with a long clip. On the left-hand side of its muzzle, at the bottom, it read 'Made in Israel'.

From across the room, her phone buzzed. It sat on a steel filing cabinet just next to the door. She returned the gun to its box, moved the box back to where it had been, and strode towards the noise.

The small black screen read 'No Caller ID' in italicised white lettering. She answered the call and held it to her ear.

"Evelyn Rivers?" The feminine voice was vaguely familiar.

"Speaking."

"It's Mandy. Would you be able to deliver the package by Friday? You will be paid after I have proof of delivery."

"I would. Where should it be delivered to?" A rush of excitement swam through her body.

"The Fadwick Hotel. I will be in the lounge for much of the night."

Elle's reply caught in her throat. She knew this hotel. It was in Newport; only a city away from where Darius had been killed. That would make this riskier than many operations she tended to take on nowadays. Elle found her gaze drawn to the box hidden beneath the table, to the weapon it held tucked away inside it.

It was alright to take risks every once in a while, right? She'd been playing it safe for so long, and this was a stepping stone to where she wanted to be. She had to take it. This was an opportunity that would never crop back up.

"Will that be an issue?" There was a note of caution in the voice on the phone. She'd taken a second too long to answer.

"No, of course not. I will make the delivery before Thursday evening. Thank you for your call." The call ended with a faint click.

Elle took a deep breath. There was a lot that needed preparing for a case like this. She had to find out what was going on in the hotel this Thursday, where her target would be beforehand, and what she would have to use in order to complete the deal.

It was a lot of work in four days, but it could be done. Elle couldn't let her contact down. It would only reflect badly on her, and the business she'd spent so long trying to build up.

This business had been her life for far too long for Elle to let it crumble.

She'd risked every other aspect of her life to keep it in top priority. She had cancelled holidays, family events, worked over Christmases, and spent more time with her work than with anyone else.

It was only in the last ten years that she'd established a good balance, and even then, it was rather delicate.

Elle began to pace the room. She had her arms folded. She drummed her fingers against her triceps. Her gaze was focused on the middle distance. It was time to plan.

First of all, how to carry out the killing? She had around 250ml of cyanide left, which should be more than enough to take down Tobias. Using that cyanide also meant she didn't need to go through the hassle of trying to sell it on again. The 1000ml had been hard enough to get rid of.

On the other hand, there was a risk factor to consider here too. She had already used cyanide once. Using it again would surely connect both cases. That was something to consider. Maybe it would be worth seeing if she could get her hands on some kind of retractable dagger. That could be a useful tool in this kind of case, especially if she also found some kind of potent, soluble liquid toxin.

She stopped her pacing and lifted one hand to cup her chin. Of course, she would be wearing a whole different wig, outfit, and contact lenses. That would make identifying her all the more difficult, and possibly a lot harder to connect the cyanide cases. If this limited the risk factor enough, it may even mean she could stick with the remaining cyanide.

Next thing to consider; the Fadwick Hotel. She didn't know much about it, but there was a possibility that it wouldn't have as lax security measures as the Marbaya had. If not, Elle would need to plan this much differently.

That would be her first objective, to call a meeting with one of her most crucial contacts. Then, she would see what this Tobias looked like herself. She had a plan for attracting his interest.

From what Elle already knew, Tobias wasn't at all like Darius. He didn't go out searching for one-night-stands, nor did he spend his time in bars until the early hours of the morning.

He seemed like the more reserved type, which would make her usual form of attack more difficult to pull off. It could still be done, but she would need to be more careful about she did it.

Elle began pacing again, lost completely now within this theoretical world. She walked towards the desk, and opened up the laptop that sat over to the far-left hand side. The lifeless screen whirred into action, displaying the Windows logo.

She didn't sit at the desk, just waited for the laptop to start up. It had been awhile since it was last on at all, so she wasn't really expecting to get anything done very soon.

Ten minutes later, the machine had loaded the home screen. Less than ten seconds later, it went black. This time, it came back on to an update. Small print underneath the warning not to unplug the monitor read "This may take up to 125 minutes."

At that point, Elle stood up and left. She had things to do in the meantime, her contact could wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elle was in better spirits when, at 8 o'clock that same evening, she returned to her factory room. The factory had shut down for the night. Only cleaners roamed its maze of halls, machines, and rows of neatly stacked produce.

The factory served as a miniature warehouse, too. Biscuits for delivery to nearby shops and neighbourhoods were kept in its storage sections, which made for faster, easier delivery – of both legal and illegal goods.

Elle hadn't been able to find anything amiss about this factory for the first few years after she'd first been given this room within it. It had seemed completely ordinary. It was only when she'd attended a meeting to discuss a trading job that she'd discovered the underground labyrinth that existed beneath it.

It was amazing how well hidden something so large could be. She had spent a few minutes just coming to terms with that.

Elle opened the door slowly, and hung her jacket up on the double-pronged hook on the other side. The room smelled of freshly baked cookies and sawdust. It was an odd combination, but she liked it.

Elle had spent the last few hours setting up the basis for her plan. She'd taken a trip to the Fadwick Hotel to see what kind of security measures they had, and she'd staged a run-in with Tobias.

The hotel had been built and secured surprisingly similarly to the Marbaya. It had a few more cameras she was pretty sure, but the layout was pretty much the same. There was a themed dance event every Tuesday and Thursday that was open to non-hotel guests to encourage publicity.

Her meeting with Tobias had gone well enough. She'd asked him for directions to the Marabaya, and had spoken to him along the way. There had been nothing more than slight flirtation, but he'd seemed flustered.

He'd left with her name, and had even given her his phone number. He was heavier than Darius had been, but the remaining 250ml of hydrogen cyanide would do the trick.

Elle felt she'd done a good job so far. She wasn't gullible enough to relax as a result of this, but her plan was fully set out now.

Now all she had to do was send a message to her contact for full security plans of the hotel, and then her day would be over, and she could get home in time for a movie night with her children.

The laptop loaded twice as fast as it had before. The background picture was of a path through a forest. The backs of two people could be seen. They were holding hands. Elle didn't recognise it.

She clicked the email icon on at the left hand side of her desktop. There was a notification that she had unopened mail. Elle went straight to the 'new mail' icon.

She typed a message out, and sent it to her planning contact. She asked about the Fadwick hotel, and said she was doing maintenance across the ground floor. She used an email address that had only ever been used for messaging contacts. The laptop whooshed, telling her the message had been sent.

Elle had been about to close the laptop right then, but she'd started to think instead.

There had been no news of Darius yet. Usually, colder cases were publicised in the hopes that some new witness would come forwards and confess what they'd seen. If there was no public information on Darius yet, that could mean they were still doing very well on the case.

Elle knew it was still early days. She knew it was unrealistic to think the police would've have come close to giving up yet, but still, she preferred to know.

It was for this reason that she moved the mouse across the screen, and entered the inbox of an account that hadn't been used for over seventeen years. There were no unopened emails.

Elle stared at the screen. The mouse hovered over the 'New Mail' icon. It had been a while since she had messaged this contact. For all Elle knew, he had left the life years ago.

They had once been very close, but friendships never tended to last very long in this line of work. She began to type, hoping she had remembered the code correctly.

Dear Bluebird,

Do you still fly?

It was short. She wanted to say something else, but there was nothing else to say.

She hit send.