Suspicious activity.

The phone rang. Before the second sound had even started it was already picked up. Silence over the line. A crackle. A whistle. The line went dead. The cold dial tone played through the speaker.

In the silent, shadowy office, noise began to take over. The computer beeped as its screen came to life and files were received. Equipment was gathered, plans were considered. Preparations were being made.

A few days later, a refined lady in her thirties stepped off the train in a small town in the middle of nowhere and made her way to a decent sized hotel. The only one in town that wasn't a shit hole, in her mind. She didn't have time to waste with that nonsense. She wore long heels and they clicked on the pavement as she walked, an air of authority about her.

In the medium sized hotel room, she laid out her clothes on the bed and equipment on the desk, a final inspection before she began her work. She tidied it all away into the cupboard with her clothes hanging above the suitcase, concealing it well. She was going to be here a while.

She spent the night reading through her mission documents, researching, editing, improving, and eating and drinking whatever she felt like. Her bell rang a few times when room service came to deliver. She sat up in bed, a princess among the paupers, glass of red wine in hand and considered all the angles. At around midnight though, she suddenly dropped her half full glass as she fell asleep, woke up in a rush and had to rush to clean all the sheets, her clothes and most importantly, the red-stained documents.

'Shit. Not again,' she hissed while she tidied, hurriedly.

She finally got into bed and fell into a deep sleep until eight the next morning when her alarm went off. Once again, she inspected the equipment, dressed to kill and left the hotel. She had a market to go to.