But then she hated everyone.

Cameron Clarke had followed a similar career path to me. Recruited out of university and assigned straight into Track 101. The last time we had met it was crushing an international sex-trafficking ring. We had gone in undercover together and wreaked carnage on our would-be captors.

Despite spending a month together in some pretty gruesome circumstances, I still couldn’t work out if she was over-compensating for being a woman by being extra ruthless and sadistic or if she was just like that naturally. I had started the mission naively hopeful that working alongside another female assassin meant we would become besties and spend downtime bonding over frappuccinos and how tough it was fitting a gun in our waistband when having a fat day.

‘Why the hell do you guys work in such a dump?’ asked the tall woman with cropped peroxided blonde hair who’d just stepped into the meeting room.

But she just wasn’t a very nice person.

Hattie uncurled himself from his plastic chair and got to his feet. ‘Everyone, please meet Cameron.’

Cameron was wearing a black polo neck, leather trousers and was vigorously chewing gum. ‘Take it in turns to stand and state your name and job,’ she barked.

Robin, Geraint and Pixie obliged. Jake and I remained seated.

Jake waved. ‘Jake. Rat. Hello.’

‘Lex. Rat. We’ve met.’

Cameron stared at me. ‘You’re still here then.’ She had a nasal New York accent that grated. Or maybe it was just that I disliked her and everything about her grated. Cameron looked around the meeting room. ‘I had no idea it was such a shithole down here. Track 101 just had another full renovation. Upgrades with underfloor heating, Sonos speakers in the canteen, the full works.’

‘You let builders down there?’ One of the many reasons why Platform Eight functioned on the bare essentials was that everything that needed doing to it we had to do ourselves. No outside contractors.

‘We killed them all,’ she deadpanned. ‘Just joking.’ Not a muscle moved in her face.

I made a mental note to check if there were any reported stories of an American contracting firm losing a vast percentage of their workforce.

Cameron looked at me again and cocked her head. ‘You look different.’

‘She’s a mama now!’ called out Robin. ‘You must be seeing the glow of motherhood.’

‘If by “glow” you mean older, more tired, and more badly dressed, then yes. She’s sooo glowing.’

‘Thanks, Cameron. You’re too kind.’ I tried to recall if there was anything in Cameron’s background that helped explain her being so awful. Something to give her a little humanity. But from what I remembered she’d had a nice upbringing and loving parents. I remembered her file included a photo of a teenage her on a pony. Maybe that’s what it was. She was a testament to how bad it was to spoil your kids.