‘I’m here with Jake. We’re going to get you out,’ I shout back.

We’ve been ordered by Platform Eight to undertake an emergency extraction. As assassins in an elite underground branch of Her Majesty’s Secret Service it’s a slightly different remit to what we are used to. But the target under attack is one of our own. Simon Black has been undercover with a drug-dealing syndicate, tasked with taking out the newly appointed Head. This morning we’d intercepted communication that they knew about him.

I slide out of the driver’s door, keeping low. The gunfire continues. I hear it ricocheting off the roof. Why are they aiming so high? I look up just in time to see a plank of wood come crashing down, knocking Black off his feet.

There’s another burst of gunfire and in my earpiece is Jake Drummond. ‘Hostiles down.’

I run to Black and pull the plank off him. He’s out cold. But there is still a pulse. I drag him the few feet to the van. Jake screeches up next to us on his motorbike. He jumps off and together we sling Black into the back of the van.

‘I’ll call in the Clean Team. You get him out of here.’

I get into the driver’s seat and accelerate fast. I just need to get back to the relative safety of the industrial park. Witnesses and CCTV should halt a further attack. I speed along the ramshackle road. Two turns and I will be at the alleyway leading back to the main road.

My phone rings through the van’s Bluetooth. I ignore it. A large black four-by-four roars around the corner.

They’re coming for us.

I push into fifth gear as I accelerate further. I need to somehow outrun them.

‘Hi, just a quick one.’ Will’s voice crackles through the hands-free.

What the hell?

I must’ve clipped the answer button on the steering wheel. Now is not the time for a chat with my husband who remains oblivious to what exactly being a data-analyser for the Government Communication and Data Specialisation Branch really entails. He thinks the biggest danger I face in my supposed desk-bound job is square eyes from staring at a computer screen all day long.

‘Can you pick up my dry-cleaning on your way home?’

I reach for the hang-up button. Just as the four-by-four rams into the side of us and I’m flung against the driver side window.

‘Hello, Lex? What was that bang? Are you OK?’

I peel myself off the window and grab hold of the steering wheel and slam my foot down on the accelerator, powering slightly ahead of the four-by-four. The collision has slowed them down more than me.

‘Dropped my phone. I can’t really talk now. I—’