Heat rolled from the road as the sun beat down; a trickle of sweat rode the ridge between her shoulders down her spine as she drove down the straight black ribbon, hopefully towards a new life. Living off the grid was hard, especially when everything you had was bought with a credit card. After selling the house and paying the bills, there was not much left to live on making her car handy. It was new to her folding out into a home; the previous owner had been happy to sell it for half of its worth, one of the beauties of having ready cash.

In a world where everything operated with electronics, apparently making it easier to live, but it only made life more restrained and difficult. A signboard showed a name of a town she hadn't seen on the map, and since she didn't have a mobile phone anymore, the town's existence was hard to prove. A place of questionable existence could be an excellent place to hide for a while, rest up and get her feet under her. It could be one of those things she was running from as well. Turning into the poorly kept road, she slowly made her way to the few clustered buildings. Stopping at the curve in the road before entering the town, she looked out at the eery silence of what should have been a bustling community. Everything was in excellent condition. The roads tarred and the pavements complete ... and empty. Where were the people, cars and trucks, and a small town's bustle?

Instinct screamed at her to get out of there. Throwing the car into reverse, she hit the accelerator, her gut screaming that something was wrong with everything she had seen. She glanced around and noticed a sniper on the top of a building, aiming at the car.

"Oh ... no, no no no no no," swinging the car around while maneuvering the gears, she pushed the pedal to the floor, getting to the road as quickly as possible. "Please don't be what I think you are."

The prayer became a chant, fast becoming a mantra. Glancing at the map and noticing a few towns along the way, all of them would be skipped. There was no way of knowing how far the poison had spread and which direction to run. Fear sliced through her as she raced toward freedom; she hoped, prayed and kept driving as fast as her vehicle could go.

"Did she see you?"

"Yes, Sir," he said, putting the sniper rifle on its stand, "I didn't get a clear shot to tag the car she is driving. The tracking sand didn't attach either."

"She didn't drive into the town?"

"Not even close, Snyder," he shook his head, "she knows we're looking for her."

"How? We have been careful. Besides, she can't go far," Snyder sighed, "she has to fill up somewhere, buy supplies, find a place to rest."

"Perhaps," he leaned on the table, "we don't know if she retraced her path, which would be better for us to control the outcome, or if she continued in the direction of travel. Where we have zero control ... over anything."

"We'll have to look in both directions," Snyder said, "I know it will drain the resources we currently have to do so but we need to do it."

"Why is it so important we find her?" he asked.

"According to the client, she has something of theirs, and they want it back," Snyder said.

"Why come to us? Why not go to the authorities and let them deal with her?"

"Apparently, what was taken is highly sensitive and could cause panic," Snyder shrugged, "many of our clients come to us to handle sensitive issues."

"One thief on the run with intel so sensitive we're brought into the matter," shaking his head, "something else is going on, and you didn't find out."

"You know we don't ask questions," Snyder chuckled, "if we did, we wouldn't get any jobs. Let's get this done."

"Do you have her file?"

"It's here," Snyder lifted it from the table, "you want to read it?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "I have a hunch and want to check out a few things."

"Sure," Snyder tossed it on the table and left the room.

Watching him leave, Zander waited until the door was closed before picking up the file and wiping it clean. He may work for the company, but he trusted no one. Although listening to what they had to say, he investigated himself and drew his own conclusions. There had to be a reason if they were after one woman, and he would find it.

Opening his rifle case, he found and opened his laptop, activating his custom-made program. It was a signal-jammer, bug finder and information retractor and had saved his life many times. He placed the file on the laptop touch pad keyboard and waited until the green light was given before opening it.

Slowly he read, absorbing everything he knew, compiling a profile of who she was, could be, how she thought and where she would probably go. The reason on file for finding her was apparently for stealing a software programme. After discovering the disappearance of the software, the company tried to find her. They found her home was sold, and the car was left in the company's parking garage. No current credit cards were assigned to her name, unable to contain the matter the company had come to them. A group of specialists designed to find and take out targets, not locate and bring them in like a bounty hunter.

Frowning in thought, Zander wondered what information she had really taken that the company management was so desperate to have her eliminated. He had convinced his superiors into tagging her vehicle instead of killing her outright. Should there be other players, they could find them and contain the situation completely.

Seeing her realisation of what she was looking at before she got close to their base of operations drew reluctant respect from him. She knew she was being hunted. Knew who was pursuing her and what they were capable of. His gut told him she wasn't running to get the data to a seller, as they had been told; she was running to stay ahead of them and stay alive. If there was a seller, the transaction would have happened days ago. Instead, she had ditched everything that could draw attention to her, track her or give her away. Even what she wore was nondescript, and many people wore white T-shirts and sunglasses. Her hair was under a baseball cap. Specifics were difficult to give if people were asked. No number plates on the front or back of the car she drove made it impossible to add that information to any warrant. In this part of the country, many vehicles didn't have license plates; she fitted in very well. The reluctant respect bloomed into an appreciation for her skill set and trade-craft. Who was this woman exactly? When he found her, he had so many questions about her real life and tasks within the company she once worked for.

"Who are you really?" he murmured.

Closing the file, Zander wiped it clean, returned it to the table and packed his gear away. There was much to think about and plans to be made.