Running.

Running, fleeing through the dusty open plains and hoping for a miracle. It had all been going so well, the disguise she'd chosen for the mission a high ranking soldier who worked at the military compound she was escaping, fooling everyone right up until the moment she'd been downloading the top-secret files to disc, the vial of the new experimental compound safe in her belt, and the wrong person had wandered in looking for the commanding officer. She'd taken him out but his warning shout had brought others after her. Her cover was well and truly blown.

A bullet whistled past her ear and she forced herself to go faster, resisting the urge to change form. Mutants were still a secret and she had no desire to change that – it worked well for her. And outrunning a few Thai soldiers wasn't the most difficult thing she'd ever had to do, even if they were firing at her.

There! Ahead of her she saw a farm, run down and ramshackle, a few hens pecking listlessly at the dust. A final burst of speed and she jumped the fence, momentarily out of view as she dropped to the floor.

The soldiers reached the fence a few seconds later, leaping over and gazing around in confusion. Their quarry had vanished.

"Spread out and search," barked the officer in charge in Thai. He was both furious and dismayed. He had no idea how one of their most trusted, respected soldiers could just betray them like that, taking secrets that could go to the highest bidder for millions. Not to mention that they in were in breech of any number of international laws. If they didn't find get their spy, they were in deep shit.

But it looked like the spy had vanished. The soldiers had forced their way into the farmhouse, questioning the frightened-looking aging farmer, who was insisting he knew nothing. Others were spread around, examining every possible hiding place.

Nothing.

The officer in charge kicked a nearby hen, which squawked angrily and dashed back to the hen house. It didn't make him feel any better. How the hell was he supposed to explain this? His gaze followed the hen and he suddenly realised he was overlooking an obvious hiding place. He walked over, got on his hands and knees and peered inside the hen house, putting his head as far in as his broad shoulders would allow. No one was there, the only occupant the hen he'd kicked.

With a curse, he slammed his hand hard against the floor and growled as something smashed beneath his hand. He raised it up and glared at the blood trickling down his wrist, a shard of glass sticking from the wound. He pushed aside the hay on the floor, seeing only a few pieces of clear glass that could have come from anywhere.

"Sir?"

Pulling his head out, the officer in charge glared at the soldier behind him, the mans expression telling him all he needed to know. Their spy had escaped.

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Tran glared at the remains of his hens and sighed. It wasn't the first time he'd lost an entire flock but after the sudden intrusion of soldiers the previous day it was enough to make him lose heart. The soldiers had traipsed around for hours, poking into all his rooms and taking no care with his meagre possessions. They'd stayed until after dark, more and more of them joining in the search for some fugitive and questioning him about his involvement in the mans escape. In the end he'd convinced them and they'd left – but now he'd lost all his hens. Could the week get any worse?

With a sigh, he began grabbing the birds and throwing them in a black bag. There was no way he could sell a bird that had died of unknown causes, not with all the disease that affected fowl. The health authorities would be all over him and he'd had enough of people poking their noses around his farm. He'd just call it a loss.

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The name on her passport was Mallory Brickman and there was no reason for anyone to disbelieve it. The photograph was an exact match to the woman carrying the passport and the document seemed like the real thing. Mallory was a tall woman with a sensible blonde bob and smart suit, unremarkable in an airport filled with similar looking westerners.

She strolled into the Thai airport with only a suspiciously light bag slung over her shoulder. A pair of sulky teenagers moved aside for her, their backpacking holiday at an unwelcome end and preparing to return to their home in Munich. They'd been arguing before the interruption and the girl used the opportunity to storm off in the direction of the bathroom.

Mallory ignored the teens, instead heading straight for ticket sales. The woman behind the counter was harassed. The military had showed up the previous day searching for some one they thought might be trying to flee the country. It was hard to smile at upward of 400 people a day, particularly when they were being rude and angry as passengers so often were, when there were men with guns less than five metres away scrutinising every person buying a ticket. But the blonde woman was perfectly pleasant, buying a ticket for the plane to New York that left in a little over three hours.

In the time before the plane to New York took off, Mallory went to the airport shop to buy a bottle of mineral water and some lozenges for her sore throat – that was all she needed after the few days she'd just had and who she had to go back to. The man taking her money was putting in a lot of overtime that weekend, trying to raise enough money to buy his kid some stupid ultra-violent video game he had his heart set on for his birthday. She went to the food court and had a coffee, queuing between a man waiting for a plane to Maryland and another wondering if his flight to Argentina was going to be delayed again. Then she sat in the waiting area, exchanged a few mindless pleasantries with a couple from London, until her flight was called.

On the way back she was irritated to find herself seated beside a fat businessman who wanted to tell her his life story. Her pretence of sleep couldn't stop him talking, nor did her attempts to read. Eventually she looked him in the eye and told him exactly what she'd do to him if he didn't shut up immediately. The rest of the trip was conducted in relative peace.

Everyone who had any contact with Mallory Brickman felt fine. For the next 72 hours or so at least.