For this Diary I'll use the name Madeleine – Maddy for short.
I'm small and pretty, with long blonde hair, a great figure and I'm a contract killer.
You can't properly call a woman hit-man. Nor can you say hit-woman or hit-girl or, even more classy, hit-lady. So I prefer the term Assassin. When selected to this calling I gave my life to it as a nun does to religion.
I entered University with two languages and came out with six, along with two top degrees and – as with all young people – a need to change the world.
The chance came when, recruited within days of leaving, I agreed to an interview in an expensive house on the edge of town. Stunned by the rich opulence of the place I hardly heard the opening words of my Recruiter.
'We saw your potential in finishing school and followed your progress ever since. In University you collected four more languages, two great degrees and excelled at sport. You avoided alcohol and drugs, played every possible sport and took on and beat men in martial arts. Your father showed you how to handle guns before the age of ten and you became a superb shot. You have everything we need and if you agree you will become rich in your own right but give up what is seen as a normal life.'
He explained the job in detail and said, 'Think before you agree. To say yes means you'll act out a lonely life in the shadows.'
I still said 'Yes'. Why shouldn't I? My whole lonely life so far had been an act. Adding shadows would make no difference. And I found the thought of killing people who deserve to die quite attractive.
They sent me straight to wilds of another country for three years detailed training in two more martial arts, three more languages and many ways to kill.
My training included tracking and killing Targets in towns, villages, mountains, ravines, deserts and seas and skills in escaping after a Hit from those towns and villages and over those mountains, ravines, deserts and seas, with or without equipment.
It included the art of disguise and fading into the background in any crowd, city or situation before or after a Hit.
It included the stripping, maintaining and shooting every possible weapon an Assassin might use.
It included burglary, lock-breaking, safe-breaking, the disabling of security systems, the elimination of armed guards by knife, bare hands or silenced pistol.
It included killing Targets in a dozen different ways, using knives, handguns, sniping rifles, poisons and chemicals or, again, bare hands.
And it included detailed training in many kinds and styles of sex. Lots and lots of sex.
I enjoyed every moment of the whole course, but most of all I enjoyed the sex. Instructors, both male and female, showed me how to seduce using Thai, Chinese, Japanese, Swedish and American techniques. American? Yes. They lead the way in some really interesting ideas.
And Indian sex. 'Not that too vague and time consuming tantric rubbish. Stick to the stuff on temple walls. You'll need to stay fit and supple but I'm sure you'll handle that.'
Before release at the end of the course I asked, 'Have you turned me into a psychopath?'
'No,' said my Recruiter. 'We've enhanced what you already had. Not many get even halfway through. You've passed with flying colours. Now go into the world and await your first instruction.'
Final advice from Recruiter: 'Go to where you don't know the language. Learn it and never use it outside that country so no-one can ever trace you home, including us. Who knows? The day may come when we need to eliminate you.'
I flew to another continent and disappeared into a secret life. Not even my Handler knew where I settled.
After assassinating Judge Five in Brazil I went off on my usual difficult-to-follow twist round the world, hopping through five countries, keeping an eye out for any followers.
Only one Judge left to find and eliminate.
He can wait.
I need a break from killing.
I spent a couple of months working in brothels and as a call-girl in several cities, both sophisticated and third world, to keep in practice.
Girls in two of the African cities showed me some great lesbian techniques I'd never thought of that worked well on both men and women.
Travelling as my high class Englishwoman, Abigail, I continued to photograph the brothel girls and classy courtesans for my pornographic sex manual and enjoyed the work no end.
Especially when they practiced their tricks and skills on me.
Some girls were so good they gave me half a dozen thunderous comes in quick succession to my utter and thoroughly grateful delight.
In fact, for a while I enjoyed it so much I wondered whether to give up killing and take up this new trade.
But the excitement of continual sex began to wear off.
And being part of the sisterhood of sex became a bore
I needed to ask myself a big question: Should I abandon this crazy life of sex and ritualized murder to become a normal young woman with a husband, children and an ordinary job?
A week of strolling beaches and woodland in deep thought, gave me peace and time to study my chosen way of life.
Could I give it up?
Could I make such a drastic change?
Would such a new way of living be an even bigger bore than the sisterhood?
After the week of agonising over the life I have lived so far and attempting to plan a new life I may never understand I decided to stick to my career in killing and asked my Employers for instructions.
Ready for Mexico; where is my Target?
I found their reply even more stimulating than sex.
Working under deep cover in a big Drugs cartel.
They gave me the organisation name and a location on the Pacific coast.
You must find a way to penetrate and get close to him. These people are not stupid. You will be in constant danger of death. Do you wish to accept this Contract?'
I quivered in excitement.
This beats multiple orgasms hands down.
I sent an immediate reply.
They shot straight back.
Good. We've doubled your Brazil payment.
I became the scruffy young American back-packer who gave such great service in India and settled in the American Mid-West for three months to improve my country-girl accent.
Staying away from sex and entanglements I washed dishes and served tables in fast-food joints around three states.
I knew I sounded right when other working girls and customers stopped the 'Where are you from, Honey,' routine that queries any accent other than exactly local in The State.
As soon as any girl became friendly, or any boy showed interest I skipped town, leaving no ripples to show where I'd been.
Travelling by bus I changed name at each skip, found a simple job, and became part of the anonymous swarm of young people in constant migration around America.
Once satisfied with my accent I went by bus across the States to Texas.
I made the journey take five days by hopping off at small towns, staying overnight and continuing the next morning.
This allowed me to check if any other passengers – or possible tails – did the same.
During my last stop before Texas I became Sister Felicity, the Open Order nun, neat and tidy in her white wimple and calf length blue dress over thick white stockings; dark hair showing the first signs of middle aged grey.
Her only adornment – a long silver chain and cross – she used as a prop to fiddle with when nervous.
My disguise gave Sister Felicity privacy.
No wanted to disturb this anonymous little mouse of a woman deep in religious contemplation.
And they probably wouldn't remember her later.
At El Paso I stayed the night in a cheap hotel then took a shuttle bus across to the Mexican border town of Ciudad Juarez with the massed mid-morning traffic.
Busy customs officials barely glanced at me.
Pushing through the crowds at Juarez main bus station I found my luggage locker, entered the key code and pulled out a large backpack.
In my small hotel room I opened the pack and spread half a dozen small cartons and a briefcase across the bed.
Going through them one-by-one I saw that my Employers had sent my usual favourites, plus a couple of new or upgraded gadgets.
The briefcase looked and smelt exactly of leather.
When demonstrated during my original training, Instructor had said, 'This will fool anyone. But take care with the damned thing. I'll show you.'
He set it up in a specially prepared wooden shed, adjusted the timer, clicked a hidden switch and shouted, 'Get the hell out of here. Run.'
I scampered after him across the field and fell alongside him in a training trench.
'I've set it for one minute. Just watch.'
I peeked over the parapet in time to see an enormous explosion.
The hut blew apart.
A dozen pieces – walls, roof, doors - flew out over the grass and fell in a smouldering circle.
'Good, hey?' said Instructor, laughing. 'I love showing that off. It's made from specially moulded high explosive and can bring down a plane, sink a boat or destroy an armoured car. Use only as a last resort and stand well back or you'll go up with it.'
I smiled at the memory and sifted through the other presents I'd been sent.
My Employers had included four telephone earpiece bombs powerful enough to remove a head with an almost silent pop – not a giveaway bang – plus half a dozen powder compact bombs of considerable power.
I'd blown up a heavy truck with two of those during my trip to India.
They'd also sent a couple of my favourite miniature rocket pistols.
These little beauties shoot a tiny needle nosed mini-rocket to penetrate thick skull bone or Kevlar body armour with ease at up to four meters.
Once in head or body a small explosive charge pulps every internal organ nearby, shattering the slug to dust and leaving a forensic nightmare with no evidence or hint of the weapon used.
And they'd supplied four of the lipstick knives I've always found so perfect for a completely quiet kill in a crowd.
These were upgrades, with the flick-knife blade living inside a reservoir of poison for instant reuse.
And four packets of the usual poisons.
All deadly three seconds after being sprinkled on food, dropped in drink or smeared on the tip of a blade. They killed without pain or gurgles or groans to alert nearby security.
A target simply sighs and dies.
I shivered with excitement at the fun to come.
After all, I'm probably the best-armed nun in the world.