London Twist: A Delilah Novella

that this is such a great loss for the planet—Rain chased for over a kilometer through the streets of Paris before catching and maiming him.”
    “The other two,” the Director said, “the one whose face you slashed and the one whose knee you destroyed, might have been explained. Even a civilian photographer can get lucky in such circumstances. Maybe she’s been attacked before—she’s certainly attractive enough. So she carries a knife. Maybe she’s taken some karate classes. Her attackers underestimated her. And the moment she’d created an opening for herself? She fled. Rain’s behavior was different. One man, against four? And the gratuitous pursuit of the last one? This is not so easy so to dismiss.”
    “And think about it,” the second deputy added. “Injuries like these, and not one death? It’s more difficult to cause such damage than it is to kill someone. Something like this could only have been accomplished by an operator with exceptional self-control. A trained killer, who held back this time so as not to leave a trail of corpses that would attract police attention. So how do you explain what a civilian photographer—who, it seems, might not be so much of a civilian herself—is doing with such a man? Do you understand how much risk you’ve caused to this cover we’ve invested so much to create for you?”
    “Create for me?” Delilah said, disgusted. “How generous of you. So MI6 isn’t a charity, but apparently you are.”
    She was aware she wasn’t adequately managing her anger, but she didn’t care. The constant doubt, the constant suspicions from her ostensible superiors who couldn’t handle her effectiveness, who couldn’t deal with their own discomfort at how well she literally slept with the enemy at their direction… at some point, she had to attack back or she would choke on her own bile.
    And then there was the whole notion of their questioning, probing, her private life. That would have been bad enough, but on top of it was the topic of Rain himself. That memory was as fresh as it was painful. He’d saved her that night, or at least dramatically improved her odds, and she’d treated him horribly afterward. He’d left Paris and they hadn’t spoken since.
    “There’s more,” the Director said, saving the second deputy from his misstep. “For whatever reason, perhaps to intimidate the man so he could more effectively interrogate before practically castrating him, Rain told the one he’d chased that the two of you were with GIGN, the French Gendarmerie’s elite counterterrorism unit. All of which got back to Farid.”
    He paused, probably hoping Delilah would ask how he knew all this, which would give him the opportunity to remind her of her place by telling her it was all need-to-know. She wouldn’t give him that small satisfaction. Besides, she assumed it was some sort of technical means—a phone or computer tap, a compromised satellite link. They’d been watching Farid closely, after all.
    After a moment, the Director continued. “And while Farid himself wasn’t intelligence, he was connected to people who are. I’m sure you understand we can’t afford to have Saudi intelligence scrutinizing you for GIGN ties. Yes, it was just something Rain devised on the spot, but that’s not what matters—the attention is what matters. It might have led to other discoveries, however inadvertent, and things might very quickly have gotten out of control. So we had to deal with Farid immediately.”
    “Not to protect my life. To protect my cover.”
    “If you think about it,” the first deputy said, his tone not unkind, “those two categories are not so easy to distinguish.”
    The Director offered her the grandfatherly smile again. “I understand why you’re upset,” he said. “But would you want to work for an organization so irresponsible it didn’t even concern itself with the behavior of its employees?”
    “I would in fact, yes.”
    The grandfatherly façade faltered. “Well, you don’t.”
    He could have added, “And if you want to, you’re always free to leave.” Apparently, they were sufficiently concerned about that possibility not to risk daring her. She just wished she were daring enough to do it. But then what would she do when she read about the next terror attack, knowing she might have done something to prevent it? How could she live with that?
    The second deputy blew out another noxious cloud of smoke. “If we could have waited, we