London Twist: A Delilah Novella

clock on the nightstand. She couldn’t see it. But she’d been aware of the soft glow from its readout earlier.
    She glanced around. There was no other light on in the flat—nothing from the microwave display in the kitchen, nothing from the stereo on the desk.
    There was some illumination from the streetlight outside the window. Meaning the electricity was out in the flat, but not in the area generally.
    Instantly she was fully awake, a surge of adrenaline coursing through her torso. She glanced at Fatima, naked beside her. The woman was breathing deeply and seemed to be asleep.
    She pulled herself up and looked down at the street. No daylight, but what time was it? Sometime after three, she sensed, but her body was still a bit scrambled from travel and she wasn’t sure. There were two men in dark clothes and baseball caps emerging from a parked car. She saw no dome light in the car, even though the door was open.
    Her heart began to hammer. Who were they? Fatima’s people, or MI6?
    It didn’t matter. Keeping her eyes on the approaching men, she reached for Fatima’s shoulder and shook her. “Fatima,” she whispered. “Wake up.”
    Fatima moaned softly, the sound thick with wine and lovemaking and sleep.
    “Fatima,” Delilah said again, more sharply this time. “Wake up. Now.”
    Fatima moaned again, then said, “What is it?”
    She scanned the street, then went back to the two men. “Something’s wrong. There’s trouble.”
    “What? What do you mean?”
    Another dark figure stepped out from the shadows behind a parked car. The figure fell in behind the two men. From the gait, posture, and pace of the third man, she instantly understood he wasn’t with the first two. No, not with them—he was stalking them. One of first two must have heard the sound of the third man’s approach. He began to turn. The third man raised his arm, a pistol with a long suppressor at the end of it. The pistol jumped, a hint of muzzle flash escaping from the bore of the suppressor. From the flat, she heard no sound. The man collapsed to the street. The other man began to turn, too. The pistol jumped and flashed again. The second man went down. The newcomer took a step closer and put a finishing shot into each man’s head. Then he calmly checked his flanks. Delilah saw his face.
    Kent.
    Seeing what he’d just done didn’t make her trust him. Quite the opposite. “We have to go,” she said to Fatima. “Right now.”
    “What?”
    She jumped out of bed and grabbed Fatima’s arm. “Someone’s coming for you. I can’t explain. Come on!”
    “I don’t even have clothes—”
    She pulled so hard Fatima fell out of bed. “Forget it! Now!”
    Fatima pulled her arm free and stared at Delilah from the floor. “What are you talking about?”
    There was no time to explain. Fatima wasn’t moving fast enough. She had to think of something.
    Only one chance—get to the side of the door. The first thing to come through would be that long suppressor. She dashed to where she’d left her pants and pulled free the Hideaway knife. “Fatima!” she hissed. “Get away from the bed, it’s the first place they’ll key on!”
    In the glow of the streetlight, Fatima’s eyes were huge and terrified. “They’re not here for me!” she said, hysteria at the edges of her tone.
    Delilah didn’t understand the reaction. Not here for her? Why—
    There was a loud pop and the door swung violently inward—a specialized charge to take out the lock.
    Too far to attack. Delilah leaped back toward the bed and threw her body over Fatima’s. If Kent had known in advance that both she and Fatima were here, they were dead. But if he hadn’t known, there was a chance. “Don’t shoot her!” she cried out. “If you do, you have to shoot both of us.”
    Fatima was struggling to get out from under her, shouting something in Urdu. Delilah looked up and in the dim light saw Kent, wearing night vision goggles as she’d expected. That was the point of taking out the electricity.
    There was a moment’s pause. Kent said, “What the hell?”
    Fatima froze, suddenly silent. Delilah said, “Just take the laptop and go. Go!”
    But he wasn’t here just for the laptop. She knew that. If he’d wanted only the laptop, he would have taken care to arrive when he knew Fatima was out. Or he would have picked the lock, which would have taken time, rather than blowing it for instant entry.
    “What on earth are you doing here?” he said. From their