London Twist: A Delilah Novella

spite of those two bodies in the street?”
    “I imagine they were on multiple watch lists. They may even have been illegals. I doubt anyone will care. If you move fast, you and your people can clean up the mess. You have someone on site, the person who cut the electricity, yes? But you’re wasting time.”
    He stood very still for a long moment, the muzzle of the suppressor pointed at them. Then he lowered the gun, walked over to the desk, and picked up the laptop.
    “I’m going to tell my people no one was here,” he said. “It would be a shame if anything were to contradict my story.”
    Delilah didn’t respond. She was too afraid to let her breath out.
    He walked to the door, opened it, and turned back to them. “You know, all my life, I’ve hoped to wander into a scene pretty much exactly like this one. So I hope you’ll believe me when I say, I wish we all could have met under different circumstances.”
    He left. Delilah waited a long moment, afraid to believe it, afraid he was simply trying to separate her from Fatima so he could return for a clear shot.
    When she was satisfied he was really gone, she stood. She checked the window. He was moving down the street, talking into a mobile phone, presumably summoning a cleanup crew. He raised a hand and waved as though he knew she was watching.
    Delilah started pulling on her clothes. “You need to go,” she said, sliding up her panties and getting a leg into her pants. “You can’t stay here anymore.”
    “Who are you?”
    Delilah got her other leg in. She zipped up and snapped the button. “Who do you think I am?”
    “My people think you’re French intelligence. Are you?”
    “Because of what happened at Momtaz?”
    “That. And they say you’re impossible to follow. After Momtaz, they told me to break contact.”
    “Why didn’t you?”
    Fatima didn’t answer.
    “Why did you come to Bora Bora, if you thought I was French intelligence?”
    Fatima looked at her. “Why do you think?”
    “You didn’t believe them?”
    “I didn’t want to.”
    The comment stung. Delilah pushed the feeling away.
    Fatima took her hands. “Whoever you are, please. Imran is my last brother. Please.”
    Delilah pulled her hands free. “Don’t you see? It was him or you.”
    “No, don’t you see? It’s going to be both of us! I can’t just—”
    “You knew those men were coming tonight?”
    Fatima shook her head violently. “No. I swear. They must have… I don’t know. They must have known I didn’t listen to them. They don’t trust me, and I think sometimes they watch me. Maybe they were watching my flat tonight. They saw you come and you never left.”
    They were silent for a long moment. Fatima said, “Do you believe me?”
    “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything.”
    Fatima took her hands again. “Do you believe me?”
    Delilah looked into her imploring eyes. God, she was so beautiful.
    “I want to,” she said.
    Fatima nodded. Her mouth opened as though to speak.
    Delilah placed her fingertips against Fatima’s lips. “But I don’t.”
    Fatima made a small sound, a tiny gasp or whimper. Delilah turned away and picked up the cotton sweater she’d been wearing.
    “Wait,” Fatima said. “Don’t you understand? What are my people going to think? They already don’t trust me. I kept seeing you even after they told me not to. They know you were here tonight, and the two men they sent for you are found dead or missing… they’ll think I was part of a setup!”
    “It doesn’t matter what they think. It’s not my concern.”
    “How can you say that?” Fatima said, a tremor in her voice.
    Delilah pulled on her sweater and paused. She had to think. Her emotions were running her behavior now, she knew that.
Think.
    If it was true Fatima hadn’t known about those men… she might be in trouble. Bad trouble. She said her people didn’t trust her. Based on Delilah’s own experience, that wasn’t so hard to believe. And if they really thought she was in some way working with Delilah…
    She suddenly realized that what had begun as a straightforward access operation might inadvertently have become more akin to a defection.
    “I can’t help you, Fatima. My people can, but I can’t.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean, if you’re in danger, there are people who can protect you. In exchange for your cooperation.”
    “In exchange for my cooperation… what are you talking about? Going to your embassy?”
    “Or to