London Twist: A Delilah Novella

MI6, yes.” Delilah knew cooperation with France or England would be easier to swallow—assuming Fatima could swallow it all—than with Israel. So the access op had now become a false flag, as well.
    “That’s insane. I can’t do that, I have a life! And do you really expect I’m going to help you murder my brother? My mother and father’s son?”
    “I can’t help your brother. I can only help you.”
    “Yes, you can. Call them off. Please. Delilah, please!”
    Delilah paused, thinking, hating herself for even considering it. “Would he come in?”
    Fatima clapped a hand over her mouth as though she might be sick. “Oh, my God. This was a setup. This whole thing. Every bit of it.”
    Delilah had the horrible sense that everything around her was moving again, that she couldn’t track it all, couldn’t manage it. “No,” she said. “That’s not true.”
    Fatima sat heavily on the bed and put her head in her hands. “Of course it’s true. And I was too stupid to see it. Too… God, I was too infatuated with you. Oh my God, Imran. It’s my fault. It’s my fault.”
    She started crying. Delilah watched her, feeling paralyzed. All she had to do was give Fatima a phone number and go. She’d be done. She’d be out.
    Instead, she sat next to her. “Fatima,” she said. “Look at me. Please.”
    Fatima didn’t move. Delilah took her hands and eased them away from her face. She reached for her chin and turned her head so they were looking at each other.
    “I was sent to find a way to access your laptop. Because your brother is helping to plan horrific attacks. Do you want other people to endure what you and your family have suffered?”
    “Of course I don’t. But it’s not my choice. It’s the choice they impose on us. It’s the only way to make it stop.”
    “I don’t want to believe that.”
    “Then call them off! Don’t let them kill Imran!”
    Delilah didn’t answer.
    “Say something! Answer me!”
    Still Delilah said nothing.
    “Do you see how full of shit you are?” Fatima said, her voice breaking. “You fucking hypocrite. Just go. Get out.”
    “Fatima… I don’t know how to stop all this. Maybe we can’t. Maybe you were right about what you said about the human need for revenge. But… everything that happened with you… it was real for me. I didn’t intend it, but it was.”
    Fatima said nothing.
    “In Bora Bora, I got your passcode. Don’t ask me how; I can’t tell you that. But at that point, the op was over. I had no reason to see you after. No… professional reason. I’m sorry. But this is true.”
    Fatima started crying again. Delilah’s stomach clenched.
    “You can’t stay here. I agree with you, you’re probably in danger. Come with me, and I’ll help you anyway I can.”
    Fatima wiped the tears from one cheek, then the other, the movement quick, economical. She cleared her throat.
    “No. Just go. I’ll be fine.”
    “You won’t be fine. You’ll—”
    “Just go.”
    “Please, listen to me, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
    Fatima smiled. “It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?”
    Delilah tried to think of something to say. She couldn’t.
    “Fatima, please—”
    Fatima looked at her, her eyes dry now. When she spoke, her voice was neutral. Even cold.
    “Get out of my flat, Delilah. Or whatever your name is.”
    Delilah felt like she’d been punched. She stood, picked up her bag, and went to the door.
    “I want to help you,” she said. “Please, call me. You have my number. Please, Fatima.”
    No response.
    She left, stumbling down the stairs and through the front entrance. The street was dark and deserted. The bodies were already gone.
    • • •
    She left London the next day, traveling to Rouen, where she would meet and brief her Mossad handler. She called Kent before boarding the train.
    “I was hoping you would call,” he said. “Change your mind about our date? The laptop was a treasure trove, you know. They were very close to bringing off something huge, and we’ll be able to stop it now. I’d love to brief you in person.”
    Nothing about what he’d seen in the flat. But she didn’t really care one way or the other. She briefed him on what happened after he had left.
    “With what’s on the laptop,” he said, “I don’t know how much further use she would be. I doubt anyone would be all that interested in bringing her in. But I’ll try.”
    “Try hard,” she said. “It would mean… a lot to me. If