London Twist: A Delilah Novella

rally against U.S. drone attacks to greet him. Fatima is one of the featured speakers. Details on the thumb drive. Also available on the website of the Stop the War Coalition and on several Facebook pages advertising the rally.”
    “A terrorist, at an anti-drone rally?”
    “Yes, why not? No reason she can’t use legitimate dissent to obscure its more extreme versions, when you think about it.”
    “Where will it be held?”
    “Along Whitehall, between Downing Street and Parliament. Noon. They’re looking for publicity, you know. It should be a perfect opportunity for you.”
    “A photo shoot ordinarily lasts a few hours. Maybe a day. You really expect I’m going to learn something actionable in that time frame?”
    “I don’t expect anything. Management devised this op. You and I are only here to make the best of what they’ve come up with. But if I were in your shoes? I’d use the time I spent shooting her, if you manage to get that far, befriending her. Turn the assignment into more than one shoot. Maybe a ‘one month in the life of a London peace activist,’ something like that. You’re very alluring, you know. I imagine it’s why they selected you. Bait the hook properly, and she’ll bite.” He smiled. “I know I would.”
    What he’d suggested made sense. She ignored the last part, which she understood was intended as a volley he was hoping she might return.
    “I need to know what you know about her relationship with her brother. How you think they stay in contact. How she sends people to him.”
    “Sorry, why?”
    “How else will I know whether what I’m able to observe myself is even relevant? I need a framework.”
    “I’m afraid what little we know has been obtained through national technical means. The idea is, you and I will meet and debrief regularly. We’ll go through everything you’ve observed. We can put together your personal observations with what my people have already learned.”
    She didn’t even bother to respond. It was hardly new, but still, the way ostensibly allied intelligence agencies focused on protecting information from each other rather than sharing so as to maximize the chances of success never failed to disgust her.
    He must have known what she was thinking, because he said, “Look, I realize it’s stupid. Orders are orders and all that, but still, I’ll have to ask you some very leading questions during the course of our debriefs. It would hardly be my fault if you were able to deduce from my questions exactly what sort of information my organization already has. In fact, one of the things I’m quite certain I’ll be asking about is whether you ever see Fatima using a phone not her own. A separate mobile unit, for example. Or one borrowed from a friend. Or a public booth. All right?”
    She nodded. It was too early to know whether he really was motivated to find ways around the bureaucracy, or whether he was just pretending so she would come to trust him, feeling they were somehow allied against a common enemy. Or maybe it was both.
    “And one other thing,” he said. “Just an aside, really, because I shouldn’t go out of my way to make you understand it’s important. She has a laptop.”
    “Doesn’t everyone?”
    “More or less, yes. Fatima’s is a MacBook Air, and it’s encrypted. If she were to use it in front of you, and you were to catch a glimpse of a password… that sort of thing. Remember, you didn’t hear it from me.”
    She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Just how compartmentalized did these people want to keep things? So much they were willing to jeopardize the success of the op? Apparently so.
    “How do you and I stay in touch?” she said.
    “My mobile number is on the thumb drive. Memorize it, and use it anytime from a public phone. Give me yours, and I’ll do the same. That way, each of us can contact the other without establishing any direct electronic paper trail between us. There are eight different locations on the thumb drive. Numbered one through eight, naturally. The first five are for live meets; the last three are dead-drops. When you call me, just say the number of the one you want to use.”
    She sipped her martini. “All hotel bars?”
    He smiled. “Most of them, anyway, at least for the face-to-face meets. There are some quite good ones in London, you know. It’s perfectly natural that after my good fortune in meeting you tonight, I’d see you again, if you were willing. And try to impress you by