Read London Twist: A Delilah Novella for Free Online Page A

when the student is ready, the teacher appears?
    Delilah began slipping through the crowd. She was aware of Fatima as the enemy, yes. But that awareness was walled off from her overall consciousness, buried deep in her mind along with the details of her true identity and affiliations, a deep code with no current attachment or relevance to the running of the external program. She was a photographer, here on assignment. Fatima was an intriguing subject for a story. She hoped things would go well—the magazine would be happy.
    Fatima was still speaking to the TV reporter, who seemed to be doing not much more than asking Fatima to repeat what she had already said into the bullhorn. Delilah paused to the side, within the ambit of Fatima’s peripheral vision, and was pleased when her presence drew Fatima’s gaze for a moment. When the reporter and cameraman moved off, Delilah had only to step forward. Fatima was already turning her way.
    “Thank you for your speech,” Delilah said, extending her hand. “It was beautiful and moving. I hope the defense secretary heard.”
    Fatima shook Delilah’s outstretched hand, the grip firm and confident. In another life, Delilah thought, this woman could have been a model. Or movie star. Of course, she knew people thought the same of her. Beauty was an unfair advantage—without it, Fatima might have ignored her just now, or might have failed to notice her at all.
    “He might have heard,” Fatima said. “But they will never listen.”
    Delilah saw her opening. “Maybe I can help with that. In my small way.”
    Fatima cocked her head. “Help… ?”
    Delilah already had a card at the ready, and she handed it to Fatima now. She introduced herself, quickly explaining the story she’d learned from Kent’s thumb drive—the fashion magazine that had sent her from Paris to photograph Fatima, how it would be a fairly extensive spread, how she would try to ensure the story got the cover of the issue it appeared in. Most people would have jumped for the kind of exposure Delilah had just offered, and she expected Fatima to bite. So she was surprised when Fatima instead said, “I’m flattered, and I won’t deny that I love fashion—it’s a weakness I can’t seem to do anything about. But to be associated with it too much is dangerous for me—my enemies like to use that sort of thing to paint me as frivolous.”
    Improvising, Delilah said, “Then let’s forget about fashion. Help me get your message out. I’m sympathetic and would welcome the opportunity to make more people aware of your work, and of the injustice of what America is doing in Pakistan with its drones.”
    Fatima frowned for a moment as though at a loss. “Your… editors would be okay with that?”
    Delilah smiled into Fatima’s eyes as though contemplating a conspiracy. “No. They’ll hate it. But for me, they’ll do it. An in-depth interview and the right kind of photo shoot. It would be perfect.”
    Fatima smiled back, perhaps wondering what powers Delilah might have over her editors and how she had acquired them, but hesitating to ask. “What would you need from me?”
    “An afternoon. Or a day. Or however much time you have to spare. You tell me what you want to convey, and I’ll capture it. I’m sick of catwalks anyway. I want to do something… important.”
    Fatima glanced at the card. “This is how I can get in touch with you?”
    “Yes. And here.” Delilah popped open the camera, removed the card, and handed it Fatima. It never hurt to give a small gift—doing so made most people feel they ought to reciprocate. “There are some good shots of you. You look serious, and passionate, with a huge crowd assembled before you. Not that you don’t also look fabulous in Camilla Olson, but I think you’ll see, that’s incidental.”
    If Fatima was having any doubts about Delilah’s fashion photographer credentials, naming the designer of her dress should have laid them to rest.
    Fatima laughed.