The Pure (27 page)

The Audi was close, but not that close; if he tried to run, he would be dead. He turned around, but did not put down his weapon.

‘I said put your sidearm on the ground,’ came the voice, wavering this time, then rising at the end in an effort to sound authoritative.

Sensing weakness, Uzi faced him. ‘Kahane?’ said Uzi. ‘Shimon Kahane?’

The man shifted his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. He was big, well over six feet tall, with burly shoulders and a grizzly beard. A streak of orange light from the setting sun slashed in a diagonal across his body; his Beretta glinted.

‘I’m sorry, Feldman,’ said Kahane, looking as if he had stumbled across his quarry by accident. ‘Put your weapon on the ground.’

‘You still working at London Station?’ said Uzi. ‘What happened, they run out of decent Katsas? They had to get in the amateurs? You left your fucking car door open.’

Despite himself, Kahane smiled. ‘Never mind me,’ he said, ‘look at you, eh?’

‘I was thinking about you just the other day,’ said Uzi.

‘You keep those thoughts to yourself,’ Kahane replied.

‘Yeah, yeah. No, I was just thinking about the time in Brussels when you ate ten burgers in a row. You remember? How much did you win again?’

‘Five hundred dollars.’

‘Five hundred, that’s right. I couldn’t remember if it was five hundred or five thousand.’

Kahane stiffened and raised his pistol.

‘Look,’ said Uzi, before Kahane could say anything, ‘you know I’m not going to shoot you. And you know I’m not going to surrender. I’m going to put my gun in my pocket and walk up to the road. Then I’m going to disappear. So I suggest you disappear in the other direction. Just go back into the wood and pretend this didn’t happen.’

Kahane did not move. He made no sound.

‘
Shalom, chaver
,’ said Uzi. Goodbye, friend. Slowly, fighting his instincts, he lowered his R9 and slipped it into his pocket. Then he turned his back on Kahane, and Kahane’s Beretta, and walked slowly out of the wood and up the grassy bank. It seemed to last for an age; every second that passed Uzi heard gunshots in his ears, saw in his mind’s eye the bullet ripping through the back of his head, throwing him, lifeless, to the earth. But the shot never came; there was nothing but the noise of the birds, the traffic, Uzi’s feet pushing through the grass. Finally he reached the road. When he looked back over his shoulder, Kahane was gone.

Uzi approached the Audi, running through in his mind the procedure for hot-wiring the car and disabling the GPRS device that kept London Station alert to the vehicle’s movements. He had one foot inside when he caught sight of a vehicle approaching. A black Maybach, followed by a BMW. It drew to a halt behind the Audi, and through the rear window Uzi caught a glimpse of the driver.

Liberty stepped out of the car and walked towards him, her hand resting by her hip where her Taurus must have been concealed, looking around for danger.

‘What’s going on?’ she said.

‘How the fuck did you find me? What are you doing here?’

‘Tracking device in your car. We picked up erratic movements, followed your trail out here, and now we find you in the middle of a wood. Where’s the Porsche?’

‘You’ve been tracking me all this time?’

Liberty shook her hair away from her face. ‘Of course,’ she said, looking him in the eye. ‘I want to make sure I don’t lose you.’

Uzi’s fury dissipated like dust in the wind. ‘It’s the Office. I had to abandon the car.’

Liberty froze. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

They climbed into the Maybach and the small convoy roared away. After they had travelled in silence for a few minutes, Liberty leaned over and kissed him hard on the mouth. ‘Soon we’ll be out of this game,’ she whispered. ‘Soon it’ll just be you and me.’ Emotion rose up in him, and for the first time he realised the pressure he had been under. He was alive. For the rest of the journey back to Home House, their hands were firmly clasped, their fingers probing each other’s palms as if seeking out the truth.

Uzi’s trainers slapped against the pavement. He was out of condition. Gone were the days he could jog through the night, weighed down by a stretcher, weapon and full kit. His breath was rasping unhealthily as he exhaled. Fighting the irrational urge to stop for a cigarette, he made his way along New Oxford Street, trying to plot a clear course through clumps of pedestrians. It was evening now, and the crowds of the day had thinned, but the streets were far from empty. His black woollen hat was pulled low, and sweat was seeping down his forehead. He clenched his fists and, panting, forced himself on, a deep oval stain spreading down from his neck towards his belly.

Two factors had led to Uzi’s renewed commitment to fitness. The first was his performance in the operations he had been carrying out for Liberty. When all went according to plan, of course, his speed and agility made no difference; he had the advantage of many years in the field, and that counted for a lot. But when the unexpected happened – unavoidable, even in the best-planned operations – he found himself reacting a split second later, moving a split second slower, and he knew that if the wrong set of circumstances came together, that split second could cost him his life. Especially now.

In addition, there was Liberty herself. Uzi had never been overly concerned about his appearance, but when he lay beside her in bed, his hand resting on her taut stomach or slipping down her sculpted legs, he found himself becoming self-conscious about his own body, which looked and felt like a melting version of the one from several years before. Liberty was committed to her fitness; she knew how important it was. Every day she worked out in the gym, every day without fail; even when they had been awake for most of the night fucking and drinking, even when they had been smoking dope. Many times Uzi would wake up, hungover and groggy, to find Liberty returning from her workout, her hair slicked back from the shower, purged of all toxins, fresh-faced and ready for the day. And if they were going to spend the rest of their lives together, he would need to keep up.

Struggling to remind his body of what it meant to run, he cut across a car park and wound his way towards Exmouth Market, his feet pounding on the black pavement, his heart pounding faster. A helicopter throbbed in the air overhead; automatically Uzi stuck to the shadows, not behaving erratically but not making himself a visible target, until it passed. Believe in yourself. Spy syndrome.

The market dozed in an evening stagnancy. Outside a dingy-looking doorway he stopped, rested his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. He knew he was bright red, he could feel the heat in his face and his eyes were itchy and bloodshot. His R9 was digging uncomfortably into his back. He took out a cigarette – it would be silly, after all, to give up overnight – and lit up, inhaling greedily. This calmed his nerves and he slid to the ground, resting against the wall, watching the cars passing by. When the cigarette was finished he smoked another, then got awkwardly to his feet. He took off his hat and wiped his face and head on his T-shirt, stretching it up from his belly. Then he passed a hand over his face, composed himself, and rang the third-floor bell.

‘Yeah?’ came a tinny voice.

‘It’s me.’

The door buzzed and Uzi entered, making sure it closed properly behind him. It was quiet in the stairwell, and it smelled of old carpets and piss. He climbed the stairs with heavy feet; when he got to the third floor, the door of the flat was open and the sound of a television could be heard. He went in.

‘Uzi, my brother. What the fuck happened to you?’ said Avner, approaching him with twin bottles of beer. Uzi made no reply but grabbed one and took a long draught. ‘Has there been trouble?’ said Avner, and it was unclear whether or not he was joking.

Uzi checked the curtains were closed, pulled his R9 out of his waistband and laid it on the table. Then he collapsed into an armchair and drank the rest of his beer. The flat was completely bare; no personal belongings whatsoever, just furniture. Avner got him a glass of water but he waved it away.

‘Thanks for coming,’ said Avner, smiling as if it were his birthday. ‘I didn’t want to tell you over the phone. I’ve got some news.’

‘Go on.’

‘It’s arrived.’

‘What?’

‘The money, my brother. It’s arrived.’

Uzi felt a wave of coolness come over him, then heat, then the world seemed to constrict then expand. ‘All of it?’

‘Every last dollar. Check your account online when you get back. We’re rich men, my brother. Rich men.’

Uzi got to his feet, suddenly lightheaded, and before he knew it he and Avner were embracing. Then he was back in his chair. The whole world felt like a different place. Don’t forget who you are. Believe.

‘The important thing,’ said Avner, ‘is to keep it together. We’ve got the money. So far, so good, but we need to get the fuck out of here. As soon as the information appears online, the Office will be after us.’

‘When will it break?’

‘Tonight.’

‘That soon?’

‘Our sponsors didn’t want to wait. The election is getting close.’

Uzi looked around. ‘That would explain this.’

Avner grinned. ‘I’ve cleared everything out. I was going to suggest meeting in a bar, but I think we should play it safe. My plane leaves in six hours.’

There was a pause. Gradually Uzi’s emotions stopped cartwheeling and settled into a gentle buzz.

‘So,’ he said at last, ‘this is your last night. You’re really ready to go?’

Avner nodded towards the door, where a shoulder-bag lay under a coat. ‘Take a look at this,’ he said, tossing a small green passport casually on the table. Uzi picked it up. ‘German?’ he said.

‘Jawohl, mein Herr. Where I’m headed Germans are always welcome.’

‘Don’t tell me where you’re headed.’

‘I wasn’t about to.’

‘This is good work,’ said Uzi, examining the photograph closely. ‘Top-level document, no?’

‘One of the perks of being an Office jobsworth. When you want to disappear, you can.’

‘So this is it,’ said Uzi, giving the passport back. ‘The death of Avner Golan. The end of a chapter. Any final words?’

‘Money,’ said Avner, ‘that’s my final word.’

‘Profound.’

‘You’re now looking at Franz Gruber,’ said Avner. ‘I think it has a nice ring to it, don’t you? Franz Gruber.’

‘I like it,’ Uzi replied. ‘It sticks in the throat.’

‘WikiLeaks are gearing up for the big splash in Israel,’ said Avner. ‘Everything’s in place. Tomorrow you’ll be front-page news, coming out against the PM, spilling the beans on Cinnamon. This is it, this is really it.’ He took a swig of beer then leaned closer. ‘Uzi, my brother, there’s still time. Nothing’s set in stone. Why don’t you consider . . .’

‘Forget it,’ said Uzi abruptly. ‘I’ve got a good thing going in London and I’m not going to leave it behind. The Office hasn’t managed to find me so far, and I’ve been leaking enough jumbo to make me a prime target. If they could have got to me, they would have done it already. Trust me, I’m under the radar.’

‘You can’t live the rest of your life like this.’

‘I’m not afraid. If anything should happen to me, Liberty will spread the word to the CIA and the media. Overnight, Israel will find themselves with another embarrassing crisis on their hands. It will only make things worse for them.’

‘Unless they silence Liberty.’

‘They wouldn’t silence Liberty. They couldn’t.’

Something in Uzi’s tone of voice made Avner recoil.

‘You’re fucking her, aren’t you?’ he said.

Uzi shrugged.

‘Just tell me you’re not in love,’ sighed Avner. ‘Tell me you haven’t completely lost it.’

‘You know what?’ said Uzi, draining his bottle of beer. ‘I think I am in love. I think I am, and it feels fucking great. You should try it some time, you know?’

‘What’s wrong with you? Have you lost your mind? You sound like a teenage girl,’ said Avner. ‘Liberty’s one of the biggest players in the city.’

‘She wants to get out of this business. We both do.’

‘Get out?’

‘Yeah, cash in and go somewhere quiet. Start again.’

‘Bonnie and Clyde, huh.’

‘Liberty wants to do one final job. I don’t know what it is, but it seems important to her. Then we walk away.’

Avner shook his head in disbelief. ‘Who are you trying to kid? Drug dealers don’t just walk away. No quitting, no retiring, no escape. They’re in it till the end.’

‘You don’t know,’ said Uzi, ‘you just don’t know.’

‘Oh I know,’ said Avner ambiguously. ‘I know very well.’ He paused. ‘I just want you to be careful, that’s all. Lie low, very low, OK?’

‘Yeah, I know.’

There was an uncharacteristic weight to Avner’s words, and Uzi’s emotions were moved in a way he didn’t understand. They drank.

‘The things you have to do when you’re an Israeli,’ said Avner drily. ‘Ignore the situation and you’re political. Try to do something about it and you’re political. Either way, you’re in danger. There’s no escape.’

‘That’s the nation of Israel for you. After thousands of years we have our own country, but the water is bitter. It’s in the babies’ milk. We’ve all accepted it. Another suicide bomb,
bang
. Another war,
bang
. Assassination,
bang
. Kidnapped soldier,
bang
. The PM using the Office to kill his own minister,
bang
. We have no hope – all we can do is keep going, keep going, keep going. I always hoped that peace would be like that. One day, completely out of the blue, nothing to do with us.
Bang
, and that’s it. Peace. Millennia of struggle, all over at once.’

Avner laughed and took a swig of beer. ‘If only. I’ve only ever been in this for the money. From here on, I’m living a life of luxury. An easy life.’

Uzi sucked his teeth. ‘The way I see it, even if I am killed, it will have been worth it. If nobody stops Operation Desert Rain, it would be total war.’

‘Just what the Office wants,’ said Avner.

Uzi groaned.

‘Thing is,’ said Avner after a time, ‘the Office has never understood the meaning of trust. We’ve never trusted other intelligence services, with even the most basic intel. Things haven’t changed, you know. They’ve got worse.’