The Pure (35 page)

‘No,’ he said softly, ‘this isn’t working. This isn’t right. I’ve made a mistake somewhere.’ For what seemed like an age he sat there without moving, like a chess player examining a complicated board. He hunched over, crossed out a few figures, scribbled some more, shook his head.

Following a sip of tea, he pressed his palm to his forehead and exclaimed, ‘Of course, of course. They’ve put it in three sleeves. Three sleeves.’ Feverishly he hunched over the pad of paper, making notes and punching digits into the calculator with a single hooked finger. Around the room, people shifted in their chairs. Uzi continued to write, continued to scrawl, relating his figures repeatedly to the table of syllables like a mad scientist. Finally – finally – he breathed a profound sigh and smiled. He flipped the pad on to a new page and wrote out a single word in block capitals. Then he turned the pad around, and the Iranians saw what was on it. A single word: NATANZ.

There was a pause; everybody seemed to be holding their breath. Ghasem exchanged glances with the man in the white coat, who nodded.

‘This is the target?’ said Ghasem.

‘Yes,’ Uzi replied.

‘You have been completely honest with us?’

‘Yes.’

Ghasem looked at the man in the white coat again and saw that he was grinning broadly. All at once, a ripple of relief flowed through the room, and then the Iranians were all on their feet, embracing each other and smiling. Uzi knew that there could only be one reason for this display of jubilation: the yellowcake wouldn’t need to be moved. The Israelis had the wrong target.

He sat there in a daze until Leila walked deliberately around the table and raised him to his feet. They were both gripped by an impulse to fall into each other’s arms, but in the present company they had to resist. They held hands; Leila’s was trembling. When she raised her face to him, he thought that her eyes were filling with tears. But he couldn’t be sure.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered, ‘thank you.’

Ghasem strode over and clasped him heartily by the hand as the bearded man removed the PCASS device.

‘This should be a day of national celebration,’ he said, ‘in honour of you, my friend.’

‘I am flattered,’ Uzi replied. ‘Really I have not done much.’

Ghasem waved his protestations away, Rolex rattling. ‘You have saved our nuclear weapons programme,’ he said. ‘That is not something to dismiss.’ He rubbed his hands together like a salesman. ‘Now you two go and relax,’ he said, addressing Uzi and Leila together. ‘You deserve to – what do they call it? – decompress. We will take care of everything. We will move our forces into position and await the Israeli jets. And, finally, may I add this: congratulations on your engagement.’

Uzi looked quizzically at Leila, who smiled up at him. Instantly he understood that marriage was the only way they could be together. A smile spread across his face like the rising sun. But then he glanced over at Ghasem – and something didn’t fit. For a brief moment he saw the Iranian exchanging a glance with a bodyguard, giving him the smallest of nods. It was a businesslike nod, one that was obviously intended for the bodyguard only. But something in Ghasem’s steely expression – and in the bodyguard’s barely perceptible acknowledgement – made Uzi’s blood run cold.

Then, before he knew it, they were being bustled out of the room arm-in-arm, and Leila was clinging to him as if she would never let go. The bodyguard was carrying their luggage behind them; someone else was leading them on at a brisk pace down corridor after airy corridor. All at once they were outside, in the evening light, amid long shadows, being steered across a flagstoned courtyard lined with lemon trees, in the direction of a whitewashed cottage in the grounds of the villa. Leila was whispering in his ear: I’ll do anything you want, my love, I’ll do anything you want. And then they were inside, and their luggage was stacked neatly in the corner. The doors were closed, and the bodyguard took up a position outside. Laughing with sudden abandon, Leila flung herself on to the scented bed. Uzi joined her. They had done it. Operation Desert Rain was doomed. The yellowcake would lie undisturbed many miles beneath the earth at Qum, while the fury of Israel fell on Natanz, many kilometres away. And in a matter of months – only months – a nuclear Iran would be a reality, bringing balance to the Middle East, to the world. Uzi removed his jacket and hung it carefully in the wardrobe, leaving the M9 in the pocket. Then he returned to the bed and received kisses that were more passionate and uninhibited than he had ever received before. The bodyguard – the one who had received the nod from Ghasem – was still outside.

When Uzi awoke, night had fallen. He snaked his arm from under Leila’s head and looked at his watch. But the luminous hands were not glowing brightly enough; he couldn’t read the time in the darkness. His ear began to itch.

‘Uzi,’ said the Kol firmly. It was the older voice.

‘What time is it?’

‘Air strikes will commence in sixty minutes. Sixty minutes. You need to move.’

Fuzzy-headed, Uzi slipped out of the bed and crossed to the window. Outside there was the silhouette of the bodyguard, who now had an AK-47 slung over his shoulder. Silently Uzi opened the shutters, allowing the moonlight to fall into the room. Then, in the half-light, he made his way to the wardrobe and put his jacket on. He slipped his hand into the inside pocket, gripped the butt of his M9.

From the bed, Leila moaned and propped herself up on her elbows, rubbing her eyes.

‘My love,’ she said sleepily, ‘come back to bed.’

He had to think fast. ‘Not now,’ he said. ‘I can’t sleep. The air strikes are coming soon. I need to be out on the beach, under the stars. Anyway, I need a cigarette. I don’t want to smoke here while you’re sleeping. And it’s a beautiful night. Look.’

Smoothing her hair, Leila got to her feet and crossed to the window, opening the shutters wide. ‘You’re right, it is beautiful. Just look at that moon. You would never get a moon that size in the West.’ She took him by the hand and drew him to her.

‘Uzi,’ said the Kol quietly in his ear. ‘Fifty-eight minutes.’

He rested his hands on Leila’s hips and traced a line of kisses down her neck. ‘Come on, then. Let’s see if we can persuade that bodyguard to let us go for a stroll in private.’

Leila took a shawl from her luggage and draped it around her shoulders, then wrapped her headscarf loosely over her hair. They put on their shoes and went out, holding hands.

‘Good evening,’ said the bodyguard politely, turning towards them and tightening his hold on his gun. ‘Is there something I can do for you?’

‘We want to go for a walk on the beach,’ said Leila. ‘Would that be possible? We have just got engaged.’

The bodyguard thought for a moment. ‘Wait here,’ he said. He walked a few paces away, not taking his eyes off them, and spoke softly into a two-way radio. Then he came back. ‘It would be possible,’ he said, ‘but I would need to accompany you.’

‘Why?’

‘Those are my orders. Please forgive me, but you and the Zionist need to be under constant guard.’ He glanced sidelong at Uzi. ‘And Ghasem said he might need to speak to you at short notice.’

‘Look,’ said Leila, standing a little closer to him. ‘I am an operative, you see? A MOIS operative.’ She took her ID card from her bag and showed it to him. ‘Why don’t you just give me the rifle and I’ll guard this Zionist.’

‘Not Zionist,’ added Uzi in perfect Farsi, ‘Israeli.’

The guard dismissed them both with a wave of his hand. ‘It’s my job to look after you,’ he said, and smiled. His gaze was firm and opaque. Once again, Uzi felt his blood run cold.

‘But I am a MOIS operative.’

‘I’m sorry, sister. Orders are orders.’ This time his face remained stony.

‘No problem,’ said Leila, smiling charmingly to disguise her annoyance. Then she and Uzi walked down the path hand-in-hand, briskly, with the bodyguard several paces behind. Uzi could hear him slipping a magazine quietly into his gun. He didn’t turn around.

They crossed the courtyard again – the moonlight bathed everything in a ghostly light – and skirted the main villa. All the lights were on inside, and from time to time they encountered armed men on patrol. Leila flashed her ID card again and again, and the bodyguard nodded to his comrades. Through a window Uzi saw a room full of men wearing headsets, typing. And then they were at the front entrance, weaving their way through several rows of cars, heading in the direction of the perimeter fence.

‘It’s a breathtaking night,’ said Leila, looking up at the stars. ‘Just breathtaking.’

‘It’s a historic night,’ Uzi replied softly. ‘Let’s get down to the beach to appreciate it.’

‘Uzi,’ said the Kol. ‘Forty-seven minutes.’

The moon sat low and yellow above them as they approached the fence. Two different guards were on duty this time; when they saw the bodyguard, they waved them through. Leila was beguiling in the moonlight, and dignified despite the bodyguard.

‘Sorry about our gun-toting babysitter,’ she whispered. ‘Tehran is bound to be jumpy until it’s all over. But once the Israelis have made their move, and the yellowcake is safe, people will relax. We’ll be free to do as we please.’

They made their way down the winding, tree-lined driveway and out on to the road on the spine of the ridge. Night sounds were all around them: nocturnal birds, animals in the undergrowth, the wind. Uzi thought he could hear the bodyguard breathing; now that they had passed through the perimeter fence, he was walking much closer behind them. Leila drew her shawl tighter around her. ‘Where shall we go?’ she asked.

Uzi’s ear began to itch. ‘Head over the road,’ said the Kol. ‘There’s a track that leads down to the waterfront.’

Uzi turned to the bodyguard. ‘We’re going down to the ocean,’ he said casually.

‘For a short time,’ said the bodyguard.

‘Can’t you give us a bit of space? Some privacy?’

The bodyguard made no response, remaining behind them as close as before. Uzi noticed that he had the safety-catch off. Leading Leila by the hand, Uzi crossed across the road and there, just as the Kol had said, was a rough dirt track winding down the side of the ridge. The rough grass and sand was monochrome in the moonlight.

‘How did you know about this?’ said Leila. ‘Have you been here before?’

‘I noticed it on the way here,’ Uzi replied. ‘Come on.’

They scrambled down the track, supporting themselves on smooth-faced boulders and desiccated trees. Twice the bodyguard ordered them to slow down. But each time Uzi, prompted by the Kol, said that he needed to get down to the ocean.

‘So once this is all over, where shall we go to live?’ said Leila breathlessly as they neared the foot of the ridge. Only a few rows of houses, still warm from the heat of the day, lay between them and the sea. ‘Money will be no object.’

‘It would need to be somewhere obscure,’ said Uzi. ‘How about somewhere in Latin America? Do you speak Spanish?’

‘No,’ said Leila, ‘do you?’

‘No,’ said Uzi. Leila burst out laughing. ‘What?’ Uzi protested. ‘We can learn.’

‘I was thinking more of Jakarta, Bali, somewhere like that,’ said Leila. ‘It’s remote enough, and beautiful enough, for our purposes. And there are elements there loyal to Iran.’

‘I like that,’ said Uzi. ‘We could have a wooden villa on the ocean with hammocks. And a maid to make us Nasi Campur.’

‘Nasi Campur?’

‘An Indonesian national dish – rice with peanuts, vegetables, meat, eggs and shrimp flakes.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I just know.’

They weaved their way through the narrow streets approaching the seafront. Leila was pressing close to him, he could feel the weight of her against his arm, could smell the scent of her perfume on the night breeze, and an intense wave of love broke through him. And with it, an intense wave of uncertainty.

‘Uzi,’ said the Kol. ‘Forty minutes.’

Finally they broke free of the houses, hurried across the road and stepped on to the soft sand. The beach was deserted. Far off, lights twinkled. Leila paused to remove her shoes, and Uzi went on ahead; she ran to catch him up and swung into his arms. Uzi took her hand and led her down to the sea. Now that there was nowhere for them to run, and nowhere for them to hide, the bodyguard hung back a little, his AK-47 cradled loosely in his arms.

‘Hurry,’ said the Kol suddenly. ‘There is a cove about a hundred metres down, over that outcrop of rock. Hurry.’

‘Why don’t we head for that cove?’ said Uzi. ‘There might be more privacy there.’

‘I can’t see a cove.’

‘Just down there. Look.’

‘There’s no privacy anyway,’ said Leila, ‘not with our friend here. Let’s just sit down here and watch the waves.’

‘No, come on.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing. Trust me.’

Leading her by the hand, Uzi strode through the sand towards the cove. The bodyguard called out but Uzi didn’t stop. He heard the man cursing, scrambling after them, his weapon scraping against the rocks. The moon was clear and vivid, and the world was enchanted with shadow. The ocean could be heard breaking on the shore, each wave releasing secrets that had been locked up in the depths for centuries. Leila fell silent.

Before long, they scrambled down into the cove. Here the sand was softer than before, the waves were less energetic, and tiny shells were scattered in their thousands. A crab scuttled across their path, taking refuge in a crack in the rock; a starfish lay pulsating in the darkness by the edge of the water. The bodyguard, seeing that they had come to a halt, swore loudly and took up a position in the rocks. Uzi made a calming gesture to him and looked out to sea, catching his breath. He was sweating. Leila stood beside him, holding his hand, but not pressing against him any more. A streak of lunar light lay across the waves in front of them. On the horizon, tiny ships passed.

Uzi’s ear itched. ‘Now is the time,’ urged the Kol gently. ‘Be subtle.’

Uzi turned to Leila and drew her to him.

‘I need to talk to you,’ he said. ‘There are things I need to say.’

‘Let’s talk later,’ said Leila, gesturing subtly towards the bodyguard who was sitting just out of earshot, watching them closely. ‘You’ve been through a lot. This operation must have taken its toll. But it’s almost over now.’