The Pure

the sort of device that a courier would use to take a customer’s signature when delivering a package, but with an assortment of wires and clips dangling from one end.
    ‘Nothing but a formality, you understand,’ Ghasem repeated.
    Uzi looked from the device to Ghasem and back again. ‘What’s this?’ he said carefully.
    ‘You haven’t seen one before?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘I hadn’t realised the Mossad was so behind the times,’ said Ghasem cheerfully. ‘This is an American made PCASS – a Preliminary Credibility Assessment Screening System. The newest generation of lie detectors, my friend. State of the art.’
    ‘You still believe in this polygraph stuff? It seems to me that the MOIS might be the ones who are behind the times.’
    Ghasem smiled. ‘The PCASS has its limitations, of course, but we do not have enough time for a proper interview. I hope you’ll forgive us for that.’
    Uzi shrugged. ‘Seems unnecessary to me,’ he said, ‘but like I said, I’m ready. I’ve been ready for a long time.’

 
41
    ‘Keep calm,’ said the Kol gently. ‘Forget about everything. Clear your mind. Just believe in yourself, remember who you are. Count backwards from a thousand in the back of your head. That will prevent your measurements from fluctuating.’
    With some difficulty, Uzi stifled his reply. The man in the white coat approached and rolled his left sleeve up to the elbow. A black box the shape of a bar of soap was strapped to his wrist with Velcro, two electrodes were adhered to his palm with sticky pads, and a pulse sensor was attached to his middle fingertip by way of a clip. With a grunt of satisfaction, the man sat back and booted up the handset; it made a quiet whining noise that gradually rose in pitch until it could no longer be heard.
    ‘This is an unrivalled lie-detection device,’ said the man, rubbing his fuzzy chin. ‘It is far more advanced than the traditional polygraph machines you may have seen before. This machine will register any increase in stress that you feel in response to our questions. The electrodes on your palm gauge the changes in the electrical conductivity of your skin; the pulse oximeter on your middle finger observes any changes in your cardiovascular activity. This data is processed through a complex algorithm that leads to a simple diagnosis: either you are lying, or you are telling the truth. The margin of error is very small indeed.’
    ‘I have nothing to hide,’ said Uzi.
    The man in the white coat looked at him noncommittally. ‘So let us begin. I will ask some routine questions, then I will hand you over to my colleague. First of all, I would like you to tell me a lie. Are you a Mexican?’
    ‘Excuse me?’
    ‘Are you a Mexican? Lie, please.’
    ‘Oh I see. Yes, I am a Mexican.’ The device beeped softly.
    ‘Are you bald?’
    ‘You want me to lie again?’
    ‘Yes, please.’
    ‘Yes, I am bald.’ Another beep.
    ‘Now,’ said the man in the white coat, ‘please answer the following test questions truthfully. Were you ever a member of the Mossad?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘As a Katsa?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Very good. I can confirm that we are getting accurate readings. I’ll now hand over to my colleague.’
    Ghasem roused himself as if his thoughts had been far away. He smoothed his hand across his swell of hair and sat forward, clasping his hands in front of him.
    ‘Now, my friend,’ he said, ‘you are about to betray your country. Do you feel comfortable about this?’
    ‘I am not betraying my country. Not the way I see it.’
    ‘No?’
    ‘No, I am taking this action in pursuit of peace. It is in the best interests of my country, in my opinion.’
    The PCASS device was bleeping crazily. ‘If we can stay with yes or no answers, if you please,’ interjected the man in the white coat.
    There was a pause. Uzi and Ghasem regarded each other like gladiators. Finally Ghasem spoke again. ‘OK. Do you realise that once you have given us our information, you will never again be able to set foot in Israel?’
    ‘Yes, I realise that.’
    ‘Does it worry you?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘You will never be able to see your family or friends again. Are you telling me that doesn’t worry you?’
    ‘I don’t mind. My parents are dead. I will have Leila. She is my world now.’ 999 , 998 , 997 . . .
    ‘Of course. Now, as I explained before, the MOIS will offer lifetime protection as well as financial rewards. Nevertheless, you will be top of the Mossad hit list