The Pure

until the day you die. Does this worry you?’
    ‘No. I am used to living with danger.’ 992 , 991 , 990 . . .
    ‘Even that sort of danger?’
    ‘What other sort is there?’
    ‘Please,’ interrupted the man in the white coat, ‘yes or no questions only.’
    ‘Very well,’ said Ghasem, ‘I’ll get down to business. Are you doing this in all sincerity?’
    ‘Yes, I am.’
    ‘Do you have any ulterior motive?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Are you secretly working for the Mossad, the CIA, SIS or any other intelligence agency?’
    ‘No, my only agency is my own conscience.’
    ‘When we give you the encrypted intel, will you provide us with the correct interpretation?’
    ‘I will.’
    ‘Let me ask that a second time. Will you decode this intel accurately, and to the best of your ability?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And a third time. Will you be completely honest when you decode the intel?’
    ‘Yes. As I’ve said I want to obstruct the Israeli air strikes as much as you do.’
    ‘I doubt that, my friend, but I thank you. That will be all.’
    Ghasem gestured to the man in the white coat to remove the machine from Uzi. Then both men left the room, taking the PCASS device with them. The bodyguard followed, locking the door.
    Uzi’s right hand strayed casually across his ribcage and inside his jacket. The plastic gun bulged reassuringly against his knuckles; it was as if he was protecting it, like a baby bird. He got up and went to the window. A few slowly swaying trees obscured the lower third of the rectangle, but beyond that he could see the distant sea, the sky. Boats no bigger than fruit flies were drifting lazily offshore. He turned away and sat down again, just in time for the door to open. In silence, Ghasem, the man in the white coat, and the bodyguard took up their previous positions. Then the door was locked again. Ghasem was holding the PCASS device.
    ‘You’re lying to us,’ he said softly.
    ‘I’m not.’
    ‘The machine indicates that you have been lying,’ said Ghasem.
    ‘It must be malfunctioning,’ Uzi replied.
    Ghasem’s face clouded over. ‘Do you realise that you are only a hair’s width away from death here? You are in Syria. You are in Little Tehran. Every man in this country, every man in this building – in this room – hates the Zionist regime more than you could ever imagine. Every man would gladly take you down to the basement and spend a long time bringing about your death. A long time. And now you are lying to us.’
    The Kol was saying something, but Uzi wasn’t listening. He leaned forward suddenly, slamming his palms on the table. ‘Don’t talk to me like that,’ he hissed. ‘How dare you trust that machine more than me? You know what I have given up to be here. You know what I have gone through. My death would be of no consequence to me any more, quick or slow. My only motivation is to bring peace to our countries. I have no other agenda. So do not accuse me of lying. Throw away that machine. You decide: trust me and let me help you, or do not trust me and kill me now. But do not allow my fate to rest in the hands of a machine.’
    He sat back, fuming. To his surprise, Ghasem broke into a grin. ‘Well done, my friend,’ he said, ‘you have passed the lie detector test. The device indicated that you have been telling the truth all along. And now I have challenged you, and you have remained true. You are an impressive man, my friend. A man of honour. Welcome to our family.’ He got to his feet and offered Uzi his hand; Uzi hesitated then shook it vigorously, rising to his feet.
    There was a knock at the door and the bodyguard opened it. Uzi’s heart skipped a beat. There was Leila. She had changed her clothes; now she was wearing a flowing skirt and a light embroidered blouse, together with a peach-coloured headscarf loosely framing her face. She looked more Persian than he could have imagined, and also more beautiful.
    ‘My sister,’ said Ghasem warmly, ‘the time has arrived at long last. After all of your toils. Come and sit down. Come and witness the fruit of your labours.’
    For a moment Uzi and Leila caught eyes, and something wordless and powerful was exchanged between them. Then they all sat down, and the bearded man set about attaching the PCASS machine to Uzi once more. The bodyguard left the room and came in with another silver tray of tea; Leila began to brew it.
    ‘Now,’ said Ghasem magnanimously, ‘I apologise for subjecting you to the machine