The Pure

shook Uzi heartily by the hand.
    ‘A good job, Colonel Feldman, an excellent job,’ he said. ‘You should see the satellite images of Natanz. The Iranians put so much firepower there, you’d have thought we were sending in our entire Air Force. The whole Revolutionary Guard, as well as the Artesh, turned out.’ He chuckled. ‘But now there is no longer any such thing as Iranian yellowcake. Their nuclear programme is over. At least for another ten years.’
    Uzi – no, Uzi was dead now, Adam, Adam Feldman – smiled and turned away, but the prime minister hadn’t finished. ‘If it hadn’t been for your excellent work,’ he said, ‘within months Israel might have been facing a nuclear attack.’
    The chairs were removed and everybody got to their feet, returning to their original formation with a sense of great ceremony. Adam was starting to recognise his colleagues better now. There was Hannah, who had buddied with him in the early stages of training. There was Yoav, the ballistics expert. There was Eli, who could speak more languages than anyone he had ever met. Adam, understanding what was expected of him, clutched his blanket closer and walked towards ROM, the prime minister, the two women, flanked by his appreciative colleagues and surrounded by the sound of applause.
    ROM was the first to clasp him by the hand.
    ‘Well done, brother,’ he said. ‘An absolutely perfect operation. Absolutely perfect. And you brought back the MOIS operative, too! You even made her fall hopelessly in love with you. Flawless.’
    ‘Nice boat you’ve got here,’ Adam heard himself saying.
    ‘We borrowed it from a Sayan,’ ROM replied. ‘He doesn’t use it much these days. His new one is much bigger and fancier.’ He leaned closer. ‘It has a helipad. And a miniature submarine.’ ROM pumped his hand again and directed Adam to the two women.
    ‘You did it,’ said the older one happily. ‘You believed in yourself. You believed.’
    ‘You,’ said Adam. ‘You’re the one who’s been fucking with my head for months.’ Good-natured laughter rippled throughout the gathering as, despite the water still clinging to Adam’s wetsuit, they embraced.
    ‘You don’t have to say it,’ said the younger woman. ‘We know. You couldn’t have done it without us.’
    ‘Well,’ said Adam, ‘it’s good to put a face to a voice.’
    An aide stepped forward and handed the prime minister a glass display case. He shook Adam’s hand again, and presented the case to him. In the centre, on a backdrop of black velvet, was a stiletto dagger, the kind traditionally used by the Mossad. On the blade was engraved a passage from Psalms 121:4: ‘ Behold, the guardian of Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps .’ Adam felt dizzy, and shook his head to clear it. Beaming, the prime minister pulled him into a bear hug.
    ‘You’ve done your country proud,’ he said, ‘you’ve done us all proud.’
    ‘Careful,’ said Adam, ‘your suit is getting wet.’
    ‘Fuck the suit,’ replied the prime minister. ‘Under this suit beats the heart of a soldier, same as you.’
    ‘Look,’ said Adam, ‘Operation Regime Change . . .’
    ‘Don’t mention it,’ said the prime minister magnanimously. ‘I completely understand. You had to go along with that bastard Avner and the WikiLeaks scenario. You had no choice – the MOIS were watching you day and night. To refuse would have made them doubt your animosity towards the Mossad. Your first duty was to your operation, to maintain your cover. That is the nature of the Tehorim. I know that.’
    ‘Yes, but I mean Avner. Don’t hunt him down. He’s just a piss artist.’
    ‘I won’t be concerning myself with that fool. We’ll contain him, but we’ll let him keep his freedom. He has his money, so what the hell. He won’t be causing any more trouble.’
    ‘Did it make things difficult for you? Politically?’
    ‘WikiLeaks? Put it this way. For the last few days the whole world has been accusing me of assassinating my political opponents. It hasn’t been comfortable, to say the least. But the headlines tomorrow will be about the air strikes. We have arranged for an independent observer to confirm that the yellowcake existed, so it is clear that we had no choice but to strike preemptively. By tomorrow, your leak will discredited. We will win the election – for genuine reasons – and all will be well. And you will receive a new identity, as well as a generous reward for your