The Pure

troubles.’
    Adam felt dazed, as if he had just awoken from a long sleep. But at the same time, the pain hadn’t gone away; his bond with Leila had been violated. So far he had been reacting automatically, allowing platitudes to slip from his mouth without thinking. But now he thought he should try to verbalise the truth of his inner life. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came. There was nothing he could say; no way he could make anybody understand. So instead he simply said: ‘This was my last operation. That was the arrangement.’
    ‘Come now,’ said ROM, taking his arm, ‘there will be lots of time to discuss these things.’
    ‘Can I get this thing out of my ear now,’ said Adam, ‘and out of my shoulder? It’s been driving me crazy.’
    The prime minister looked at ROM, who called to an aide. ‘Take Colonel Feldman to freshen up,’ he said. ‘Then take him to the sick bay to have the mic and receiver removed.’ He turned to Adam. ‘Brother,’ he said, ‘you did well. Very well. I am indebted to you.’
    ‘Thank you, sir, but with respect,’ said Adam, ‘this was my last mission. It really was my last mission.’
    ‘Of course,’ said ROM, giving him a packet of Noblesse cigarettes and a lighter from his inside pocket. ‘Of course it was. Have a smoke, relax. We have time.’
    Adam pocketed the cigarettes gratefully and found himself being shepherded out of the room and into the bowels of the yacht. The powerful engines were running now, he could hear them, he could feel their vibrations beneath his feet. The vessel was pulling away from hostile waters, he thought. Heading home. After he had showered – vigorously, as if trying to cleanse his soul – and changed into a dry set of clothes, Adam sat on the bed and waited for someone to escort him to the sick bay. His ear, the cyst in his shoulder, felt heavy and hot. Instinctively he expected the Kol to appear in his head, to encourage him to stay strong, to believe in himself. But he knew that would never happen again. It was over. He closed his eyes, tried to collect his thoughts. Then he took ROM’s cigarettes and left his cabin, carrying with him the dagger in its display case.
    The deck was deserted. It was a warm night, but a cool breeze was blowing across the face of the ocean. Adam leaned over the stern, listening to the hum of the engines, watching the tail of foam fade in the sea. The ocean was inky and so was the sky; stars spread out above his head like a canopy of luminous insects, frozen in time. He smoked one Noblesse after another, allowing the wind to tear the smoke from his mouth and disperse it in all directions. The tobacco was rough, potent, stronger than cigarettes outside Israel. It burned his throat and brought back light bulb flashes of memories.
    He wondered where Avner – Franz Gruber – was now. Avner, who always believed he was one step ahead. Avner, who would never have guessed, even for an instant, that Adam was really on an operation for a unit that he didn’t even know existed. This mission had pitted Adam against the Office many times; many times the Office had tried to capture him, kill him even, under the impression that he was a loose cannon at best, and working for the enemy at worst. But Adam had given as good as he’d got. He’d survived. There had been no alternative: to blow his cover, even to the Office, would have damaged Israel far more profoundly than the odd skirmish with them in London. After all, the Office had been infiltrated by the MOIS; there was no telling how deeply their roots were embedded.
    He turned to see the Kol, the older woman, leaning over the railing beside him. How long had she been there?
    ‘Are you OK?’ she said.
    ‘I don’t know how to answer that question,’ he said.
    There was a pause. Adam offered her a cigarette. The flame from the lighter lit her face up for a second, then all was dark again.
    ‘Sometimes it can be dangerous to believe,’ she said.
    ‘Nice of you to say so,’ Adam replied bitterly. ‘But those were my instructions, right? To forget about my old identity, to bury myself, to allow Uzi to come alive. To become only Uzi, nothing but Uzi; to be the bait, to let the MOIS come to me. Not to allow Adam Feldman to draw a single breath. To think like Uzi, feel like Uzi, behave like Uzi, believe in him. Shit, I even passed a lie detector test.’
    ‘I didn’t say you were wrong. I just said to believe is dangerous. But in the end, it