The Pure

emptied. Then Waxman removed the needle and helped Uzi to his feet. Uzi felt strange, light-headed but strong. Waxman pressed a bottle of painkillers and a bundle of fresh dressings into his hand. ‘I’ll remove the stitches in three weeks’ time.’
    ‘I’ll do it myself,’ Uzi replied as he stepped out of the ambulance into the breaking dawn. ‘Let’s hope I don’t call on you again.’
    Waxman smiled for the first time, openly relieved to have completed his mission.
    Suddenly, Uzi was overcome with a sense of recklessness. Fuck them, he thought. A gnat biting an elephant. Fuck them. ‘You’ve done a great job,’ he said casually. ‘How does fifty thousand sound?’
    Waxman gulped. ‘I’ve never been paid before . . . I’d donate it to charity. Well, most of it.’
    ‘Good. Who’s your contact at London Station?’
    ‘Arik.’
    ‘Well, speak to Arik and he’ll transfer the funds. You know the communication protocol?’
    ‘Yes, but I’m supposed to use it only in an emergency.’
    ‘Use it now. Tell Arik I authorised it.’
    ‘OK.’
    ‘And Waxman?’
    ‘Yes, Daniel?’
    ‘Don’t spend it all at once.’ With that, Uzi slammed the ambulance door and made his way back to his apartment.

 
8
    The painkillers had a limited effect, and Uzi knew he would be unable to sleep, so he decided not to try. Through a crack in the curtains he watched until Waxman’s ambulance disappeared down the road. In the bathroom he scraped out the inside of the showerhead with a spoon and washed as best he could, without getting the bandages wet. Then he rolled himself a spliff and sat in front of his two televisions. The softening hand of marijuana caressed his injuries, led him to a pleasing remove from the world. He almost didn’t notice when his ear began to itch.
    ‘That was cheeky,’ said the Kol, ‘that thing with Waxman.’ The voice was as cool and unemotional as ever.
    ‘Can’t we get back into our routine?’ he mumbled. ‘You were supposed to only come out at night.’
    ‘I am the Kol. I can come out whenever I please.’
    ‘You’re a heartless bitch, you know that?’ said Uzi.
    The Kol fell silent. Uzi squinted at the screen through the fragrant smoke. The heat of the day was beginning to fall into his apartment; he opened the window and sat down. Slowly but surely, his eyelids became leaden and his mind gently wandered. The picture of Ram Shalev – the one which had been on the front page of all the newspapers after he was killed by Operation Cinnamon – appeared his mind. Smiling in his garden with his two children, his wife. The trees behind, the vivid blue sky, the button-down shirt. Uzi tried not to hold on to the image. He knew it would only make things worse. Eventually it passed, and for a while images of the ambulance appeared, pleasant images, as if it had been a comfortable place to be. As if it were a womb.
    Then, memories of a kill sprang up, his second kill for the Office. Beirut, 2007. Lebanon was being rebuilt in the aftermath of the Israeli bombardment. A network of new roads and bridges was being constructed throughout the capital; Adam was posing as a building contractor, bribing local construction workers to build plastic cases into the infrastructure as they worked. Airtight plastic cases containing little Israeli-made bombs that could remain in a serviceable state for years, even decades, buried in bridges and motorways, to be detonated remotely at the push of a button. They would give Israel a great advantage if there was another war. But it was dangerous work. Not only was there a good chance that one of the construction workers would be caught in the act, but it was difficult to trust them. They were being paid handsomely, of course, but the operation had been put together in haste, and Adam hadn’t had time to build up a solid connection with these men; as a result their relationship was always poisoned by suspicion.
    One in particular – Walid Khaled, a wiry old labourer with the eyes of a beaten dog – had been spotted one night photographing the bridge with his mobile phone. No chances could be taken. A kill request was sent to Israel and the prime minister approved it within hours; an emergency closed-doors court case had ruled that the action was unavoidable. The only snag was that all the Kidonim – assassination units – were tied up elsewhere in the world. Adam would have to carry it out himself, despite his lack of expertise. The danger was too