The Pure

and jeans, like a fat man trying to disguise his weight, or a petty pusher concealing a weapon. His face was sharp and unshaven; a mischievous smile played around his lips.
    ‘I’m Johnson, from WikiLeaks Comms,’ he said. ‘This is Skid, one of our techies.’ The sallow-faced man nodded without smiling.
    ‘Johnson?’ said Uzi doubtfully.
    ‘What about it? It’s a common name.’
    Uzi held up the USB. ‘Recognise this, Johnson?’
    ‘Shit,’ said Johnson, turning to Skid. ‘You kept that in your bag?’
    ‘Where else?’ Skid replied in a nasal voice. ‘Up my arse?’
    ‘That wouldn’t be a bad idea,’ said Johnson, ‘but your finger is taking up all the space.’
    ‘Children, children,’ Uzi interrupted, raising his gun. The two men fell quiet. ‘Just tell me what’s on here. And where you got it from.’
    ‘It’s intel,’ said Johnson cagily. ‘If you’re nice, we’ll tell you what it is.’
    Uzi walked towards him until the gun was several inches from his nose. ‘I don’t need to be nice.’
    ‘OK, OK. Whatever, right? I was going to tell you anyway. It’s a list of all the active assassins in the Office.’
    ‘The Kidonim?’ said Uzi. ‘How did you get that?’
    ‘We never discuss our sources,’ said Johnson loftily, ‘but we’ll need your help to break the encryption. J says the intel will add another, like, dimension to your story.’
    ‘It’s not a story,’ said Uzi.
    ‘Whatever. Testimony.’
    Avner placed the USB carefully on the table. There was a pause. These men were clearly not spies; they were relying too much on posturing, and buckled under the slightest pressure. Yet they knew their stuff, J had vouched for them. Uzi holstered his weapon and lit a cigarette.
    ‘So,’ he said, ‘I suppose you two will be wanting a drink?’

 
22
    ‘OK,’ said Uzi once they were settled with beers and the sound equipment had been set up. ‘Roll the tape. I’ll tell you the story first, as it happened, and then show you the evidence.’
    ‘Roll the tape,’ chuckled Skid. ‘I haven’t heard that in a while.’
    ‘From now on, everything is on record,’ said Johnson. ‘OK?’ Uzi shrugged his acquiescence.
    Skid turned on the table mic and spoke into it, stating the date, time and Uzi’s name – his real name. Then he gestured for Uzi to begin and put on a pair of headphones. Uzi cleared his throat, glanced at Avner, who was sitting beside the door cradling his gun. The microphone seemed ridiculously large. Uzi began to speak.
    ‘I’m going to give an account of Operation Cinnamon,’ he said, ‘the joint Mossad–Shabak operation to murder the interior minister, Ram Shalev.’
    Johnson was taking notes on the laptop, his hands tapping away as if they had a life of their own. ‘Describe your involvement,’ he said, without looking up.
    ‘My role was to liaise with the Shabak and the Kidon, and to contribute towards the accomplishment of the objective,’ said Uzi. ‘From the start, it didn’t feel like a regular operation.’
    ‘Hang on a minute,’ said Johnson. ‘For the record: by “Shabak” you mean the Shin Bet, Israel’s domestic secret service. The Israeli MI5, so to speak. And by “Kidon” you mean a Mossad assassin.’
    ‘Right. Normally we would receive our orders in briefing sessions with the section commander. This time, I was called for a meeting with ROM himself – the director of the Mossad – on behalf of the PM.’
    ‘Hold on,’ said Johnson. ‘I just want to be absolutely clear about this. You’re saying that you were called into a meeting with the director of the Mossad on behalf of the Israeli prime minister?’
    ‘Yes, that’s what I said.’
    ‘How did you know it was on behalf of the prime minister? Did ROM say so explicitly?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘What were his exact words?’
    ‘He said, “I’m calling you into this meeting on behalf of the prime minister.”’
    From across the room, Avner sniggered.
    Johnson flushed. ‘Fine.’
    ‘Thanks,’ said Uzi drily. His throat was sore from the cigarettes and his lungs were tightening. ‘From the start, all orders were issued verbally. No documentation whatsoever.’
    ‘And that was unusual?’ said Johnson.
    ‘Yes, it was unusual. Now just shut up and listen. You’re driving me crazy.’ Johnson made no response. ‘The whole thing was very strange. It didn’t feel right. Operation Cinnamon was to be carried out within Israel’s borders. Ordinarily the Mossad