The Pure

only works abroad.’
    ‘The Mossad being the Israeli MI6.’
    ‘If you must make that comparison, yes.’
    ‘Why do you think the Mossad was being used domestically in this operation?’
    ‘Because ROM and the PM go back a long way. They are both kibbutzniks, both of the same political stripe. The PM knows he can trust the Mossad more than the Shabak or any other intelligence unit; they’re like his own family. And, of course, he chose us because of our expertise. In assassination.’ There was a silence. That word, with all its ugly sibilance, hung in the air horribly. ‘But I had been taught not to ask any questions. So I agreed to take on the operation.’
    ‘Did it bother you that the target of the assassination was an Israeli minister?’
    ‘Of course it bothered me, but I could only assume he was an enemy agent of some sort.’
    ‘ROM gave you no reason for the hit?’
    ‘None whatsoever. I found out later.’
    ‘I see.’
    ‘Look, by that point my career was unstable. I had been asking too many tricky questions, and was relying on my horses – powerful allies on the inside – to limit the damage. But I knew they couldn’t protect me forever. Cinnamon was a Priority One operation, and I was flattered that they offered it to me. You just don’t refuse a Priority One operation. I knew that I needed to carry it off in style if I was going to survive in the organisation.’
    ‘Why do you think ROM chose you?’
    ‘My horses had set it up that way. I’d promised them that I’d stop challenging authority, that I’d toe the line no matter what, and they wanted to give me a chance to get my career back on track.’
    ‘OK.’
    ‘So Operation Cinnamon began. The Shabak’s undercover Arabists had already infiltrated a cell of suicide bombers in Gaza. Myself and a Kidon were assigned to the Shabak unit. Our plan was to pose as Hamas terrorists, instruct one of the suicide bombers to kill Ram Shalev, and pass it off as a terrorist attack. This suited the government, by the way. Whenever there is an attack in Israel, public opinion swings to the right. Just the thing with an election coming up.’
    ‘Did you know the identity of the Kidon?’ said Johnson.
    ‘No,’ said Uzi coldly. ‘They’re the most secretive unit in existence. I did meet with him several times to discuss the operation but he only ever called himself K20.’ He lit another cigarette. Through the smoke that was leaking from his mouth, fogging his eyes, the world looked dream-like, mystical.
    ‘Everything went smoothly. The undercover Shabak operative made contact with a prospective suicide bomber, and we set up a meeting in Gaza. I posed as a high-ranking terrorist in Hamas who had arrived to give him a personal mission. He was a young boy, not more than sixteen, whose parents had been killed during Operation Cast Lead. Nadim Sam Qaaqour was his name. A lanky kid, wiry. He’d been brainwashed – totally brainwashed – as if somebody had removed everything inside him and filled him with . . . I don’t know . . . a sort of gas.’
    ‘Gas?’
    ‘Some kind of spirit, I don’t know. Anyway, we told him that Ram Shalev had been one of the main architects of Operation Cast Lead and that he was planning another offensive against the people of Gaza. The boy didn’t need any more than that. He agreed to do it there and then. We left it a week, then scheduled another meeting. Nadim was as keen as before, keener in fact. So we provided him with a suicide vest and instructions. The Kidon – K20 – arranged a meeting with Ram Shalev in the private garden of a hotel in downtown Jerusalem. The plan was to smuggle Nadim out of Gaza and drop him off in Jerusalem. Then he would make his way into the hotel garden via a side entrance. When K20 saw him coming, he would excuse himself and walk into the hotel, leaving Shalev alone in the garden. As soon as K20 was inside, Nadim was to run over and detonate the bomb. K20 would then return to the scene to make sure that both Shalev and the boy were dead. If not, he would finish them off with a miniature explosive charge to the head, made of the same substances as the suicide vest.
    ‘It was the sort of plan that only the Mossad could have come up with. The Shabak, well, they’re sophisticated operators but they don’t have the same flair.’
    Uzi paused, got to his feet and walked over to the window. He parted the curtains. Outside it was dark and the rain was coming down in great flapping