The Pure

feet away. His upper lip itched and his palms were clammy. He looked at his watch. Three minutes. The sky was overcast and he could hear the hum of the traffic, the sound of the city. Far off, a siren. Two minutes. He pressed the button on his car key and the boot hissed open, exposing the unconscious Abelev. The stakes were high: Liberty knew a lot about him that the Office would like to know. But he was gambling on the fact that he was too valuable to throw away. One minute. He reached into the glove compartment, took out his cigarettes, his Zippo. He thought about the children in Arab villages, how they run after foreigners in the street, hassling them for money. How they’ll never stop unless you stand up to them. Never. You had to beat them. Thirty seconds. Perhaps Liberty was planning to call his bluff. But there was no bluff. He tightened his grip on his pistol. He was ready to go.
    Then, without warning, there was a grinding noise, and the metal door of the building behind him opened. Two burly Russians stepped out and approached the Porsche.
    ‘Aasif Hamidi?’ one said.
    ‘Yes,’ replied Uzi in Russian.
    ‘Liberty said you need some assistance.’
    Uzi smiled to himself and gestured towards the boot, not removing his gun from his jacket.
    ‘That package needs to be delivered to her room,’ he said. ‘It’s fragile.’
    The Russians, concealing their surprise at the glistening, mummified man-fish, hauled it out on to the gravel. Then, between them, they dragged Abelev into the building. Uzi followed them, buoyed by a sense of triumph. Fuck Liberty, he thought. He had called her bluff. Now they could work together.
    ‘Throw him in the bath and get out of here,’ said Liberty, flicking her revolver towards the broken bathroom door. Without a word, the two Russians heaved Abelev into the dilapidated apartment and rolled him into the rusty tub. Uzi had cut a hole in the packing tape around his nose; as he breathed, a little flap moved back and forth.
    ‘This is becoming your signature,’ said Liberty when the Russians had left, ‘this packing tape.’
    Uzi scowled in response. ‘That little game you played just now. Don’t think you can fuck with me.’
    ‘Oh don’t be so uptight,’ said Liberty, brushing his arm with her hand.
    ‘I don’t like being fucked with,’ said Uzi. ‘I’ve been fucked with enough in my life.’
    ‘People like getting fucked,’ said Liberty, looking at him like a girl.
    Uzi shook his head and bent over the bath. Abelev was starting to squirm more vigorously; the drugs had all but worn off.
    ‘For a professional, you’re not very professional,’ he said over his shoulder.
    Liberty, inexplicably, laughed. Then she approached the tub. ‘Sit him up and uncover his face. Let’s see what he has to say.’
    Uzi did as she asked, hauling Abelev to a sitting position and peeling the tape back from his face. He screamed, thrashed and fell on to his back; Uzi slapped him hard and propped him up again, a fat caterpillar in the gloom.
    ‘Where am I?’ he said, his voice breaking, his eyes swivelling in their sockets.
    ‘Tell me something, Alexey Mikhailovich Abelev,’ said Liberty in soft Russian. ‘Do you think you are a clever bastard? Do you have a fucking PhD in cleverness or something?’
    The Russian said nothing. His marble eyes slid from side to side in his head, flicked all around. His breathing was shallow and sharp and sweat stippled his moon-like face. Liberty raised her revolver and struck him a resounding blow, startlingly powerful for her size. Abelev’s head bounced off the broken tiles behind him and an X-shaped incision appeared on his forehead, then immediately started to bleed. Within seconds, half his face was black with blood. He moaned, a high-pitched whine, like a cat.
    ‘Tell me who you’re working for,’ she hissed.
    The man evidently knew his end had come and that nothing could be gained from holding out. ‘The Oswald Street Crew.’
    ‘The Oswald Street Crew,’ said Liberty. ‘You fucking double-crossing turncoat.’ She gripped him by the shoulder and his whine became a full-throated, animal scream.
    ‘Just don’t hurt me. Please,’ he moaned.
    ‘Get the fucker up,’ said Liberty. Uzi complied, dragging the man awkwardly to his feet. She grabbed a broken ladder that was leaning against the wall and together they strapped Abelev to it.
    ‘What I want to know,’ said Liberty as they leaned the ladder against the bathtub,