The Pure

feet, lit the spliff, paced over to the window. ‘I’m not going to pretend any more. Fuck it. I’ve already laid down my life for my country. It’s just a matter of time until they come and collect their dues. But it’ll be worth it. Explode the Office, explode the government, and peace will enter the vacuum. It’s as simple as that.’
    Liberty got to her feet and stood behind him, slipping her arms around his waist. Almost imperceptibly, his body softened. ‘Nothing’s going to happen to you,’ she said, ‘to us.’ She traced a line with her lips across his shoulders. ‘It’s only been a short time, I know, but things have changed. I’m tired of all this. Neither of us needs the money. I just want to be . . . let’s get out of this business. One more job, then away. Start again. Let’s just be normal.’
    Uzi turned to face her but found himself afraid to look her in the eyes. ‘I’ve told you. We could play at being normal for a while, for a week or two even, but it would all be a lie.’
    ‘What are our lives anyway, if not lies?’ said Liberty. ‘Let’s just exchange one lie for another, Adam Feldman.’
    Cannabis smoke swirled around them from the spliff smouldering in his fingers. They kissed, their bodies intertwining. All at once, something began to gush through Uzi and didn’t stop. They kissed again and again, bound together as if by a spell; then they rolled back on to the bed. Although neither of them knew it, they were both filled with an identical rage at the unfairness of life. For even as their barriers collapsed, they – like all people – were doomed to separation in the end.

 
31
    Uzi woke up in the late afternoon, smelling of sex and cannabis. The cyst on his shoulder ached. He remembered something Liberty had said during the hazy, half-asleep time after they had made love. Something about how he should get it checked out. The sun was slanting into the room. His head was foggy. Liberty was no longer there, but he hadn’t heard her leave. He was surprised, at first, that he was still breathing, that she hadn’t killed him, and that he had no memory of giving away any secrets, or at least none that he had wanted to keep. His defences had been dissolved; she could have reached in and taken anything she wanted. But she had taken nothing. In fact, he felt like he had been given something.
    He got up, had a shower, went out, sat in the womb of his Porsche with the engine running. The Kol was silent; it had spoken its mind already, told him to watch himself, remember who he was. On his phone was a text message: ‘last night. dream?’ Impulsively he tried to call her; she didn’t pick up. He read the text again. Maybe his world wasn’t completely submerged after all. Hers too, perhaps. He gripped the steering wheel and noticed, as if for the first time, that he felt alive. The world around him was teeming. He was not alone; at last he had a reason to hope.
    He pulled out into the traffic. The paranoia that had plagued him until yesterday had subsided. He was still wary, still on his guard, but no longer jumping at shadows. The spy syndrome had passed. Suddenly it seemed so beautiful, the way it all fitted together. He had given his secrets to WikiLeaks, set the wheels in motion, and soon the genie would be out of the bottle. The government would begin to crack, and he would have his money; and countless people would be gunning for him. And now this comes along, this woman. One job, she had said. One final big job, and then they would cut loose. Together they would be formidable. Two people who needed to escape.
    He drove north on the Finchley Road with no destination in mind. He considered going to see Avner, but he knew there would be no fooling his old comrade, and he wasn’t ready to talk about Liberty, not yet. So he forgot about everything and drove, just drove, relishing the throb, the ebb and flow of the traffic, the greyness of the world outside his window. His thoughts, for the first time in a long while, drifted to his son. To Noam. How strange to love somebody you had met only a handful of times, to miss someone you would never recognise. Because he did love him; he did miss him. Even when he wasn’t thinking about him, even when he didn’t enter his mind from one week to the next, Noam was still there, somehow, somewhere in his heart. He was still present; he was still absent. How did the boy look now? How much did he resemble his mother, how much his