The Pure

do what I’m going to do. You’ll take the fucking money and run.’
    ‘They’ll find me.’
    ‘They won’t. I’ll fix it so they won’t. I still have access to the Office mainframe, don’t forget. I still have horses in the system. You have horses too, come to that.’
    ‘My horses are all burned. Or turned. They had to disown me to keep their careers.’
    ‘Rubbish. Rothem is still working for you. And Moskovitz.’
    ‘Don’t give me that.’
    ‘Come on, my brother. You’re still alive, free, in England. You think that happened by magic? You think the Office has gone soft? No, that’s because of your horses.’
    ‘Maybe,’ said Uzi. ‘But if I spoke to WikiLeaks I’d be screwed, horses or no horses. The Office would go crazy. They’d find me, and that’d be it. Game over. Vanunu would be nothing compared to me.’
    ‘My horses are strong, Adam. They would protect us both.’
    ‘Who have you got?’
    ‘Never mind who I’ve got.’
    ‘You’re not going to ask me to trust you, surely.’
    ‘Come on. We’ve got enough field experience. We know what we’re doing. We could just disappear. Start again. That’s what you want to do anyway, right? You’re only forty, you’re a young man. Your whole life is ahead of you.’
    Uzi blew out his cheeks. ‘Even if you had ROM himself as a horse, I’d be fucked. The PM would fuck me personally.’
    Avner leaned closer. ‘You’re no stranger to risk,’ he said. ‘You’re not someone who is afraid to stand up for what he knows is right. You have the power to change the course of history. How can you possibly refuse?’
    There was a pause.
    ‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?’ said Uzi.
    ‘Of course,’ grinned Avner. ‘Ever the professional. It’s all set up with WikiLeaks. As soon as you’re ready, I’ll schedule the meeting. When it’s all in the can and ready to go, we sign the letter and take the first flight out. By the time the story breaks, we’ll be drinking fine wine in Paris. With completely new identities.’
    ‘Paris?’
    ‘Or wherever you like. If you prefer, we can go our separate ways, no questions asked.’
    ‘Passports?’
    ‘I’ve taken care of it. Canadian.’
    ‘Top passports?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘When do we get paid?’
    ‘As soon as you speak to WikiLeaks.’
    ‘Cash?’
    ‘Deposits into bank accounts in Liechtenstein. We watch the money go in. Then we give WikiLeaks the go-ahead to break the story.’
    ‘I wouldn’t want to go to Paris. I’d just lie low in London. Carry on with business.’
    ‘Suit yourself. Your funeral.’
    ‘And if I’m out?’
    Avner pushed his empty coffee glass aside and placed his palms in parallel on the table. ‘Look, Adam. This is what I’m trying to tell you. We’re in the same boat. You got fucked after Operation Cinnamon, and I got fucked trying to make some extra money. You’re sitting outside synagogues with a finger up your arse during the day, and selling cannabis to lowlifes by night. I was an A-grade Katsa and now I’m living like a ghost. What have either of us got to lose? We have the power to bring the whole rotten house down. You can be a real fucking hero – you can clean up Israeli politics. Me? Well, I can get rich.’
    ‘Strange sort of hero, in exile the rest of my life. Looking over my shoulder the rest of my life.’
    ‘Let’s give this a name. We’re professionals, after all. Operation Regime Change. You like that? I think it has a nice, ironic ring.’
    ‘Operation Regime Change,’ Uzi repeated doubtfully.
    ‘Think about it. Let me know if you’re in.’
    Abruptly, as if late for an appointment, Avner got to his feet, put a hand on Uzi’s shoulder, and left the café. Uzi sat there for some minutes, feeling black with rage. He hated Avner, the Office, everything. He left the café and stalked off down the street.

 
4
    The weather was impossibly humid and a horrid lethargy lay upon everything. His temper smouldering, Uzi made his way towards Camden, keen to put as much distance as possible between himself and Avner. He could feel a coldness shining from his eyes. Whoever caught his gaze looked away, and that was a good thing. He planted his feet one after the other on to the steaming pavement, like a robot, like a monster, and it felt as if he wasn’t moving at all. The streets were quiet and stiflingly hot, the temperature was boiling his blood. He’d had enough of feeling expendable, like a pawn, an attack dog,