The Pure

fingers to the floor, spreading and seeping into the carpet. He gripped the laptop with both hands, hoping that his eyes were deceiving him, feeling like he was going to be sick.
    At the top, as usual, was Liberty’s background information: date of birth, nationality, place of residence, physical description, languages spoken, threat category, known aliases, immediate family. Then there was the intel itself, compiled from various cables; at the end was a list of sources and the operatives who had provided it.
    If Uzi had read through the document, he would have found that everything corroborated what he already knew. It was all there: her upbringing, her CIA career, her disaffection, the deaths of her family, her marriage to a Russian drug dealer, her relocation to the UK and reinvention as a dealer herself. But he read none of this. He didn’t need to. His eyes had travelled no further than the photograph. It was a simple head-and-shoulders shot in black and white, like a passport photo, certified as authentic by a Mossad stamp. The woman in it was dressed in American military uniform, and half-smiling in a pleasant sort of way; her face was a clean oval, with an aquiline nose and widely spaced eyes. Uzi stared at the photo, unable to breathe, feeling as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs by some elemental force. He did not recognise this person. At first glance she looked similar to the Liberty he knew; but the bone structure, the composition of the face, was different. And you couldn’t alter the composition of a face. If this woman was Liberty, the person he had fallen in love with – the person who had saved his life – was an imposter.
    ‘Kol,’ said Uzi. ‘Kol.’
    There was a pause. Uzi could hear his own breath loud in his ears.
    ‘Uzi,’ came the voice in his head.
    ‘This can’t be happening.’
    ‘What can’t be happening, Uzi?’
    ‘The photograph on the file. It isn’t Liberty. The Office hasn’t updated their intel. They’ve missed it.’
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘No mistake.’
    ‘Mistake in London Station, perhaps. These things happen, even in the Office.’
    ‘And Liberty surely has spyware on my Internet connection. Before long she’ll know I have this file. If she doesn’t already.’
    ‘Don’t panic.’
    ‘I think this is the time, Kol. Everything rests on now . . .’
    ‘Just believe. Just believe.’
    The door bleeped. He hadn’t called room service, and only one other person had a key card. Uzi sprang to his feet; before he could reach his R9, the door had opened. Liberty closed it carefully behind her and stood in front of him, holding a cigar. She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. He smelled expensive perfume.
    ‘Uzi,’ she said playfully, ‘I’m glad I caught you.’

 
35
    Uzi felt himself pause for what felt like an age. The party was still going on downstairs; he could hear the muffled bass, the occasional bellow, burst of laughter. Anger was beginning to well up inside him, bitterness and fear and confusion. Liberty noticed the change in his manner at once.
    ‘Darling,’ she said, ‘what’s wrong?’ But instead of moving towards him, she began to back away. She was good – her intuition was very good. ‘What’s happened? Has something happened?’
    ‘What’s with the cigar?’ asked Uzi, playing for time.
    ‘Oh this? I just thought we could have a small celebration.’
    ‘Celebration of what?’
    ‘I just sold some more of your intel.’
    ‘Rewarding?’
    ‘Yes, very. And I – I bought you some new wheels. The keys are waiting for you downstairs at reception.’
    The words hung in the air like a bad punchline. Uzi felt himself growing dark with rage. Liberty took another two steps back. He had no idea what should be done, but in a flash he knew how he should start. He lunged at Liberty and within seconds had pinned her to the floor, rolled her on to her stomach and twisted her arms behind her back. All the while she uttered not a single sound, and this made Uzi’s skin crawl. He took off his dressing-gown cord and used it to tie her hands; then he frisked her, found her revolver and lifted her on to the bed. Finally he sat on the armchair, panting, cradling her gun. Still neither of them had said a word.
    A different expression had come over her face, one that he had seen only once before. Her eyes hardened, flicked around the room as if noting every detail. Her mouth was taut, her chin raised in a display of haughtiness.