Free The Pure by Jake Wallis Simons Page A

yet.’
    Without a word, Uzi went back into the sitting room, beckoning Avner to follow him. There he drew the curtains. He was sweating, the back of his neck was itching horribly and the cyst on his shoulder was aching.
    ‘Right,’ he said, and then couldn’t think of what to say. So he crouched on the floor and started prising the top layer of wood from the coffee table.
    ‘Don’t tell me,’ said Avner. ‘Don’t tell me you’re still building slicks.’
    ‘Aren’t you?’ Uzi replied, not looking up.
    ‘It is a slick,’ said Avner. ‘I don’t believe it. You’re actually still doing this stuff.’
    The panel came away and Uzi put it aside. In the table was a hollow cavity filled with canvas-wrapped objects.
    ‘I can’t watch this,’ said Avner. ‘You’ve got to move on, Adam. Seriously, I can’t watch.’ But he didn’t turn away.
    With precise movements Uzi uncovered the first object. A 9mm Beretta 92F, steel through and through, the trademark weapon of the Office. Next was a 9mm Glock 17, the type he used to carry in Shayetet 13, light and tough. These were followed by several magazines of bullets.
    ‘Just like the old days,’ said Avner. He reached into the slick and pulled out a small rucksack. ‘You’ve got all the kit, haven’t you? You’ve got the lot.’
    Uzi sat on the sofa, a sidearm in each hand, a half-smile playing across his lips. He watched as Avner reached into the bag, drawing out object after object. A matchbox filled with putty for taking impressions of keys. False number plates. Various listening devices. Miniature cameras. A dagger.
    ‘It’s all here,’ said Avner, shaking his head. ‘I don’t believe what I’m seeing.’
    Uzi offered him the Glock.
    ‘The Beretta,’ said Avner, ‘give me the Beretta.’ Uzi obliged and Avner aimed it into space, chuckling. Then he stood there, weighing it in his hands like a gold bar. ‘I can’t remember the last time I held one of these. I wonder what happened to mine?’
    ‘You probably sold it,’ said Uzi drily.
    Avner looked him square in the face. ‘Look, I’m not going to kill anybody, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
    ‘Nobody gets killed,’ Uzi replied. ‘I’m not stupid. Like I said, I’m talking about a deterrent.’
    Avner sat next to him on the sofa. For a moment both men were silent, looking at the weapons in their hands, lost in the memories they evoked.
    ‘Have you thought about our conversation?’ said Avner suddenly.
    ‘What conversation?’
    ‘Operation Regime Change. Are you going to do it?’
    ‘I haven’t decided. I’ve been too busy getting knifed.’
    ‘It’s important, Adam.’
    ‘Why are we talking about this all of a sudden?’ said Uzi, suddenly annoyed. ‘All you can think about is one thing.’
    ‘Look, Adam. I’ll make you an offer.’
    ‘Let’s hear it.’
    ‘I’ll do you a favour if you do me a favour. What you need to do is agree to Operation Regime Change.’
    ‘Anything else?’ said Uzi, sarcastically.
    ‘Nothing more than that. You do that and I’ll help you out with your Polish problem.’
    ‘Are you serious?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I help change the course of history and you help me sort out a couple of Poles?’
    ‘That’s it.’
    ‘You’re something else, Avner.’
    ‘There’s a lot of money in it for you.’
    ‘Money,’ said Uzi, rolling the word in his mouth. ‘Money.’
    He lit a cigarette and tossed the pack to his companion. ‘OK,’ he said at length, ‘what have I got to lose? I’m fucked as it is, right?’
    ‘Right,’ said Avner, a little too quickly. ‘So we’ve got a deal?’
    ‘We’ve almost got a deal,’ Uzi said. ‘But what you’re asking for is big. So I’m going to ask you to do a few more things for me.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘First, get me the file on Liberty.’ Uzi watched for Avner’s response, and read from his face that he could do it.
    ‘Second?’ said Avner, examining a fingernail.
    ‘Second, we go fifty-fifty.