The Pure

Uzi like a snake shedding its skin. Sometimes, he thought, a man has to act another role to find out his true identity.
    He turned to the Kol. She was still speaking, gazing out into the blackness of the night.
    ‘We need to discuss your friend,’ she was saying. ‘The woman. It would be best if you could join in the interrogation. We could do a lot if you were involved.’
    ‘Where’s the sick bay?’ Adam interrupted.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I just want to get rid of this mic, that’s all. Somebody was supposed to escort me down . . .’
    ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Follow me.’
    She led him down into the heart of the ship. He was feeling dizzy, despite the gentleness of the ocean beneath them. He rested on the handrail for support, and as he did so, with a single fluid movement, slipped the dagger into his pocket.

 
44
    When Adam and the Kol approached the sick bay, he saw that a guard was posted outside the door. She’s still in there, thought Adam. Leila must be still in there. To his surprise, the Kol left him with the guard and disappeared down the corridor; with a courteous nod, he was allowed inside.
    The medic who greeted him was a man in his early thirties, with rimless glasses that glinted in the light. Leila was nowhere to be seen; the medic shook Adam’s hand, murmured his congratulations and got on with the job without the need for instructions. They did not speak as he injected a local anaesthetic into Adam’s shoulder, made an incision with a scalpel, and pressed a pair of tweezers into the ‘cyst’. After a couple of attempts, he slid out a plastic chip about the size of a postage stamp. For months it had been sending audio information to Israel; everything that Adam heard, everything he said, had been transmitted directly to the Mossad in Tel Aviv. He stared at the bloodied chip lying on a surgical swab, like an amputated tongue. The medic sealed the wound.
    ‘Now the mic in my ear,’ said Adam.
    ‘Are you sure, Colonel? Perhaps it would be better to wait until we reach Israel.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘It’s a more sensitive area, and a more complicated procedure. At sea, with the unpredictable movement of the ship . . .’
    ‘Just get it out of me. I want it out of me now.’
    ‘You’ve had it in there for months. What difference does a few more hours . . .’
    ‘It makes a difference to me. I almost became schizophrenic with this thing inside me.’
    The medic hesitated. Then he sighed and began to fill a new hypodermic needle. ‘As you wish, Colonel.’
    It took longer than Adam had expected, but with some effort he held himself firm. Finally the ear-mic, the mouthpiece of the Kol, lay on the swab as well. He had bandages on his ear as well as his shoulder, and both felt numb and fat.
    ‘The prisoner,’ Adam said, ‘the woman. Is she awake yet?’
    ‘Not yet,’ the medic replied. ‘She could be out for another half an hour or so.’
    ‘I’m part of the interrogation team. I’d like to examine her briefly before I go.’
    ‘Of course, Colonel.’
    With no further questions Adam was led to a door, which the medic unlocked by passing his ID badge across a sensor. Inside, the lighting was dim. There, in a low bunk, lay Leila, lying on her back with her arms outstretched. She had been stripped of her wet clothes and – from what he could see under the blankets – dressed in military greens. Her left wrist was handcuffed to the bunk, and a drip-line snaked into her right arm.
    Adam, his heart beating like a time bomb, leaned over her and, with gentle fingertips, lifted one eyelid, then the other. For a moment, he felt her breath brushing his hand.
    ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘She’s still under. You’ve treated her for hypothermia, I suppose?’
    ‘Her notes are here,’ said the medic, passing Adam a buff folder. ‘We’ve warmed her up and put her on a high-energy drip. She’s responding well.’
    ‘How soon until we can start interrogating her?’ said Adam, flicking through the notes.
    ‘As soon as she wakes up. She’ll be woozy, but not in danger. Not in terms of her health, anyway.’ He smiled slightly.
    Adam handed back the file, nodded, turned to go; but then, in one fluid movement, snatched the dagger from his pocket and shoved the medic against the wall, holding the blade to his throat, clamping his hand over his mouth. The man’s breath bulged against his palm.
    ‘One word,’ snarled Adam, ‘and I open your veins. Understand?’
    The medic,