The Pure

thought. This is it. Within minutes the waterline crept up the walls of the sub and over the top of the cockpit, sealing them in an underwater realm. Finally a hole opened before them, a dark circle leading out of the yacht and into the boundless depths. Adam glanced at Leila – still no sign of consciousness – and activated the engine. The submarine dislodged from its moorings and moved towards the circular hole, spraying a cloud of bubbles in its wake.
    No doubt: he was in more danger now than he had ever been before. But as the sub fell from the yacht like a bomb and disappeared into the tarry ocean, Adam was filled with the sense that everything he needed – everything in the world – was contained within the walls of this little vessel. The noise of the engine filled the craft, making it feel peaceful somehow, riding the currents of the sea. It was quiet. Outside a shoal of glittering fish floated past like a cloud. He was in the eye of the storm; he was at peace. He took the dagger out of his pocket and placed it on the dashboard.
    Suddenly Leila stirred and shifted in her seat. She opened her eyes woozily and looked around. Then her eyes widened and she looked across at Adam, as if trying to place him.
    ‘Uzi,’ she said, ‘where are we? I’m so tired.’
    ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘you’ve been drugged. But you’re safe now.’
    ‘My vision is blurry.’
    ‘That’s OK. It’ll pass.’
    ‘Last thing I remember, I was fighting a guy in a wetsuit.’
    ‘He won’t forget you, that’s for sure.’
    ‘God, my eyes.’
    ‘Just close them and relax. Give it time.’
    ‘Have we left that awful ship?’
    ‘We have. We’ve escaped, just like I promised.’
    ‘We’re in a sub, right?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘You won’t get away with this, you know. As soon as I get my vision back I’m going to slap you hard.’
    ‘I wouldn’t expect anything less.’
    A pause. The sound of the engine, of the water rushing by outside.
    ‘Where are we going?’
    ‘Somewhere they’ll never find us. Somewhere we can be ourselves.’
    ‘I don’t think I know what that means any more,’ said Leila.
    ‘Nor do I,’ said Adam, ‘but together we’re going to find out.’

 
Acknowledgements
    Many years ago, I found myself going through the recruitment process for the Secret Intelligence Service. I passed the first couple of stages, but before long I was rejected. Presumably MI6 decided that a creative type like me, with an unusually small hippocampus and a dislike for anything practical, might not be of great benefit to our national security. So with the world of espionage closed to me, I thought I’d write a novel about it.
    Not much has been written about the Mossad, so the brunt of my research focused on two compelling books: By Way of Deception: The Making and Unmaking of a Mossad Officer by Victor Ovsrovsky (which inspired many of the details and operations mentioned in this novel), and Gordon Thomas’s Gideon’s Spies: The Secret History of the Mossad . I am most grateful to both of these authors.
    As ever, Danny Angel – to whom The Pure is dedicated – helped enormously by reading the book and offering his impressions. David Del Monté helped in a similar way, and Homa Rastegar Driver gave some invaluable advice about portraying Iranian culture. Toby Wallis consulted on scuba diving matters. Only my dedicated and excellent agent, Andrew Gordon, who spent many hours poring over the manuscript and whose advice is never less than sterling, surpassed their efforts. And the team at Polygon – Hugh, Neville, Alison, Sarah, Kenny – did an admirable job in editing, producing and distributing this book, and in believing in me once again. Thanks also to Caroline Oakley and Mark Ecob for their editorial and design input.
    While writing The Pure I tweeted about it (@JakeWSimons). The following people joined the conversation and gave me their ideas: @icod, @belledechocolat, @badaude, @stupidgirl45, @OnlyWantsOne and others. They have my thanks.
    I would like to mention by name a certain British diplomat, as well as the various intelligence and Special Forces officers, both British and Israeli, who gave me their views on the plot. For obvious reasons, I cannot. Nevertheless, they have my thanks.
    Thanks also to Sha’anan Streett, Yaniv Davidson and Hadag Nahash, the best hip-hopsters in Israel, for allowing Uzi to listen to their music.
    Finally I must acknowledge my family, particularly my wife Isobel