Free THRILLER: The Galilee Plot: (International Biological Terror, The Mossad, and... A Self-contended Couple) by Shlomo Kalo Page A

to say with a bitter kind of smile, “has a personality
completely different from the personalities of his ancestors. He’s
enthusiastic, impulsive sometimes, with the vision of a poet, not always
capable of behaving in a rational manner, and those are the traits in him that
I’m madly in love with, but they trip him up all the time. All the same, he’s
determined to be a cop and he’s not giving up on it, and I’m sure that you,
Sir, will appreciate his unconditional loyalty, his tireless devotion to duty,
in all circumstances. Karl’s happiness is so important to me.”
    “Why is that?” I asked,
and at that moment I seemed to myself to be identifying with the stolidity of
outlook that is supposedly typically Germanic.
    “Because I love him! I
know it’s a cliché, but he’s the one and only love of my heart!”
    I was silent for a moment,
as was she.
    “Tell him he can start
from tomorrow.”
    “He’ll think that’s
suspicious, I’m sure you understand, Sir. I don’t want him to know anything
about this meeting we’re having, not even the slightest hint.”
    “I’ll tell him myself.”
    “You’ve made my day, and
my week, maybe more.”
    I phoned Karl. Next day,
he began trailing around after me, with dedication surpassing the proverbial
dedication of Saint Bernard dogs.
    My wife sensed, and
commented on the fact, that the amiable Swiss boy was shadowing us tirelessly.
Next Saturday we visited the flea market. Karl, who was supposed to be seeing
but unseen, certainly kept a keen eye on anyone coming close to us, but he was
also clearly visible to anyone who wanted to see him. And so it happened, that
at about two in the afternoon, there was a commotion behind us. Blows were
exchanged, and the police were called.  Karl was arrested along with a
swarthy individual, a man with a long moustache, who later turned out to be a
peace-loving visitor from Qatar, who made the mistake that day of wearing his
traditional national costume, thereby arousing the suspicions of Karl, who did
not hesitate to knock him to the ground with a few well-aimed punches, and to
check out his body with lightning speed, in search of concealed weapons, which weren’t
there. We met the next day. He was very sorry about the trouble he had caused,
unintentionally. We both realised that the connection between us was at an end.
I paid him what I owed him, and later I refused to accept Irena’s contribution.
I wished her a brilliant marriage. We were unanimous in believing Karl was a
youth of outstanding qualities, and she was lucky to have him. The police
officer apologised and promised, without being asked, to find some other way of
keeping an eye on us.
     
    Every morning we used to
go up to the top floor of the “Co-op” store located in “Saint Annahoff”, to
drink decaffeinated cappuccino and plan the day ahead. We found a table under a
huge, curtained window; the area covered by the curtain could be widened or
reduced by turning handles. We liked this table, especially because of the
two-seater bench which we found very comfortable.  Like us and not far
from us – every morning an older couple used to sit, and almost in the centre
of the room was a woman in early middle-age who said she was American, and had
apparently been sent to Switzerland for psychiatric treatment. Sometimes we
exchanged greetings, sometimes not. The café was pleasant, the
cappuccino excellent, to my wife’s taste as well, and the place served as a
good starting point for a day of leisure in Zurich, and for the objectives we
had set ourselves. And this morning, the American woman took out a camera and
aimed it at us. The trauma of Abd Rahman and of the shooting was still very
fresh, the wound still open. I had heard of “cameras” that fired bullets at the
objects they were aimed at.
    “No!” I protested
vehemently, remembering the warnings of Shmulik and the young police officer,
and the lessons learned from my own experience. She paused for a