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

Later, I was
told this is one of the best handguns in the world.
    “Bought in a shop, I
suppose,” I commented in a mildly ironical tone, aimed at diffusing some of the
tension.
    “Hans!” Heinrich cried and
from among the trees a broad-shouldered Swiss appeared, heavily built but
unexpectedly agile and light on his feet. He took the pistol, wrapped in the
handkerchief.
    “Yes, in a shop,” Heinrich
confirmed, and it was obvious he was bursting with repressed feelings and
feeling an irresistible need to pour everything out and tell all he knew. I
encouraged him, as I was no less interested than he was in hearing what he had
to say. And this was his story:
    The Norwegian-Swedish
gentleman arrived in Switzerland not long ago. He runs a toy-shop in Oslo… the
shop is only a cover, and I must surely understand what he means. I understood
but didn’t respond. He continued his story as we walked, at a sedate and casual
Swiss-style pace along the path leading back to the hotel. “The man was a
sleeper,” Heinrich felt the need to explain to us. People interested in
shedding my blood, and they might just have a point – after Rahman went to a
better world, they obviously weren’t going to give up and they sent Olaf Olsen
to Switzerland on a specific assignment, with the photograph of me and all the
rest. The first thing Mr Olaf Olsen did was go to a gun-shop in Zurich. He
asked for a handgun and before being asked what he wanted it for, told the
salesman he wanted to produce a toy pistol modelled on the Zig Zauer, which had
become world-famous; children were clamouring for such a toy. The explanation sounded
plausible, and Mr Olaf was the kind who inspired confidence. He presented, as
required, a valid Norwegian passport, and the salesman recorded the details.
Olaf paid the full price for the weapon, to the delight of the salesman, who in
spite of everything did his duty as a Swiss patriot and notified the police.
Heinrich immediately realised (with emphasis on the words “immediately” and
“realised”) that this man was the piece missing from the jigsaw, he drafted in
detectives, all the trained manpower he could muster, and set out in pursuit.
Mr Olaf arrived at the hotel and ate a lavish Swiss breakfast, doing everything
very calmly – and in the Scandinavian way he ate a lot of meat. This isn’t in
fact such common Scandinavian practice these days. The Vikings on the other
hand always ate meat and nothing else – Heinrich displayed his extensive
knowledge of history.
    Heinrich glanced sidelong
at me, to check that I was following the interesting story. He wanted so much
to share it with someone and in me he had found the ideal audience, the man
naturally more interested in this than in all the other stories in the world,
the one most deeply involved in it, the one who enraged him with his frivolous
attitude, who was risking his own life and the life of his beloved wife, for no
logical reason at all. His scrutiny satisfied him.
    Mr Olaf sat at the table
overlooking the hotel entrance, saw me and my wife going out, and followed us,
leaving a fifty franc note on the table, with the heavy Zig Zauer stuck in his belt,
in such a way as not to draw suspicion, while making the weapon easy to draw.
Heinrich, who was on the scene and personally shadowing Olaf, signalled to his
men and the whole gang set out for the woods in our tracks.
    Here I saw fit to
interject: “And we, my wife and I, didn’t notice anything.”
    “Appalling carelessness!”
he asserted and irrelevantly he added: “You’re to leave Switzerland within
three days, otherwise, we shall expel you!” – a threat serving as an outlet for
his seething anger.
    Here my wife came forward,
having followed close behind us, not missing a word of Heinrich’s story, and
announced:
    “We’re leaving tomorrow.”
    “The words I longed to
hear!” Heinrich exclaimed with relief and hurriedly returned to discharging his
burden:
    “We covered a lot