“Whatever I can do, “ gushed Paul in response.
Three weeks later, Paul found himself on the streets of a small Swiss village gawking like a typical tourist. He just loved the quaint narrow streets, classic Swiss buildings and the majestic Alps that towered over the village. High above a large chateau overlooked the village. While gazing at the scenery he felt a tap on his left shoulder.
“Guten tag mein herr,” a German gentleman said.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak German,” Paul replied.
“That’s alright, I speak English Paul.”
“How do you know my name?” Paul asked.
“I believe you have some mail for me from our mutual friend Mister Lindberg,” he said. “I will meet you in the coffee shop over there. Don’t give them to me here on the street, people may be watching, they’re always watching.
They entered the coffee shop and Paul noticed the blond whose picture he’d been shown was seated in the corner at a table by herself. The German led him to a table for two on the other side of the establishment. Paul discreetly slid the letters across the table.