The Marsh Angel, Hagai Dagan [free e reader .TXT] 📗

drove by the Austrian Parliament building—renovation scaffolding crowned the statue of the goddess Athena like a futuristic shroud— passed the municipality building, and reached its destination. Tamir paid. He did not forget to tip, but did forget to take his receipt. He stepped out and looked around him.

A figure detached from a corner of a house and approached him. Only a few seconds later did he realize that it was the girl from Yaki’s team. She was wearing a pair of black jeans now, a blue leather jacket, and a brown woolen hat. The hat was pulled down over her face. Her eyes were a brilliant blue, and her face expressionless. Come with me, she said quietly in German. Tamir followed her to a branch of BILLA supermarket. She pulled him into an employee bathroom stall which was unlocked. She pulled a slightly gray-streaked blonde wig out of her bag and fixed it over Tamir’s head, together with a small goatee. Her movements were skillful and efficient. She surveyed him and said that’ll do for now. He asked her what her name was.

You can call me Marina if you’d like.

He didn’t. They stepped out of the bathroom stall, and came back onto Florianigasse. Walk as naturally as you can, she told him quietly. If anyone comes near us, talk about something quotidian in German. There weren’t many people on the street, and the few that did pass them seemed completely oblivious to their existence. But still, they pretended to be in conversation, just to be safe. Her German lacked depth, but her accent was impeccable. Tamir thought that actually made her more credible. How many people speak with any depth of language nowadays? He thought of his students. If they so much as mustered a complete sentence in Hebrew— subject, verb, object— he would consider that an achievement. When they reached Café Merkur, the girl opened the door to the passenger seat of a silver Honda with tainted windows waiting in the street beside them.

Tamir got in the car. Yaki sat in the driver’s seat holding a camera with a formidable lens. The other girl’s hot, he reported. If we can’t gather good intelligence, at the very least we can get a good look. Want me to jerk you off while you’re looking? The girl who brought Tamir there said mockingly. Yaki smiled. You see, he told Tamir, we’ve got a great vibe here. He handed him a kind of small telescope. Second window to the right, he said. Good thing they sat by the window. I guess she doesn’t think she has anything to hide.

Tamir located the window and adjusted the focus on the telescope. He saw her. She was wearing an earth-toned shirt and a dark blazer. Her hair was rolled up in a manner Tamir thought looked Japanese. She was drinking coffee and smiling, but her smile did not undermine her serious countenance. What am I seeing in her face? he asked himself. He observed attentively. Distance. I see distance. Heartbreaking distance. He moved the telescope to examine her interlocuter. It was a younger woman, wearing a white dress shirt and a dark-green leather jacket. Her face was bright and fair. There was a softness to it, a jest, a strangeness, power. Her lips curled in calculated sensuality. Her gaze was fierce, and yet elusive.

I have no idea who that is, Yaki said. She came in a cab, so we don’t even have a license-plate number. We’ll tail her a bit after she leaves. He spoke into his collar. What about audio? he asked. The answer must have displeased him. He turned to Tamir. The arena is a bit sensitive, he explained.

The café?

Yes. You can’t see it from here, but there are a couple of Arabic speakers sitting by the entrance. Syrian dialect.

You have someone inside?

Yaki nodded.

Tamir saw someone leaving the café. It was a tall, dark, slightly hunched man with a somewhat catlike stride. He looked both ways and pulled up the collar of his sandy-yellow leather jacket. Yaki observed him as well. He then readjusted his earpiece, listened, and turned to the girl who had brought Tamir. We’ve got a problem, he said. Parking enforcement officer.

I can try to drag him away from here, she said. Sell him some story.

Not a good idea, he said. I’m gonna circle the block. I’ll drop you off on the corner, and you off in Café Florianihof, he said to Tamir. Sit tight and wait for me there. Keep your wig and goatee on for now.

The vehicle took off. The girl got off at the corner of the street, and Tamir went into Café Florianihof, which was surprisingly empty this time as well. A thinly-veiled sadness permeated the air. He ordered a coffee and absentmindedly opened that day’s Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung. His eye paused on a headline in page five. German preventive-security and counter-espionage bodies are increasing their surveillance of immigrant groups in the country. He read on. Apparently, these bodies were worried about potential collaboration between local immigrant communities and global terrorist organizations. The increased surveillance was causing an uproar in Germany. Left-wing and liberal centrist parties protested the potential infringement of civil rights. His phone vibrated slightly. They’re leaving, getting into separate cabs, Yaki updated. I’m following the girl’s cab. You’re free for now.

Tamir kept reading the article in the Frankfurter Allgemeine. He found it difficult to concentrate. The distance inscribed in her face cracked something inside of him.

j. Low Priority

Get the bacon and eggs, Yaki said. You think you’ve had bacon and eggs, but you haven’t until you’ve had it in Café Englaender.

I don’t feel like having bacon right now, Tamir said and ordered a melange and a croissant. Yaki ordered a ham and cheese omelet.

Okay, are you listening? So, the bad news is we still don’t have clearance to bug her apartment. They’ve been playing it safe ever since the fiasco in Switzerland when our operatives were caught planting a bug. Besides, this project is