<div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/5b5a/33ou2hc5dq5wb5r6g.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><div align="center"><strong> <span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Nan Rapido</span> </strong> <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></span><div align="center">_____<br/><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">Det. Kantonspolizei Zürich</span></strong></div></div></div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;"> I’m handed a small envelope.  Is she off-loading stolen goods, concerned that she’ll be arrested?  Does that make me her intended patsy?  Clever.  I run my finger along and I’d say it’s diamonds.  The question is whether anyone sees the exchange.  I’m thinking not.  Certainly not the Berlin police.  No cameras—that’s good.  I put the package in my purse, “Thank you Ms. du Monde.” <br/><br/>I take my phone out and place it on the table.  “Let’s both record.  Makes sense I think.  For your protection.”<br/><br/>I have no doubt that she’s manipulating me, or trying, but I still like her—she’s a great roll in the hay, maybe I can work a deal for no or little jail time.  Besides European jails are fairly humane, civil.  I let her see me turn my phone record on and nod. <br/></span>