ZURICH, FEBRUARY 1965The morning had not started well for Willem De Veen. He had risen late, unusual for him, but the lingering remnants of a winter cold he"d been trying to shake off was still sapping his strength.
He had dressed quickly, kissed his family goodbye and grabbed his heavy briefcase before stumbling from their apartment. His day ahead was busy. Not only his work at the bank, dealing with new clients and filing the paperwork at the accounts section, but today he was tasked with leaving a message at a discreet location which was a part of his secret work.
He didn"t regard himself as a spy, merely as a conduit in the battle against a greater foe. He had started his career for the British during the war, when he"d been recruited to set up a network in occupied Holland. He"d bee
