Chapter 10While people on two continents were preparing to mount what could be called an undercover attack against the CIA and Mossad in turn, Mr. Herbert Parsimon received the visit of a strange little man by the name of Jack Lypsick. Parsimon was now an ageing fellow with still a good head of white hair but a stooped stature. A widower of some years, he lived alone in a handsome villa in Double Bay, one of the exclusive Sydney neighborhoods and beaches.
When he opened the door to the caller, Parsimon could not hide his embarrassment—he stared at the man’s scarred face. “You must be Mr. Lypsick. How do you do?” he said, opening the door wider to let the visitor through and into the hallway.
“Yes, I am, Mr. Parsimon. Nice to make your acquaintance,” Lypsick replied, extending a hand. Pa
