Chapter One
He walked along i~ deep thought， concentrating on two
things: how to av0jd the dog skit on the Amsterdam
sidewalks and how~o stay alive. The first was con-
venient; the second was vital. He d be a little better
than half successful that day.
Threading a path through throngs of Amsterdam-
mers grateful for this crackling warm spring Saturday，
Nat Worthington pushed on to his rendezvous， oblivi-
ous to the noises of trams and traffic and to the gentle
lapping of water spoken by a canal boat as it hauled a
load of tourists. He Was weary.
One more pickup， they d told him. One more---just
a little errand--and you can rest. He pressed on
toward a rough red brick building. It reminded him of
the ones in Boston and of a time of his innocence when
he wasn t so afraid he feared life itself， when he wasn t
so tired.
He reached up to scratch his nose and was surprised
to find perspiration on his upper lip. A ease of nerves:
it was unusual for a pro like him.
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