Abandoned Property

Copyright © 2006 by Robert Meyjes.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

PREFACE

CHAPTER ONE : The Curtain Rises

CHAPTER TWO : Invasion

CHAPTER THREE : Occupation

CHAPTER FOUR : Interludes

CHAPTER FIVE : Liberation

CHAPTER SIX : Disappearing Act

CHAPTER SEVEN : Dead Ends, New Lives

CHAPTER EIGHT : Unwanted Interference

CHAPTER NINE : Cash Registers

CHAPTER TEN : The Final Accounting

EPILOGUE

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my father, Willem Christiaan Posthumus Meyjes, (1895-1966). His career as an economist and banker in Amsterdam was truncated by the German invasion of the Netherlands in May, 1940. His outspoken comments about German imperialistic striving towards military domination had earned him a place on the Nazi blacklist. He and his family escaped to England, arriving in August of that year. A colonel in the Dutch army during the Second World War, he became Commissioner for the recovery of Dutch property looted by the Nazis. His later career was spent in the Dutch Foreign Service; he served in Canada, France, Hungary and Greece. After his retirement from the diplomatic service, he was named the first Director-General of INSEAD, the European School of Business Administration in Fontainebleau, France.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many people have provided invaluable assistance in the development of the manuscript.

My father-in-law, William Krusen, has flown every aircraft I have referred to, either at the controls or as a passenger, and helped me work out the scenario and details for the air crash in the story.

A trio of Citibank alumni, Larry Lee, Peter Page, and Peter Sperling, provided numerous comments which immensely improved the logic and flow. If there are any errors detected in my description of banking techniques, they share the responsibility for not having caught them. Bill McKnight, also a Citibank alumnus, ran enthusiastic interference, promoted advance sales, and was always ready to lend me moral support.

Tom de Swaan was most helpful in arranging for a review of the manuscript by experts from the Jewish Historical Museum in Amsterdam. Mrs. Agaath ter Haar very kindly assisted in checking the details of life in Holland during the Nazi occupation. Count Nicholas Wenckheim made many helpful suggestions and corrected Hungarian and German phrases used in the dialogue.

P.D. Block reviewed the story with special emphasis on the segments based in Chicago. I survived Waite Rawls’ probing challenges of historical veracity to both his and my satisfaction. Many others, including Barbara Martin, Kitty

McKnight, Mike Stott, Tom Touchton, Andy Herz, and Nick Gardiner were kind enough to read the manuscript and give me their reactions.

Robert Youdelman took me under his wing early on in the process and encouraged me to work on my story.

My sons, Bob and John Meyjes, cheered me on and made many constructive suggestions. They ensured that I maintained an appropriate level of restraint throughout.

This book would never have been completed without the support and hard work of my nephew, Thomas Posthumus Meyjes, who applied his boundless energy and enthusiasm to any problem on which I consulted him and who displayed extraordinarily creative gifts, unsuspected by his wife and family, including the design of the book’s jacket.

Finally, my wife, Pamela, led me through the story-telling process and provided critical help when I faltered. She reviewed every page of the manuscript, patiently addressing both major and minor flaws; she is the wife and editor whom every author needs.

Fall, 2004

PREFACE

This book is fiction. It is rooted in the realities of the Second World War, and, in particular, the events leading up to, and following, the German invasion of the Netherlands in 1940. The Netherlands is the official name of the country. It is habitually referred to as Holland, however, which is the name of its best known and historically wealthiest province.

Amsterdam before the Second World War was a prosperous merchant city of 450,000 people. It was a major center of international shipping, trade, insurance, and finance. It had a first-class symphony orchestra, a well-known university, and an historic city center. The religious freedom for which the city was famous allowed Catholics, Protestants, and Jews to live in respectful harmony.

Starting in 1933, German Jews began to cross the border into Holland, fleeing increasing anti-semitism in Germany. The number of refugees mounted in the late 1930’s, and groups of Dutchmen, both Christians and Jews, formed local committees to provide clothing and shelter for those refugees in need of assistance. While many of them arrived penniless, a few managed to bring large sums of money and jewelry with them. Most of them, rich or destitute, felt safe in Holland and made no move to distance themselves farther from the Nazis.

Soon after war broke out in 1 939, French military intelligence learned of the gradual build-up of German army units along the borders of Belgium and Holland. By early 1940, the threat was unmistakable, but the Dutch government relied on the neutrality which had kept the country out of the First World War to protect it once again. Nonetheless, Jews were being urged privately to emigrate to England or the Western Hemisphere; Holland had its own Nazis, and their parades and speeches were altogether too familiar to those recently arrived from Germany. Unfortunately, the invasion of Holland on May 10, 1940, caught everyone by surprise; the country was overrun in five days.

The five-year occupation of Holland decimated the Jewish community. The Germans also deported hundreds of thousands of non-Jewish Dutchmen to work camps and looted the country of everything that could be moved. At the end of the war, the Dutch established a military commission to recover assets found in Germany which had been owned by citizens, residents, and companies in Holland. These recovery efforts were successful in recuperating tangible assets such as machine tools, ships, locomotives, cattle, and fine art. By the end of 1945, it was believed that most Dutch property in Germany had been recovered, yet some works of art, as well as financial assets belonging to Dutch citizens and residents, were never found.

In Europe, the initial focus of post-war asset recovery efforts was not on Jewish assets per se. In the 1990’s, however, a belated international effort to return so-called ‘Holocaust funds’ to their owners or beneficiaries has resulted in some restitution, but it has been extremely laborious to find and cull through old records dating back to the late 1930’s. The practical obstacles frustrating the discovery of Jewish financial assets were, and are, enormous. Some bank accounts which remained unclaimed after the war were not necessarily Jewish, but a determination of their true origins could not be made. We will never know how much money disappeared, let alone where it ended up.

In the U.S., every state has some type of abandoned property statutes which require banks and other financial institutions to turn over to that state assets and accounts unclaimed after a specified period of time. Once the funds have been turned over to the state, the task of identifying funds specifically belonging to Jewish beneficiaries is further complicated by an extra layer of details to be investigated. Outside the U.S., unclaimed funds are handled in a variety of different ways. The example used in this story is technically feasible, but it is not based on an actual case.

The story reflects the banking environment of the early 1950’s; it was more informal and certainly less suspicious of possible miscreants than it is today. Banking has undergone remarkable changes in the last fifty years. Today, it would be almost impossible for anyone to be successful in claiming ownership of abandoned funds belonging to some other person. Bank secrecy is no longer available to criminals except in rogue jurisdictions, which are being increasingly isolated and rendered ineffective. Banks are required to exercise particular care in establishing the identity and activities of their clients. Large cash transactions are now monitored by banks in a widening group of countries around the world. Banks have become participants in law enforcement, for the greater benefit of the world community.

CHAPTER ONE

THE CURTAIN RISES

DECEMBER, 1939

AMSTERDAM

The postman pedaled energetically on the brick-faced surface of the narrow roadway along the canal. The saddle bags, hung over the bicycle’s rear wheel, swayed from side to side as he pushed into the wind, which had picked up strength since dawn. Brown leaves whirled in eddies from the road into the murky waters. He was anxious to finish his afternoon rounds; he could feel the weather deteriorating.

He stopped the bike in front of 144, Keizersgracht. As he dismounted, he could not help but admire, as he had so many times before, the handsome façade of the old town house. He was proud of Amsterdam’s historic canal district. He had been delivering mail here almost all his life. This townhouse was one of the most pleasing to the eye. A brass plate, placed discreetly on the right hand side of the large, dark green-painted door, read ‘Hobbema & Seventer, Bankers, since 1835’. He bent down to retrieve the afternoon mail for Number 144 and ran up the short flight of steps. The door was opened immediately by his old friend, the head porter. He handed the mail over.

Weather’s worsening, isn’t it? asked the porter.

Certainly is! It’s typical St. Nicolas weather.

At least St. Nicholas is present-giving time. The partners here at Hobbema and Seventer have decided to bring all their presents personally to the Post Office tomorrow afternoon.

Well, Jan, you know I complain a lot, but I have to say that the gentlemen who run this bank are my real favorites. How is Mr. Hobbema, by the way?

Slowing down, I’m afraid. He comes in twice a week, though. Between you and me, it’s that young Mr. Seventer who is really running things around here now. Maybe he did inherit from his Dad, but he’s a real go-getter.

Well, I have to be going. I want to be home in time to listen to the news on the radio. My wife is very upset about all this war stuff.

Don’t worry. Remind her that the Germans left us alone last time. We’ll be fine.

Thank you, my friend, I’ll tell her that.

Dr. Julius Bluhm walked briskly along the canal, his head bent against the bitter, wet wind. He had been accustomed to bad weather in Berlin, but the weather in Amsterdam was worse. He had arrived here sixteen months ago, with his wife and daughter. The people whom they had met in Amsterdam had been most hospitable; his wife liked the city, and their daughter Sophie was already enrolled in a Dutch school. Yet Dr. Bluhm was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

Three months ago, in the first Blitzkrieg of the war, the rest of the world watched and waited as the Germans invaded and occupied Poland. The British and French, having declared war on Germany in support of the Poles, sat on their hands and held their fire. Hitler made no move to attack the French; his troops, guarding the east bank of the Rhine, played music over loudspeakers directed towards the French on the other side of the river. This was not the way war was supposed to be.

He broke his stride to check the numbers on the houses. Yes, here it was: Number 144. He walked up the steps and rang the bell. Almost immediately, the porter opened the tall door to let him in.

Good evening, sir. I believe you have come to see Mr. Seventer?

Yes, that’s right. I hope I’m not too early?

Not at all, sir. Please take a seat here for a moment. He’ll be right with you.

The building which housed the banking firm of Hobbema & Seventer had been occupied for several generations by a family engaged in the shipping business. When the last of the family died, it had been purchased by the bank’s partners, for whom the large, light-filled rooms and the patrician atmosphere represented an ideal facility. The hallways were still inlaid with black and white marble. The bank had offered to buy the ship models from the previous owners, and they were now displayed in the foyer, carefully protected in glass cases. In what was formerly the kitchen and servant quarters in the basement, the bank had installed a large walk-in safe, a number of safe-deposit boxes, and other facilities for processing mail and securities. Dr. Bluhm looked around the waiting room, appreciating the paintings of tranquil river scenes and ships at anchor.

He had become quite fond of this young Dutchman, Eduard Seventer. Thanks to him, he had met several influential members of the large Jewish community in Amsterdam, and the Bluhms had established pleasant social connections with them. In addition, Dr. Bluhm had been asked to lecture in the Physics Department at the University; he was surprised by the fluency with which most educated Dutch people spoke German. It was rare when his students asked him to stop for a translation from German into Dutch. His own Dutch was improving, although not as quickly as his daughter’s, who was speaking it almost fluently already. But then, she had the advantage of youth.

His thoughts were interrupted by the porter, who invited him to accompany him to Seventer’s office. Mr. Seventer will be with you shortly, he said. Seventer’s office was at the rear of the first floor, overlooking a well-tended, formal garden from which he could watch the first daffodils and tulips bloom in the early spring. This blustery December afternoon, however, it was already getting dark. A log sputtered in the fireplace, throwing a warm glow over the Persian rug.

Seventer strode into the room, his hand outstretched to greet his visitor.

Dr. Bluhm, it is so nice to see you. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long. Not very nice outside, is it? Seventer’s German was impeccable.

No, but then it is December, so we should be expecting it. Thank you very much for seeing me. I shan’t take much of your time.

On the contrary, it is my pleasure. Perhaps you would like a cup of tea? At Bluhm’s nod, Seventer pressed a bell for the tea, and continued, I am anxious to hear how you are settling in. I hope everything is going well?

We could not be more pleased; everyone has been so kind. But I asked to see you because I’m a little worried, and you have always given me good advice.

By all means, tell me how I may be of assistance.

Dr. Bluhm settled into his armchair.

Mr. Seventer, I am concerned that some of your compatriots are not being very realistic about the situation across the border in Germany. I know you don’t feel that way, but I have noticed, particularly outside of Amsterdam, that there are many Dutch people with pro-Nazi sentiments. I was in Haarlem last week where I saw a parade of your Dutch Nazi party. It was frightening; it reminded me so much of the Brownshirts. Do you think I’m becoming paranoid?

No, unfortunately I have to agree with you. But you must understand that we are a neutral country, and we take our neutrality very seriously. I think the Germans understood that in 1914, which is why they left us alone then and why they will leave us alone this time. We are also a democracy, so we have to put up with these fascist lunatics in our streets.

I understand. Yet the German border is only 100 kilometers from this city. I keep hearing rumors that the German army is building up its strength all along the Dutch border. Why should they be doing this unless they are planning to invade Holland at the same time as they invade Belgium?

Seventer stroked his jaw. I can certainly make some inquiries for you. Perhaps our military people have a different view of the situation. He paused for a moment. I wonder if you should hedge your bets. Suppose the situation here deteriorates to the point where you want to move away from Holland? You would not be the first, I assure you. You must be hearing how some Jewish families, even those who have lived for generations in Holland, are sending some family members to England or to the United States.

I’ve been thinking about it; you are very perceptive. My wife doesn’t share my apprehension; she likes it here so much. I’ve been wondering whether I should send some of my money out of Holland so that we would have the means to start a life somewhere else, if necessary.

Dr. Bluhm, I must tell you that our bank has been quite active in sending money abroad for refugees like you. We have opened accounts in London, New York, and a couple of other cities where we know the banks to be sound and reliable. You can always repatriate the funds when the crisis passes.

You are my banker. I rely on you. Tell me, what should I do?

Let’s see. Seventer walked over to his desk and picked up a file. I was looking at your account before your arrival this afternoon. I would judge that you have far more money in it than you need for your lifestyle here in Amsterdam. We could easily send a hundred thousand pounds to London, or the equivalent in dollars to New York.

I would feel very relieved knowing that the money was safe. I have nothing against London, but somehow I think I would prefer to have an account in New York. What sort of account would you recommend?

My banking colleagues in the United States are very conservative at the moment. Almost without exception, we have opened time deposit accounts with the banks; the interest is payable every quarter at the maturity of the deposit. Unless they hear from us, they roll the deposit over automatically and accrue the interest. They do not recommend bonds because the rates are so low. Personally, I think your investment should remain very liquid, given the circumstances.

How do I access the account when I need to?

As long as you are here in Amsterdam, of course, we will be happy to convey your instructions. We have recommended that the accounts be placed on ‘Hold All Mail’ which means that the bank in New York does not mail out advices or statements. At your instructions, however, the accumulated mail will be sent to you whenever you desire.

What happens if I’m ever in New York, for instance, and I need the money?

We will send them a letter of introduction when we open the account for you. The letter will bear your signature as well as ours. You will be required to present a suitable piece of identification, preferably your passport. We will provide you with an exact copy of the letter of introduction, also bearing our respective signatures. In addition, for good order’s sake, we will give you copies of the initial deposit and the transfer instructions. We always recommend that you keep those documents readily available in a safe place.

This sounds like a very good solution, Mr. Seventer. What is the interest on the deposit?

At the present time, 90-day deposits in New York are earning about 3 V % per annum. The advantage of a time deposit is that rates are adjusted every quarter, so you would benefit from any increase in rate levels in the U.S.

Then let us proceed with this transaction. I will sleep much better tonight, said Dr. Bluhm with a smile.

Ten minutes later, he walked out into the darkening night, satisfied that he had done something positive to protect his little family.

Two hours later, Seventer finally rose from his desk, tidied it briefly, locked two side drawers, and turned off the lights. He glanced at his watch. He had to change for the party he and his wife Louisa were attending that evening. It would take him less than fifteen minutes to get home at this time of night.

The thought of Louisa always sent a wave of happiness and expectation through him. Seventer wondered how he had been so fortunate to find her. He had grown up in Amsterdam. The only times he had been away from the city were for vacation trips with his parents and when he had studied law at Leiden University. Since he was a teenager, he had known that he was destined to follow in his family’s footsteps at Hobbema & Seventer. He was expected to marry a girl from a similarly patrician family from Amsterdam.

Even though The Hague was only 50 kilometers from Amsterdam, the two cities were distinctly different. Amsterdam was the powerful commercial and financial capital of the Netherlands; The Hague was the smaller, more aristocratic, political capital. Each city prided itself on its character. The comparisons were not always made in jest by their respective inhabitants; there was an undercurrent of mutual disdain. So it came as a surprise to Seventer when he had found himself invited by one of his Leiden classmates to a dance in The Hague. That evening, he had met Louisa van Dijck.

Louisa was a radiant blonde; her hair had a natural golden luster; her eyes were crystal blue. Seventer had asked her for a dance. Even in her high heels, she had to look up into his face; he saw a charming, smiling mouth. Very quickly, he discovered that she had a teasing sense of humor. As they waltzed around the floor, he in his white tie and tails, she in a light blue silk, full-length gown, they had looked with growing fascination into each other’s eyes. She had danced easily, gracefully, clearly enjoying it.

When the dance had ended, Seventer had led her to the buffet. They both took a glass of champagne and sat down on a settee. Seventer could not keep his eyes off her. He sensed the perfect proportions of her body under the folds of her gown. They had chatted effortlessly. The voice of another young man had intruded, requesting the next dance. Seventer suddenly felt jealous. He had never experienced such an overwhelming feeling of excitement. He had determined, then and there, to see Louisa again, soon.

During that spring and summer, he had frequently taken her sailing on his boat. Even when they were caught in a rising wind, or in one of the squalls that came upon them with little notice, she had laughed as she struggled to follow his instructions. On fair days, they would take a picnic lunch and anchor the boat near a spit of land, the sails down, flapping gently in the breeze. There was never enough time for them to be together. They discovered in each other a physical attraction which surprised and delighted them.

Their courtship was as brief as convention would permit. They had been married eight months after their first meeting. Seventer, like Louisa, was an only child. Her parents, the van Dijcks, rejoiced; they had never imagined that their Louisa would find so perfect a match.

The only sad note at their wedding had been the absence of Seventer’s parents, killed in a car crash in France two years earlier. The car had smashed into a tree at the side of the road. He thought that the loss would have been somewhat easier to bear if he had had a brother or a sister to share it with. Perhaps because of this loneliness, he had very quickly become close to Louisa’s parents, and they had taken him in as a son. Mr. van Dijck, a lawyer retired from the Ministry of

Finance, loved to talk shop with him. Eduard Seventer felt completely at home with the van Dijcks.

He heard Louisa call out to him as he closed the front door. Edu, look on the kitchen counter. Some beautiful flowers arrived half an hour ago. I didn’t have time to see who they’re from; I’m having so much trouble with this dress.

He strode into their bedroom. Louisa was standing near the bed, her dress stretched out on it as she sewed a seam on one of its panels. From behind, he clasped his arms around her lithe, warm body. She relaxed at his touch, turned around, kissed him, and said, Come on, Edu, we have to be going. We are supposed to be at the Carlton at 8.30.

Tonight, Louisa and Edu were attending an annual affair, a dinner for ten couples, who had been close friends from childhood days. The Carlton Hotel dining room was one of Amsterdam’s most elegant venues for a brilliant social gathering. Louisa’s deep green silk gown was cut low in the back. The skirt was made of overlapping panels which caused it to swirl as she moved around the dance floor. Seventer observed her with a smile; he was so proud of her. She was sitting across the table between two of his friends, who could not hide their fascination with the beautiful young woman.

The couples danced to the melodies played by the string orchestra in between the six courses comprising the festive menu. When coffee was served, the men switched seats to sit together and light up their cigars. Louisa moved over to sit with the other wives.

She tried to eavesdrop on her husband’s conversation. She could see that he was annoyed about something. To his left sat Pim Laan, one of Seventer’s partners at the bank. He also looked angry and was very red in the face. He pounded the table in front of Seventer.

You have to admit, Edu, that the man has brought order, a stable currency and full employment to the country. I see nothing wrong with that. So he had to take a few drastic steps to achieve it, but everywhere you go in Germany, you see happy, well-fed people.

I don’t know how you can overlook the madness in him, Pim. Look what he did to Czechoslovakia and then Poland. Listen to his speeches. You just won’t face up to it. His rantings against the Bolsheviks and the Jews are not just for dramatic effect.

It hasn’t hurt us here in Holland, quite the contrary, and that is precisely why I wish you would stop using our firm to help those Jewish refugees. Some day, there will be a price to be paid. You’ll see!

We’ve been through this before, Pim. I’m not putting the bank at financial risk.

Yes, you are, Edu. How do we know the bank won’t be held liable for violations of German currency controls?

Dammit, Pim, I’ve been through this with all of you often enough. We are buying Reichsmarks legally here in Holland. If the Nazis can’t stop their banknotes from leaking out of Germany, that’s their problem. In fact, you know perfectly well that the Germans are buying their currency back through their companies operating in Holland. So stop fussing about it. This is no place to continue the discussion. Take it up at our next partners’ meeting, for Heaven’s sake!

Seventer pushed his chair back brusquely. This was the last time that he was going to get involved with Pim socially, even if he had to put up with him as a partner. He walked around to Louisa and asked her to dance. He needed to relax.

He could see that Louisa was tiring of the loud voices and the smoke. He read the message in her eyes. It was time to say goodnight. The Seventers went around the table, promising to get together again soon. They all vowed to repeat the party next year.

Louisa and Eduard waited for their car to be brought around. Louisa could sense that Edu was still unhappy. He said nothing as he slipped behind the wheel and put the car into gear. They drove off, through the dark, empty streets.

Finally, he spoke. I’m sorry, my love, I shouldn’t have gotten into another argument with Pim, he said.

She turned to look at him. Frankly, I think he has a point, Edu. I worry about your being so openly anti-Nazi. Too many people in Amsterdam know how you feel, and this is a small country. It really concerns me.

Come on, Louisa, we’ve discussed this many times. Holland may be small, but it is still a free country. People don’t go to jail for what they believe in—unlike that fascist paradise over the border from us.

I can see I’m not going to win this argument, replied Louisa. Just promise me that you will be careful, won’t you?

Trust me, darling. I’m doing the right thing. He took his hand off the steering wheel for a moment and placed in on her knee. She slid across the seat towards him.

CHAPTER TWO

INVASION

MAY 9, 1940

AMSTERDAM

Eduard Seventer curled his legs over the side of the bed carefully, so as not to wake up his wife. He was in a rush this morning, and he had to stop at his office before taking the plane to London. He shaved quickly while drawing his bath, then washed with efficiency. His body was well-proportioned, lean, and surprisingly muscular for a man in a sedentary occupation. He stood five foot eleven in his socks. As he dressed, he looked at himself dispassionately in the mirror. He saw an open face, with an angular, determined chin. His eyes were blue, set well apart, with little creases that hinted at an easy smile. His thick, dark-blond hair was starting to turn silver at the temples. He finished dressing, carefully adjusted his polka-dot tie, pulled on his cuffs, and buttoned his jacket.

His overnight case was laid out in his study. From the window there, Seventer looked out on the Minervaplein, the broad square in front of his apartment building. It was one of the most beautiful springtimes in the Netherlands. Whenever the clouds appeared high in the sky, in thin wispy drifts, with the wind blowing out of the east, the Dutch knew that they were about to be blessed with that rarest of events: a series of beautiful days. It had not been a very pleasant winter, nor had the early spring been any different from the usual blustery, wet, depressing pall that hung over Holland for too many months during the average year. Today, the wind was calm. A lovely, pale light reflected on the quiet surface of the canals. The muted tones of the houses shimmered in the water. In the southwestern part of the city, the sun brightened the reddish-pink hues of the new brick buildings. Seventer closed his case, and walked out of the apartment, pulling the door quietly behind him. Back in the bedroom, his wife smiled in her dream.

Louisa hated to be parted from her husband, but she felt fortunate that she could take the train to The Hague to be with her parents. Lately, with all the talk of war, her parents had become insistent that she stay with them each time Seventer left on a business trip. Last night, Louisa and Eduard had agreed that he should reduce his trips outside of the country until the international situation improved. This overnight trip to London was to be his last for a while.

Seventer parked his dark-blue Buick in the Schiphol Airport parking lot and walked over to the terminal building. Inside, with the assurance of someone who knew his way around, he walked straight to the KLM check-in counter. Having confirmed that his plane was leaving on time, he checked his case, picked up his boarding card, and walked over to the coffee stand at the end of the hall.

The radio on a shelf behind the stand was tuned to the 8 a.m. news broadcast. As usual, the news was dominated by the speculation that Germany was massing troops on the frontiers of France and Belgium. The radio announced that the Dutch Government had called up several units in the Army and Air Force reserves, although the Cabinet of her Majesty the Queen does not see any specific threat to the Netherlands. However, the radio then went on to report that German minelayers were active in the North Sea off the coast of Holland and that the Dutch government had lodged a strong protest against this violation of international law.

Seventer was surprised. What possible reason would the Germans have to take such an aggressive step? The radio rambled on. Seventer looked at his watch. It was time to go. He walked over to the departure area, gave his ticket to the KLM agent and walked out onto the tarmac, towards the stairs leading up to the three-engine Fokker plane. Inside, he bent down in the narrow confine of the cabin and found his seat near the front of the plane. He opened his newspaper and settled down for the two-hour flight. As the plane climbed towards the west, he could see the tidy Dutch houses along the canals. The sun glinted on the lakes, ponds, and waterways which made up the gigantic Dutch water management system. It looked so peaceful.

MAY 10

LONDON

The Savoy Hotel in London stood majestically overlooking the Thames. The early morning traffic along the Embankment was barely audible inside the cosseted corridors of the huge building. Seventer had requested breakfast at 8, time enough to read the papers, dress, and then, take a short taxi ride to the City. He looked at his watch; it was 7.34 a.m. He had a few more minutes to wait for his traditional English breakfast.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Just a minute, called Seventer. He