The Eureka! is a small four story townhouse with only 16 rooms that overlooked the Amstel, the largest canal in Amsterdam, similar to the Grand Canal in Venice. The Times had booked it because it was cheap, but Scott felt instantly at home. After settling in, Scott called the local number that Kirk had given him. "Hallo?" A thick Dutch accent answered the phone. "Hello? I'm looking for Jon Gruptmann? This is Scott Mason." "Ya, this is Jon." "A mutual friend, Kirk, said I should call you." "Ah, ya, ya. Repo Man, is it not?" The voice got friendly. "That's what Kirk calls me." "Ya, ya. He said you want to attend our meetings. Ya? Is that so?" Jon sounded enthusiastic. "That's why I swam the Atlantic, all three thousand miles. I would love to!" Jon didn't sound like Scott expected a computer hacker to sound, whatever that was. "Huh?" Jon asked. "Ah, ya, a joke. Goot. Let me tell you where we meet. The place is small, so it may be very crowded. I hope you do not mind." Jon sounded concerned about Scott's comfort. "Oh, no. I'm used to inconvenience. I'm sure it will be fine." "Ya, ya. I expect so. The meetings don't really begin until tomorrow at 9AM. Is that goot for you?" "Yes, just fine, what's the address?" Scott asked as he readied paper and pen. "Ya. Go to the warehouse on the corner of Oude Zidjs Voorburg Wal and Lange Niezel. It's around from the Oude Kerksplein. Number 44." "Hold it, I'm writing." Scott scribbled the address phonetically. A necessary trick reporters use when someone is speaking unintel- ligibly. "And then what?" "Just say you're Repo Man. There's a list. And please remember, we don't use our given names." "No problem. Fine. Thank you." "Ya. What do you plan for tonight?" Jon asked happily. "I hadn't really thought about it," Scott lied. "Ya, ya. Well, I think you should see our city. Enjoy the unique pleasures Amsterdam has to offer." "I might take a walk . . . or something." "Ya, ya, or something. I understand. I will see you tomorrow. Ya?" Jon said laughing. "Wouldn't miss it for the world." "Do one favor?" Jon asked. "Watch your wallet. We have many pickpockets." "Thanks for the warning. See you tomorrow." Click. I grew up in New York, Scott thought. Pickpockets, big deal. * * * * * Scott took a shower to remove the vestiges of the eleven hour trip; an hour ride to Kennedy, an hour and a half at the airport, a half hour on the tarmac, seven hours on the plane, and an hour getting into town.