His name was Manuel Ortega, and very few people had ever heard of him. The appointment reached him by telegram early in the morning on June 17, and he was given exactly four hours to decide whether to accept or decline. Manuel Ortega was Assistant Trade Attaché at the Republic’s embassy in Stockholm. He had already held the post for two years and had had time to become used to Sweden. He lived in a furnished flat in Karlavägen in the Ostermalm part of the city, and about six months earlier he had sent for his family. Outwardly he was fairly commonplace, a Latin in some ways but no one would have been surprised if he had turned out to be a Greek or a Pole or a Finn. He had brown hair and brown eyes, was five foot ten, and weighed a hundred and fifty pounds. A badly cared-for soccer injury from his university days had left him with a slight limp in his right leg, but it was noticeable only when he was in a hurry. He was called to the embassy just before eight o’clock, and the Ambassador himself handed him the cable signed by the President of the Federal Republic.
