I looked up at Victor, frowning.

“I know you have it, Aloisia, and I’m not going to let you take it into the interview room. So, hand over your razor. Please.” And he held out his hand.

I looked away, breathing hard, then faced him again. “Victor, you don’t understand. I could kill him with my bare hands. It was your people who taught me how to do that, remember?”

Victor smirked, “Yes, I remember. But I also remember a young, untrained woman about to attack me, flicking open her razor with murder in her eyes. That thing speaks to you, Aloisia; it eggs you on. So, give it here.” His hand remained extended.

I just stared at him, then finally nodded, fished Charlotte, my straight razor, out from behind my back where I kept her, and slapped her, closed, into his palm.

“Thank you. Now you can interview him.”

I started to brush past him – but he held his hand up in front of my chest, not touching me. “And Nika – remember that our purpose is to get information out of him so we can take his organization apart. It’s not just to get revenge for Miriam’s death. Right?”

I snorted. “Don’t teach your grandmother to suck eggs, Victor. I’ve got what I need right here,” and waved the file folder at him. “Now, pretty please, may I go talk to Smirnov?” And I gave him my best, innocent little girl look – which I knew he would interpret as an insult.

Victor paused a beat, then stepped aside, sweeping his hand towards the door to the interview room.

Putting everything else aside, I stared at the door for a moment, then straightened my shoulders, pasted a big smile on my face, and burst through the door, hearing it slam shut behind me.

“Oh, Sandr!” I said, “They wouldn’t let me see you! They wouldn’t let me even get a message to you!” I threw the file folder on the table, then rushed over to him.

He stood up, and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close, and whispered in my ear. “Be careful what you say. They’re recording us – sound as well as video. Nod if you understand.”

I nodded, then turned it into a bigger hug, dropping my forehead into his chest. “Oh, I’ve missed you so! I was so worried about you!”

He pushed me back, holding me at arm’s length, looking me over with a smile, “Well, whatever they’ve done, you’re still as pretty as ever!” He kissed my forehead. “Now, sit – sit! And tell me what’s been going on. They told me you were dead, that you jumped overboard from the launch where they had taken you, and couldn’t find you in the dark. You don’t look like you drowned!”

I let my eyes blaze back at him, “They’re liars! Big, fat, fucking liars!” and I glared at Victor through the one-way glass. “I never jumped overboard. They had me trussed up like a chicken! Then they tried to pump me for information, asking the same stupid questions over and over and over again!”

We sat down again, but now Smirnov looked at me with that X-ray vision. He hesitated, then said, “So why did they let you in to see me now?”

I looked down, as if ashamed. “I…I promised to ask you questions if they let me see you.” I looked up at him eagerly, “I know it’s stupid – but they’re stupid! And it was the only way they would let me see you!” I reached across the table and grabbed his hand, then raised it to my mouth and kissed it.

He smirked at me, then pulled his hand away and waved it at the file folder. “Okay, so ask your questions,” he said, smiling.

Hesitantly, I opened the folder and took out two photos. “Do you know these guys?”

Smirnov glanced at them, then shrugged, “No idea. Who are they?”

“They told me they’re Bulgarian thugs. They’ve told me they were hired to kill someone in the Netherlands. They’re both dead now. They had an ‘accident’ and were killed on the highway.”

Smirnov shrugged.

I pulled out the next photo and slid it across to him. “Do you know this place?”

Smirnov glanced at it, seemingly disinterested. But I could tell from the small muscles around his eyes and his mouth that he recognized it. “Nyet. What is it?”

“It was a strip club in Brussels. They tell me it was a front, that the Syndicate ran illegal prostitution, human slave trafficking, money laundering, and drugs out of there. It was raided by the police when someone tipped them off.

“It had to have been a hacker, because the police received – anonymously – an enormous data dump, including all the financial records, plus the names of many of the people to whom the jerk who ran it reported. His name was Mikhail, and officially, he was listed as the owner. In fact, he was a low-level stodge for the Syndicate. He also owned the car that the Bulgarians had used to make their kill in the Netherlands.”

Smirnov shifted a bit, “Did they figure out who gave them all this data?”

I shook my head, “Nyet. It had to have been an inside job, an accountant or secretary or someone because of all the office records that were included.”

He looked at the one-way mirror, his poker face on, then nodded back at me, “Go on.”

I slipped another photo across the table, this time of a reasonably good-looking man. “This was Mikhail’s boss – or at least that’s what the pigs think. His name was Mykola, but his nickname was Mickey, and he had a taste for kinky sex, including Golden Showers. Somehow, the pigs cloned his phone, getting all of his contacts – and used that to trace the people he reported to, the next level up in the Syndicate.”

Smirnov looked hard at me. “Perhaps they had someone fuck him, then clone his phone while he slept.”

I shrugged. “That would explain how they got the phone, sure.”

I looked at him, a puzzled expression on my face. “There was something else,” and I paused.

He waited, then, waved his hand impatiently, “Go on.”

“The police said that someone was stalking the Syndicate, someone other than them. They think, but weren’t sure, that it was someone who gave them the data dump on the Brussels strip club, and cloned Mykola’s phone.”

Smirnov sat up, “Do they have a name for this stalker?”

I tilted my head to one side, “Uh, well, yes. They called the stalker Der Geist, the Ghost.”

Smirnov waved his hand, impatient again. “I know what geist means. Did they find this guy?”

I shrugged. “They didn’t tell me.”

He frowned, then looked away. “Okay, what else?”

I pulled out two more photos and slid them across to him. They were photos of Mr. Action and Mr. Money – except I used their real names.

“Someone led them to these two. This one,” I tapped Money’s photo, “was the banker for the Syndicate, and this one,” tapping Action’s photo, “was responsible for orchestrating the Syndicate’s dirty work.”

Smirnov was quiet, his jaw muscles working. “What happened to them?” he finally asked.

I tapped Action’s photo, “He was captured, kidnapped from his hotel room in Stockholm. I understand that someone drugged him, which allowed the EU police to smuggle him out of the country. And once they had him, they somehow persuaded him to tell them everything he knew. I think they threatened him somehow.

“I asked how they got him to talk. All they told me was that they brought in an interrogator, a woman they called The Knife. She apparently scared the shit out of the poor sap, and caused him to spill his guts.”

Smirnov stirred in his seat, looked up at the ceiling for a while, and then finally tapped Money’s photo. “And the other one?”

“They tell me that The Knife also got to him. She helped get him to turn, and the police ran him as a double agent in the Syndicate. He was well connected, all the way to the top, and fed them information for months.”

Smirnov’s jaw muscles were working, as if he were grinding his teeth. He breathed heavily.

“I wasn’t aware of that – that fucking traitor!” He turned back to me, “Then what?”

“That was about the time when they identified you, and decided they needed to grab you. But they couldn’t do it as long as you were holed up in Russia, with all of the political connections you have.”

I paused. He waited, “So?” he finally asked.

“They sent someone undercover to get close to you. Someone to lull you into accepting them as part of your organization, then lure you to the West where they could arrest you.”

His eyes snapped towards me. His eyes bore into me again, and I could see the pulse throbbing in the artery on his neck. “And who would that be?”

I opened the file folder and took out the postcard I had sent to Victor, identifying Smirnov’s yacht. I flicked it across the table.

“Me,” was all I said.

Smirnov looked at the postcard, then back at me. “You?” was all he said in a neutral tone.

I nodded.

“A common whore? They sent a whore to lure me out of Russia?”

I smiled at him, “Not a common whore, Sandr. A very uncommon whore.”

He stared at me. “Who are you?”

I slowly opened the file folder, took out one last photo, and skimmed it across the table to him.

He picked it up, his brow furrowing in concentration. “This is, uh…”

“Miriam Wolf. Owner of the DeCoven sex club in Amsterdam, and a major shareholder in Wolf Enterprises. She was my Mistress, Sandr, and I was her willing slave.” I paused for a beat. “And her wife.”

I stared at him, then stood up, openly hostile now, “She fought against your sex slavery operations in Western Europe through DeCoven and her contacts, and wouldn’t let you use her or her organization to transport unwilling sex workers into Western Europe, so you killed her, you son of a bitch!”

~~~~~

 Later, I sat in Victor’s office, shaking as the adrenaline shock wore off. He moved over to a cabinet, poured something into a cut crystal snifter, and handed the amber liquid to me. I took a swig, then coughed as the Napoleon brandy burned its way down my throat.

“You broke him, Nika. He knows how thoroughly he was hoodwinked. He knows how much you know – which means he knows how much we know about the Syndicate. And he knows we will leak it that he was the source, which means he’s effectively dead unless we keep him alive. So he’s talking now…thanks to you.”

I sat there, staring at the floor. “I wanted to kill him, Victor. I really wanted to kill him.”

I looked up. “I still do.” I exhaled noisily. “But I can’t – can I?”

Victor looked at me for a while, then shook his head, “No, you can’t.”

“But he’s at least going to go to a really nasty prison for the rest of his life, right?” I continued.

Victor just looked at me, then sat down, but said nothing.

“You didn’t?” I said, “You…you cut a deal with him?”

Victor nodded.

“But WHY? He was the top guy in the Syndicate now. You’ve decapitated it! Why cut him a deal, for fuck’s sake?”

“Because he can help us take it apart, that’s why. Because it means that helpless little girls like you won’t get scooped up off the streets and forced into prostitution, and hooked on heroin to make sure they stay put. Because legitimate businesses won’t be forced out of business by inferior competitors, and small shop owners won’t be bled dry for protection money. Because criminal enterprises will be starved of legitimate-seeming, laundered money that they can use to buy their way into society and gain political influence over our masters.

“Because it’s a price worth paying, Nika. Even though it hurts.”

I sat there, frozen, staring at the liquid in the snifter. Victor was quiet, leaving me to my thoughts.

“Witness protection?” I finally asked.

Victor nodded.

I dropped my head back, and then looked at him. “Then I have a request.”

Victor nodded at me, “Go on.”

“Put him on a farm. Make him shovel pig shit for a living. In the middle of fucking nowhere, okay? He was raised on a farm. He hates that kind of life. It was what caused him to get into crime in the first place – to get away from it.”

Victor stared at me, and then a ghost of a smile played across his lips. “How about in North Dakota?” he asked.

“Where the fuck is that?”

“Exactly,” was his only reply.

That night, Victor and I were honored guests at Hans and Marie’s place. Victor had told them what we had accomplished, so when I walked in, Hans swept me up in his arms, and danced me around the room, calling me his hero.

“Heroine,” I corrected him.

He put me down and then kissed me soundly. “I don’t care which, you are just that. You went in, empty-handed, and took down the biggest crime syndicate in Russia, all by yourself.”

I pushed away from him, “Not true, and you know it, Hans. I had support, and guidance, and assistance all the way along. I wasn’t the one who swarmed aboard the yacht in the dead of night, took out his guards, and captured the son of a bitch.” I hooked my thumb at Victor. “The Organization did. I was just one player among many.”

Hans shook his head, “It is true that a lot of other people were involved. But you were at the tip of the spear that went into their guts. You were the one who penetrated the Syndicate and got close enough to Smirnov to make it happen. Yes, other people helped and supported. But any of them could have been replaced. No one could have replaced you.”

I looked at my former brother-in-law, then said, “Okay. You’re right. I’m a hero.”

I looked away, “So why doesn’t it feel better? Why do I feel so flat, so let down?”

Victor held up his hand to Hans, indicating that he wanted to speak. “That’s a common reaction, Nika, after an extensive undercover operation. You’ve been running on adrenaline for so long that you feel flat when you’re not in danger.

“In fact, starting tomorrow, I want you to go into therapy.” And he stopped, looking at me, knowing how I felt about that.

I snorted and looked away, “I guess.” Then I turned back to Victor. “But honestly, I haven’t slept at all well since my brothers-in-arms rescued me from Smirnov’s yacht. And I have some long-term issues I want to look at, too.”

Victor nodded, “I know. And you’ll get all the help you need. Because what Hans said is true – no one else could have done what you did. There would have been no operation without you.”

Hans turned me back to him, putting both hands on my shoulders. “And there’s one more thing, Veronika.”

I arched an eyebrow, indicating that he should continue.

“Miriam is proud of you. Trust me, I know.”

I stood looking at him for several heartbeats – then started weeping in deep, racking sobs.

Later that evening, once I had wept myself out with Marie cradling me, we sat around the dining table. I tried to make merry to make up for the scene I had caused, and ate what little I could stomach, drinking even less.

Eventually, the evening came to a close, and Victor said his good night. I looked in on Eric—my son, who was now three years old—as he slept in his bedroom, then tip-toed out, to the disapproving stare of his nanny.

I let her live.

I was walking towards my guest bedroom when Marie came up behind me. “Oh no, Veronika. You are not sleeping alone tonight. Even if we just cuddle, you are going to be sandwiched between Hans and me.”

She grinned, “And if you decide you want to do something more than cuddle – well, I think Hans could be persuaded. You know he’s always horny for you, right?”

I looked at her sharply, then nodded, smiling. “Somehow, we always wind up fucking in the shower.”

Her smile broadened. “Then let’s get all hot and soapy, shall we?” She took my arm.

Not long after that, I was pushed up against the shower wall, legs wrapped around Hans’ back, his cock stuffed into my cunt, and my tongue stuffed deep into his mouth while his was in mine. Marie contented herself with stroking my bum and my tits while the hot water rained down on the three of us.

I could feel myself about to erupt, broke the kiss, threw back my head, and started to bawl. I normally laughed when I came, but this – this was different. It felt like my head was going to explode, and all kinds of emotions came boiling out of me.

It was one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had – but I’m still not sure if I ever want to repeat it.

However, sometime later, I did enjoy sucking Hans’ cock while Marie lapped at my pussy and pearl. That orgasm was a happy one.

I’m not sure if any of us got much sleep that night, and I certainly did not spring out of bed the next morning. Instead, I groggily made my way to the kitchen in one of Marie’s too-big bathrobes and slippers, seeking coffee.

I felt spent but buoyant. I knew I had issues to deal with, but they weren’t going anywhere. I’d get to them. In the meantime, I was in the embrace of what family I had – and the coffee was good, too.

Eventually, I wended my way into the Organization’s office, reporting to Deiter, my Group Captain. He made arrangements for me to go into therapy, as well as continue the extensive debriefing I had been doing over the previous month.

I never saw Smirnov again. I hope he likes shoveling pig shit in North Dakota – or wherever he wound up.

Eventually, I went back to work, even as I continued seeing my therapist. She was not at all what I expected. She was crisp, empathetic, supportive, sometimes friendly, but would never let me get away with shit. And she could smell a lie a kilometer away.

We got along well – and she helped me a lot.

She also told me I would never get rid of my neuroses. They were part of my psyche, indeed, part of what made me, me. But she told me I could make peace with them, and that they would stop bedeviling me as long as I didn’t constantly try to push them away or pretend they weren’t there.

She was right. I’m still neurotic and have tics and kinks, but I’m okay with that. They add flavor, like garlic in a salad.

I wouldn't want to be boring, would I?

I did a variety of things when I went back to work, most of which were routine and boring. One thing, though, stands out, and while neither Victor nor I know why it happened, we both know that it changed my life.

I was on a protective detail, along with two big, beefy men. I didn’t look like a bodyguard, which was important because I was guarding a very important politician who happened to be a short, blonde woman. I walked next to her.

I was heavily, but invisibly, armed, and alert, as I walked with her towards the site of a meeting. We had just passed a crowd of people – protestors – when one of the detail shouted “GUN!” and I heard shots.

Instinctively, I knocked my protectee to the ground and fell on top of her, then rolled, pulling my pistol, and looked up.

I felt something, but I paid no attention to it, just dropped the muzzle of my pistol to aim it, and looked around.

Telling my client to stay down, I started getting up and felt something sticky on my left side. Putting a hand to my neck, it came away with blood. I realized I had been shot.

And then the pain hit. It felt like I had been struck with a red-hot poker, once on my neck, the other under my left armpit. I felt dizzy, then slumped back, and collapsed.

Once again, I woke, muzzy and confused, to the sound of something beeping and two male voices discussing me.

“Will she be all right?” This time, I recognized Hans’ voice.

“Eventually, yes. But it will take time for her to recover. Meanwhile, she needs to rest. You might want to come back tomorrow.”

“No, I’ll stay. I almost lost her once. Not again.”

My eyes felt gummy, but I forced them open and looked over. Hans noticed my movement, and turned to me, smiling.

“You are a mess. How on Earth do you get yourself into these situations?”

I croaked – and Hans found, then handed me a plastic cup with a straw. I took a sip, then realized how thirsty I was and drank deeply, finishing the water. Handing it back to him – with my right hand, because my left arm was immobilized – I said, “Just lucky, I guess. How’s my client?”

Hans grimaced. “She’s fine. Publicly, she doesn’t mention you and is pretending she was brave, and it didn’t faze her, that she will not be intimidated by terrorists. Privately, she is singing your praises, telling us that you saved her life – which you did. And she’s nowhere near as brave as she lets on.”

I snorted. “Well, I’m glad she’s okay.” I paused. “So, how am I?”

Hans looked at me for a few seconds. “You were shot. Twice. One bullet grazed your neck – a flesh wound. The other entered under your left armpit and nearly did for you.

“After you blacked out, the detail threw you into the first ambulance that arrived, which took you to the nearby VIP hospital. They took you into surgery right away.” He paused, biting his lip, then continued. “It was touch and go for a while.”

He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I thought I had lost you – again. You can’t keep doing this to me, Nika. My heart can’t take it. Marie is a mess, crying at home.”

I snorted. “How do you think I feel about it?” was all I said.

It took more than a year before I went back to work. Victor put me on rehabilitation leave and told me to do something quiet and calm with my life while I rehabbed.

So, once I was up and around, I enrolled in a Master's program in International Studies at a famous Ivy League university in the States. I don’t know if I would have been admitted on my own merit, but there was some heavy string-pulling done behind the scenes by both Victor and my former protectee, whose name regularly made international headlines.

Once at the college, with my left arm in a sling, I thrived. I didn’t give a shit who the professors were – some of them were supposedly quite famous in academic and political circles – but challenged them when I believed they didn’t know what they were talking about.

Because of my background, I brought a unique perspective to the classes – and, to give them credit, the professors were confident enough that they enjoyed being challenged. It made a change from the arse-kissing that so many of the grade-grubbing students did, and made the classes livelier, especially when the other students started joining in the discussions.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that I got one of the professors into bed. With her husband. Laughingly, she told me, over pillow talk, that I would have aced the course anyway, but that I had really sealed the deal with her fifth orgasm.

It helps to know where someone’s hot buttons are.

Anyway, I completed my Masters in fifteen months, by which time I was ready to go back to work.

I won’t bore you with all the routine stuff I did after that, but I would like to end this memoir by bringing you up to date. I went back to work for Victor and the Organization.

But one of the first things I did was I cooked a very special dinner – with help – for all 250 of my colleagues, and gave the ones who had rescued me, both from Smirnov’s boat and from the scene of the shooting, individual praise for all they had done for me. By the time I was done, tears were streaming down my face.

Why did I stay with the Organization? After all, I was Veronika Von Wolf, a heiress who was rich, beautiful (they tell me), and well-connected. I was a serial entrepreneur, both with Valkyrie, and a tour business I had started on the side for Normandy D-Day beach tours, and expanded from there. And other things as well.

Well, first of all, by now, the Organization people had become my family. The military talks about “brothers in arms,” and although I was no brother, that was how I felt about these men and women. They were mine, and I would fight with them and for them, shoulder to shoulder, against any and all odds.

But still – I could easily have lived in luxury, attending board meetings, hiring people to do dirty work for me, and looking down on people such as I had been – a dirty, hungry street rat, unloved and unwanted by anyone.

Yet, that was the other reason why I stayed. Because there were still dirty, hungry street rats who were being chewed up by the system – then preyed upon by people like Smirnov.

We had savaged the Syndicate badly. And Victor told me, privately, that they weren’t sure whether the gunman was aiming for my woman protectee – or me. The top people in the Kremlin were said to be more than slightly annoyed with me, which is why I continue to be cautious.

But the Syndicate will rebuild itself – or else other syndicates will pick up the pieces and expand. Bacteria always reproduce. You never get rid of them, you just have to keep mopping them up.

So, the Organization was my family, and the work was my Calling. There is no way I could walk away from it.

Except, ten years later, in 2024, I did walk away – to a bigger job.

I was approached by one of the senior people of the ICJ – the International Court of Justice, based in The Hague. They wanted me to head up one of their investigative divisions – a job that is roughly comparable to a brigadier general if this were an army. I would be responsible for more than 100 investigators of all kinds, from ones who poured over photographs and newspapers, to others who, like me, went deep undercover to get to the truth.

I was flabbergasted, and the prospect was daunting.

I thought about asking Hans – but I already knew what he would say. He would sniff and tell me it was about time my merit was recognized. I think by now, he views me as being of his bloodline – and that’s enough to warrant the position.

I considered asking Gregor, who is my de facto father, but I knew what he would say, too. He would snort and ask why I wanted to work for the Kazaks, meaning the police, in the first place. We both shared a healthy disrespect for all things official – but his had been deeply ingrained from his time in the gulags.

So it really came down to the opinions of two people that mattered to me: Miriam and Victor.

I sat quietly in my bedroom that night and asked Miriam to guide me. I’ve done that often in the past and will do so again in the future. I know people think it’s foolish and neurotic at best, and possibly psychotic, but my Mistress guides me still. She always has – and I always listen.

She just smiled at me – and nodded, which brought tears to my eyes.

I still miss her, with all of my heart.

That left Victor, so I went to see him.

“I was wondering when you’d ask,” was what he said. “They approached me before they approached you, wanting to make sure I was all right with it. They also wanted to know what I thought of you for the position.

“I told them you were a brat who always went her own way, was stubborn beyond belief, was consistently sassy and disrespectful of authority in all its forms – and that they’d be fools to hire anyone else.

“Of course, you need to take it, Veronika. Not only do they need you, but you need to grow, and you’re getting too good at the jobs I can offer you.”

He smirked at me, “Besides, I’ll enjoy watching you be the authority you so despise from now on.”

And that is how I came to be standing outside of Den Hague, at the entrance of the International Court of Justice, in April of 2024, heart beating fast in anticipation of my first day on the job.

Wish me luck.

Afterword

Nika Sinn-Von Wolf  

This has been a wild ride.  Never thought I would ever be credited as an author.  But none of this would ever have happened without the support of those who believed in me and carried me along.  it begins with Miriam, Hans and Marie.  Gregor, Victor, Dieter, Ingrid, and the Collective.  Finally, it was James who gave me a chance.  

Will I publish other stories?  Maybe. There is one who is known as Sinn.

James Llewellyn Gainsborough

In the Fall of 2020, when I was just establishing myself as an author on Lush, I was approached by another member, NikaS, asking if I would be interested in writing about her life. Her first language wasn’t English, she explained, and wanted it written properly. She said she admired my writing.

I had been approached before, and have been several times since, by people who might or might not have been women, and expressed interest in me when I could see no grounds for it. I am always wary of catfishing and other scams.

However, my attitude has always been that I’m willing to be a skeptical fool for a good purpose. I will take people as they present themselves, and let time show me whether they were being honest or not – as long as no money or personal details change hands.

So I cautiously agreed to try working with her for one chapter, which was published under the title “Naked and Scared.”

That first chapter was hard work, but fascinating. It was a door into a life I would never glimpse otherwise, which meant that I struggled to get the details right. And the woman, Nika, was likewise fascinating.

So, I agreed to do a second chapter. Then, a third.

And here we are, almost four years later, having finished a total of thirty-eight chapters spanning two books. Indeed, these last sixteen chapters will be published as an ebook on Kindle, probably under the title “Naked Spy,” to accompany the first volume, “Naked Slave.”

Neither of us has so much as lifted a finger to promote the first book, and we agreed to donate any royalties to a shelter for abused women in my hometown of Toronto. Despite that, it has sold quite well.

The whole journey has been a wild, difficult, and highly enjoyable ride. Nika has developed an almost cult-like following of readers, on Lush and elsewhere, whereas I – well, people think of me as a truly lucky guy for getting to work closely with Nika. All I can do is agree.

There is, perhaps, one misapprehension that I would like to correct. Nika and I have a purely platonic relationship. We have never met in person or even spoken over the phone. We have never engaged in any kind of sex, virtual or otherwise. Our relationship is based on mutual respect – and, for the past few years, mutual affection as well.

Veronika continues to amaze me, and the more I learn about her, the more amazing she is. She is beautiful and sexy, which lures people into underestimating her. But I know, from our backstage discussions, just how intelligent she is – and how she is more titanium steel than delicate feminine flower.

She is also a devoted mother, a talented and highly skilled sex worker, a successful serial entrepreneur, a very eccentric corporate executive, and, very recently, she became the head of an important investigative group in one of the world’s most important tribunals. She is carrying on the work that Miriam did – but unlike Miriam, Veronika carries a badge and gun.

Not bad for a street rat who escaped an abusive home in Rotterdam.

But for me, the most important thing I can say about her is just this:

She is my friend.