The man walked two paces from the elevator and stopped. Seth returned his eyes to the floor plan, glanced at the paper in his hand one last time, and then turned away and walked toward the art history section.

The man had followed him closely but professionally from Playa Del Rey to the UCLA campus, and from the parking structure to the library. Seth had been careful to strengthen the pretense, searching the computer for topics in art history, Nazi Germany, Stahl. He was also careful to leave his search trail on the computer screen so his tail would get a good idea what he was after. He wanted the man to think he was acting like a normal academic, hitting the books before taking action.

In the next hour and a half, Seth pulled books from the shelves, marked them with slips of paper, and carried them down to the photocopy machines on the second floor to duplicate several pages. He filled page after page of his yellow pad with notes, all of which he left in plain view. The stack of photocopied pages grew as did the pile of books on the carrel. He carried his briefcase with him each time, and made a show of pulling out a container full of nickels and dimes for the copy machines. He gave the impression of a serious scholar who carried the little necessities of his profession in the battered leather briefcase.

Seth carefully built this illusion, leaving his research only long enough to locate some other document. His notes were there, his windbreaker hung over the back of the chair. He wanted Stratton’s tail to get used to Seth leaving for varying lengths of time, carrying his briefcase and a stack of books.

It worked. The tail followed Seth down to the copy room three times and over to the snack bar at the North Campus Union building once. There he watched Seth drink a cup of coffee and eat a stale doughnut before returning to the stacks. After that, the man sat at a nearby carrel with a book he pretended to read. He was convinced Seth would not leave without the substantial pile of research that had accumulated.

When the tail stopped following him down to the copy room, Seth gradually began to increase the length of time he stayed away.

The words in the book swam beneath Seth’s eyes now as he sat at the carrel and tried to time the moment correctly. If it didn’t work, Stratton would pull him in and they’d go over him with everything they had. The drugs would make him talk, the NSA crowd would get the painting, and with it the leverage he needed to get Zoe back.

If she’s still alive.

“Damn,” Seth muttered under his breath. He wiped at his face and rubbed his closed eyes. The doubts, the fears, the sadness. They raged like a flood, just beneath the surface of his thoughts, washing away at the foundations of his resolve. She had to be alive, Seth thought. If she wasn’t, he had to be a fool to do anything but turn over the painting to Stratton and his crew.