He opened his eyes and looked at his wristwatch. It was 9:17. The library would be closing in a little less than two hours. He had to get moving.

The tail barely raised his head when Seth got up and walked toward the elevator with his briefcase in one hand and a thick volume marked with a dozen pieces of paper in the other. From the corner of his eye, Seth saw the man look up briefly and then return his glance to the book spread out on the carrel in front of him.

Seth got out of the elevator on the first floor, and after ditching the book in a return bin, walked out the front of the library and swiftly down the front steps. He made directly for the North Campus Union and drew another Styrofoam cupful of coffee. He sat at a table and scanned the door of the union for five full minutes. There was no sign of the tail.

Casually, Seth stood up, picked up his briefcase. Then, carrying the half-full cup of coffee, he left the bright warmth of the North Campus Union and headed south along the broad concrete sidewalk decorated with animated groups of students talking excitedly about saving the world, toppling multinational corporate power elites, the nature of truth, and more prosaic obsessions and curses: papers due, loves lost, parent problems.

He felt old. The world was no longer his to make over. It never had been. Believing that was for the young. All he could do now was elbow himself some personal life-space.

He stepped quickly now, trying not to appear urgent as he made his way among the twisted shadows of trees, their wintertime skeletons projected on the sidewalk by streetlights.

The crowds thinned as he approached the main campus quadrangle. Seth resisted the temptation to turn around to see if the tail had finally caught up with him, and turned instead to his left, walking down a short ramp into the basement level of Haines Hall. The door yielded to his push, and he walked confidently into the hallway.

The philosophy department was located one floor above. If the tail put in a sudden appearance, Seth would make for his office, pretend to search for some book or file, then return to his carrel at the library.

But despite his fallback plan, Seth felt his hands grow cold from more than just the temperature. He passed the elevator and then the stairs, and walked toward the unlit end of the corridor.

He stood at that end for several moments, buried in shadow, staring at a plain wooden door with a plain doorknob and a deadbolt. He tried his office key in the locks. It didn’t work. He hadn’t thought it would. The storeroom was seldom used and only Karen and Tony had keys.

Seth set the briefcase containing his lock picks and other tools unused since his days with the LAPD down on the floor and snapped open the hasps. Fumbling around in the dimness, he pulled out a set of picks that folded into a handle like a pocket knife. It had been years since he had last used the picks, so he set to work on the easiest lock—the one in the doorknob—first.