He thought about the girl. Her portrait in his bedroom was taken by a commercial studio. They could trace it back. He thought his computer files were clean, but one could never tell. Then there were the phone records. He had grown careless in his old age. It was only a matter of time before they found her. He wondered what she looked like. The last time he had seen her was at her grandfather's funeral. He let his mind drift back, recalling the events that linked him to the young woman.

It was 1948. He was living in his log cabin in Montana. Although he had access through Swiss bank accounts to vast amounts of money, he eked out a living doing odd jobs and guiding tourists through Glacier National Park. One client, a businessman from Detroit, had left a magazine in his cabin. Schroeder did all the cleanup work himself, and he had glanced idly through its pages. That's when he discovered what had happened to Lazlo Kovacs since the night the Wilhelm Gustloff went to the bottom.

The magazine article described a company set up by Dr. Janos, an enterprising World War II Hungarian refugee. His corporation was bringing an innovative array of consumer products to the market, all based on electromagnetic properties, making him a millionaire in the process. Schroeder smiled. There was no photograph of the reclusive inventor, but the Kovacs genius came through on every item.

It was the mud season in between skiing and trekking, so one day he packed a bag and took the train to Detroit. He found the Janos lab in an unmarked building. He had to ask several people in the neighborhood where the lab was.

He watched the front door from a parked car. The patience he had learned when stalking human beings was eventually rewarded. A Cadillac limousine pulled up to the building. Instead of stopping in front, it went around to an alley in the back. It took off before he could see who got in the car. He followed the car to the exclusive Grosse Pointe section of Detroit, where many auto executives lived. He lost the limo when it went through the gate of a walled estate.

THE NEXT AFTERNOON, he was at the lab again. He parked where he had a clear view of the back alley. When the limo showed up, he got out of his car and walked over to the alley. The chauffeur, who was holding the door open, glanced at him but probably thought Schroeder was a bum to be ignored.

A man emerged from the back door and walked to the limo. He glanced in Schroeder's direction, started to get in the car, then he looked again. A wide grin came to his face. To the puzzlement of the limo driver, his wealthy employer went over and put his arms around the bum in a great hug.