[20: A red shoe]

Ivan stepped out from behind the stacks, long blond hair tangled around his
head, and a loose woven jacket hanging around him like a bag tangled in a
piece of fencing. Jamie smiled at him. He was actually nice to look at, she
thought, and she grinned, seeing his flat, red shoes sticking out from under
his baggy clothing. She couldn't figure out why he looked a little comical,
but she found herself smiling.

Ivan blushed and his accent thickened as he talked. "I've come here looking
for my parents -- they were taken away when I was little. You must be Jamie."

Jamie looked surprised.

"Ms. Jacobs said you would be down here. She says you are always down here,
looking at records and books. And she says you are better at the stairs."

Jamie laughed. "I suppose I am. Here, let me help."

They pour over the record-books, and they end up sitting, books in laps,
under the little window high in the wall, crammed together in the narrow
aisle between the shelves. 

"I think I found one!" Jamie was beaming. "Ilan and Ivanova Petrovich. This
is the police blotter for ..." She trailed off to check the dates on the
spine. "1974."

Ivan squirmed to get off the floor so he could peer at the book Jamie held.

"Accused of spying. Wow, Ivan. That's kinda crazy. Think that might be them?"

"I remember the men in black suits coming to the house. And a policeman."

"Wow. What happened?"

"I don't remember all of it. My great aunt took me when they were gone. She
wouldn't say anything to me about it."

Jamie read more. "The policeman was Edmond Gates. He was assisting the FBI.
He's kinda scary. He was in some of the records I was reading. He locked up
a bunch of kids who were protesting the war. I think he still lives here,
too. He's retired now, though."

"Petrovich. It could be. My aunt changed my last name. So now I'm Ivan
Jackson." Ivan's Russian accent made her laugh as he said 'Jackson'.