[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'.