Vanni slipped away from the museum only after the authorities had arrived. Until then, he'd hung about, craning his neck to get a look at the commotion the same way all the rest of the group of foreign students around him were doing. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder just like they did, and he wasn't far past the age of a college student. The denim jacket, bright-colored t-shirt and slightly ratty blue jeans also blended in well. A quick change in the men's rest room had seen to that.<br/><br/>As soon as a group of grim-faced men strode out the front door of the museum, however, and started looking around the crowd, he ghosted away, hanging on the fringes of the student group for a block or so, then setting off down an alley. He knew where he was headed next, and it wasn't far. The sooner he had the scorchingly hot manuscript somewhere safe for a few days, until the drop to the buyer, the happier he would be, and this place was perfect to hide something like this.<br/><br/>A few minutes later, he was at the door to a sleepy little bookstore, the sort that looked as if nearly nobody ever came in to look around. A frown tightened his forehead as he assessed the deepening shadows. It was a little later than he'd expected it to be. Perhaps he'd stayed with the students a little too long. There'd be no harm, though, as long as the old man hadn't gone home to his supper. Still, Vanni was more relieved than he wanted to admit when the front door opened as he tested it. He slipped in and started to meander along the aisles, seemingly aimlessly, but looking for an area that didn't appear to see much traffic, and then some oversized books.<em>Atlases,</em>he pondered.<em>If I were an atlas, where would I be?</em>After a turn or two around the ends of aisles, he found them, a few recent, but many dating back a few decades.<em>Perfect.</em><br/><br/>"Found you at last," he murmured, his hand caressing the spine of an enormously oversized atlas of World War II.