Suddenly, the specter of the Philip Johnson part of the Library loomed before him, looking like a modern wing added to an earlier structure. It brought home the grim prospect of the meeting ahead.

For all the caution he voiced on the phone, he believed that John was right. 

The Buonorotti Anagram HAD been stolen.

There would be hell to pay. 

And he and John would be discussing it at the venerable Boston Public Library.

In this very library, with its magnificent frescoed reading room, generations of first-rate storytellers have labored. They weave historic erudition and a vivid sense of place in their novels, using the Library's books, newspapers, encyclopedias, and travel brochures. Now, one of those novels had disappeared.

Kush pictured the well-proportioned Renaissance Revival façade of the old Library, inscribed with the names of Kepler, Goethe and so many other now-forgotten luminaries. 

Which name would John be standing under? This might provide a clue about what John had to say.