The college kid takes a last-minute glance over his shoulder and checks for stragglers. All three of us look away. Convinced no one’s watching, he pulls open the door and escorts Snow White inside. Just like that, they’re gone.

“Open sesame,” Charlie says.

“You think that’s it?” Gillian asks.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” I ask, barreling forward.

“Wait!” Gillian calls out, grabbing me by the back of the shirt. “What’re you doing?”

“Getting some answers.”

“But if there’s a guard…”

“… then we’ll say ‘Oops, wrong door,’ and walk away.” I yank myself free and continue toward the door.

“Suddenly you’re worried about our safety?” Charlie asks her.

Gillian doesn’t answer. She’s locked on me. “Oliver, this isn’t something we should just rush into,” she adds as I step forward.

I’m not listening. I just drove three hours on the promise I’d get my life back. It’s all on the tapes. I’m not leaving here without them. I grab the door and check behind us. The crowd’s on Pooh. It’s now or never…

I pull open the door and turn to Charlie and Gillian. Both of them hesitate, but they also know there’s not much of an alternative. As soon as Gillian moves, Charlie follows. I’m not sure if he’s suspicious or just scared. Either way, all three of us slide inside.

Barely lit by a fluorescent light, the concrete landing is dark and empty. No one’s here – no guards and no sign of Snow White. I check the ceiling and walls. No videocameras either. It makes sense when you think about it – it’s Disney World, not Fort Knox.

“Check this out,” Charlie whispers, staring over the metal railing on our left.

I squeeze between him and Gillian to see it for myself: paved stairs that wind down four levels. The entrance to the underground.

“If I were six years old, you know what kinda bad dreams this would cause?” Charlie asks.

Without a word, I head down the stairs. It can’t be much further.

“Just take it slow,” Gillian warns as we spiral down into the depths.

At the bottom, we hit another door, but unlike the one up top, this one doesn’t match the medieval feel of Tinker Bell’s Treasures. It’s just a standard, industrial utility door. I open it and peek my head into a short corridor. On my right, perpendicular to us, dozens of people crisscross back and forth in an even bigger hallway. Bright costumes rush by in a flash. Echoed voices ricochet off the concrete. There’s the action. Time to jump in.

Slipping out of the stairwell, I march down our corridor and make a sharp left into the main hallway, where I nearly collide with a skinny girl in a Pinocchio costume, minus the Pinocchio head.

“Watch it,” she warns as I step on her oversized foam Pinocchio shoes.

“S-Sorry…” Catching my balance and cutting around her, I notice Snow White on her right – a different one, with brown hair pinned back, a black wig in her hand, and chewing gum in her mouth.

“Kristen, you doing the parade tonight?” Snow White asks, poorly masking a Chicago accent.

“No, I’m done,” Pinocchio answers.

I turn around as they pass, but quickly catch the eye of Charlie and Gillian, both of whom are staring me down.

Take it easy… please, Charlie glares, clearly unnerved.

I nod and continue up the hallway. They’re a few steps behind me, but they know what it takes to stay invisible. Keep it fast and keep it moving. It’s the same as when I used to sneak Charlie into R-rated movies. The moment you look like you don’t belong, that’s the moment you don’t belong.

Back on track in what looks like a pedestrian subway tunnel, I glance up the concrete hallway, which is about the width of two cars. All around us, we’re swallowed by the colorful back-and-forth rush of Disney employees who’re dressed in everything from the cowboy boots and hats of Frontierland, to the silvery, futuristic shirts of Tomorrowland, to the simple unmarked collared shirts of the janitorial staff. I pull off my tie, stuff it in my pocket, and undo the top button of my shirt. Just another Disney employee on his way to a costume change.

“Narc… ten o’clock,” Charlie warns.

Following the dial, I look up to my left and spot two cops patrolling the tunnel. Damn. Instinctively reaching toward the back of my pants, I tap my waistband and check to make sure Gallo’s gun is still there. Just in case.

“They’re not armed,” Charlie adds, knowing what I’m thinking.

As the Disney police get close, I realize he’s right. They have silver badges and blue shirts, but that’s where it ends. I glance at their holsters. Neither of them has a gun. Still, that doesn’t mean we can afford a confrontation. As one of them looks my way, I lower my gaze to the ground. Stay focused… don’t look up, I tell myself. Thirty seconds later, it’s more than enough to do the job. The cops blow by without even a second glance, and I raise my head to once again face the labyrinth. The problem is, I don’t have a clue where I’m going.

Picking up speed and trying to cover as much ground as possible, I walk up the hallway, inhaling the damp, underground air. From the faded purple stripe that colors the bottom half of the corridor, I’d say this place hasn’t been painted in ten years. It may be the headquarters for all Magic Kingdom employees, but like the cheap industrial carpet we use in the nonclient areas of the bank, Disney keeps its money onstage. Still, the nuts and bolts of the park are clearly down here: exposed air-conditioning ducts overhead, random piping along the walls, and metal door after metal door marked with signs like “Maintenance,” “AVAC/Trash control,” and “Danger: High Voltage.” Straight above us, kids hug Pooh, and parents marvel at the cleanliness of paradise. Down here, Pinocchio’s a girl, and the trash chute rumbles so loud, you feel it in your back teeth. That’s what magic’s made of.

On my right, a black man dressed like a Tiki bird steps out of a door marked “Stairway #5 – Legend of the Lion King.” Across the way, a blond female elf comes through “Stairway 12 – Ye Olde Christmas Shoppe.” Every fifteen feet, people pop out of nowhere – and no matter how calm I’m trying to act, I can’t shake the feeling we’re starting to stand out. I scour the pipes that cover the ceiling and search for security cameras. There’s only so long you can run around without a costume or nametag. If anyone’s watching, we’re running out of time. And worst of all, running blind. Three blind mice.

The further we go, the more metal doors we pass; the more doors we pass, the more the hallway seems to curve; the more the hallway curves, the more I feel like we’re walking in circles. “Park Maintenance West”… “First-Aid”… “Break Area”… Where the hell is DACS?

“This is ridiculous,” Gillian eventually says. “Maybe we should split up.”

“No,” Charlie and I say simultaneously. But it’s clear we need to change strategy.

Up ahead, an older woman in a Pilgrim costume steps out of a room marked “Personnel.” She looks about fifty years old. I motion to Charlie; he shakes his head. The older they are, the more likely they’ll ask for Disney ID. Behind the Pilgrim is a girl in jeans and a Barnard T-shirt. Charlie nods. It’s not my first plan, but we need to make a move. We both know who’s better with strangers.

“Can I ask you a stupid question?” Charlie says, approaching Ms. Barnard as he bubbles up the charm. “I usually work over in EPCOT-”

“So that’s why they let you keep the dyed hair,” she interrupts.

Never fazed, he laughs out loud. “They don’t let you have that around here?” he asks, running his hand through his blond locks. He’s trying to sound relaxed, but from where I’m standing in the corner with Gillian, I see the shine of sweat on the back of his neck.

“Are you kidding?” she asks. “That’s bad show.”

“Yeah, well, there’s something to be said about bad show,” he nervously teases. “Anyway, they sent me down here to pick something up from some place called DACS…”