Suddenly, Jagger's strong fingers closed around his arm. "Somethin‘ ahead," the big man whispered softly, so that no echo of his words would betray their presence.

Jeff peered into the darkness and saw what Jagger meant.

A faint, orange glow.

A campfire, perhaps.

They remained where they were, frozen in the darkness, searching the gloom for any movement, straining to catch any sound.

All was quiet.

"Stay here," Jagger whispered. "I'll go see."

"We'll both go," Jeff whispered back. Before Jagger could argue with him, he pulled free from the other man's grip and began creeping toward the glow. It was emanating from the same kind of opening in the tunnel's concrete wall that led to the chambers in which Tillie and her family dwelt.

But how many rooms might there be?

And what kind of people were sheltered there?

When the opening in the wall was only five yards away, they paused again, listening to the faint crackling sounds of burning wood.

Still no voices.

They moved closer, then Jagger darted ahead, crossing in front of the doorway and pressing himself against the wall on the other side.

Jeff started to follow but Jagger raised his hand to signal him to stay where he was. As Jagger's hand rose, a shadow filled the door and a gruff voice said, "Lester? That you?"

Jeff flattened himself against the wall, too late. A form stepped out into the tunnel, and the beam of a flashlight blinded Jeff.

"Who are y-" the voice began, but was cut off in a strangled yelp as Jagger's arm snaked around the man's neck and jerked him backward. As the flashlight dropped from the man's hand and clattered to the tunnel's concrete floor, Jagger forced the man back through the door from which he'd just emerged. Jeff snatched up the flashlight and followed.

It was a small chamber, lit only by the flickering light of a fire burning in a barrel so rusted that large areas of the metal had corroded all the way through. There was some kind of shaft in the ceiling of the chamber, which acted as a chimney, and the draft from the open door was just enough to keep the room from filling with the fire's black smoke. A battered plastic crate served as the only furniture. Filthy blankets piled in one corner appeared to be the man's bed, and an old kettle hanging from a makeshift tripod could be put over the fire barrel for cooking. The pot was steaming, and Jeff assumed the man had just pulled the tripod away from the fire. The smell from the kettle, however, was nowhere near as savory as that produced by Tillie's stove.

Jagger released the man with a shove that hurled him against the wall. He collapsed to the floor and huddled there.

Pulling his knees to his chest, he peered fearfully up at them. His eyes flicked furtively from one to the other, but every few seconds they came to rest on a spot behind them. Jeff turned to see what was capturing the man's interest. In the corner was a large black plastic bag out of which spilled the kind of tattered clothing so many of the city's homeless carried around with them.

"It's mine," the man said, his voice trembling with apparent fear. "Nothing in it. But it's mine-you can't have it."

Jagger's eyes narrowed. "See what's in it," he told Jeff, his eyes fixing on the man.

"No!" the man shrieked. In a lurch, he scuttled across the floor and wrapped his arms protectively around the bag. "You can't have it. It's my treasure!"

"Gotta be somethin‘ in there, the way he's bawlin'," Jagger said. Reaching down, he peeled the man's arms away from the bag and pulled him away. "Take a look," he told Jeff again.

Jeff hesitated, but the look in Jagger's eyes told him it would be useless to argue. Crouching down, he began sorting through the contents of the bag. A few clothes dropped to the floor, and the man, pinned to the wall by nothing more than Jagger's right arm, whimpered as if he'd been jabbed with a knife. More clothes came out of the bag, and then, hidden beneath them, he found what the man must have been referring to as his "treasure."

Purses.

There were half a dozen of them, mostly the type of small leather clutch bags that women of a certain age carried in the evening. Purses with no straps for their owners to hang on to if someone tried to snatch them out of their hands.

"Mine!" the man howled as they tumbled out on to the floor. "I found them!" His eyes filled with tears and a sob rose in his throat as Jeff started going through the purses.

In the third purse, Jeff found a cellular phone. For a moment all he could do was stare at it, but as he realized what it might mean, his hand began to tremble. He took it from the purse slowly, as if it might vanish before his eyes like a mirage of water in the desert.

Dead, he thought. The battery has to be dead.

He flipped it open and pressed the power button. To his amazement, the screen lit up.

The battery meter showed one bar.

The signal strength meter showed nothing at all.

Turning the phone off, he flipped it closed, but instead of putting it in his pocket, he just stared at it.

With the phone, they might just find a way to get help. If they could reach some place where they could get a signal…

If the battery didn't die…

Part of him wanted to leave right now, to start crawling through the maze of tunnels again, searching for a place where a cellular signal could get through.

A subway station? He was almost certain he remembered hearing someone complain about how weak the signal was in the stations, but if there was any signal at all…

But even as the urge to start hunting for some place to use the phone grew in him, another part of his mind told him not to do anything foolish.

They were tired and hungry, and had no idea what time it might be.

If he tried to use the phone and got no answer, he might wind up wasting whatever juice the battery still held.

Better to wait.

When he was rested, fed, and could think clearly, he would figure out how best to use the phone. The man whimpered as Jeff slipped it into his pocket, but he didn't care. Obviously, the man had stolen it, and just as obviously, he hadn't been using it. He was probably crazy enough that he didn't even know what it was for.

He looked into the man's eyes.

"We're going to stay here tonight," he said quietly. "We're going to eat with you, sleep for a while, and then we're going to leave. We're not going to hurt you." Jeff's voice seemed to soothe the man, and he nodded, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "Let him go, Jagger," Jeff said. "He's not going to hurt anyone."

It was hours later.

They'd eaten their fill of whatever was in the kettle-it hadn't tasted very good, but as far as Jagger was concerned, it was better than the food at Rikers.

Jagger had slept for an hour while Jeff stayed up keeping watch, then Jagger took his place. The guy who lived in the room slept, too. He'd never told them his name-he acted like it was some kind of secret-but Jagger didn't care. He didn't like the guy.

It was the way he looked at Jeff.

He could tell the guy liked Jeff.

Wanted Jeff to stay with him.

Wanted Jeff to be his friend, the way he was Jeff's friend.

But that wasn't going to happen. As soon as Jeff woke up, they were going to leave, and then it would be just the two of them again.

Jagger didn't know whether they were going to be able to use the phone. But if Jeff wanted to try, then it was okay with him-Jeff was pretty smart, and if he thought it would work, it probably would. After all, he'd almost gotten them out over by Riverside Park. If it hadn't been for those guys, they'd already be free.

Free, and looking for a place where they could live.

Once they found a place to live, he would figure out a way to make enough money to take care of them both. Just like he'd taken care of Jimmy before they'd put him in jail.