He was walking too fast to answer any more questions. She ran to catch up around the corner toward a large marble stairway that led up to what must be the main lobby. Ramone stopped at the side of the stairs and pushed on the wall. To Beatrice’s amazement, the wall swung open, and she found herself in a room no bigger than a closet, staring at a metal door.

“This door leads to the steam tunnels,” he explained, pulling out a key and unlocking it.

The door opened to a dark stairwell. Stale, dank air wafted up to where she was standing.

“The best way in and out is through the Stouffer’s Inn. The tunnel will spit you out in the loading dock. Security is pretty lax over there. If anyone sees you, just look lost. They’ll pat you on the head and send you down the road.”

“You don’t think they’ll suspect something?” She stared down into the dark well, her stomach crawling up inside her rib cage.

“Little white girl like you?” He laughed and slapped her on the back. He handed her a small flashlight and looked over his shoulder at the room behind them. “Now go down and see if you can find your way there and back. I’ll be around even if you don’t see me.”

Beatrice nodded and gripped the flashlight with white knuckles. Down the steep stairs she went. One shaking step at a time, she sank into the darkness below. Ramone closed the door above her and the light vanished, except for the tiny stream of the flashlight. The beam only stretched a few feet ahead down the tunnel before being devoured by the shadows. Her heart hammered loudly against her ribs. It was the only sound except for the occasional drip from the ceiling. It was like being trapped in a cave or coffin.

She crept along the narrow hall with one hand stretched out in front of her. She whacked her head with a howl on a low-hanging pipe but kept going. The walls got tighter and the ceiling got lower as she went. The urge to run, kicking and screaming, swelled in her brain stem. Beatrice sucked in a breath and began to hum the words she knew so well.

“Hush-a-bye, don’t you cry. Go to sleep my little baby. When you wake, you shall have . . . All the pretty little horses . . . Way down yonder, in the meadow . . . lies a poor little baby . . .”

The humming helped, and she began to walk a bit faster. She would no longer be a prisoner in the bank, trapped without food all weekend. She might even be able to visit her aunt one last time.

As if the tunnel shared her renewed optimism, it opened into a large cavern. She could stand up straight and stretch. She looked around with her flashlight at the many tunnels that emptied into the room. One would take her to the loading dock of the hotel. One of the placards said “Terminal.” That had to be the one. The Stouffer’s Inn was next to the old Terminal Tower building. She took another deep breath and began barreling down the tunnel.

The narrow passage went on for what seemed like miles. There were a few turns and bends, but for the most part it was a long straight line. Every once in a while, the tunnel would split. There would be a small plaque that read something like “May Company,” or sometimes nothing at all. The smell of rotting leaves grew stronger as she went. The air was thick with it, until it felt like wet sludge moving in and out of her lungs. Beatrice kept humming.

A faint rustling echoed in the dark. Startled, she dropped the flashlight with a gasp. The rustling sounded louder. She fumbled for the light. The beam bounced off the tunnel walls as she scrambled past the rustling noise coming from somewhere low to the ground. She slowed her feet. It was a rat chewing on some paper. She never thought in her life she’d be relieved to see a rat. She let out the air behind the shriek she’d been holding and kept moving. Her feet sloshed through shallow puddles, and cool water seeped through the seams of her shoes.

Finally, there was a bend in the tunnel with a placard that read “Hotel Cleveland.” She decided that it must be the right path and turned. After another city block, the passage came to an end at a steel ladder. It stretched up over fifteen feet. Beatrice tucked the flashlight in her belt and began to climb. The higher she went, the more her hands trembled.

“Don’t look down, don’t look down . . .” She went one cold, slippery rung at a time until she hit a metal plate hovering above her. It was a hatch door. She pushed up on it, and it gave just a little. She tried again, and it moved a little more. Shoving with all her might, she forced the hatch open with a loud clank. Her head popped up into a room the size of an outhouse. Freezing-cold air hit her in the face, and she could hear the wind whistling around the thin walls of the shed. She scrambled up the ladder and looked around. There was nothing but the faint outline of a door. The handle turned easily and she pushed it open, not knowing what she’d find on the other side.

Beatrice was in an alley between two tall buildings. She didn’t recognize either one. The plain brick backsides of the towers hovered over her head. Metal fire escapes and garage doors surrounded her. She stepped out, staring up at them without thinking, and the door swung closed. She ran back but was too late. It was locked. She tried the handle, and it wouldn’t budge. She felt her pocket and reassured herself that she still had Max’s heavy ring of keys. She was certain one would open the door. In the meantime, she had to find out where she was. She made her way down the narrow driveway between the two buildings and onto the street.

A limestone building stood across the road with the words “United States Post Office” etched across the top in ten-foot letters. She rounded the corner and saw a street sign that read “Superior Avenue.” Then she recognized where she was standing. She was in the back of the hotel. The wind whipped through her sweater, and she realized she wasn’t wearing a coat. She’d followed Ramone not knowing where they were headed. Her eyes darted around the empty sidewalks. It was quite late. All of the windows were dark.

A half a block away up ahead on the sidewalk, the shadow of a large person caught her eye. Whether they were walking toward her or not, Beatrice couldn’t quite tell, but she started running back to the door in the alley. She pulled the keys from her pocket. Glancing over her shoulder, she could still see the shadow. At the door, she fumbled to find the right key and willed her fingers to move faster.

A key slid home on the third try. She yanked the door open and leapt inside. The shadow had moved farther down the street. Beatrice let out a breath and backed into the open hatch and nearly fell fifteen feet down the hole. She caught herself just in time, then scrambled down the ladder.

Her nerves were shot from all of the sleepless nights. She told herself to relax as she scurried back down the tunnels. She passed through the cavernous junction and was nearly back to the stairs to the bank when she slammed right into Ramone’s ribs.

She screamed, and Ramone clapped his hand over her mouth. “Shh! It’s me. You can’t come back up yet.”

When she could speak without shrieking, Beatrice whispered, “What do you mean?”

“Someone’s in the vault.”

He led her back to the large cavern, where they could both stand.

“What do you mean, someone’s in the vault?” It was after 10:00 p.m.

“One of the bigwigs. He told me it was official bank business and asked me to leave.”

Ramone lit a cigarette.

“Is that normal?”

“It’s getting more normal these days. But hey, they’re the ones with the keys, right?”

“Did you get his name?”

“It’s a younger guy. Reggie or somethin’.”

“Randy? Randy Halloran?”

“Yeah, maybe.” He exhaled smoke. “Only authorized personnel have the combination to the vaults. The combination changes every week. If he can open it, he’s authorized.”