Fortune and Glory (Stephanie Plum 27)

Grandma picked up the pace and forged ahead. I struggled to keep my footing and stay close to her.

“Be careful to not fall down in the mud,” I said.

Seconds after I said it, Potts went down.

“Don’t worry about me,” he called out. “Keep going. I’ll probably only get worms or a rash. I hope there aren’t any leeches.”

I pulled Potts to his feet and we sloshed on until we came to a fork.

“Now what?” Grandma asked.

I took the flashlight from her and aimed the light at the tunnel floor. The sludge was too deep to see footprints.

“Go left,” Potts said. “I’ve been keeping track of a symbol that looks like a bird wing. I can see one on the beam to the left.

“Works for me,” I said. “I’ll take over the lead.”

After five minutes of trudging in the dark, the tunnel widened slightly and there were rotting wood planks overhead.

“It looks like we’re under something,” Grandma said. “It looks like we got a floor over us. Maybe this is it. We could be under the room that has the safe.”

The wood ran for about ten feet and then the dirt tunnel continued. I rapped the beams with my Maglite and some of the wood splintered off.

“This wood couldn’t hold a safe,” I said.

I rapped the ceiling again and punched a hole through to the other side. A couple of boards broke apart and fell into the tunnel. I heard some squealing and high-pitched chirping sounds and suddenly the air was filled with bats escaping from the hole I’d created.

“Bats!” Potts yelled. “I hate bats!!”

We all ducked down, and the bats chirped and flapped and swirled around us and took off down the tunnel. The bats were followed by rats. They tumbled out of the hole, squealing and splatting when they landed in the mud.

“Rats!” Potts yelled. “I hate rats!!”

The rats kept coming, piling up three-deep in front of us, jumping and climbing over each other, trying to get out of the muck. I had myself plastered against the tunnel wall. I had my eyes closed tight, but I could feel the rats running over my feet. Think happy thoughts, I told myself. Don’t panic. What was the line from Ratatouille? Only the fearless can be great. Only the fearless can be great. Crap. Not working. I wasn’t fearless.

I opened my eyes to see the last few rat stragglers hauling ass down the tunnel.

“I think I have rabies,” Potts said. “Am I foaming at the mouth? Don’t anyone get near me.”

I directed the flashlight beam into the hole in the overhead flooring. Water was trickling out.

“It looks like a large culvert,” I said. “Maybe part of the sewer system. We can try to climb into it or we can continue down the tunnel.”

“The bats and the rats all went down the part of the tunnel we just traveled,” Potts said. “I don’t want to go that way.”

“Okay, let’s go a little further in the other direction,” I said. “We can always turn around and try the culvert.”

We walked for a couple of minutes and came to a dead end. A ladder had been built into the wall, and two stories above the floor of the tunnel I could see what looked like a round manhole cover that was slightly ajar. A sliver of light outlined part of the opening.

“I’m going to climb up,” I said. “Stay down here until I see what’s up there.”

I got to the top and had a moment of panic when I had to take a hand off the ladder to push the manhole cover away. Don’t look down, I thought. Channel your inner Indy.

I gave the heavy metal lid a shove, flipped it back, and light flooded into the tunnel. I hauled myself up through the small round opening and crawled out onto a concrete walkway that led to a fountain. I’d come out in Liberty Park. I went flat on my stomach and looked down the hole at Grandma and Potts.

“Can you make it up the ladder?” I asked. “Or would you like me to get help?”

“I can do it,” Grandma said.