More Twisted

intact. We think you can pick your way through them to a wooden doorway . . . about here.” He touched the map. “That’ll get you into this delivery tunnel.” He traced along the map to an adjoining tunnel. “The girl’s in the one next to it.”
    It was then that a faint rumbling filled the basement.
    “My God,” Sandra said, grabbing Ron’s arm.
    Knoblock lifted his radio. “What was that?” he called into the microphone.
    Some static, an indiscernible word or two. Then a voice, “Another cave-in, chief.”
    “Oh, damn . . . is she okay?”
    “Hold on . . . . We can’t hear anything. Hold on.”
    No one in the basement spoke for a moment.
    “Please,” Ron whispered.
    Then the chief’s radio clattered again and they heard: “Okay, okay—we can hear her. Can’t make out much, but it sounds like she’s saying, ‘Please help me.’ ”
    “Okay,” Langley snapped. “Let’s get moving. I want that wall down in five minutes.”
    “Yessir,” Knoblock said and lifted his radio again.
    “No,” the rescue specialist barked. “My people’ll do it. It’s got to be done just right. Can’t leave it to . . . “ His voice faded, and Ron wondered what sort of unwitting insult he’d been about to deliver. He turned to another assistant, a young woman. “Oh, here, call her father. Tell him this’s the account I want the money wired to as soon as she’s safe.”
    The woman took the slip of paper and scurried upstairs to make a call. There was silence for a moment, as the fire department and police officials looked at one another uneasily. Langley caught their eye. His glance said simply, I’m a professional. I expect to get paid for producing results. You got a problem with that, go hire somebody else.
    Knoblock, Perillo and the others seemed to get the message and they turned back to the chart. The chief asked, “You want one of our people to go with you?”
    “No, I’ll go in alone,” Langley said and began to assemble his gear.
    “Got a question,” Ron said. Langley ignored him. Knoblock raised an eyebrow. The graphic designer pointed down at the map. “What’s this?” He traced his finger along what seemed to be a shaft leading from a street nearby to the tunnel adjacent to the one the girl was in.
    One of the firemen said, “It’s an old sluice. Before they put the levee in, there was a lot of flooding in those tunnels when the river overflowed. They needed serious drainage.”
    “How big is it?”
    “I don’t know . . . I’d guess three feet across.”
    “Could somebody get through it?”
    Langley glanced up and finally spoke to him, “Who’re you again?”
    “I own this building.”
    The rescue specialist turned back to the map. “Only an idiot’d go that way. Can’t you see? It goes right underneath the unstable portion of the building. It’s probably already sealed off after the first collapse. Even if it wasn’t, you bump one support, you breathe wrong, and it all comes down on top of you. Then I’d have two people to rescue.” He gave a grim laugh. “Tunnel Girl and Tunnel Asshole.”
    “Sounds like you’ve checked it out already,” Ron said pointedly, irritated at the man’s haughtiness. “You work fast.”
    “I’ve been in this business a long time. I have a sense of what’s a reasonable risk and what isn’t. That drain isn’t.”
    “Really?”
    “Yeah, really, ” Langley muttered.” You know, this is a pretty tricky operation. You two might want to leave. We’re going to bring in some heavy equipment here. People have a way of getting hurt in situations like this.” He looked at Ron, then glanced at Sandra.
    When Ron didn’t move, Langley added, “Chief? We on the same page here?” Langley strapped on a yellow hardhat and clipped an impressive-looking cell phone to his belt.
    “Uhm, Mr. Badgett,” Knoblock said uneasily to Ron and Sandra. “I appreciate you helping us out. But it might be better if—”
    “That’s okay,” the graphic designer said. “We were just leaving.”

    Outside, Ron got into the car and nodded for Sandra to join him. He drove slowly up the street, away from the site of the collapsed building and the rescue efforts, the cacophony of the lights and crowds.
    “Aren’t we going to stay?” she asked. “See what happens?”
    “No.”
    “What’s wrong?” she asked uneasily, watching her husband troll slowly down the deserted street, looking into the alleys and the vacant lots overrun