Attached to the far wall, behind a family of four taking selfies with a cell phone, was an empty metal frame Hailey remembered had once held the Adams cannon—a Revolutionary-era weapon that had been stolen from a British gun post overlooking the harbor in 1774—which she knew now sat in a glass case in the adjoining Masonic lodge. It looked as though some work was being done on the granite where the cannon had once been affixed; on the floor by the posing tourists Hailey saw a couple bottles of cleaning solution next to a toolbox bristling with different-sized chisels and stone-working paraphernalia.

“That’s the top of the elevator shaft, right?”

Nick had stepped forward a few feet past her to the edge of a circular grate cut into the center of the stone floor. Peering past him, Hailey could see down into the lip of the shaft—which ran in a stomach-churning straight drop all the way to the ground 221 feet below. When she craned her head and fought back her fears, she could see a hint of the orange light that bathed the column and the urn at the base of the long drop, but other than that the shaft was devoid of light. Even so, Nick went down on one knee for a closer look.

“I think I see iron rungs, starting a few yards down. Maybe for maintenance, when it was still operating.”

Hailey shook her head. Even if they could somehow pry the grate loose, Hailey knew it would be pointless effort. Whoever Nick had seen outside would be entering the stairwell by now—which meant they’d get to the top before Hailey and Nick had made it a quarter of the way down the shaft. They’d be even more trapped than they were right now.

“You’re right,” Nick said, rising back up from the grate. “This is hopeless.”

But Hailey had already moved on from the shaft, continuing to search for something else that could help.

On the other side of the circular grate, by a viewing window on the farthest wall from where they were standing, she caught sight of one of the uniformed park rangers; mid-thirties, with a mustache and glasses, in the middle of explaining something about the view outside to an elderly couple in matching red sweaters. Hailey’s attention moved to the man’s belt; he had a walkie-talkie next to a flashlight—which meant they had even less time than Hailey had thought. Any minute he could get a call from below to look out for them.

At the same time—a thought hit her. Truth was, she’d been in similar positions before, as a card counter. Trapped in a casino by security, desperate to get out. The stakes were higher now, but she had trained for this. Keeping track of the cards was only one component of beating the house.