George didn't have time to turn around. He dashed down the ramp to the A train, avoiding the commuters pushing on toward the exit. A few of them turned around to watch George, but not many. In the grand scheme of weird New York subway sights, and eleven-year-old boy jumping over a turnstile and running for his life probably didn't seem all that exciting.

Behind him George could hear Leroy's goon passing the token booth. "You stupid kid!" he yelled when he reached the turnstile. "You're not getting away that easily!" George heard, rather than saw, the goon land on the other side of the turnstile.

"Hey!" George heard the token-booth operator yell. "What the heck?!"

As fast as he could, George ran down the steps to the platform. It was hot down there — it always seemed warmer on the subway platforms than it was on the street above. About ten tired, bored-looking commuters were waiting for trains on either side of the platform. George dashed by them all, looking for the staircase that he knew led up to the 5 train.

As he reached the staircase on the other end of the platform and mounted the first step, he could hear the goon descending to the A platform. The goon's huge feet made a heavy thunk thunk thunk sound on the stairs. As George ran up the stairs to the 5 platform, he heard a huge THUNK! and then a cry of pain. This time George fought the urge to turn around. Had the goon actually fallen down the stairs?

George ran down the 5 platform and then up the staircase that led to Fulton Street. He couldn't help noticing that now he didn't hear any footsteps behind him.

Is it possible? George wondered. Did I really lose that guy when he tripped? He frowned. Fulton Street looked weirdly, perfectly normal. A few adults in business clothes walked past him into the station, and there were a couple of college students heading toward their dorm and some tourists looking around. It felt like just a normal, average weekday evening. George's heart slowed down a bit. Maybe he was out of danger.

He figured it was best to get home as fast as he could, though. He seemed to have lost his pursuer, but who knew what had happened to Shannon, Renee, and Derrick? Had they been as lucky? He started running again, this time back toward Windsor Lane.

What do we do now? The words kept echoing in George's head. We couldn't find the diamond. We couldn't fake an exchange. What do we do now?