Peter stopped too. We could both hear it now. The sound of footsteps, ahead of us and approaching quickly. We turned and hurried back the way we had come, eventually finding a small alcove in the wall. We squeezed in and waited as the footsteps grew louder. Then, out of the shadows, a figure emerged. Short and skinny, he appeared as threatening as an anorexic kitten.

“I’ll deal with him,” I whispered. “You wait here.”

I jumped out of our hiding spot and lunged at the little man. I grabbed him around the neck, aiming to drag him down and pin him to the ground. It all worked perfectly—except for the one minor detail that when the dragging and pinning was complete, I was the one being held to the ground. For a puny little figure, this guy was amazingly strong.

“Are you dealing with him?” Peter called.

“Maybe I could use a little assistance,” I yelled back as my head was slammed into the floor.

Peter came charging out, huffing and puffing like a weatherworn locomotive. At full tilt, he barreled into the side of my tormentor. The overly-muscled midget was barely knocked off balance, but it was just enough for me to tear myself away from his grasp. Though his hands reached for me, he only succeeded in ripping a long scratch on my arm with his fingernails. Then Peter and I were gone, scurrying away along the tunnel.

Almost at once, we heard the midget’s footsteps in pursuit. He was as surprisingly quick as he was surprisingly strong, and the footsteps gained rapidly. Luckily, not far along the tunnel, we found another hollow in the wall. Right in the nick of time, we darted into the tiny space as the little man raced past the opening.

“Looks like we’ve given him the slip,” whispered Peter.

“Yes, but for how long? We can’t play cat and mouse in these tunnels forever. We need some sort of weapon to fight him.”

“What about the knife?”

“The knife?” I plunged my hands into my pockets, but all I could find were the keys I’d taken from the guard. “I thought you had it.”

“I gave it to you.”

“I must have put it down when I picked up the keys. Damn, we’ll have to improvise. Do you have anything in your pockets?”

Peter reached into the pockets of his robe.

“Not much,” he said, holding up the spoils—an old pen and a packet of chewing gum.

“Give them to me,”

He handed them over. I unscrewed the pen and removed the ink cartridge. Then I took a stick of gum and put it in my mouth. I chewed until the gum was soft and sticky, and pulled the small wad out of my mouth.

“Weapon,” I said holding up the empty pen in one hand. “Ammunition,” I added, holding the soggy piece of gum in the other. I handed the packet of gum back to Peter. “I’ll be the gunman. You keep me supplied with ammo.”

Peter immediately pulled out a stick, placed it in his mouth, and began to chew. I loaded up the pen with the piece of gum I was holding and waited. It didn’t take long for our pursuer to realise he’d been sidetracked, and we soon heard his footsteps returning. When I figured he was in range, I placed the pen to my lips, poked my head out of our little nook, and blew.

I miscalculated. He was much further away than I’d hoped, and the gum fell harmlessly to the ground at his feet. Now aware of our presence, he flattened himself against the side of the tunnel.

“So that’s your game, is it?” we heard him call to us. “Well, two can play at that.” Then, from down the corridor, we heard the sound of chewing.

“Hurry up,” I said to Peter. “He’s armed too.” Even as I spoke, a wad of gum sailed across the front of our hiding space and stuck to the wall right next to my head.

“I’m chewing as fast as I can,” Peter mumbled as he handed me another wad of gum. I reloaded, stuck my head out, and shot. This time, I narrowly missed his face. He returned fire, and I only just managed to pull my head in as the gum flew past.

So the gumfight continued to rage. Soon the tunnel was thick with flying gum. It was all over the walls and ceiling, smearing down like fluorescent pink stalactites. But with each shot, our enemy seemed to be creeping closer. We could hear him as he slid along the tunnel. In barely a minute, he would be onto us.

“Come on, chew faster,” I urged.

“This is the last piece,” Peter gasped as he handed it to me.

This was our final chance. Desperate action had to be taken. I lifted my knee and snapped the pen into two pieces.

“What are you doing?” said Peter. “That’s my favourite pen.”

“Was your favourite pen.” I placed a piece of the gum in each of the broken pen halves and I handed one to Peter. “You shoot for the right eye. I’ll shoot for the left.”

At that moment, the little man jumped in front of our hiding place. He laughed and raised his pen to his lips.

“Now,” I cried, and we both shot. Two perfect bull’s-eyes. The man screamed and reeled back, clutching at the gum that was embedded in his eyes. I grabbed Peter by the arm.

“Let’s get out of here.”

We dodged the little man as he stumbled blindly around the tunnel, and we raced away. Finally, after what seemed like miles, we reached the end of the tunnel. We passed through a door and found ourselves in a white corridor lit by fluorescent tubes.

“I know where we are,” said Peter. “This is the lower level of the Pearly Gates.” He turned and looked at the door we had passed through. “And this is the door to the broom cupboard.”

“I guess someone had a lot of brooms they needed to store,” I said. “Looks like they’ve been digging right under your nose.”

“Well, they’re not digging themselves out now,” said Peter, slamming the door shut. “Give me those keys.”

I handed over the keys and Peter locked the door. Then we dashed up the stairs and burst into his office, where we found the bellhop sitting at the desk. For an instant, his face betrayed shock and disbelief. But he quickly composed himself, stood up, and smiled.

“Peter, thank heavens you’re all right,” he said, pretending to sound pleased and doing a frighteningly good job of it.

“What are you doing?” Peter demanded, eyeing the papers that the bellhop had been rummaging through.

“I’ve been looking after your paperwork,” said the bellhop. “With you gone, someone had to accept that responsibility.”

“Don’t believe him,” I said. “He’s the one. He’s their man in your organisation. Without him they could never have dug those tunnels under the Gates, or breached your security when they kidnapped you.”

“Peter, you can’t believe what he’s saying,” said the bellhop, and his voice was silky smooth. “Surely you’d take the word of one of your employees over a no-good derelict.”

Peter looked closely at the bellhop. “So you’re one of my employees. Funny, I can’t seem to place you. Can I please have a look at your ID?”

The bellhop started to reach into his pocket. Then, without warning, he sprang across the room and lunged for the door. But he never made it. I grabbed him and pushed him hard against the wall. Savouring every moment, I raised my fist and pounded it into his face. As the impact of the blow sent his head jerking back, I noticed a small object falling to the floor. For a fraction of a second, I caught a glimpse of his face, eyes wide open but alert to nothing. Then he collapsed with a thud.

And that’s when I knew him. That’s when I figured out who his accomplices were, trapped in the tunnel below. That’s when I realised exactly what their plan was, and suddenly I was very, very afraid. I turned to Peter.

“Shut the Gates. Now,” I ordered. “Don’t let anyone into Heaven until I give the word. And lock this dirtbag in the broom cupboard with the others, right away.”

“Why? What in Heaven is happening?”

“I haven’t got time to explain. I’ve got to speak to God. The very future of Heaven as we know it is at stake.”