As dusk approaches, Robert watches the small flower truck head down the serpentine road toward the lights of town, then turns to the barn, scarcely visible in the twilight, and tromps through the snow.
At the barn, Robert slides the old wooden door open, the iron rollers at the top creaking. Everything is silent. A single lightbulb illuminates a workman’s desk complete with scissors, clamps, sickles, and scythes.
Then he hears something stirring on the ground nearby, something covered by a tarp. Heart pounding, Robert pulls on the cloth—slowly revealing Ali, her hands tied above her head, shaking. When she sees Robert instead of Pumpkin, her eyes tear up with joy. Robert’s eyes are tearing up, too, but there’s no time for a reunion.
He removes the gag from Ali’s mouth as she trembles violently and tries to speak in a raspy voice. “Quickly! Pumpkin will be back.”
Robert attempts to untie her hands and feet, but his fingers fumble over the endless knots in the poor light. He gets up and lunges toward the workman’s bench to get something to cut the ropes.
Without warning, the steel rollers on the barn door creak again. Robert jumps into the shadows.
A hulking figure enters the room—one of Al-Fayed’s bodyguards.
Ali immediately begins to squirm, acting to make it seem like she has managed to spit out the gag and move the tarp that usually covers her.
The bodyguard bends above her and palms her breast. “I think we’re alone now. It’s not fair for Pumpkin to have you all to his self.”
“Get off me,” says Ali.
The bodyguard stands up, unbuckles his belt, and unzips his pants. “I’m gonna get on you. You’re gonna like this. I’m not like Pumpkin—I know how to please a woman.”
Robert steps from the shadows and swings the scythe with all his might, wedging it into the bodyguard’s ankle. He buckles and screams. From the ground, he pulls a gun and lifts himself on his elbows, ready to shoot, but he can’t see Robert behind him.
Robert drops on the big man’s back, lifts the sickle high, then plunges its blade into the side of the man’s neck. The hulking figure shakes, then stills.
Robert runs over to the desk and lifts up a pair of scissors to cut Ali free.
Ali screams, “Robert!”
The bodyguard has opened his eyes and reached out his hand, holding the gun. He squeezes the trigger.
The bullet rips through Robert’s jacket. Am I hit?
Robert falls to his knees.
With blood flowing from his ankle and neck, the bodyguard takes aim at Robert again.
Robert wildly casts about through the cloud of pain. Has he come this far only to fall short? This man will surely not miss again.
Robert remembers his gun and rips it out of his waistband with his good arm to point it at the bodyguard. His thumb brings back the hammer—but Ali is right behind the big man. If he misses, or the bullet deflects, she could die.
The bodyguard takes one last breath, grits his teeth, and expires.
Is he really dead? Robert pushes him with his foot to make sure. He comes to his knees to inspect the body and finds a key card hanging around the man’s nearly severed neck. Getting to his feet, gingerly keeping his arm still by his side, Robert removes the key card and puts it in his pocket.
Ali is still tied up, and Robert dimly realizes that the sound of the gunshot will surely bring more of Al-Fayed’s people. Using the scissors, he frees Ali.
“You came for me,” she says.
“Of course,” he says, taking off his hoodie and jacket. He puts them on Ali, then turns his attention to his bloody shoulder. Rotating the arm, he winces. He cranes his neck to look and sees that the bullet only grazed him.
“Thank God,” Ali says wearily. “I couldn’t get out of here alone.” Robert lifts her and carries her outside into the still night. Upstairs in Al-Fayed’s house, he sees lights but there are no silhouettes behind the curtains.
He places the key card on the downstairs door and it opens into Al-Fayed’s magnificent garage. He lays Ali gently in the seat of the 1963 Ferrari 250 GTO. He remembers everything Al-Fayed did to start the car—pull the choke twice, turn the key. The vintage race car comes to life. Robert gets out and presses a button on the wall. The garage door rises. He gets in, cranks the knob for the heater to red. “It’ll warm up in a second; I know you’re cold.”
“Thank you,” she says.
He puts the car in gear.
“Where are we going?” asks Ali.
“Straight to the police.”
Robert floors it.