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  “What? How do you know about that?”

  “We will trade Yøta for your wife. And sell the cure to the highest bidder.”

  “They’ll kill her.”

  “You and your wife can stay in the Freeport. I will get you out of the country. I have people in customs, people in the government.”

  Robert hears tires screeching. His head goes light. He looks over the railing and sees a black SUV speeding through the parking garage, racing up the ramp.

  The black SUV is one level below. Robert hangs up his phone and sprints for the door to the staircase. He swings it open. And standing right in front of him is Carola. She wraps her arms around him.

  “C’mon,” he says. “They know we’re in here.”

  They sprint down the staircase and out into the alley.

  Chapter 44

  Robert and Carola run up the alleyway. The back doors of a small van are open. A gigantic flower arrangement teeters above the deliveryman as he attempts to unload it, carefully, slowly, without bending a bud.

  “Get in!” yells Robert to Carola. She dives in the passenger side. He starts the van and floors it. The little sewing machine of an engine revs. The deliveryman spins in a circle but doesn’t drop the arrangement. The back doors swing wildly. Robert slams on the brakes and the doors bang together, shut.

  “Nice,” says Carola.

  “Thank you,” says Robert.

  “For what?”

  “For coming back.”

  “I like you. I just don’t trust you. And I want my money.” She holds out the USB drive on the end of her finger. “Those assholes gave me an idea. I ran in a drug store and swiped this. For insurance.” She holds out a second USB drive, almost identical, in her other hand. “I scratched an X on the real one.”

  The van speeds out of town and up the mountain pass. Heavy snow piles on the windshield, piles on the road. At every intersection Robert jogs his memory. They stop at the top of the valley. Robert eyes a deluxe chalet situated on the side of the mountain in the middle of a bucolic snow-covered paradise, complete with old wooden barn.

  “What do we do now?” asks Carola.

  “We take it to them.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Robert takes out his phone and makes a call, “Mr. Al-Fayed, this is Robert. Yes. I accept your offer, all of it…and the money.…We are hiding in a chalet that was rented by the Italian. Grubenstrasse eighteen. Yes, come here right away.” He hangs up.

  “I don’t know what you’re doing. But I know it won’t work,” says Carola.

  “It has to. Al-Fayed. He is in on it. I just know it. Ken told me they were keeping Ali in a barn in the mountains. It must be that one. I saw it. It’s next to Al-Fayed’s house. I’m going to distract him and rescue her. You can take the van.”

  “But what about the money?” she asks.

  “I’m taking the sickness. You take the cure. Here’s the key to the safe deposit box. Okay?”

  She nods and takes the key.

  “Mail it to the cops with directions. It’s the only safe thing to do,” says Robert.

  “Fuck that! Eugenio and I, we made that thing. Cops can’t be trusted.”

  “Make sure it gets in the right hands!”

  “Okay.”

  From a distance they watch a black SUV pull out of the long driveway and head down the mountain. “It worked. They’re going to town.”

  Robert pops out the clip in the Korean’s gun to see that it’s got five bullets left. He slides the clip back in. He leans over and kisses Carola on the lips. “Do the right thing with the cure.”

  “She’s lucky, you know. You’re the man on a horse.”

  Chapter 45

  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.

  Chapter 46

  The 1963 Ferrari 250 GTO growls eloquently as it winds down the hill. “I saw what you wrote on the mirror in our bathroom at the hotel,” says Robert.

  “About skiing?” she asks.

  “The other thing.”

  “Oh. That. Really?” asks Ali.

  “Is it true?”

  “You want to talk about that at a time like this?”

  “You want a divorce?” asks Robert.

  “Let’s talk about it when we get home.”

  “Did you…like that Eugenio guy?”

  “He was nice.”

  “Nice? He created a virus to end the world. He worked for the bad guys.”

  “Robert, don’t be a dick. You rescued me.”

  “I did. Didn’t I?” Robert’s pride slips out in a smile.

  “You should just enjoy that for now.”

  Robert thinks of himself from a little, tiny point of distance, and he starts to laugh. “I killed a guy for you.”

  “You did. A big one, too.” Ali smiles for a second. One of her favorite things about Robert is that despite his intelligence, he never really takes himself too seriously.

  “How about we go to couples counseling when we get home?” asks Robert.

  “Deal,” she says.

  Robert’s phone rings. He looks at the number. It’s Al-Fayed. “Oh, shit.”

  “Robert, I’ve got someone who would like to speak to you,” says Al-Fayed.

  He hears a woman’s voice. “Robert, tell these assholes to fuck off. They’ve got nothing. You have the sickness and your wife. I don’t care if they kill me.”

  Al-Fayed gets back on the phone. “Robert, you know how this works. If you call your friend Hervé, Pumpkin will eviscerate Yøta from the inside out. Unlike you, I’m a man of my word. Bring me the drives, and I will make you rich beyond your wildest dreams; then I will set the three of you free.”

  “Okay. It’s a deal. I’ll trade the USB drives for Carola. But I come alone.”

  “No, Robert, you’ve shown yourself to be a liar. Bring your wife or I kill the girl. There’s an abandoned mine on the north side of town. Meet me there at sunrise.”

  Chapter 47

  The snow comes down sideways, in sheets, like rain. There’s too much of it. It piles up against everything: trees, boulders, cars. It sounds like salt on the Ferrari.

  Robert parks the car in front of Eugenio’s apartment. “Let’s get you some clothes. And we can rest here for a little while. Warm up.”

  Once again, Robert uses the toboggan to get in the back patio door and lets the half-naked Ali in the front door.

  Ali finds some of Carola’s clothes—tights, short skirts, an extra pair of Moon Boots. She sneers before putting them on. Robert finds some of Eugenio’s ski clothes, nicer than anything he owns.

  “How’s your shoulder?” Ali asks.

  “Hurts.”

  Looking at Ali, Robert sees her face freeze in horror, staring at something behind him. “You Americans, you don’t know pain. But you will.”

  He turns to find the beautiful North Korean woman. At the end of her one remaining arm is a pistol pointed in their direction.

  “You’re alive!” Robert gasps.

  “I pinched my subscapular artery until I could sear it.” She smiles and wobbles. “Then I cauterized my wounds with a hotel room iron.”

  “Jesus. I guess my shoulder’s not that bad.”

  The woman’s face is expressionless now. “Are you CIA?” she demands.

  “No. But I’ve got what you want,” says Robert. “I don’t give a shit. You can have it. Just let us go.” Robert reaches in his pocket and takes out the two USB drives.

  “Bring them to me. Very slowly.”

  “Put the drives…” She seems to realize that a one-armed woman, holding a pistol, has nowhere to hold a couple of USBs. “Put them…”

  Robert looks around, feeling Ali’s nervousness. “Robert, how do we know she won’t kill us?”

  The woman smiles. “You don’t. Put them between my breasts.”

  While she holds her gun inches from his head, Robert tentatively inserts the drives down into her clothing.

  She says something in Korean, then her eyes flutter and her knees buckle for just a second before she recovers.

  It’s enough time. “Drop it!” Ali screams. She points Robert’s gun at the woman, who swivels to face her.

  Robert reaches down and grabs the andiron that rests against a nearby cabinet.

  “Die, American bi—” Before she can get out the word, Robert bludgeons her across the head with the heavy tool. He looks down at her, still a stylish figure on the ground.

  “Shit. Call me a chauvinist, but I feel bad hitting a woman.”

  “Get over it,” says Ali.

  Robert picks up the extra gun and gently removes the drives from where he has just placed them. He looks at the clock on the wall. “You should just go to the cops.”

  “Can you call them? How will he know if you do?” asks Ali.

  “I can’t be one hundred percent sure he doesn’t have someone on the inside.”

  “What do we have?”

  “Two guns. He doesn’t know that. Pictures of the layout of the mine from Google.” Robert points to some images on Eugenio’s computer.

  “What else?” she asks.

  Robert smiles helplessly. “Each other.”

  Chapter 48

  Just before daybreak, the Ferrari pulls up at a small shed nestled between two large mountains. The entrance to the mine is about thirty feet away. The boards that once kept people out are broken and covered in graffiti. All is still but not quiet. Sounds from the road are barely audible.

  Two black SUVs pull up the snow-covered road and park, as the sun breaks through the clouds above the western ridge of the mountain.

  Robert walks out in front of the small wooden shack and stands by himself.

  The doors of the first vehicle swing open, and two bodyguards step out holding machine guns. They assess Robert, the Ferrari, and the hut. The lead man yells, “Hands up!”

  Robert holds his empty hands above his head.

  “Lift up your shirt.”

  Robert lifts his shirt and turns slowly in a circle.

  Al-Fayed and Pumpkin step out of the first car. Pumpkin holds an aluminum briefcase.

  “Professor Monroe. Where’s your wife?” Al-Fayed asks.

  Robert nods at the Ferrari. Ali’s blond hair is visible in the passenger seat.

  “Where’s Carola?” asks Robert coolly.

  The man signals to the second SUV. The doors open and one more thug exits, with Carola by his side.

  Her eyes flash, but her thick lips pout.

  “She called us, to finish the deal. We are halfway there.” Al-Fayed holds out Eugenio’s Porsche key. “I have the cure. You have the sickness.”

  “What?” Robert doesn’t bother to hide the disappointment in his voice. “How could you?”

  “It’s okay, Robert. It’s for the best,” says Carola. “We’ll all be rich.”

  “These guys killed Eugenio. Did you forget that?” asks Robert.

  Carola shakes her head. “Eugenio,” she says sadly. “He shouldn’t have gone to the North Koreans.”

  “Professor Monroe, tell your wife to come over here.”

  “She is not well. It’s been a traumatic experience. She is…a little weak,” Robert says.

  Al-Fayed grins. “I see you have come around to my way of thinking about women. Nevertheless, you must bring her out. I do not intend to give you one hundred million and my 250 GTO.”

  Robert eyes Carola intensely. “One hundred million?”

  Pumpkin opens the
briefcase and displays a stack of papers.

  “Bearer bonds issued from a Cayman bank,” Al-Fayed says. “Show me the USB.”

  Robert holds up a USB drive.

  “Let me see that thing,” says Carola. “I can tell you if it’s real.” She takes the USB and nods at Al-Fayed.

  “Now, your wife,” Al-Fayed continues. “Get her from the car.”

  “Okay. As you wish.” Robert walks deliberately over to the Ferrari and opens the door. The woozy, one-armed Korean woman sits tied to the passenger seat, her hair tucked neatly under a blond wig, a piece of duct tape across her mouth. Robert swiftly reaches his hand in the glove box and removes a pistol and box cutter. He slices the woman loose and lifts her from the car, slumped over his shoulder.

  Robert carries her like a rug over to where Pumpkin stands and reaches for the briefcase.

  “I’ll trade,” says Pumpkin. “Your wife for the money.”

  Robert holds out his hand and shakes his head.

  “Too bad. I had plans for her.” Pumpkin turns to walk away.

  Robert glances over at Al-Fayed, unsure what to do.

  Pumpkin swings around and bludgeons Robert across the head with the aluminum case. Robert falls on the ground, the woman landing by his side facedown in the snow.

  Al-Fayed extends his hand to Carola. She gives him the USB drive, and Pumpkin hands her the briefcase.

  Robert opens his eyes. A stream of hot blood runs in a serpentine pattern across his forehead.

  “Professor Monroe, one last thing. My Modigliani, my nude—tell me, is she real?”

  “The weave,” Robert says, unable to move, staring into the blood-spattered snow. “The canvas weave is all wrong. It’s machine made. It’s a fake.”

  Al-Fayed exhales. “Kill them,” he says coldly.

  Carola stands next to one of the SUVs, about to leave, but whirls around and shouts at Al-Fayed, “What was all that bullshit about being a man of your word? We had a deal! You said the Americans go free.”

  “These words? From your mouth? Yøta, they are filled with irony. Eugenio was a fool to ever trust a woman like you.” Al-Fayed turns back to his bodyguards. “I said kill them.”