The missing link, p.1
THE MISSING LINK, page 1
The Missing Link
by
T.S. Falk
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Copyright © 2023 Daedalus Media Publishing GmbH
Cover art by Konrad Maciaszek
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This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 1
“You promised me! You promised me my family would be taken care of, Shah!” David yelled into the phone. Ashra stopped on the spot and raised her hand to signal Taran, her pilot, to wait for her.
“What’s wrong? I got a report you arrived in Singapore an hour ago. Are the Americans not treating you well?”
“I arrived here and found my wife crying at the airport. This wasn’t what I agreed to—”
“Listen, David, if anything is wrong, I can talk to the Americans. Fact is, you are on their kill list, and we got you out before they could put a bullet to your head and dump you in the jungle—by the way, a fate I would like to escape myself—which is why I’m boarding the last plane out right now.” Ashra sighed and pulled her sunglasses off her nose.
“You need to get me back, Ashra! You need to get me back right now!” David was losing it; she could hear it in his voice.
“David, they’ll kill you! You understand me?”
“I don't care. I need to get back.”
“David, listen, what in the world is so important you want to be killed for it? Hm? What?”
“My daughter, of course,” David replied, his voice cracking. His daughter. Shina. Eleven years old. An oriental beauty with the blue eyes of her Australian dad. Ashra remembered her photo from his file.
“Wait. Where’s your daughter?”
“They left her, Ashra; she’s all alone . . . they told my wife they had no time to get her from school!” David cried.
Ashra felt her whole body trembling with anger. Those damn CIA cowards. It was a simple extraction mission. How could they mess this up and then proudly tell her they had succeeded?
Her free hand closed into a fist. “Where is she?”
“Still in school, but you know how they are? When they find out I fled Myanmar they’re gonna pick her up and . . .” David fought down his tears. “I need to go back. She’s only eleven, Ashra.”
Closing her eyes, Ashra bit her lip. She had spent a week here, which was a week beyond what was considered safe. She had done it to make sure—absolutely sure—none of her assets were left behind. It was a miracle they had managed to get them all out. A miracle nobody had been killed or captured. Now they had lost one target person. One. And it happened to be a schoolgirl.
“You’ll stay where you are—” Ashra said.
David began, “Ashra, I—”
“No, you’ll stay where you are. I’ll get her. You hear me? I’ll get her out of here and to you. I promise,” Ashra forced the words out.
“Thank you! Thank you so much!”
“Send me the name of the school and the address, if you have it. Right now.” She ended the call and looked at Taran. “How long can you give me?” she asked him, as her eyes were drawn to the ancient Tupolev airplane that the man had used to get the last of her team out.
“They’re closing the airspace, Ashra. We should have been out of here hours ago,” Taran said.
“I didn’t ask what we should have done. I asked how long you can give me? Five hours?” Ashra looked at the unshaven dark-skinned man and he shook his head.
“No way. It will be too late—”
“Three. Can you give me three?” Ashra calculated. An hour to Rangun and an hour back; which left her an hour inside the city. With the usual traffic this was almost unrealistic, but she would take her chances.
“One at best.”
Ashra looked at him and raised her brows.
“Listen Ashra, an hour is pushing it and even that puts everyone waiting back there at risk.”
Ashra nodded. “Okay, get out of here.” She crouched to the ground on the airfield, putting her backpack down.
“What about you?”
“I’ll take another exit,” Ashra replied, taking out her handgun. She would have loved to have one of those modern German or Austrian ones, but all they had got her was a good old reliable Colt 1911; probably a leftover from the Vietnam war. She took the extra magazine and pushed both into the belt in her back. Then, she threw the backpack over to Taran and turned back to her Jeep.
“I’m not leaving one of us behind!” Taran yelled after her.
“Neither will I!” Ashra yelled, and she knew he would leave. She had trained him too well to risk the success of a mission for one agent going rogue.
****
She was driving as fast as she could, ignoring all speed limits. The direct way was full of roadblocks and military patrols, so all she had left were bumpy dirt roads. It made typing into her phone no easier.
“Ashra!” Her uncle picked up. “I thought you’d be on the plane to Bangkok by now!”
“The plane is on the way, but I had a small change of plan. I need an exit strategy.”
“The plane was the exit strategy!”
“Then I need another, in approximately two hours. For two.”
“Who’s the other person? I thought we got everyone out? What are you doing, Ashra?” He was clearly agitated.
“I thought so too. Turns out we forgot David Kenner’s eleven-year-old daughter. I’m getting her now and I need—”
“I don’t have any, Ashra. There’s no other exit. They’re locking borders. Airspace. Everything. You’ve extracted their targets for two weeks, right in front of their noses. What did you expect?”
Ashra bit her lip and then without another word, killed the line. Her uncle and superior wasn’t a priority for her. She looked up Hardman and punched dial.
“My favorite exotic girl in all the Orient!” That was his greeting.
“Your guys fucked up, Hardman. Left the little daughter of one of my prime informants behind. That was the bad news. Now comes the good news—you can make it up to me. I’m getting her right now. So, the least the CIA could do is get me out of there.”
“Location.” One of the things she admired about the man was how he could slip between sleazy American sunny boy and hardcore professional in a second.
“Rangun.”
“Bad idea, Shah. Rangun is a hellhole. Blood on the streets. My sources report that place is out of control,” Hardman said.
“I know, I just escaped. So, can you give me an exit?”
“Got nothing. How long do I have?”
“Two hours.”
“Call me one hour and forty-five if you haven’t heard of me.”
“Got it.”
“And open your GPS tracking. I need to know where you are,” he added.
Ashra fumbled through the menu and activated it, while trying to navigate a few deep holes on the road. “Done,” she said, and Hardman ended the call. The CIA had different resources than her tiny agency. She hoped they would be able to help her, as their ally.
****
Rangun was worse than imagined. The people hadn’t accepted the sudden death of democracy. They were up for a fight. Every street she passed had either military in it, or young men with dark skins building barricades. The main roads were now battle grounds, where stones were thrown, while the green uniformed soldiers answered with tear gas and occasional shots into the masses. Bloodied protesters stumbled away. The smoke rising from burning cars blocked out the sun. From the higher buildings, everything that held some weight was thrown down on the military convoys rolling into the city. Tanks rolled over parked cars that were blocking the road. People dragged bleeding bodies out of the crowd, yelling for help.
A country was fighting against its own military for a free future. Every analysis she had read indicated they wouldn’t win that fight.
Ashra just wished they had picked another day. She came within three streets of the school when burning cars blocked her way. Jumping out of the car, without even switching off the engine, she turned into an alley and started running. From now on, it would be her feet that carried her through this.
At the end of the alley, a black pillar of smoke rose; a burning tank—hit by a Molotov cocktail—rolled past her, soldiers following it. Ashra stopped and looked around. There was a large trash container under a balcony. From there, she might reach the roof. Climbing on it, she jumped up with outstretched arms and slowly pulled herself up—it looked so much easier in movies. As she reached the balcony, an old woman yelled at her from her kitchen. Ashra gave her an apologetic smile and leaped up again, climbing to the roof. Upon the roof, laundry was hanging everywhere on long strings. The smoke probably ruins those forever, she thought, pushing away towels and shirts as she made her way to the next house. She pushed away a large sheet and stopped. Two soldiers in olive green uniforms stood there. One held a rifle with a scope and reloaded it, while the other scanned the street with a pair of binoculars.
What were the chances of her stumbling into a sniper’s nest? The sniper turned his head towards her, and Ashra raised her hands. He loaded his rifle and brought it back into his hands, ready to shoot. Ashra couldn’t risk him using it. She pulled her handgun with one swift movement and fired two well-aimed shots. Both hit the man’s chest.
The spotter probably never knew what hit him. His arms letting go of the rifle, the sniper fell backwards from the roof. Ashra looked down—he had landed in a crowd of confused-looking soldiers. She quickly withdrew as they looked up. There came the sound of wild, unarmed fire from below; she sprinted to the next edge, jumping to the neighboring roof. Keeping her pace, she tried to get away from the crime scene as quickly as possible, shots still firing behind her as the soldiers wasted their ammo.
Another roof. Below her, the streets were empty. There were no more soldiers or tanks; just a few dead bodies lying on the ground—civilians who had gotten into the way or voiced their sympathies, she assumed.
A water pipe at the edge made the descent easy and Ashra jumped the last two meters down. Hurrying past the empty street, she took the next corner and then a narrow alley between two red houses. The Internet had been the first thing they had turned off, but the card function of her phone worked with GPS.
The school was right in front of her. It was a private school, surrounded by a metal fence that would have been the pride of any prison. Gasping, she knelt and caught her breath for a second. She checked David’s message again. Class 5b. West wing. She assumed—or rather hoped— they hadn’t sent the kids home.
Elliot. Strangely enough, she had to think of Elliot. Totally inappropriate in that moment.
She sped forward and leaped at the fence, dragging herself up. As she dropped onto the courtyard floor on the other side, she looked around; her gun vanishing behind her back into her belt again. Running across the courtyard, she rammed against the door.
Locked. Of course, they tried to keep the kids safe. Looking through the small window of the wooden door, she saw a heavy chain with a lock. Cursing, she turned around in search of another exit. Five feet above the ground was a window. It probably led to a classroom. Taking out her gun, she leaped up and hammered against the window. It didn’t even leave a scratch. Why did David send his young daughter to the only school in Myanmar that could afford quality windows?
With a sigh, she took the gun in both hands and aimed high, so as not to hurt anyone. The glass shattered and she heard screams from inside—children screaming. Ashra leaped up again, hammering against the remaining shards of glass so she wouldn’t cut herself. Then she took off her blouse and threw it over the windowpane, grabbing it and pulling herself up. A trembling young woman and twenty little girls were all cowering in the same corner inside. They stared at her.
Ashra quickly put away her gun and raised her hands.
“All good. Don’t do this at home, okay?” she said, and they all nodded in agreement. Ashra strode to the door—thankfully it wasn’t locked.
Slipping into the corridor, she closed the door behind her and saw the label. 4A; 5B couldn’t be that far away.
She took a deep breath and made it down the corridor. 4B, 4C, 4D. 5A. Finally, she arrived at 5B. The door was locked. With a sigh, she knocked. A whining came from the other side; then an adult voice, trying to calm the children. She wished she had time to negotiate her entry—but she didn’t. Taking a few meters run-up, to gain kinetic energy, she sped forward and gave the door her most powerful kick. Pain jolted through her leg as it slammed open. Hobbling inside, the kids were all sitting at their tables staring at her. Their teacher turned to her.
“Shina? Shina Kenner?” Ashra asked. All the girls shook their heads. In those black and white school uniforms, they all looked terribly the same. But none had Shina’s blue eyes.
“The soldiers took her,” the teacher said.
Closing her eyes, Ashra cursed. “When?”
“Two minutes ago,” the teacher said. She was an elderly lady, and didn’t seem in the least bit intimidated.
Ashra didn’t waste another second. She took off.
****
Main entrance. They would probably—hopefully—take the main entrance. Ashra took the corner at full speed, pushing herself off the wall—then she saw them. Shina was fighting, dragging at the man who held her little arm in an iron grip. A second soldier was laughing at her attempt, his assault rifle loosely hanging in front of his chest.
Ashra slowed down, catching breath. “Hey!” she yelled, her hand going to her gun. The soldiers ignored her, playing with their victim . . . an eleven-year-old girl. The laughter, of one of the men, sealed their fate in Ashra’s mind. “Hey!” she yelled louder as she got closer. Now, the laughing soldier turned his head. His eyes widened as she drew her gun. They didn’t have time to grab theirs as Ashra fired two bullets into both men’s chest at a rapid speed. They collapsed. Shina stood there, looking at them for a second. She burst into tears.
Good job, Ashra. Traumatized a child.
Ashra dropped to her knees beside the girl and looked at her. Carefully taking her hands and pulling them away from her face, she smiled.
“Hello, Shina; I’m Ashra. I’m a friend of your dad. We had to bring him far away, so he is safe, but I’m here to bring you to him, okay?” Shina just stared back at her.
“You understand English, don’t you?” Ashra asked.
“Of course,” Shina said, looking at her as if that was an especially stupid question.
Ashra gave her another smile. “So, you do now exactly as I tell you and, in return, I will get you safely to your mommy and daddy, okay?”
“Okay.”
Ashra took her hand and pushed the pistol back into her belt. She had only two bullets left—she needed to reload. She decided that getting out the gun wouldn’t help to keep the little lady next to her calm.
“Why is everybody shooting at each other?” Shina suddenly asked.
Ashra sighed. “Bad people shoot at good people and good people shoot back.”
“Are you with the good people?”
“Certainly hope so.” Ashra pushed up the door. She realized her mistake, as she faced three Jeeps and four soldiers. These weren’t as slow as the last, and all raised their rifles immediately.
An officer in a uniform crowded with medals stepped forward and spoke, “I think that girl comes with us.”
Was this guy wearing his gala uniform for a coup d’état?
“Her parents asked me to—”
“Save your breath. I know who you are, Ms. Shah,” the man said and put his sunglasses on. “Number 7 on our list.”
“Really? I expected to rank higher.” Ashra considered telling Shina to run. But where to? There was even a chance these bastards would kill a child and shoot her in the back.
“CIA took all the top spots, I’m afraid. My name is Major Lim, you’ve probably heard of me too.” He waved; one soldier stepped closer and did a quick search of her, finding her gun and taking it. Lim slowly came up to draw level with her on the stairs; he smiled. Shina was wrestled from her hand and cried as she was dragged away.
“You said you would protect me!” she cried out.
Major Lim raised his hand and the soldier stopped, holding Shina two stairs below the officer.
Lim crouched in front of her and took off his glasses. “You know what a traitor is?”
Another soldier came up and took his spot behind Ashra. She knew why. She had seen this before. All she’d had to do was get on that plane. But she couldn’t leave the girl behind and at least she had tried. Would Elliot ever know? Would her uncle at least tell him? The hand on her shoulder pressed her down. She took her hands behind her head, indicating that she was no danger. It wouldn’t matter.
“Yes,” Shina said.
“Well, your daddy is a traitor. That’s why we get you. Traitors must pay, you understand? This woman is a traitor too. That’s why she can’t protect you. Because she also needs to pay.” He turned his head slightly aside and Ashra heard the assault rifle behind her being loaded and the switch put to single shot. One would be enough. Neck or head. She hoped they didn’t make the little girl watch.
