The missing link, p.3
THE MISSING LINK, page 3
Ashra swallowed. “He’s coming here?”
“If he did, he’s good at traveling without any attention. We have no data suggesting he’s in Kathmandu, or even in Nepal. Do you think he would have the ability to enter the country under the radar?”
“He’s one of the smartest men I have ever known. If he puts his mind to it, I’m sure he could be hard to find. He’s not a trained agent though. He’s an academic. He left London?”
“Yes, flight to Morocco. Which was certainly not his final destination.”
“I see.” Ashra nodded.
“Any thoughts on this I could share with our friends of the MI6?”
“Why are they so interested in him? I mean . . . an intelligence agency is usually not hunting down missing academics.”
“Are you seriously asking this?” The director laughed at her. “Despite his claims to have discovered one of the most important archeological discoveries in the history of mankind, he also suppressed a terror plot to use a prehistoric parasite as a biological weapon with you help last year and . . . let’s say Antarctica got a lot of attention, from all kinds of parties. I assume that MI6 is considering him to be a very interesting man; much like we do.”
Ashra understood. She sometimes forgot all those crazy adventures. She preferred to remember long walks along the Thames or meeting his charming mom. Tea in the afternoon sun. But, indeed, Elliot Brand had done extraordinary things and it wasn’t surprising he had drawn scrutiny from his government.
“Is that all?” Ashra asked; she was eager to leave the office, dial his number and hear his voice. Although, she had the feeling it wouldn’t be that easy.
“His phone hasn’t been tracked since his last day at university,” the director added, showing an insight into her that bordered on mindreading. Maybe he deserved to sit in this chair after all.
“Internet activity?”
“Zero.”
“Credit cards?”
“Nothing. One would be forgiven for fearing the worst.”
She felt his eyes on her, probing.
“He’s very good at getting himself into trouble, but he’s extraordinarily good at getting himself out of it, too. I wouldn’t bet against him.”
“Unnerving he now seems to have also developed the ability to be not found.”
“Yes, but as I said, he’s smart. Is there anything else, sir?”
“Is there?” The man took his glasses off and polished them with a piece of cloth from his desk.
Ashra blinked; irritated, not knowing what he was hinting at. “Like what, sir?”
“So, if we wanted to help our cousins from London, what would you suggest? I mean, we have a vested interest in the wellbeing of this man. He’s an expert on a potential threat in our territory, right? Those ruins?” The director sighed. “Who would be suited best to find him?”
“I think you know who.”
“Any idea where to start looking?”
“Yes. His best friend, Abas. I would ask him.”
“I see. Too bad I can’t assign you this task.” The director nodded and then shoved a folder from his side of the table to the edge right in front of Ashra.
“What’s that, sir?”
“You’re clearly working too much. The responsibilities for these important tasks your uncle assigned to you are draining you and, I’m afraid I must say, they’ve influenced your performance quite negatively. I was forced to give you a mandatory leave, a holiday. Three weeks. Full payment.”
Ashra looked at him and stepped forward, opening the folder. Inside was the signed document. There was also a ticket to London and a yellow envelope. That one would contain the contacts of the embassy in London and two credit cards. She had seen those envelopes quite often.
“Thank you, sir. Your concern for my well-being is highly appreciated,” Ashra responded.
“Good hunting, Agent Shah.” He put his glasses on again. “That’s all.”
“Sir.” With a smirk she left the bureau, the folder under her arm.
Chapter 3
London Heathrow Airport was as busy as always. A million people flew in and out of the city from here every day. Ashra had always felt it was the perfect place to vanish. She couldn’t imagine how many drug lords, criminals and killers used the airport every day, just to get out of the country. There were flights to Cyprus, Panama, Moscow and Shanghai announced. Even Kathmandu was on the list.
She passed border control—using her own passport this time—then left the shops and cafes behind as she made her way to the cabs. Those beautiful, spacious black London cabs were something she had always appreciated. They were unique, found nowhere in the world but in London—the TX4, manufactured by the London Taxi corporation. Much like the large red buses and Big Ben, they had been part of the city’s brand for decades. She took one and put her bag next to her. She was traveling with light luggage.
“5 Galvester Street, please,” she said, and the cabbie started talking to her. She ignored him, and instead got her phone out, switched it on and checked her messages. Her uncle asked for dinner and some friends wanted to see a movie that night.
Nobody knew she was unavailable. Nothing important had been sent.
As the cab left the airport, she deactivated her phone again and took out the second: an ancient Nokia 6310 she had bought. No GPS, no tracking, not enough software to be hacked—the weapon of choice for a small agency like hers that couldn’t afford expensive encrypted phones.
The weather was cooler than expected; she got out her leather jacket and put it on, before she leaned back and called the number from the envelope.
“Yes?” A male voice answered.
“Ashra Shah checking in.”
“Checked in.”
“Any messages?”
“No. Nothing. Do you need any assistance, agent?”
“No. Thank you.”
“We’ll prepare a package.”
A package. She knew they meant one of those convenient little boxes, containing a weapon and everything else needed to do a job.
“Just visiting a friend. I won’t need a package. Just tell our cousins they have a visitor and stay ready in case I need assistance.” Ashra ended the call and looked out of the window.
Being back in the field felt good, but the truth was, the whole thing felt anything but good. Actually, it felt as if she was looking for a man who either didn’t want to be found—or could no longer be found alive.
The second thought made her hands tremble. So, he was going to get to her? Why? And why did he never make it to her? Or had the comment been a distraction? Did he know someone would follow him and that he had planted a false lead? It sounded like him, if she was honest; smart, cautious, a step ahead. That was probably wishful thinking; but it was all she had. ‘Worried’ was a feeling a professional didn’t allow. Then again, she wasn’t exactly here as a professional. The director would have sent another well-trained agent, if he had one. The agency was tiny, compared to most of its counterparts. He had sent the agent with the best chances of finding Professor Elliot Brand—which was Ashra. If anyone knew anything about where Elliot had gone to, it was Abas. He trusted his Afghan friend absolutely. Maybe even more so than he ever trusted her.
“What have you been up to, Elliot?” she asked the city, as it passed by. The people walking the streets, all heading for their own destinations. It was so different from Kathmandu’s chaos. People walked on pavements and cars were on the streets. Both were crowded, as she passed through the downtown area. It was chaos too. Just one that hadn’t given up fighting for order. A battle the city had clearly lost, but still was fighting.
“How long will it take? To the destination?”
“About an hour, miss. Traffic is bad at this time of day.”
“Okay, thanks.” She yawned, more to fake jetlag than really having it. She had studied these gestures to appear authentic. On missions, it was important not to be memorable and this was some kind of mission. Leaning back, she tried to remember her last conversation with Elliot.
****
“So, how is work?” he had asked.
“Same same, secret stuff,” she had replied. What a stupid answer.
“Yeah, I actually made progress. The paper is coming along nicely.” He had always talked only about ‘the paper’. Nothing about trips, nor digs, nor research outside the library.
“I was walking the streets the other day and I passed that restaurant where we had dinner, the first day we met. You remember? Nepalese food.”
“Oh, Ashra, I would die for some of that. Everything here’s so . . . Western around here. Even the Asian food all tastes the same.”
“You’ve some of the best Asian . . . ah, you have been ordering again, haven’t you?”
“I eat at the bureau, nowadays. But I haven’t been ordering all the time. Sometimes Abas picks me up food.”
They laughed. They talked about irrelevant stuff. Food. Movies she hadn’t seen. He told her about the Roman Empire and about the volcano that destroyed Pompeii, and that it also happened to some second city she could no longer recall. By now she had gone through the entire conversation, and she was pretty sure it hadn’t contained any value for her current investigation. She kept going through it though, simply because there was a chance it had been the last time she would ever talk to him. It was a possibility he was dead. A car accident. Some stupid adventure that had been too much for him. How often had she saved his life? Maybe he was dead because she hadn’t been there. Maybe her abandoning him, had cost him his life. The thought was unbearable.
Ashra pushed these thoughts aside and closed her eyes. She had to focus now. Her guilt and grief couldn’t be allowed to distract her from her mission.
****
Elliot had gotten Abas a flat, once he had moved to London, but this address was new. A large house in an area of London, mostly occupied by young families, called Richmond. She had never been here, but as she approached the house, over forty labels with names and doorbells awaited her. She found Abas and pressed the button next to his name.
“Yes?” The voice was female. It was coming from the speaker next to the labels. An intercom: something she never got used to.
“This is Ashra Shah, I’m a friend of Abas and would like to speak to him.”
“Moment, please,” the voice said, she heard the heavy Afghan accent. Ashra looked around. It was a habit she had never been able to shake: control your environment, always be aware of things. Yet, in the back of her mind, something seemed to tickle. She resisted the temptation to look again and went through what she had seen in her head. A family passing the street. An old woman with plastic bags. Dark skin, poor clothes. Maybe an immigrant. A young man with headphones on, nodding his head to some unheard beat. A motorbike, standing at the corner of the street. The cars had been passing it. The lights had been on green, but it hadn’t moved. The driver had a red helmet on with toned glasses. It was one of those super-fast racing bikes. Suzuki. She had seen that bike before—at the airport. She had paid no attention to it, but how likely was it that this appeared twice in a day and then behaved so suspiciously? Was she followed? By whom? Who even knew she was coming?
“Ashra?” The voice came from the intercom again. It was Abas.
“Yes, Abas. It’s me. Can I come in?” She looked over her shoulder and saw the motorbike now passing her. The door hummed and Ashra pushed against it to enter. She just hoped she hadn’t brought trouble to Abas’s doorstep. Although, he could surely handle trouble, he had shown that in the past. Ashra entered the elevator and pressed the button to the sixth floor. The corridors were simple, but clean. The elevator doors closed, and it started to move.
****
“Abas.” Ashra smiled. The small Afghan man stood in the door of his flat, in tank top and wide khaki trousers.
“Ashra, what an unexpected surprise!” He laughed and spread his arms. Ashra gladly accepted the hug. “Welcome to my humble abode.” He pressed her so hard with his arms slung around her, it almost hurt.
“Thanks. So good to see you,” she said, as he let her go and entered the flat. A woman in a brown tunic stood there. Clearly, she wasn’t adopting western clothing habits. She was wearing a black headscarf and smiled at her. She was a beauty; with her large black eyes, her petite body visible even through the baggy clothes.
“Ashra, this is my wife, Fatima. Fatima, this is Ashra Shah, a friend of mine and Elliot,” Abas said with a nod and Fatima smiled.
“Nice to meet you, Fatima.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Ashra. Do you want some tea?”
“I’d love to have some tea, thank you.” Ashra smiled and Abas pointed to a small living room, where a brown couch stood opposite a large TV set.
“I’ll be with you in a moment.” Abas followed his wife. Ashra entered the room. Chairs, a table in the corner—which was for eating, it seemed, the couch and the TV. Books in Arabic stood on the shelves. The room was pretty crowded. Ashra carefully avoided stepping on the toy ambulance on the floor. She hadn’t known Abas had kids too.
She heard Abas talk to his wife. It sounded as though she was unhappy with something. He calmed her. Even without understanding their language, she got the gist of the situation. Finally, Abas entered the living room carrying a tablet, which had a bronze tea can and two small cups on it. He put it down on the table.
“I hope I didn’t get you into trouble with your wife.” Ashra gave him a shy smile.
“No, she just complained I never told her that you are hot.”
“Well, I’m sorry anyway. I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important.”
“My friends are always welcome.” Abas gestured to the couch. Ashra sat down.
“Your wife! You finally got your family here?”
“Elliot helped me. Yes. They arrived two months ago. Escaped this terrible camp they were in.” Abas had a happy smile on his lips. “I know why you’re here.”
“Yes, I figured you would.” Ashra leaned forward as he filled the cups with tea. He pushed one over to her and she took it.
“I don’t know where he is.” Abas looked at Ashra.
“He vanished without telling you?” Ashra shook her head. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Is that your polite way of saying you think I’m lying?”
“No, it’s my way of asking you to tell me what the hell is going on.” Ashra sighed. “I’m worried to death about Elliot.”
“I can imagine. You flew all the way here to find him.” Abas nodded.
“My sources say he was on his way to me. He told a student—”
“Listen, Ashra. There have been things happening. Someone broke into his office. He was watched. So, he decided to follow a lead, but he had to do in secrecy. He didn’t vanish without telling me. But he didn’t tell me where he was going. That way, I wouldn’t have to lie if anybody asks,” Abas said. “You know how clever he always was. I wanted to join him, but once again he was too good a man to ask me to leave my family. So, I was left behind as he boarded a plane to Morocco, from where I assume he would go to his real destination.” Abas took a sip from his tea and Ashra did the same.
“I see. Indeed. Smart move. Do you think it was me he didn’t want to be found by?”
“Of course not, Ashra. He missed you.”
“I missed him, too. He told someone he wanted to go to his ex. But he never made it to Kathmandu, as far as we know. Never made it to me. Abas, I’m afraid he might be in danger. I’m happy nothing happened to him, but he needs someone to have his back. So, can you tell me anything? Anything that might help me find him?”
“He talked little about you, but I know he looked at the old pictures a lot. Those pictures of you two. He liked the one you two made at the river. I sometimes caught him looking at it on his phone with that smile, you know?” Abas leaned back and Ashra didn’t know what to say. “You shouldn’t have left him.”
“Maybe. I had duties to fulfill. At least, that was what I thought. But I only want to know he’s safe, okay?” Ashra shrugged. “I looked at that same smile a lot. It was a happy day. I wish I could change a few of my decisions, but we can’t go back, only forward. Abas, please. How can I find him?”
The small Afghan’s eyes rested on her for a long while, before he finally gave a defeated nod.
“You need to speak to someone who knows where he might have gone. Someone who understands this work he does. Maybe Professor Davis knows something. He’s a close friend of Elliot. The head of the faculty. Talk to him. Ask him where he might have gone. He might make a better guess than I can.”
Ashra returned his gaze for a moment and then smiled gratefully at the small man.
“Thank you, Abas.”
“I’m worried for him too. He always gets himself into trouble. I would be happy if I knew he has someone to get him out of it at his side.” Abas returned the smile and Ashra emptied her cup of tea.
“I won’t take any more of your time now. You got a wife to calm down.” Ashra got up.
“Make sure he comes back safely.” They hugged once more, before Ashra went for the door. Outside, she took out her phone and called the only number in it once again.
“Yes?”
“I need a package after all. I’m followed. Send it in a cab to number 4 Galvester Street. The driver shall wait for me.”
“Understood.”
“Who was informed of my arrival?”
“Only the British government, as part of our cooperation with their agency.”
“Okay, thanks.” She ended the call and decided to take the steps, to give the driver some time to arrive.
****
The university was another half an hour’s drive. She used the time to open the small box on the backseat, take the tracking device out of it, and the 9mm gun with the silencer. She could hardly put the holster on in the cab, so she pushed it into the pocket of her jacket. It was only a safety measure—in case she had been followed; but it felt strangely better to be armed. Her experience with Elliot was that, sooner or later, she would need a gun if he was involved. For a professor of archeology, he was a surprising difficult man to protect.
