The Missing Link

  “Do we know each other?”, I ask

  She doesn’t reply, and looks down at the counter she is wiping over and again, then turns to take some glasses from the dishwasher.

  Melissa’s friend looks up at me for a moment, but Melissa is all over him and his attention gets quickly diverted. The two of them seem innocent enough, but I sense that the barista won’t talk while they’re there.

  I place a bill under my glass and push it on the table, then get up and start walking out. Melissa is so taken with the guy she doesn’t seem to notice, and he gives no sign of noticing either.

  The sky is starting to cloud, and after taking a few steps away from the bar I stop, disheartened. The bar is where I should have found some clues, and I know the woman at the counter has seen my sister. But even then, how can I get her to talk? Perhaps I must go back again, if I’m lucky I’ll find her there alone.

  I am still standing in the street when I hear, wait. I turn and see the barista. Her footsteps are so light and swift I hardly heard her approach me.

  “This way”, she tells me pointing to a side street. I hesitate, unsure if I am about to fall into a trap.

  “Hurry, I have no time. I’ve sneaked out the bathroom window, but it won’t be long before he notices what I’m up to”, she urges me

  “Who is ‘he’?”, I ask, following her

  “The guy who hooked up your friend”, she says

  So he is not that innocent after all.

  “Have you seen my sister?”

  “Yes. Go to the museum district tomorrow at 12.30 sharp. There’s a bench in front of the large fountain right where the Van Gogh and the contemporary art museums are. The bench is white, it says “Amsterdam” on it. The place is full of people, we’ll be less noticeable in the crowd. Sit on that bench and wait for me”, the woman tells me

  “Who is the guy?”, I insist

  “Tomorrow at 12.30, where the bench is”, she repeats, and walks away with the same silent swiftness that surprised me earlier.

  Chapter 16

  I got here five minutes ago, carrying a cone in my hand to look as nonchalant as possible, but I am burning with impatience and I know I can’t hide it. I nonetheless try to keep my composure, to act as a tourist while I scan the place for the barista.

  She should be here anytime, if she’ll really come. When I landscape the crowd it doesn’t feel like someone’s watching me, but would a professional give himself away so easily?

  I decide that if my woman is not there in 5 minutes I’ll beat it. I’m not even sure I have the guts to meet her.

  Don’t be stupid, what are you here for?, I whisper to myself

  But wait…is that her?

  Yes, I’m sure, she’s walking fast, eyes to the ground. She looks my way, furtively, before bowing her head again. When she’s no more than few feet from me I stand up and stretch, before shoving down the last remnants of my cone and putting up an expression that I intend to be a smile.

  But the woman’s face is so dark that my half smile cringes within seconds.

  She pretends to trip, and being almost in contact with my body she whispers, “Go, they’re after me”.

  I don’t know if she’s playing games with me, and with which purpose. For a moment I am not even scared anymore, just angry, damn angry at the nonsense of this all. But then, as I am starting to head off and the barista is already several meters away from me, the tail of my eye catches her fall on the ground.

  I don’t know what happened but I know I must run. Just run, Iris run, don’t think! Run! The ice cream makes its way up to my throat, and I swallow it back while my feet prop me forward, fast as they’ve never done before. My throat burns and my spleen hurts and I feel I’ll collapse any moment. There’s a street, and the traffic light is red but there’s nobody.

  PAS OP!

  The shout comes from my back, loud. Then a horn, pressed hard, even louder. I feel myself fall hard, I moan, my head throbs, I hurt so bad I can’t move, and the moan goes dead in my mouth.

  It’s black now, and I am so at peace with myself now that it’s over.

  Joshua, please hold my hand, Joshua…

  Chapter 17

  I open my eyes to the sound of screaming sirens, lying in what I reckon is an ambulance. A young girl is sitting beside my stretcher, she smiles and says something I don’t understand.

  “Sorry, I don’t speak Dutch…”, I tell her, and my voice echoes oddly in my ears

  “My name is Anne”, she starts, “You are ok”

  “My shoulder hurts”, I say in return to her comment

  “Don’t worry, we will help you. What is your name?”, she asks

  “Iris Meyers”, I say without lying, and bite my tongue right after

  But then if these people are legitimate paramedics I must disclose my real identity, no?

  All of a sudden it strikes me that I will have to pay for whatever medical care I receive. I curse myself for not seeing the bloody car come my way.

  “Are you American?”, she asks

  “Yes”, I say, and close my eyes

  I don’t want to think now, although I know I can’t afford lowering my guard.

  “What will you do to me when we reach the hospital?”, I ask without opening my eyes

  “X-rays will be the first thing. A man was there when you fell, you crossed with a red light. Then you saw a car was coming, you saved yourself when the driver was at the throw of a stone”, she said

  I open my eyes, smiling at the way she phrased the sentence. It feels good to smile.

  “So I didn’t actually get hit. I think I remember, I just tripped on a pole and passed out”, I tell myself out loud, relieved at the realization that I’ll probably be able to walk out of the hospital soon

  “Yes, I think you lost conscience because you were scared. The man said you were running very fast”, the girl says

  “Yes, I was running very fast…”

  “Were you late?”, she asks

  I am not sure if she just wants to keep me talking to prevent me from falling asleep or if her questions have meaning for her, but before I can reply the ambulance slows down and comes to a halt.

  “We bring you out”, Anne tells me with her Dutch accent, as two big blonds open the door and jump up the van to carry my stretcher inside the hospital.

  A fine rain is starting to fall, I am just realizing this as I stare at the sky from my stretcher, face up.

  Strange as it might seem, I feel suddenly at ease, grateful to be here, grateful that someone’s pushing me somewhere while I lie under a blanket and a wet sky.

  I’m good for now, and good for now seems as great as it can ever get.

  Chapter 18

  “The good news is that you’ve got nothing broken…”, the doctor tells me, holding my x-rays in a folder

  “And what are the bad news?”, I ask, expecting some from the way she just spoke

  “It’s not really bad news…”, she starts

  I wait for her to continue

  “It’s something I don’t fully understand now, and which requires a bit more investigation”, she concludes

  “Ok, but what are you referring to, exactly?”, I insist

  If she’s being so convoluted there must be something wrong.

  She pulls out my x-rays and holds up one that shows part of my shoulder and part of my arm.

  “Do you see, here?”, she asks, pointing at a small dot that I wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t pointed it out

  I nod

  “You said you’re not sure about what it is, but what is your guess?”, I ask

  And I am thinking, cancer.

  “I think we should extract it and analyze it”, is the diplomatic reply I get

  “Ok”, I say

  “We can do this tomorrow”, she states, although her tone makes the statement sound more like a question

  I nod

  “Tomorrow morning at 8”, she tells me

  “What is
the time now?”, I want to know

  “It’s 5.30, we’ll bring you dinner in a moment”, she says

  And sure enough few moments later I am lapping up a soup and realizing I am hungry, here and now, even though I could be dying of cancer tomorrow.

  Chapter 19

  “Did a kid ever push a sharp object into your back when you were young? Or did you perhaps have a car accident?”, the doctor asks

  I shake my head no

  “This is very odd…”, she comments pensively

  “Odd or not I am happy it’s a piece of metal. I don’t know how it got there, but I tell you, I am relieved to know that’s it. At first I thought I had cancer…”, I tell the doctor

  “Yes, for a moment I thought so too, but the way it looked made cancer an unlikely option…it wasn’t making sense to me”, she tells me

  I know there’s something more she wants to tell me. She’s debated if she should voice her thoughts out loud, but at last she does

  “The shape of the object appears extremely regular under the microscope”, she explains, showing me a magnified picture of the object stuck on my shoulder

  It looks like a perfect little pill, and I observe it closely, fascinated.

  What is it?

  “I can’t place it, you see…it’s not the typical object that accidentally finds its way in a person’s shoulder”, she tells me

  “What do you know?”, I ask abruptly

  “I sectioned it and conducted further analyses. It looks like a…device. Almost like the microchips people use for Fido to find it in case it gets lost”, she tells me, studying my face as she speaks

  “A microchip? Are you sure?”, I blurt, knowing she is

  She pulls out other images of the sectioned objects and a microchip is what I would call ‘the thing’ too.

  “But why would I have had a microchip implanted on my shoulder?”, I ask, not expecting an answer

  “This is what I am really confused about”, she replies, her eyes scanning the images

  Chapter 20

  The doctor has a strange look on her face as she is about to let me go, as if she wanted to ask something or knew something she hasn’t told me yet.

  I am clueless about what any of this means or what I will do next. All of a sudden I feel overwhelmingly lonely, and I realize I haven’t spoken to Joshua for way too long. What is it, one, two days? He must be wondering what is happening to me.

  “Is there WI-FI here?”, I ask anxiously

  “Yes, in the waiting rooms and in the lobby”, she tells me, observing my hands as I run my fingers along the sides of my smartphone

  “Will I have to pay when I sign out?”, I want to know, hoping the bill is reasonable

  She shakes her head no.

  “The nurse told me a relative of yours already paid”, she tells me

  “A relative?”, I repeat, bugging my eyes

  “Do you not have relatives here?”, she says, observing me closely

  Instead of answering her question I want to know if my relative is still here, but he’s gone.

  “You are scared”, she tells me, and I am surprised because I don’t feel this way, not now, although if I paused to analyze myself I would likely reckon I am.

  “I’m fine”, I lie

  “If you need help, please call me”, she says and scribbles her name and phone number on a piece of paper she hands me

  I attempt to produce a smile.

  “Thank you”, I say, already on my way to the door, pierced by her inquiring gaze.

  I walk to the elevator, it takes forever to reach my floor but at last I am in the lobby with WIFI access. It’s an open network and who knows how safe it is to open my emails there, but this is what I have now. I read Joshua, he’s concise, almost curt, the tone is ostensibly chill but because this is Joshua’s writing I know its meaning beyond the words - staying calm is what he’s trying to do. I’ve just replied and pressed “send”, and I am still staring at my phone’s screen to make sure my message is going through when I sense someone’s presence on my back.

  I freeze, and I feel someone slip something in my pocket, while I keep staring at my phone. When I turn around I see the guy who did it, and I can swear it’s the same one I’ve met on the plane. My mouth drops open for the briefest instant, but then I catch myself and smile to the receptionist who has probably followed the scene while pretending to leaf through some paperwork on her desk.

  “Thank you”, I say with a positively controlled voice

  She smiles back at me

  “Enjoy your day”, I add, pushing the door with deliberate resolution, with the note burning in my pocket.

  Chapter 21

  I turn a couple of corners and I find a small park. A fine rain is dribbling on Amsterdam, and there’s nobody around but an old lady walking an old dog. I like the couple, their slow pace appeases me and I wish I could follow the lady where she lives. My head is pounding, I would do anything to muffle the noise resounding within it. I picture her cozy house, the quiet of which I so desperately long for. The lady must sense my presence, and perhaps my sympathy, because she turns my way and smiles. I smile back, and try to find my courage in this exchange of solidarity as I pull out the note from my pocket with shivering fingers. And as I do so something else falls from my pocket. I bend to pick it up, it’s a one way train ticket for a place called Sittard.

  When I stand up again the lady is already walking away, head slightly bowed and back a bit hunched. Alone again, I start reading.

  Take the 4 p.m. train for Sittard. You’ll reach Sittard at 6.10. I will be in front of the obelisk in the square you’ll find when exiting the underpass.

  From there I will drive you somewhere safe. With your microchip removed it will take them longer to find you. I will help you find your sister, but you cannot stay in Amsterdam now.

  Do not go back to your hostel. You must avoid meeting Melissa, she is one of them.

  So what was on my shoulder was a microchip. This is sci-fi, what’s happening is nightmarish and intriguing at once in its total absurdity. If my mystery man knows about the microchip somebody must have been monitoring me all along. Have they influenced my choices and my thoughts? I don’t even know who I am anymore, or if anything at all is real.

  The thought makes me laugh. It’s a mirthless laugher, but nonetheless I feel better.

  I reread the note.

  Should I go to Sittard? Why Sittard by the way?

  I’ll go.

  After all does it even make a difference if I make one decision or the other? If I stay here they’ll find me anyways, whoever “they” are.

  I cannot figure out how to reach the station without going back to the hospital and connecting to the wi-fi there but I want to avoid the lady at front desk at all costs.

  I start walking out of the park without the faintest sense of direction. I’m not worried, I’ll find someone at some point and I will ask how to reach the station.

  I have plenty of time and even if I lost the train it would be fine. I can stay here in Amsterdam and decide what to do next or stay still and wait for the next event to find me.

  My calm has no rational foundation, but I have faith. No matter what will happen next, I will be just fine.

  Chapter 22

  Crop fields, meadows, cows and houses of a long gone past flowing by in a slow gloomy continuum have plunged me in a half dormant state from which I wonder if I will ever awaken.

  As I walk out the train my perceptions are muffled in the grey silence of the station, there’s not a soul around, it’s summer and yet I am cold in the wet air of this late afternoon. I feel as if I were under a spell, so distant from the past. San Fran, and even Amsterdam, seem more like places I’ve dreamed about than cities where I’ve actually been.

  I walk out of Sittard’s station as if my body did not belong to me, as if it were walking out of its own will. When I exit the door I see the obelisk mentioned in the note.

  Obel
isk is probably an overstatement for the poor thing in the middle of the tiny square, but my mystery man is there, smoking a cigarette with almost voluptuous pleasure, I can’t tell if real or feigned. I stand in front of the door, and he turns towards me for a brief instant, then diverts his eyes and continues smoking. I start to wonder how things are going to play out when he looks at me again and walks away, casually and slowly. I follow him, not too closely, trying to look just as casual as he does. The streets are small, strangely lonely. The stores are closed. There are no cars, no passer-byes. We take some turns and end up in front of a three storey condo, where an old lady is sitting on the balcony. She eyes us with great curiosity, and given the complete stillness of the surroundings I am not surprised.

  My man opens a car, completely inconspicuous, and I step in. I buckle up without looking at him. He starts the car without looking at me.

  For a while we drive in silence, in places that seem all alike to me. Same small houses, same empty small streets.

  Then I ask, “Who are you?”

  “I work for them. The people who are after you. I was supposed to follow you and make sure you didn’t take any…undesirable action, so to say”, he tells me

  I ask his name.

  “Ronny”, he tells me

  “Is this your real name?”, I ask, not hoping for a real answer

  “There’s nothing real in my life – or yours”, he says

  “Ok Ronny, so you work for them. And I’ve been so stupid to follow you. Seriously, who are you?”, I snap

  I don’t know why I’ve decided I can talk to this man the way I am doing – I am acting more than thinking. I’m impatient now, I am vulnerable but I don’t care.

  “I decided I’m not on their side anymore”, he tells me

  “Who are “they”?”

  Ronny is silent for a moment. I look at him for the first time, I mean really look at him, at the details of his face, at the way he’s dressed, at his hands. I realize for the first time that the guy is handsome, or at least likeable, but he hasn’t shaved and the lack of sleep has traced dark circles around his eyes.

  “You and I are experiments”

  “Experiments?”, I repeat, unable to understand

  “Ever heard about the World Medical Organization?”, Ronny asks

  “Well yes…”

  “In theory the WMO collaborates with research institutes all over the world to find cures for major plagues: AIDS, cancer and so forth. It conducts its own independent research and is funded by the governments of 15 countries all over the globe”, Ronny tells me