Posted by: Sk | February 21, 2009

Chapter 22: Message in a bottle

Today, and I had just seen her yesterday, she came and sat down in front of me at the table I was playing cards at, those little small Patience cards with blue and pink birds on the back of the two different games. My father had finally sent them and I spend quite a lot of time with them. She came and sat down as if we had gone to the same school, although I haven’t ever been to any such school and she had yesterday’s papers with her. “Did you do that?” She said. “Yes.” I answered. I must say, she looked as if she had spent some hours with the puzzle and quite happy to have solved it, see the kind of an examination you make at university your life is not depending on but you’re happy to intelligently solve. “What is it for?” She continued. “For you.” I replied, and as she looked surprised “It’s a puzzle corresponding to a psychic type. I amuse myself with these things. – I’m sure you’d be the only one who’d not get lost in Homer or Herodotus. You ask for someone to get the letters inside of the boxes from Greek into Hebrew and you solve the letter soup without too much of a problem. Well, yes. There is one you don’t know. There is always one we don’t know.” “Perhaps,” she said after a while. “And why, Nassos and Xristos?” “Because Nassos had told me one day that the Ancient Testament could be read in Hebrew in such way that words made meaning if you took single letters and read them in crossed ways. I thought of that while making it. And Xristos, well Xristos is the type who thinks: ‘that has been made by Nassos, Nassos thinks this way, thus, necessarily it must be this.’ And I thought you’d do the same. You did?” She didn’t answer. “And why?” “Because you look stressed sometimes and I thought I’d be better if you had something that would occupy your mind. Then I thought it was nonesense and in any case, what for and I left them among my papers. You see, and finally you have found them, anyhow. I mean, I’d really would like to have something to tell you that may be of interest for you, not to spend the time in surreptitious battles, but if I have, and I may, I don’t know what, exactly. Ah. And don’t trust me. I tell many lies. I mean, not lies, it’s that I don’t like people who eat up whatever fish you put them on the dish – after, it may be a poisoned snake, like in the Greek song – and I got used to tell whatever and sometimes I forget where I’m and start doing the same. I mean, not if you ask me questions seriously, usually I answer quite seriously to, but when I’m like that, playing cards.” She staid there for a little while still, and then she left.

In fact, I was eager for her to leave. She had given me an excellent idea, yesterday, a wonderful and marvellous idea which I was working at while playing cards. I had slept away in some kind of excitement, thinking at the possible development of such an idea and woke up with the same and little thoughts roaming in my brain. In fact, you can even figure out it may have been like that. I could really have sent some information outside and I could really have been making some revolution. The what for is unknown, yet, because I haven’t had time to think about it. And as I can’t spend my time telling veiled truths due to the changes in circumstances, why not making it all up. Go really beyond reality. Of course you have to be careful, because you may loose your mind like that – you have to be very, very careful. But I think, I may.

Now, let us put things as we have them in order to know what I would do or would have done. Which elements do I have? Halil has some papers. Maya has nothing but may know indirectly something. I have spoken to my father and he’s constantly sending in information, I mean, translations. That was what I was thinking of yesterday. Why did Halil write the texts again in Greek? I had written them on the machine – it’s just to change the language function. Perhaps he amused himself with Greek letters because he thought it funny. And wrote it all in Arabic the other side. But when I saw it, when I saw these letters in Arabic on one side, I thought, look, it’s perhaps forbidden to get papers out of prison. I don’t know why. And there my construction started. I want to send information outside. I don’t know it is forbidden. He does, but he’s faithful for one or the other reason. It’s just exciting, I would say, because he had said he ‘liked the card game’. He makes a copy of the letters. He writes something in Arabic on them. He leaves them among his bags. He has kept a copy he has made very small somehow fixed to the upper side of his underwear. It doesn’t show, you can’t see it. The guards are mislead by the ‘evidence’ of what they’ve found and don’t search further. In the most unattended way, the letters leave Israel. They cross over to Palestina without control. His mother goes to visit a cousin in another village and goes to the post office. While post offices are under highest alarm in Israel and control on whatever leaves – which makes there are some protestations because a normal letter takes 10 days to arrive – three little birds have left for some unknown village in Greece.

Maya may give some information if the page is already there, which may be true – perhaps – but I don’t have any confirmation. In highest probability it is her mother who has fallen on the page, accidentally, by making some completely irrelevant search. She reads something and keeps some kind of surprise in her unconscious. Because perhaps it is not Maya who is in prison, but the text for the meeting has been made by Maya, and this she knows. She was in prison? She never told me. A falafel meeting? It’s not that she thinks of anything, she just meets two or three people and tells them “how peculiar, I’ve read this and this and it really looked as if it were my daughter”. People, or some among them, will understand she’s asking for help because her daughter is in prison and it is a shame to tell something like that too loudly. The story arrives to some orthodox Jewish quarter. They put on their hats and coats and go to eat some falafel in front of the prison. They don’t know whether it is true or not, it seems a sign, they just want to know what it is about. This possibility or some memory of something is blinding Maya’s mother’s understanding. She doesn’t see where the page is, the address. She has just some slight look at it, sees it is foreign and will say to the officer after: “It is a name related to mother.” But she doesn’t remember how. She does not even remember what she was searching, as the story does blind her awareness at that very moment. If Sask knows the page is there, she doesn’t know which it is or where it comes from.

How strange. Sask will say. Not that it may not happen; it is that the whole looks so accidental. And this makes her suspect something. If these letters have gone out of Israel, she thinks (Mossad will be laughing for 7 years after), perhaps it may imply some danger. She’s not going to present things that way. Certainly not. She goes to some upper chief with some puzzled air and says “I have some information from a prisoner that seems to point at the possibility there’s being some clandestine organization in the north of Greece.” She knows, she’d be said, “So what. It does not affect us.” How does she now transform the compelling need of not looking ridiculous in front of so many adversaries into something that may look as compelling to the gray intelligences? She says: “It’s a phone call to verify.”

Her movements are from distances already followed by Mossad, which, you want it or not, is always but really always suspecting some military push. Something is moving somewhere. Slightly, but moving. Ten thousand eyes are invisibly turned to the back of the lieutnant general. She’s thus – but that’s social conditioning – very careful. She gets from own sources a list of people, in fact, businesses, that may have commercial relationships in the north of Greece. Lucky you, some water irrigation company has links to Thessaloniki, and after verifying, even contact points in some village in the whereabouts. She phones. “Were it possible to verify whether some – my name – is still in the whereabouts of this village for some inheritance, and if not a friend called Xristos who may know where she is.” The man in question has to go to the whereabouts (he has been promissed some miserable reward in the meantime, but that’s not to give importance to the whole) the day after. He goes to the police station. He says exactly what he has been said to say (looks like the servant in search for a bride for Isaac) and is said, yes, well, was, has left but Xristos is there, in Kormista. He lives there? He asks. No, in the village beside. He concludes that the one and Xristos are very good friends and that this was known even at the police station which feels reassured to give information because of the mentioning of the latter.

The general, the one I used to call Baruwth, is in the obligation of informing the political side of whatever movement and just gives some relatively dry and cold sentence as summary of the report further. Mossad is already in knwoledge of some movement. But why? What for? Who are they looking for? The lieutnant general hasn’t more than 24 hours, and she knows that very well. 12 have passed. She’s informed through determined means of the fact that the one has been in the whereabouts. He’s asked for a new miserable reward to try getting in contact with the man. It’s not of need to say much, the man is excited because there is something horribly interesting going on which reminds him of his youth and the army. In fact it’s not of need to give him a reward, but that’s politics.

And there we are. Xristos has received Halil’s letters and is somewhat puzzled by the fact that they are to be sent to ‘Alkistis’. Alkistis? There is no one here with this name. As the letter was sent to his address and to his name, he doesn’t feel especially bothered by the fact of going through the message in order to know what he has to do with it. He understands the codification at once, and has even less probem than Sask, because he hasn’t to search for a someone who may be knowing the Greek alphabet and this, if possible, behind the back of the Mossad. But there is one word he doesn’t understand. The only one who may is Alekos, the bar owner who has some internet connection in his café. In order not to look stupid, he says: “This means this and this but this I don’t know.” “Ah,” Alekos claims our, “That’s Google.” “Put Sonja Kasten into Google.” They do it and it is obvious that they’re both fascinated by this message in a bottle. They go through the appearances of Sonja Kasten in Google and open some page. They keep investigating in order to know what to do with the whole. At that moment the man who has been sent by the lieutnant general steps in and politely asks for some Xristos, who looks up as if he had been trapped in some emotional side step. “It’s me,” he says, and is asked “whether he knows this person.” And extremely innocently he says, ‘yes, look, what an accident, I’ve just recieved a message from her.’ And points at the page. Unluckily the man hasn’t thought over what he would say under these circumstances and simply gives further what he has been told. “They are looking for her for a question of inheritance.” He lifts the eyebrows and says ‘I don’t know where she is now.’ The man does as if he would need further instructions, goes out of the café, phones, perhaps, and this will be immediately registered in the Mossad offices. In fact he wants to know whether he has finished his task. And is said “Try getting the letters it may help to locate the subject.” Which he says. Xristos has no problem and gives the letters to the man and he again, forgets, is not aware of the possible importance of the url address of the page as his task has nothing to do with a webpage. (The phone call has just been located – beep – north of Greece, environments of Mavrothalassa).

The man leaves with the letters in his hands. Xristos will say a little after to Morfo that I’m expecting a great sum from some inheritance and this one gets very curious and phones to my father in Madrid, she has the phone of, as he knows her. He doesn’t know anything but does always believe what Morfo says. My father, who, on the other hand, has been put under observation because he is a possible link of mine, starts thinking that something strange is happening. Nobody has ever told him about some inheritance.

The lieutnant general has now some letters in her hand, whose contents she perfectly well knows. It saves the army’s image and reputation, because even if there may be something written in internet she may argue it has completely been made up: there is no material proof linking some ‘texts’ to the prison in question. Of course she suspects it must be Halil, but it is too late. It could have been Maya, it could have been Elma, it could have been anyone. It may have been an accident. The kind a guard sees some papers on the floor, does not give any kind of importance to them, finds them beautiful because written in Greek and leaves them after in some café visited by some palestinian, one of who does take the letters and sends them, just for the fun.

In any case the man has reported: “That some ambiance ressembling to a conspiration could be detected at the moment he has stepped into the café.”

Baruwth claims out, ‘on top, she was right’ – but that is normal, he just really but really wanted her to be wrong once. Reason why he had given permission and reported – because sometimes he’s wicked and likes Mossad running behind the lieutnant general to make her task more difficult. Mossad runs to the airport and lands in the wherabouts a few hours later. Follows the same strategy and goes to the police. Unluckily they have the air ‘there’s a terrorist in the whereabouts’ and all of a sudden the police officer remembers he comes from an island and he’s just arrived to the place a few months ago. He doesn’t know anything. Mossad stays with empty hands. Xristos has disappeared and Alekos’ wife is playing cards in the same Café.

The lieutnant general thinks the whole extremely interesting. “If there is some kind of organization in Greece, we’re the first to know.” (And sees many stars deriving of whole lots of jealousies in the whereabouts arising in her mind.) “Hmm.” Baruwth says. “This is geopolitical. We may be aggressing some ally’s interests.” “We would have to present things as if they were covering some possible link to a terroristic organization in Palestina.” The lieutnant general says, and that’s not difficult. (More silent movements: the ‘etat major’ is called to a general meeting in a few hours. Deep suspicions from the sides of the Mossad.) Having politely asked for coffee for everyone, which is not usually the case, the etat major is presented the following proofs: these letters were in Halil’s hands. These letters were sent in by fax as coming from Greece. They’re exactly the same. It’s obvious that there is some link between one and the other. Suspicions there were a link of some terroristic organization in Greece acting with Palestina, have foundation. (In the meantime Baruwth is thinking that she is very ambitious and states, once again, that she’ll finish up by convincing the etat major.) Baruwth is though not too sure. He suspects the whole may have implications of unknown nature and says it’d perhaps be better to alert the USA. The Etat Major allows the relatively discreet financing of some investigation which includes, and this, – although no one has specified why – includes the finding of the webpage maker. The USA understands that Israel is looking for strategical allies in order to get wheat for a cheaper price and does not give further importance. Although note is taken. It’s obvious, Israel does always do everything by itself, if it were of importance they’d never say so early.

The lieutnant general goes through the papers again. It is possible that some other letter arising from fiction may have arrived somewhere else. Where, though? And how? Mossad is jumping around and you may almost think red alarm is sounding somewhere. Baruwth, who is more conspicuous on these affairs than the lieutnant general takes on him to reassure this part of the population saying “Evidence has been found of links between Greece and palestinian terroristic movements.” Asked to specify, he says “It is under investigation.” The Mossad uses its usual methodology: Thinking someone may know about it all, they send some messages with more or less these contents they know are intercepted by the Information Agencies in France and/or Germany. If something is known, it will arrive the same channels.

The lieutnant general has some problem. The page. Of course she may ask me bluntly if there is one and which. But somehow she feels I don’t know much more than what I factually know and if I knew something, I can’t verify, I’d say. I don’t know. She doesn’t believe anymore I have made up the puzzle for her. She thinks I’m giving some cover to some communication system – perhaps I’m afraid to say too much may have consequences for others. Where? What for? Who? She notes on a paper and scotches it on the table. It’s true that she looks much better. At least she’s something to do. It’s neither German, nor French, it’s not Russian. Greek? Wouldn’t think so. Serbia! She shouts out, and immediately goes to verify in the data central. Search: possible intercepted messages attributed to Serbia in coded lines. There are millions. There are tons. Ressembling structure. Filter. There are a few. Origin: presumably Milosevic’s office.

Interesting. She sits back. That’s interesting, she thinks again and suspects for a while she’s going to keep the information for herself. Too late. Even more suspicious Baruwth appears behind her back. “What’s that?” (Which has always very heavy undertones implying – what are you hiding away from me again?) “The coding system of Milosevic’s office.” Hmm. He sits down beside her and looks really puzzled.  There is some silence. There is a long silence. “It may have implications.” She says. “Yes, ” he answers, “It may mean some unknown factor has not been considered, and this unknown factor may still be acting. Call the file “factor unknown”. It does now affect us directly. If there is something moving and we don’t know it, it may have direct consequences for us. Hmm. Difficult.” They decide to keep a low profile strategy. Make a fraction. See if you get some support from Mossad and leave pressure from other elements act as cover until we know what it is about. “You think it may be important.” “I don’t know whether the fact is important or not. What seems strange is that it is not known, and this fact is of importance. What if you have strategical alliances that have changed this way? Balkans is a pain in the ass. It may be nothing, it may change all. It can be an accident. Can you get some information out of your ’subject’?” “Perhaps. It is of difficult evaluation.”

They do stop their conversation there. Of course the lieutnant general is more amiable, but there are reasons, for the time being.

I would go that far today. And if things were like that, I’d start some investigation myself. “Not the fact as such, but the fact that it wasn’t known.” Not what I’m studying, but the way I’m doing it. And perhaps it allows to evaluate if it is of importance or not. Just keep yourself inside of given patterns, it finishes by leading somewhere. Thus, today, I’d put some affair into some kind of order. For example all the documents about the Ines de la Fressaneg affaire. Because it was interesting and says about patterns. “What is not known.”

Texts left in the computer

https://paramana.wordpress.com/category/22-fia-ch-22/

  

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