‘I slipped.’ Eric twisted about, stretched the skin so he could see. ‘A dumb mistake. Don’t tell Nathalie. She’ll only make a fuss.’
Ford straightened his bed. ‘I need to get online.’ He decided to be forthright. ‘Can I use your mobile? I’d like to see if I have any messages.’
‘Sure.’ Eric picked up his phone, unlocked it, and handed it to Ford. ‘The code is 4221. That button for the internet. I think it’s charged.’ He pressed a small square centred key and demonstrated how to move the cursor.
‘Hold a key down to select different letters or numbers.’ Eric stood beside him, and left only when he heard Martin complaining to Nathalie outside. The shower was cold. The breakfast stale. And now they have to wait.
Ford sat at the edge of his bed, he drew the dog tags over his head and selected the first one. The phone, being small, had a tiny keypad. To avoid making a mistake he used Eric’s pen to hit the numbers and unlock the phone. He found the HOSCO website and worried that he could be traced, that his account would be blocked, that, somehow, the moment he signed in, his location would be revealed and everything would be over — and while he knew this was unlikely, he couldn’t shake the idea.
As the first security screen loaded the page locked and the cursor would not move. The signal bars faded and Ford held the phone up, then moved about the room to see where the signal was stronger. When he sat down, closer to the door, the bars returned, and the page loaded with the cursor blinking over an empty text box.
The first number from the first dog tag: 42974615.
He entered the first four numbers: 4297 and pressed the keys carefully and watched them appear after a little delay: 4–2 — 9–7.
He checked the final four numbers from the first dog tag: 4615.
When he pressed 4, the preceding number disappeared. He re-entered 7, then 4, waited for the numbers to appear, and they came up in reverse: 4–7.
He balanced the phone on his knee, wiped his hands down his face, picked up the phone and deleted the last two numbers.
Three numbers disappeared.
Ford squinted at the screen: 4–2 — 9.
He waited, the numbers stayed in place. He held his breath then typed 7, waited for it to appear, then with particular care pressed 4 (pause) — 2 (pause) — 9 (pause) — 7 (pause).
4 — 2–9 — 7–4 — 2–9 — 7
Catching his mistake before he hit ‘enter’. He deleted the entire number and re-entered from the start and watched it appear, correctly, on the small screen.
Finally, satisfied, he moved the cursor to ‘enter’, then clicked. The screen turned black and returned with a small message set dead centre in white script: SESSION TIMED OUT.
Ford held the phone out at arm’s length. He couldn’t be sure, did TIMED OUT mean that this was a second unsuccessful attempt, or simply that he’d taken too long?
He sat alone, cancelled the entire screen and allowed the phone to lock. If he had one remaining attempt he would pick the means, the time and place with care. This, he thought, was pure foolishness, a kind of brinkmanship he could not afford. Two chances gone. One remaining.
* * *
Later in the morning Ford found Eric alone in the courtyard. He sat reading under a large umbrella, a short-wave radio beside his elbow tuned to the American Forces.
‘Martin’s gone with Nathalie to buy a carpet. Mehmet’s with them. There’s a trip this afternoon if you’re interested. Birsim. It’s a town just north of here. Nathalie will probably ask you.’
‘I don’t think she’ll be too interested.’
Eric thought for a moment. ‘You’re talking about last night, right?’
‘I don’t understand what happened. She was talking, and then she went to her room.’
‘She does that a lot. I wouldn’t worry about it. She told you the story about the tsunami, right?’
At a loss for something to do Ford sat on the wall beside Eric’s lounger. ‘How’s your book?’
‘I’m not reading.’ He held up a small notebook. ‘I wouldn’t feel bad about last night. It’s what she does. This thing. She talks until she gets upset. It happens a lot, especially when they aren’t getting along. You know she gave up her daughter to be with him.’
‘Martin? I thought they weren’t a couple?’
‘They’re a couple.’
‘How do you know them?’
‘He’s one of my professors.’
‘And you’re helping with this film?’
‘My options weren’t so great. Summer with my mom, or this. Not much choice.’
In an ashtray just under the sunbed, Ford spied what looked like the end of a reefer. Eric asked if he was interested and Ford shrugged yes.
Eric hopped off the bed and disappeared into Martin’s room. He returned with a black shaving-bag. ‘He won’t mind. Anyway, he shouldn’t be smoking, he’s paranoid enough. We’re doing him a favour. He thinks we’re being followed. The Turkish Secret Service,’ Eric huffed, ‘or some Kurdish hit squad. I’m serious. He really believes this stuff. He sees a photo of the Peshmerga in the news and he thinks he’s on some hit-list.’
Eric set the cigarette papers across his thigh, opened the small bag, and looked inside. ‘He’s not sure about you either. Like yesterday, when you were with Nathalie in that cave, he sent me to check up and see what you were doing. I was spying on you. Don’t worry, he doesn’t think you were up to anything, not like that.’ He scorched then crumbled the dope into his notebook. Ford again noticed the numbered code the boy used for writing.
‘What isn’t he sure about?’
‘You. Basically. He’s suspicious about everything. How we met. About you being in Kopeckale. See, that’s the kind of thing that really makes him flinch. He’s suspicious. He thinks you’re checking up on him. He sends me to check up on you, but he thinks you’re the spy.’ Eric lifted the papers to his lips. ‘They have their theories about you. He doesn’t believe the story about your friend. Neither does Nathalie.’
‘I don’t really follow—’
‘You wear those dog tags. Martin thinks you have something to do with the military.’
‘Why? Why does he think anyone is following him?’
‘Because he doesn’t trust anyone.’ Eric spread out his hands, then whispered conspiratorially, ‘Everyone.’ He passed the joint and a lighter to Ford.
Ford lit the joint and slowly drew in breath. The smoke hit the back of his throat, grassy and dry, and he suppressed a cough.
‘Yeah. It’s a little harsh.’ Eric waited to be handed the joint.
Ford held in the smoke then slowly exhaled. ‘So what’s this?’ He pointed at the notebook. ‘The numbers. What are the numbers?’
Eric brushed his hand across the pages. ‘Here, let me show you. You have something with numbers? Something like a credit card?’
Ford said no and Eric laughed. ‘Everyone has a credit card. How about those dog tags?’
Ford ran his finger about his neck and hooked the chain. He drew the tags over his head and handed them to the boy.
Eric turned the dog tags over. ‘I thought these things had names and blood groups? You don’t have something with a name? What do the numbers stand for? And this? H-O-S slash J-A? What’s that?’
‘Information I don’t want to lose.’
Eric held up the tag for the junk account, counted the numbers then wrote them in his notebook. ‘OK, so eight numbers. Drop any duplication as that would make the code nonsense. You could just do it straight A, B, C. So 3 is A, 5 is B, 9 is C, and so on up to twenty-six. But if you really want to keep it private you stop the numbers at nine and use symbols, and you have to draw a key-chart. See? It’s not impossible to break, but it would take some work, because you need to know the rationale for the change.’