The Network - Jason Elliot [60]
There is no Internet, mobile or terrestrial phone network, nor even a reliable postal system in Afghanistan at the time, so the address to which Manny’s messages must be delivered is transmitted in a pre-recorded code by radio from England. Radio enthusiasts call such transmissions number stations, and rightly suppose they are the preferred method of communicating with agents in the field, though no government has ever officially acknowledged them. Orpheus needs only an ordinary short-wave radio to receive the signal, which is transmitted every day. But he has no other special equipment of his own, so his reports must be personally delivered by couriers who know nothing of their hidden content.
They begin to arrive at the trust’s office in Kabul a month later, addressed to a pseudonym. The first takes the form of a book of Afghan poetry. Into its spine he’s glued a sheet of paper, dense with handwritten numbers. I copy the numbers onto a grid called a straddling chequerboard, and transpose them using a keyword into letters that reveal the message.
Slowly, as the words take shape, I’m filled with a sense of awe that that our fragile link has successfully spanned so many hazards. The numbers we’ve agreed to use as a security device are correct and the message opens with characteristic humour: bgns msg 0786 all well despite urgent need saqi. I am filled with relief to learn that he’s well, despite a craving for wine. He’s living at the Jalalabad headquarters of an Afghan mujaheddin commander called Sayyaf, known for his extreme Islamicist outlook and strong links with fundamentalists in the Arab world. Orpheus’s knowledge of Arabic is allowing him to translate for his Afghan hosts and to serve as interpreter when Arab guests visit the headquarters. It’s not much news but it’s the sign of life we’ve been waiting for. The final line of the message alludes to the need for patience by reminding me that one of the Muslim names of God is the Patient One, al-saboor: allahu saboor send greetings uk qsl msg ends.
I fax news of the message to the Baroness using the satellite phone at the office, knowing that she will arrange for confirmation of its receipt to be sent by a one-way signal which Orpheus can hear on a short-wave radio. Our little portion of the Network, against the odds, is up and running.
Orpheus’s messages continue in the same manner for the next six months. They are, not surprisingly, irregular. Afghanistan is spiralling downward into ever more violent civil war, and on those days when the rockets rain into the south and west of the city I spend much of the time in the basement of my rented home. Because of the ongoing fighting, most of the trust’s work takes me north of Kabul to the once fertile and prosperous Shomali plain, which bears the scars of fifteen years of conflict. We survey minefields sown by the Soviets and gather unexploded ordnance from settlements where people are still living. In collaboration with the United Nations we develop a mine awareness course but the daily casualties from mines and UXOs are a constant reminder of the hugeness of our task. It is difficult at times not to be seized by depression.
The messages from Orpheus arrive with traders, drivers and refugees, who will occasionally accept a reward for their efforts and from