Joshua Cohen - Book of Numbers

Anders Maleksen was a dual Swiss Australian citizen, who, incensed by the carnage inflicted on the Palestinians during the Gaza War of 2008–09, hacked into the computer systems of the Aman, Mossad, Shabak, and Malmab, exfiltrated palimpsests pertaining to Israel’s second strike nuclear arsenal and submitted them to b-Leaks, which earned him the position of “amercement officer,” which he parlayed into a spot as “adjutant”—the organization’s #2.

“Balk,” a verb meaning “to stop abruptly,” “to refuse obstinately,” a noun meaning “a hindrance or check,” “a defeat,” in sports both a verb, “to make an incomplete or misleading motion,” and a noun, “an incomplete or misleading motion.”

Thor Ang Balk, Danish national and the founder of b-Leaks who after allegedly drugging and raping a 16 year old Spanish “alt” or “alternative” model — with whom he’d been in sexually explicit correspondence, and who b-Leaks would later insist, without documentation, was an asset of US intelligence — fled his base in Copenhagen, was detained at Reykjavík-Keflavík airport, and spent a week dodging press while awaiting the verdict of the Icelandic authorities as to whether to return him to Denmark, until Andrey Vasilyevich Tsyganov, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of the Russian Federation, dispatched a detachment that managed to surrept him back to the embassy’s chancery at Garðastræti 33, his residence for the past six — the profile was dated—14 months.

Yet another — now that I’d switched to tetration.de, com, to utilize its tetrans — I tetrated, proprietarily tetrated, myselves: Principal hadn’t been reported dead or even missing yet, and no newsfeed mention meant me instead. Just Autotet fluff, and fluffy charticles about Autotet, earnings reports and predictions, stock flux. All the tabloid sites were sedent, their comments sections too. cohencidence.us was, reload, was down.

Then I finally did what I’d been waiting to do, I tetrated what’d been stabbing at my insides since Dubai, cutting away at my synaptic fray since Dhabi, I tetrated “what is that dagger called traditionally used in the united arab emirates”—no questionmark, no question, sharp demand — and was returned weaponsoftheworld.com, khanjar: “The khanjar was the traditional dagger of the Oman and the United Arab Emirates (but in Yemen called ‘the jambiya’). It carried in a ivory or leather scabbard and decorated with jewel, gold, silver, etc., etc., worn on a belt similar decorated. Though today it worn as formal dress or as symbolical ‘fashion statement,’ in the history it was the regular weapon for revenge or assassining.”

I loaded bankofamerica.com but had been brainvacuumed of my portpass. It was different from my PIN, and wasn’t any other Rachy anniversary. I exceeded all my allotted attempts. BoA was sending an email that would let me change my portpass.

I put off checking Rach’s blog, and went loading all my six million emails.

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From: a@szlayliteristic.com

To: jcomphen@aol.com

Mon, Oct 3, 2011, 11:13 AM

call yourmother, myung

Knock knock? Who’s there? Aaron. Aaron who? Why Aaron you replying to email? Though the other punchline is Aaron the side of caution. Dear, dear — this is your personal assistant again. Your Lisabeth. Telling you that your mother’s been ringing nonstop. She’s worried. You haven’t been answering her emails, and she’s been telling Lisabeth that the only reason she got involved with paying Verizon $54/month, and she can’t understand why her first month’s bill should be $88, incidentally, was to be in touch with her son! and then Lisabeth went through explaining her plan, the Quantum, 15/5 Mbps, 10 MB of hosting! I told her you were off on an investigative project, something about unfair wage labor practices in telecom manufacturing because that’s what was in the NY Review under my latte (rhetorical latte), which was how I found out you’d told her you were doing something about scandals between donors and museums relating to deaccession policies and I apologized and agreed, you were overcommitted and overdue on both without an alibi, and she wondered how I held my soap, which was faintly erotic, and already today the answer’s on my desk (your mother made me a soapdish).

Besides your mother traffic’s been standard: Ad Shulinsky’s now claiming you’re charging lingerie and Arab whores to your wife’s Amex (please use a rubber and also, DON’T CHARGE ARAB WHORES TO YOUR WIFE’S AMEX), and that you haven’t renewed the lease on your office (which was relayed to me only on Friday and I’m trying to intercede without involving Lisabeth or Seth but the voicemail Ad left says Rach’s holding your possessions with intent to recoup your rent she paid — there better be nothing in there, in terms of P—“possessions” better just mean “the scattered grains of your neighbor’s nukeable basmati”! and I haven’t even mentioned the Eisenizers yet, or Alana, telling me she’s been leaving msgs but your phone’s off the hook or whatever the new hooks are, I told her get in line!

But Rach — just think — if her blog’s a retaliation for what you’ve already done, think about how she’ll reply to a felony. You’re both behaving like fucking children. Ashamnu, bagadnu, gazalnu, fuck you. Dibarnu dofi. Forgive me. Or just trust me.

Bullet points, brass tacks, takhles:

— Feyer has been retained, informally. I had him pick me up on East End Ave so we wouldn’t be followed and we weren’t (the Asian) despite that he’d decided it was smart to take his Austin Healey. We drove to Jersey, in homage, or because if anyone followed us to the Brisket King of Linden, they could have us. They could have us with a side of kishka. I explained, not all of it, of course, just the divorce and money angles. Feyer tendered his advice. If you’re indeed out of country, which I suspect you are, which you’d better be to be so incommunicado, and out of country for a protracted time (there are no definites on time), it’s only logical that you’d require a foreign bank. Anyway, it’s imperative we talk, either by phone or my preference is in person.

— My schedule: I leave for the Book Fair, in Frankfurt, Germany, 10/14–16, and I’m bringing along the final version of Cal’s novel, which he just delivered fresh from Iowa after two years of revisions, dicking around with commas like they haven’t already been paid for in the States, and spoken for by publishers in four foreign languages (German, French, Hebrew, and Dutch). I’ll do my Fair business to shore up the rest of the rights and then if you’re in Europe I’ll rebook my flight or extend and meet you in Zurich and we’ll go banking. Feyer advises that we found a company and not a personal account (under your own name). So pack for an incorporation vacation, all names pair well with the Swiss AG, we’ll drink silver tequila tête à tête de cuvee, eat popcorn like gold teeth and write it off. In Europe there’s Luxembourg, Liechtenstein, Andorra, before we’re talking Cyprus, Channel Islands. What does P do? Query? Another option if the logistics go south is that I go ahead wherever and open an account myself and deposit the sum and then when you surface we’ll make you a cosigner or even if you’d prefer remove me totally and cash me out. Now Feyer who suggested this mentioned that I wouldn’t require your permission for this, or the bank wouldn’t — because the bank wouldn’t know that you exist, obviously — and if that suggestion doesn’t shake you out of Arabia, even if just for a phonecall, I don’t know what will. The IRS doesn’t have quite the incentive of an embittered wife with forensic accountants. THIS MUST BE ATTENDED TO IMMEDIATELY. 10/28 I have to be back in NY for a routine coronary catheterization indignity but if you can’t get together the week after Frankfurt or until later in the month I’m after any excuse to tramp around France with the NBA expats as they waste their lost season dunking on ASVEL Lyon-Villeurbanne. Beyond October, let’s not get into. Beyond October, forget it.