River took the phone from Hugh, silently remarking just how tense his friend’s grip was, as though petrified of allowing the last remaining ghost of his only son from his control. River scrolled through the other repeating messages. AIASP.

“A name? An acronym?” River commented.

“Yeah, I thought of that too. Could be, who knows?”

“Maybe your son’s phone is just malfunctioning?”

Hugh head shook with enthusiasm, his pain and desperation emerging from his graying hair and his weathered face. River could detect the pungent alcohol on him turning sour. His friend had been drinking long before River walked into Bily Konicek’s.

“No. I had a friend at NSA make some inquiries to the provider. They are all original messages, all actively sent from the phone.” Hugh’s voice cracked a little. “It’s his way of telling me something. Where he is, I think.”