The Kills: Sutler, the Massive, the Kill, and the Hit (62 page)

Rem watched the drivers disembark, one after another, in white hazmat suits, full-body, zipped up, protective boots and padded gloves. The military also wore breathing gear, visors, and gloves. A few had wrapped scarves about their heads.

‘This is not my favourite part of the movie. This where we learn bad things.’

Rem was told to keep his men away. The fires would be started and they would not be required.

‘That’s Level C. What they’re wearing.’

Rem took his cue from Watts, who didn’t appear worried.

‘Known contaminants which aren’t airborne. You have any idea what they’ve brought?’

Pakosta joined Rem and Watts outside the Quonset.

‘The bags inside the trucks are white. That’s medical. Those bags are medical waste. That’s thirty-two trucks of medical waste.’

‘They shut the hospital at Amrah?’

‘I don’t want to know.’

‘Look at the dirt.’ Watts pointed at the wheels as the trucks rolled slowly in line toward the pits. ‘Looks like they’ve come a ways.’

The men remained at the camp and gathered under the new awning, a little concerned by the change in procedure.

Sutler followed after Watts and pestered for a comm-link. ‘I’ll take what I can get. I need to get a message through this morning.’

Watts said he would stay on it. If something came through he’d find him immediately. Watts made a face to Rem signalling that he wanted to talk.

‘He wants to speak with some guy in Washington, DC, not state.’

‘Any idea who?’

‘Some guy called Jesus. I’m not kidding.’

From the direction of the burn pits came a soft percussive bump, followed seconds later by a similar noise, louder, harder.

The men came out from under the canopy and looked up, puzzled. Some shielded their eyes – all focused on the rising block of smoke.

Fires burned in one, two and four. And from Pit 4 the smoke began to change from black to brown to yellow.

Santo sought out Rem. He thought he’d recognized one of the drivers from Anaconda. White bags meant plastic and polystyrene, right? ‘Nothing but plates? Right?’

‘They were in hazmat suits. White bags are bio or medical waste. Black or blue bags are plastics.’

‘You think it was military?’

The base of the column roiled a thick pure yellow. ‘Any idea what makes smoke turn that colour?’ Rem asked.

‘No idea.’

Rem shielded his eyes. ‘You think that’s chemical?’

Santo nodded. ‘There’s no telling what they’re getting rid of now.’

Rem returned to the awning. ‘I don’t want anyone going near those pits today. Keep an eye on it. If you see that smoke descending, if the wind changes, if you smell anything different, I want everyone out of the way. In future no one goes near the fire without protection. Masks. Suits. No excuses.’ Captivated by the smoke, the men nodded. ‘Watts.’ Rem walked with Watts back to his cabin. ‘I want you to contact Amrah, get Markland, and find out what was in those loads today. Get back to me as soon as you can.’

Sutler, Rem noticed, walked to the Quonset.

*

The smoke flattened above the camp, thick enough to block the sun and rob the colour from their lips. Chimeno, as a joke, dressed in one of the protection suits and staggered zombie-fashion between the cabins.

Sutler sat with Rem as they waited for their calls. Watts came first for Sutler. Sure enough, the same guy,
Jesus
, he was talking with the other day.

Sutler, a little irritated at the name, made his excuses and hurried to take the call.

Rem looked to the cabin and noticed that Sutler had closed the door. ‘Any luck getting hold of Markland?’

‘He’s not available. I asked someone at his office to get back as soon as they can. Apparently Markland’s the wrong man for the job. This comes under someone called Rose. He’s the environmental specialist. Guess where he’s gone? Damascus. And the way things are going he won’t be getting out any time soon.’

An idea struck Rem and he asked Watts to repeat the name of the man calling for Sutler. ‘Just humour me, what was the name again?’

‘Jesus or something. Cheese. Cheeser.’

‘Geezler?’ Rem gave deliberate emphasis to the hard gee, as in grease.

‘Greesler. Right. That’s what I said.’

Now Rem was interested. What was Sutler doing talking with Geezler? And why was Geezler available to Sutler but not to him?

‘Did he ask you to call him?’

Watts said yes, then thought for a moment. ‘He didn’t give me the name, I overheard it. I thought he said
Jesus
. I recognized the voice.’

Clark walked by, towel in hand. ‘What’s all this talk about cheese?’

Watts turned sharply. What was Clark talking about?

‘Jesus? Cheeses? What are
you
talking about?’

‘You think I talk funny? You don’t like how I talk? I’m not fancy enough?’

Clark held up his hands. ‘Jesus Christ, Watts, what did I say?’

Watts walked off to his cabin, leaving Rem with Clark and Pakosta.

‘What was that about?’

Pakosta blew out his cheeks. ‘Time of the month.’

‘Pakosta, just once, leave it alone.’ Clark unwound the towel from about his neck. ‘It’s his daughter’s birthday.’

Sutler came out of Watts’ cabin rubbing his hands together.

‘You know Paul Geezler?’ Rem asked.

‘No. Just as a name. He was passing on some information, third party, contracts.’ Sutler smiled, satisfied, an explanation so thin it carried no conviction. ‘The delivery comes this afternoon. Did you have any luck finding out what was in the load this morning?’

Reluctantly Rem admitted that he was wasting his time. But seriously, Geezler? From Europe?

‘Why?’ Now Sutler sounded suspicious.

‘I’ve been trying to speak with him for a while.’

‘Well, I can’t help you. Try calling him back.’ Sutler looked up to the cloud. ‘You need to speak with someone about that. There’s no telling what they’re getting rid of. What was wrong with Watts?’

Watts came to his cabin door, red-faced, a sheet of paper in his hand. He called to Rem, asked if he could have a private word. ‘That was from Markland. CIPA have pulled the plug on the burn pits. We’re to stop immediately. If HOSCO send any more trucks we’re to turn them back. According to CIPA we can’t burn a goddamned thing.’

Rem asked Watts to get hold of HOSCO.

‘I tried.’

‘But he just spoke with Sutler.’

Watts shrugged. If they don’t answer, what could he do?

Rem stood at the door, and worried that Sutler and Pakosta had overheard them. ‘We keep this to ourselves until we hear something definite.’

Watts agreed. ‘I guess they can do that. Shut us down whenever they like.’

‘No one’s shutting anything down. At least, not until we hear from HOSCO.’

Sutler appeared uncomfortable, he spoke with Pakosta, his hands dug into his pockets. ‘Those fires. There’s no telling what they’ll be trying to get rid of. Do you know what’s wrong with Watts?’

‘It’s his kid’s birthday or something. So he’s having his period over it.’ Pakosta shook his head, disgusted. ‘It’s not like she’ll remember, just take a photo of any party, tell her how great it was. She won’t know any different.’

Santo said Watts’ child wasn’t born yet, so it probably wasn’t that.

Rem watched Sutler return to the Quonset, and wondered how he’d known about the closure, so early, long before anyone else, and why he would have Geezler’s attention.

Pakosta asked Rem if he thought Sutler could use an extra hand. He stood at the door to Rem and Kiprowski’s cabin.

He’d spoken with the man that morning. Seemed like things with Kiprowski weren’t working out.

‘Things with Kiprowski are working fine. They’re working together right now. Has Sutler said anything about what he’s doing here?’

‘Nope. Nada.’ Pakosta looked about the room, slowly taking in Kiprowski’s cot, then Rem’s. ‘So what’s wrong with him?’

‘Wrong?’

‘I got the idea from Watts that you aren’t happy. You think he’s CIA?’

‘He’s HOSCO. I don’t think the CIA are interested in a place that burns shit.’

Pakosta gave a tight nod. As far as he could gauge Sutler was just another POG, a company man.

‘So, we aren’t getting paid any more?’

Rem had to admire Pakosta’s directness. ‘And you heard this how?’

‘So it’s true?’

‘If we’re working then we’re being paid.’

‘But are we working?’

‘I haven’t heard anything from HOSCO. If anything changes I’ll let you know about it.’

‘Well, I’ve heard they’re closing down the pits. All of them. Not just here. They just haven’t reached us to tell us, that’s all.’

Rem asked how this could be true. They received supplies every other day. Trucks arrived with waste every morning. Pakosta wouldn’t say where the rumours had started.

✩

✩

The call-back came at 15.30. Sutler’s delivery would arrive within the hour. Watts took the message to Rem then drove with Santo and Samuels to watch the three helicopters come in, changing formation as they descended. They settled behind the Quonset, one after the other, and deposited thirteen crates and boxes, and with them, a day earlier than usual, the mail drop. Sutler supervised the loading of the crates inside the Quonset, and asked Kiprowski to help organize the unpacking so that everything would be stored correctly.

Sutler stood with Rem beside the empty crates. Whatever Sutler had asked for Markland had provided: a portable freezer, frozen meat, vacuum-packed steaks, two barbecues, packs of tortillas, a box of tortilla chips, packs of dips, packs of cheese, packs of cookies, Cheerios, long-life milk, new respirators, complete masks. Included in the drop were three sealed cases marked:
S. L. Sutler. HOSCO-ACSB
. The final crate contained the beer Sutler had promised. German beer in packs marked AFCS Ramstein.

‘How did you get all this? You spoke with Geezler?’

‘You keep asking. I’ve nothing to do with this man.’

Watts sidled up to Rem and asked what he was going to do about the announcement. ‘You going to tell them?’

Rem said he didn’t rightly know. How come they were making deliveries when they wanted the pits closed? He couldn’t see the logic. ‘I need to speak with Geezler.’

‘I tried again, just now. Nothing. Do like he did and use email.’ Watts nodded to Sutler.

‘I’m getting nothing from him.’

‘We’re on someone’s radar.’ Watts pointed to the Quonset, to the stacks of provisions. Clark and Chimeno squatted in the dust and assembled one of the barbecues. ‘Who is this man you both want to speak with?’

‘Making ice,’ Samuels loaded up the freezer with bottled water, ‘ice. Ice. Cold water.’

‘Just someone at HOSCO.’ Rem watched Samuels, the man diverted, possibly even happy, bottles of water tucked under his arm. ‘Let’s take it easy and see what happens. See if I don’t hear from HOSCO by tomorrow. No point ruining a good night. We’ll talk tomorrow when there’s no delivery.’