The Kills: Sutler, the Massive, the Kill, and the Hit (69 page)

✩

Rem’s relief at the return of the men to Camp Liberty lasted as long as it took them to disembark. Pakosta came first, striding as usual, unbowed by the downdraught, the force of noise from the engines – and something wrong with his face Rem didn’t catch – then Santo, then Sutler, who hurried out with papers tucked under his arm. Everyone but Sutler said they would walk to the camp or just continued walking without any word to Rem, and they set off in a broken line, no one talking.

Sutler sat beside Rem, red-faced.

‘What’s going on?’

‘You need to speak with them. They started fighting. Santo and Pakosta and Clark, a proper fight. I’ve never seen anything like it. Halfway through the flight Clark just got up and punched Pakosta in the face, took his mobile and smashed it.’

After returning to the camp the men stayed in the cabins so that the camp still seemed empty. Rem left them to it, allowed them to keep to themselves through the day. In the early evening he joined them and began chatting with Chimeno. The boy, unaccountably sullen, spoke about his father. He’d worked with him one summer, and one time, he remembered, ‘They had to close off Michigan Avenue to fly in an air-conditioning unit, a coolant system for an entire building. Bigger than a house.’

‘All well and good, Chimeno, but I want to know what happened in Bahrain.’

Chimeno ignored the question. ‘The unit was carried to the roof by helicopter, and they dropped it through a hole in the roof.’ He couldn’t describe how perfect this was, that something so massive could be matched so exactly. Rem listened to him and thought nothing of the story, except, in telling it, Chimeno sounded sad, regretful.

‘Bahrain?’

‘It’s real isn’t it? The Massive. It’s happening.’

‘What happened in Bahrain? What was the fight about?’

Chimeno shook his head. He didn’t know anything about any fight.

‘Sutler saw it. Everyone saw it. None of you are talking. What happened? Did Howell give you anything? Did he give you all gifts? Is that was this was about?’

Chimeno picked up a pair of gloves, shook off the sand, and said he should get back to work.

Rem found Sutler and said he was getting nothing from the men.

‘They’re working.’ Sutler pointed across the lit plain at the men digging shallow pits in the shale.

‘Everyone’s blowing smoke.’

‘I don’t know anything more than what I’ve told you. Clark was playing with his phone one minute, the next he was on his feet thumping Pakosta.’

‘So Clark started this.’

‘It might have started earlier. None of them looked happy yesterday morning.’ Sutler indicated that he was busy. ‘I’m going to Amrah tomorrow morning. I need permits and money. I need to get ready.’

Once the work was completed Rem found Pakosta at the Beach with a small hurricane lamp beside him. He was sullen, untalkative, and Rem stood over him with a bottle of whisky, a gift from Sutler.

‘You’re quiet.’

‘I’m often quiet.’

Pakosta shrugged, so Rem sat beside him and offered him the bottle. ‘So why are you here?’

‘I have a deep and sensitive side. I’m misunderstood. Sometimes I like to come out here and write poetry. I don’t fucking know.’ Pakosta took the bottle. ‘What did you say this was?’

‘Malt. Single malt.’

‘I prefer bourbon.’ He swallowed and winced. His tooth, he said, needed seeing to the next time he was in Amrah.

‘You’re going with Sutler tomorrow?’

‘Sutler. He’s keeping us here scratching our balls for nothing. We’re wasting time. Tell me, why did you pick me?’

Rem let the sand slide over his shoes. ‘I had a list.’

‘Oh, I heard about this list.’ Pakosta couldn’t help but smile. ‘The Kennedy Club.’

‘Is that what they called it?’

‘What was his name again? The boy who shot himself.’

‘Billy. Fatboy.’

‘Fatboy kept the book. Santo ran the club.’

‘It doesn’t make any difference.’

‘You want to know how Santo made his money? He managed the rotas.’

Rem said it didn’t matter any more what the list was or what it meant or who managed it.

‘You’re really interesting, you know that? I just told you that your friend deliberately manipulated the work rotas. He sent people out on the streets of Amrah increasing the chances that they might get killed. He worked the odds. And you just suck it all in.’ Pakosta shook the bottle and rolled the bourbon about the sides. ‘You had no right bringing us here. Whatever the reason, you had no right.’ He took another mouthful of scotch. ‘You know this is all fake? It’s all a scam.’ Pakosta held Rem’s eye until he turned away. ‘There isn’t going to be a
Massive
. Ask Howell. Stephen Sutler doesn’t know what he’s doing. The whole thing is a scam. And the burn pits, ask Howell about the burn pits, and ask him about the enquiry that’s coming, and how they’re coming to see exactly what was being burned here. Ask him about how HOSCO manages any complaints, how they’ve screwed everyone who worked at Camp Bravo and how we’ll be hung out to dry because what gets burned here is our responsibility. Ask Howell about that. See,’ Pakosta jabbed a finger at Rem, ‘you always have to read the fine print.’

Rem said that HOSCO was responsible for the shipments.

‘What I don’t understand is how you ever got involved.’ Pakosta’s expression turned pinched and nasty. ‘Santo says you have a friend. Someone in HOSCO. Why don’t you ask him some of these questions, because you won’t want any of us talking with him.’

‘What happened in Bahrain?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Why did Clark attack you?’

‘Because he has issues.’ Pakosta stood up and complained as he slipped down the hill that nothing could be done around here without it becoming some kind of complicated ass-fucking. At the bottom of the dune Pakosta shouted up.

‘Tomorrow, you’re going to thank me. I’ve sorted everything out. If we’d left it to you we’d be in the same shit as those sorry-assed fucks at Camp Bravo. I’m changing the landscape, Rem. Tomorrow.’

Rem woke Clark up. Knocked on the door and walked in.

‘I need to know what this is all about. Someone needs to talk to me.’

Clark sat up, addled. Rem switched on the light. Across the room in tidy piles were drawings, sketches of the burn pits.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You punched Pakosta in the mouth. You assaulted him. Everyone saw it.’

Clark looked down at his feet, considering.

‘So what did you fight about?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Why did you go for Pakosta?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘So why did you volunteer to go with Pakosta to Amrah tomorrow.’

‘To keep an eye on him.’

‘And why would you need to do that?’

‘Because it’s something I want to do.’

‘What’s happening tomorrow?’

Clark shook his head. ‘Just leave it, Rem. What you don’t know can’t hurt you.’

On the way to his room Rem saw Chimeno out by the Quonset. When he walked toward him Chimeno signalled that they should go inside.

Chimeno immediately began to talk about the trip.

It wasn’t like any of them had wanted to go, but once they were on their way they were up for it. Howell had booked himself one big suite, the others had rooms on the floor underneath, except Sutler and Kiprowski, who were on the other side of the hotel, and he didn’t see much of either of them. Sutler and Kiprowski didn’t have to wear uniforms either.

The hotel was made out like a palace. Howell’s room had a foyer with an actual fountain in the middle. All over there were pictures of this one guy in Arab dress. Completely over the top. The second floor wasn’t even finished, and the pool was this massive thing, lit up at night. The whole place was over the top, although it wasn’t like there was a Motel 8 round the corner, or any other choice, just this palace smack in the middle of the desert. The security also was over the top.

He’d never seen a place so large in his life.

Chimeno said he had trouble sleeping. The room was too big, and he could hear this couple, you know, above. The room, nice as it was, caught everything. The front was glass, pretty much, a window and a balcony, so he heard every little detail. First off it was just the physical sounds, the man’s effort, and later instructions, it was hard to tell how many people were in the room. At two o’clock the noise quietened down but started up again at around three, and when it turned bad, shouting, he got dressed and went down to the pool.

‘I found Clark by the pool. He looked a mess, his shirt all over the place, like he’d been drinking. He’d been up in Howell’s room with the others.’

Chimeno stopped talking. Rem asked him to continue, it didn’t matter what he had to say.

‘The thing is, the noise I could hear, it was Santo and everyone, and they were having a party with a girl laid on by Howell.’

‘Where was Howell?’

‘That’s the thing. The noise came from Howell’s room, right above mine.’

‘Was he at this party?’

‘I don’t know. I’d guess so. In the morning I went up and changed and got ready. The others, when they came out, didn’t say anything. But they looked bad, all of them.’ Chimeno became anxious. ‘I wasn’t anything to do with this. I only heard stuff, I wasn’t in the room.’

‘So what was the fight about between Clark and Pakosta?’

‘Someone sent him an SMS, and it had a link. Someone had taken a video.’

‘And what was it?’

‘Pakosta and a woman.’

The flight left early. Running out across the sand Pakosta held on to his helmet, wincing into the blast.

Rem, who hadn’t slept much, asked Pakosta how his tooth was, and buckling up his harness Pakosta said
what tooth
.

‘I want to speak with you when you get back.’

Kiprowski slipped out from behind him and climbed into the helicopter, a backpack in his fist. He sat on the far side and did not speak as he sorted out the straps. Sutler also appeared stern, unhappy, not quite his usual self.

Rem ran back to the Quonset and watched the helicopter rise then veer sideways above the Beach.

✩

Geezler’s response came just as she was preparing to leave.

Cathy sat on her own at the taqueria. It wasn’t usual, she thought, for a woman to eat on her own, and she came here often enough. The only other women were girls who stopped briefly to flirt with the cook or the boys waiting tables, or family friends, who in any case always took their food with them. She wondered if she made them uncomfortable.

Geezler’s email was what she’d expected, more or less. As far as Rem had explained the man was working independently anyhow, and she should have contacted him some other way. She noted that the notice listing his participation in the conference had been taken off-line.

A woman watched her from the doorway, and it took Cathy a while to recognize her as Roscoe’s aunt. The woman scowled at her through the glass, but wasn’t bold enough to come inside. Cathy finished her meal, took a while to wipe her fingers on a napkin, and thought, whatever this was, she could really do without it.

The woman came at her with surprising speed, so fast that Cathy backed off, arms up for protection.

‘You stay away from him. You’re disgusting. How old are you? What do you want with him? He’s a boy. You come anywhere near him and I’ll call the police. You hear me.’

Cathy froze in place. The woman bowed, wheezed, the energy required suddenly spent. Then, without warning, she took out a container and threw the contents over her.

*

Nut jumped as Cathy came into the apartment. Cathy kicked the door closed and clawed to get out of her clothes. It was urine, she was sure of it, the woman had thrown urine over her, and most of it had hit her blouse, although some, she was certain, was in her hair. Cathy stripped in the entrance then ran to the bathroom and stood in the shower. Appalled by what had just happened.

She threw the clothes away. Couldn’t be entirely certain of the substance thrown at her, but understood the intent. She held up her hands and was surprised not to see them shaking.

When things happen, she told herself, as long as you’re not harmed, you have a choice over how you handle it. This meant nothing. It closed an episode, perhaps, but as an event it was unattached to anything else that was happening. Not everything connects.

✩

The first explosion came an hour after Sutler’s departure. A hollow pop from the burn pits. Rem walked down the track and when the second explosion came he saw smoke rise from the Beach, not the burn pits.

He arrived as the third and fourth bursts broke above the dune in a hail of debris and sand that hissed as it fell – and saw Samuels standing on the Beach with grenades. Little remained of the boat, an outline, flats and scraps of fibreglass spread across the dune.

Rem asked what he was doing. ‘Did Sutler tell you to do this?’

Samuels looked at his watch and asked if it mattered. Anyway, he was done now.

The news of the assault on the regional government at their offices in Southern-CIPA was quickly followed by the news of Kiprowski’s and Sutler’s deaths.

A small convoy of military police arrived late in the afternoon and immediately cordoned off Pakosta’s and Clark’s cabins, and took Rem into the Quonset to answer questions. Southern-CIPA had come under mortar attack. The offices of the Deputy Administrator had taken a direct hit. The Deputy Administrator was in the adjoining office at the time and had suffered burns. The two men inside his office, Kiprowski and Sutler, were killed, and they would be identified by their DNA, there were specialists flying in from Germany who would assist.