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.
* * *
Cathy,
2 points to make here. 1. It isn’t your business why my brother is out there, just as it isn’t my business that you don’t want your husband out there. 2. I’m guessing you haven’t been following the chatroom, but you’ve stirred everyone up and the discussion isn’t healthy. There’s all sorts of rumours about the contracts. HOSCO won’t think twice about getting rid of you. Their contracts are in iron. You stay there until they say you’re done. There’s someone posting on the forum now — boston_adams — who has a son at Camp Bravo. He says they refuse to work and now HOSCO are suing, breach of contract. He says people are coming home sick. He says HOSCO holds them responsible for what they were burning and it’s becoming a mess of lawyers and litigation. And (this is probably point 3), I don’t know anything, but it seems like this man is a good place to start.
JW
P.S. You don’t know what other people go through. I forget that. It’s my fault Paul left because he has to do everything when he’s home. I don’t know. Now everyone is angry with him.
P.P.S. I couldn’t talk with you when you said you didn’t want your husband out there. This is all I hear. They pretty much take it out on me now Paul’s not around. I think of leaving every day. I go to work and I think of leaving. I get home and just don’t want to be around. These people are strangers to me.
Paul is the kind of brother who’d do anything for you. That’s who he is. He brought me up and pretty much I can tell him anything. People don’t see that side of him.
There’s no one who supports him except me, and I’ve been thinking that if I thought what you thought then he’d have no one, and he’s always stood by me, no matter what. I can’t talk with you if this is what you think, because I can’t think like that. If he doesn’t have me, he has no one.
I’m sorry you feel like you do, and I hope your husband comes home to you soon.
Dear JW,
I am so sorry. I didn’t think before I answered your question, and I am so, so sorry. It isn’t that I don’t support Rem, and it isn’t that I think what he is doing is wrong. I don’t know either what the answer is. I just think it isn’t our problem, and now, somehow, it is. I don’t understand why it should be like this? I know all the reasons why he felt he had to go there, but don’t understand why he chose to go there.
But that’s how things are with us. How things are with you and your brother isn’t something I have any right to make an opinion about. It isn’t my business, and if it sounded like I was judging you, then I’m truly sorry. As you can see I’m just as confused by this as everyone else.
I have been on the chatroom, but can’t find boston_adams. If you could forward my email and information to him (or tell me who he is), I would appreciate it.
Your brother sounds like a kind and decent man.
You can call me anytime you like. Day. Night. Any time.
Sincerely,
Cathy
* * *
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?’