‘You don’t check for scorpions?’
Rem looked down at his boots and admitted that he only ever remembered after he’d put them on.
Sutler wanted to hustle Southern-CIPA. ‘It isn’t just about the money, they need to get behind the project. Show some support.’ That’s why he wanted Rem along. ‘Support. We’re losing more than time just sitting here doing nothing.’ Sutler laid out his plan: today they would go to Amrah City, collect the first amount of money released for the project. Paul Howell would set up the accounts. Everything was in order. As soon as the decision became official HOSCO would send in workers, more than likely, who would need a work camp, which meant a need for more amenities. This would take time to put together. ‘This is what we should be working on. So today we can make a proper start.’
Every conversation with Sutler now revolved around the Massive. Even Kiprowski had commented. Any subject could be bent to the project.
‘What time is Steven getting up?’
‘Steven?’
‘Kiprowski.’
Both men looked at the cabin.
‘About five minutes after the transport arrives.’
Sutler folded and unfolded his arms, checked his watch.
* * *
Cathy,
Paul was taken to the ER after collapsing at home. They’ve taken scans and he has scars on his lungs and reduced lung capacity and what looks like asthma. That’s all they can tell us, they don’t know what’s happening, they tell us they don’t have any idea what’s causing this. Before this happened P was contacted by a lawyer who was asking a load of questions about the kind of work he was up to and said that the company don’t give a shit about the risks and get away with whatever they want. He’s lost 30lbs, he can’t breathe right, and we don’t know what to do.
Jonnie
Jonnie,
I’m sorry to hear this. I’ve been doing my own research and am worried about what they have been exposed to out there. There seems to be no accountability, and there’s a great deal of confusion. I have documents from boston_adams which give an idea of the materials they have been burning, which might be of some use. I’ve good reason to believe that these are genuine, and that they come from HOSCO. Please see the attachments to this message.
Please know how sorry I am to hear about your brother. I’m praying that he is making a good recovery. I have some information on the chemicals and the effects of the chemicals — which doesn’t make good reading, which I want to send to everyone. But I wanted to know how Paul is doing, and how you are managing with what is happening.
I’ll post what I know on the forum.
Until I hear from you — Cathy
Dear All,
I’m sorry to be sending this information in this way, but this is the quickest and most effective way to make sure you get to hear everything you need to hear.
Some of you might know that Paul Watts collapsed at his home and has been in hospital since. He has been diagnosed with sudden onset asthma. He has also suffered contusions on his lungs. It’s possible, just about, that this has nothing to do with his work in Iraq (given the weight of evidence, the numbers of people returning with similar conditions and problems, and the nature of the work — it probably seems self-evident that this is the outcome of the work he, and our partners/loved ones are engaged with). I must stress also that while this is serious, it might be the case that not everyone will be affected in the same way. There are no studies yet to show how this will affect everyone, which makes this all the more frightening. You will find five documents attached. These are from HOSCO, and they clearly show that they’re aware of what’s being burned and the associated health-risks.
Again, if you have any questions, please use the above email. Cath
* * *
It wasn’t until Rem was in the helicopter that he considered he didn’t know what 1.4 million dollars looked like, and while he doubted that it would come in fives and tens, it would be difficult to barter for equipment with anything larger than a hundred dollar bill. He couldn’t imagine how big or heavy the package would be, or if it would be one package or a number of packages. When Sutler spoke with CIPA they asked him when he would be collecting the shipment, and the word shipment sounded large and heavy and difficult to secure. And why bring the money back here? Wouldn’t most of the services, equipment, arrangements be made through Southern-CIPA in any case? Wasn’t it their duty to ensure they hired Iraqi labour, brought in the right local services (which were all, again, based in Amrah)? Not including himself or Sutler, the six men they had on base weren’t enough, and despite Sutler’s assurances, their contracts didn’t cover them for this work. Would Sutler pay them separately? In cash? All Rem knew was that they would be met as soon as they landed and taken to the Southern-CIPA’s Regional Office for Procurement. It was his assumption that they would bring them back to the airfield. Nevertheless he asked Pakosta to come with them for added security.
Rem assured Sutler that neither Pakosta nor Kiprowski understood the real intention of the visit. But given the porousness of information at Camp Liberty it didn’t surprise him to hear Pakosta brag that he had worked one summer delivering diamonds and cash from the mart on Wabash to jewellers and banks in the Loop. This was in Chicago, about three years ago, when he was seventeen. The pay wasn’t great considering the risk — it only occurred to him later that the work was actually dangerous. The diamonds were carried in a backpack, nothing more. There were no guards, no one to watch his back, just him and a backpack coming in and out from the cutters’ and setters’ studios to the shops and dealers on State Street. He blended in with the students and tourists, no one had any idea. He would be crossing the road with dirt-poor people, and if you’ve ever visited Chicago you see some dirt-poor people, who had no idea that right next to them, right within reach, was more money than they would ever make, all in one bag.
Pakosta leaned forward and asked Kiprowski if he missed Chicago.
Kiprowski nodded, and Pakosta sat back.
‘Shut your face. It’s a shit-hole. The whole town is a shitty place.’
‘I like Chicago.’ Sutler shook his head at Pakosta, and straightened the headphones.
Kiprowski turned away and smiled to himself.
Pakosta shrugged. ‘Why don’t you two just get a room?’
When the blades fired up, the vehicle shook so violently that it seemed to Rem that something was wrong, but no one else appeared alarmed. Kiprowski, shoulders shaking, kept his face turned to the window. Sand curtained up and pillowed out, and they rose with the blades’ vibrations riveting through them. The motion made Pakosta laugh, and the pilot asked him to switch his comm-link off. Pakosta whooped and cheered, he loved this, he said, his hips, his shoulders, his head shivering, everything about it. Shot out of a gun. He slapped Kiprowski’s thigh and asked if he liked this. He wasn’t nervous, was he?
* * *
Following Sutler’s example, Rem and Kiprowski ducked as they disembarked, and ran in a squat. Pakosta swaggered across the airfield with his pack on his back. Sutler held out his badge as he approached the hangar and said to the first of two guards that he was supposed to meet Tom Markland.
The guard held out his hand and stopped them. The pass wasn’t enough. Immediately exasperated, Sutler said it would have to do. ‘Tom Markland,’ he said, ‘is waiting.’
The guard conferred on his radio. No, there wasn’t any Markland at CIPA any more.
Sutler struggled to explain. ‘Markland. The secretary to the Deputy Administrator. Tom Markland?’ When this produced no result he asked to meet with the bursar.