Richard House - The Kills

Paul Geezler turned to face Rem, to make sure he had his attention. ‘If you have a moment I’ll tell you what we do.’

Both men looked at the full beer glasses set beside the taps, and Rem, imagining Cathy’s complaint, had the notion he should return home. Paul Geezler, of HOSCO International, pushed the beer toward him.

‘I’m giving a presentation tomorrow.’ Geezler looked at his beer. ‘An overview. Sixty-eight per cent of our business is now based in the Middle East. Last year it was forty-two. Even for us that’s exceptional growth.’ The man paused as if this fact might impress Rem. ‘We oversee large-scale development projects. The majority are military contracts, although that’s not exclusive. We handle contracts for building, and we provide maintenance and operational support, but the bulk of our work comes from supply. Eastern Europe, Indonesia, West Africa, Central America. Now it’s the Middle East.’ Geezler cleared his throat. ‘We supply transport, drivers, security, accommodation, food, clothing, entertainment. In the past nine years we’ve built everything from schools to refineries, banks, police stations, prisons, sewers. We have a lot of experience, Mr Gunnersen. There isn’t an aspect we don’t manage. If you take a shower it will be in one of our booths, with water and soap we supply and deliver. You’ll dry yourself with one of our towels.’ Geezler drew in breath. ‘I’ve been looking forward to steak tonight. If you’ll join me, I’d like to make you a business proposal.’

Rem deliberately made no gesture.

‘You have plenty of time to finish your beer.’

* * *

They sat at a table in the dining room. A recessed glass ceiling high above reminded Rem of a cruise ship, a room so creamy and vast their voices sounded thin. Along one wall ran a mural of a woodland, a steamy forest clearing with near-naked Indians and deer, strafing sunlight, a kind of overreaching nobility to the scale, everything pitched at the same grand status, animal and man.

‘I was recently in New Hampshire.’ Geezler looked to the mural. ‘Have you been to New Hampshire, Mr Gunnersen?’

Rem said that he hadn’t.

‘They have woods in New Hampshire, old forests. You think of these as wild places, these habitats, as something unique. After a while everything looks the same and you come to realize that it’s all managed. Very little is what you’d call natural. They plant and cut and replant, redirect streams, build dams, lakes, fire ponds. What appears old isn’t old at all. Everywhere you go looks the same. Even the animals. Everything is controlled. Anything excessive is eliminated.’

Geezler waited as the meal was delivered.

‘Our problem is we’re too big. The only way to manage diversity on this scale is to treat everything the same. We don’t think we do, but we do. The way we handle meat is essentially the way we handle electricity, oil, transport, information, manpower. Source. Deliver. Maintain. Resource. If we have a demand for hamburger in Balad, then we buy land and we raise cattle in Wyoming, because, long-term, it’s cost-effective. We go deep, Mr Gunnersen. New-growth forests in New Hampshire will provide lumber for construction, for paper, pallets, crates, and packaging. If we need water, we filtrate it ourselves. If we need to clear mines in Kuwait or Kosovo, we buy into the manufacturer of the sweepers, and hire and train the labour force ourselves. We’ll own an interest in the company that fabricates the body armour, and an interest in the company that produces the fibre for the armour. We bring the same approach to everything we do. It’s how we work. First it was about supply, about making connections, but now we have interests everywhere you can imagine. And there are issues with this, of course. At some point it becomes difficult to distinguish between what’s ours and what’s someone else’s. Does that make sense?

‘Do you have children?’

Rem shook his head.

‘For the first four months they can’t tell the difference between their own mouths and their mother’s teat. That’s how it is with us. We don’t know our limits. We started in minerals a long time ago. Then oil. And we just grew, we kept saying yes. Eighty-five years on and there’s probably only four people in the entire company who properly understand the scope of what we do. We live in departments where we make our work appear mysterious. The problem is structural.’

Paul Geezler lifted coverings from the platters and satisfied himself with what he saw.

‘I like how they do this. Speaks of another time.’ He smiled. ‘Think about that wood, Mr Gunnersen.’ Geezler leaned forward. ‘The reason everything works in forestry is because they knew what they were doing when they started. They understood the job. They set up a business knowing their parameters, and they created the world in which they operate. You know what they did with the existing woods? They cut them down. They started from scratch. We didn’t. We started out doing one thing and we’ve ended up doing everything. I’m not saying we’re greedy. I’m saying we’re promiscuous. The Middle East is raising lots of questions for us. People like what we provide, maybe they even like what we represent — more than they’d admit. But they don’t like us. That’s the issue. It’s animal, Mr Gunnersen. Instinctive. We make ourselves too available. That’s the scope of our problem. This is what it comes down to. We operate in other people’s territories. Territories we do not control.’

Geezler moved his steak to the centre of his plate. He gripped his knife, pen-like, held the meat in place with his fork, then cut the meat into equal sections. Done, he laid down the knife.

‘I’m not sure what we do about this. It might be something that can’t be addressed. I don’t know if it’s too global. For everything to work properly you need good foundations, which means building the territory from scratch. Cut down the old wood. Plant a new forest. Start over. But, like I said, we live in departments.

‘I can do something about more local issues. And for that I need people who can be my ears and eyes. I can’t do this myself.’ He stuck a piece of meat with his fork, lifted it to check that it was cooked to his liking. ‘I want to look at how we do things — I want to know our day-to-day workings in specific, intimate detail. I want to see how our services work, and at what temperature. Understand what’s lacking. What we’re getting wrong.’ He looked square across the table. ‘I need to know how we do business. Does this interest you?’

Rem cut into the steak Geezler had ordered for him. Rarer than he liked, salted and seared, the meat had a good rich taste, but as he chewed he felt a vague wave of disgust at the texture, at how the meat gave, uncooked, easily to his bite.

‘It doesn’t matter that you don’t know our procedures. It’s probably better not to know. All I need is someone to interact with our operations and report back. How does this sound, Mr Gunnersen?’

Rem said he wasn’t sure what he was being asked, and for a moment Geezler appeared disappointed, as if Rem had missed the point of the discussion, just hadn’t appreciated the general thrust.

‘I’m not asking you to do anything other than observe. That’s all I’m asking.’ Geezler set his fork beside his knife.

* * *

Rem stood at the front of the carriage and watched the train lights skid along the rails. A friendly comfort to the bump and jostle of the first carriage on the last train. Two calls on his mobile, one from Jay, the other from Mike, both asking for news on Matt as neither had heard from him in over a week, but really asking after money. As he looked out at the city he thought of Nut, lost or stolen.