Sixtine- The Complete Trilogy Box Set by Caroline Vermalle

Author:Caroline Vermalle [Vermalle, Caroline]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Caroline Vermalle
Published: 2019-12-10T22:00:00+00:00

8

The windswept orange sand inside the metal hangar at Cairo West AB military airport. FBI Special Agent Aziza Rust pushed through a door with two signs hanging from it. On one was written, “Dignity & Respect”. On the other, “Mortuary Affairs, 45th Quartermaster”.

The pungent smell of cleaning products already took over her nostrils, so Rust silently greeted a young black soldier who ironed an American flag. Another soldier, even younger, played FreeCell on a computer, but swiftly rose to his feet to greet the FBI agent. They exchanged papers, spoke briefly while the radio played classical music. Then Aziza Rust signaled to the truck staff to unload, as preparations were being done to transfer the cargo.

A black body bag, with the remains of Franklin G. Hunter.

Rust waited in a chair outside the hangar, at her feet, an ashtray full of ash and buds. She thought of the perfectionism of those young soldiers who had just reached drinking age, who barely knew what life was like and who were preparing for death. They were called “dirty hands”.

She too felt like she had dirty hands.

Rust knew the work of soldiers in charge of funeral affairs, having witnessed their work too many times. She mentally retraced the steps which were being taken inside the mortuary, as she had been doing non-stop since the previous night. The corpse was being placed onto the metal table. The inspection of the corpse started at the feet, always. Their gloved hands searched for personal belongings such as wallets or jewelry, which they placed in a small plastic bag attached to the left wrist. Rust knew that the deceased had nothing on him but his clothes. The closed bag would then be placed in the lower part of the transfer coffin, biohazard bags filled with ice under the head and feet. Another team would place the top of the coffin, and Aziza Rust had instructed that she should be surrounded by the flag.

That’s the way it would work.

It was supposed to be like this.

The anguish didn’t let her go, though. There was one thing wrong with it. The music. Mozart. They usually listened to pop music. From the radio emanated a solitary operatic voice that enveloped the entire hangar and desert, undulating despite the winter.

But she tried not to think about it.

After a time that seemed far too long, she was called inside. The priest was ready to say the prayer. The funeral affairs staff gathered around the coffin in the oversized hangar, and whispered in a broken voice a prayer that was too fast.

They loaded the aluminum coffin before climbing into the truck, and drove silently to the airfield, where a cargo plane was waiting for them. In the rearview mirror, Rust saw the orange dust from another truck following them. Behind her RayBans, her eyes squinted. The truck entered the tarmac, the other arrived after it. The coffin was lowered without a word. One of the soldiers stood up and saluted with his whole body. Rust

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