by Brett Baker
Curt nodded. “But you’re going to write something?”
“I don’t know. Writers write. I’ve got to see what’s here first.” Curt looked like he had something else he wanted to say, but I waited for thirty seconds and he remained silent. “I’m going to mill about a little, and see if anyone else wants to talk. If you think of anything I should know, give me a call.” I let him know where I was staying and gave him the number to the hotel. I tried to protect the integrity of my cell phone as much as possible.
“I didn’t get your name,” he said.
“Mia,” I said. I paid particular attention to his reaction upon hearing my name, but nothing changed. I’d been told that my name had a particular melody to it though, and that anyone who heard my entire name spoken together would never forget it. I decided to test the theory. “Mia Mathis.” Still no change in Curt’s expression. Either the name meant nothing to him, or he had a great poker face.
“Well, Mia, I’ll be in touch if I want to talk. Whatever you end up doing with this, just remember, Abner’s primary concern was always the environment. Not himself, not other people, not money. The environment. It was here long before us, and it’ll be here long after us. He always wanted to make sure we remembered that.”
“I’ll make sure I remember, Curt. And don’t hesitate to call. Day or night.”
As I walked away from Curt and disappeared into the thicket of mourners and activists, I glanced back to see if his expression had changed, or if he’d raced off to talk to someone else and tell them that he’d just Mia Mathis. Curt stood right where we parted, arms folded, head up, eyes directed toward the deck in front of the crowd. Like everyone else in the driveway, myself included, he was looking for answers.
However, my questions were vastly different.
25
Chapter 25
Three raps on my door woke me from a deep sleep. They didn’t even sound like knocks, but rather like concussive blasts. I half-expected to see the door blown off its hinges as I sat up, turned on the light, and tried to figure out where I was. The digital clock on the dresser read 1:36, and I’d been asleep for two hours. I’d hung out at Abner’s cabin all day and talked to dozens of people, but most of the conversations unfolded like the conversation with Curt. I met plenty of passionate, caring people, who knew a lot about their cause, but had no information relevant to me. I’d given my name to a handful of people and none of them showed any reaction. Two people told me my name sounded like a movie star, which I’d heard dozens of times before. None of them seemed interested enough to come pounding on my hotel room door in the middle of the night though. I approached the door quietly, without turning on a light. If the person on the other side meant to do me harm, the least I could do to protect myself was not provide the light by which he could carry out his plans. Best to make him think I wasn’t there. I’d learned a lesson years before that even most people who aren’t in The Summit have learned: when someone knocks on your door at 1:36 in the morning, it’s always bad news.
I looked through the peephole and saw a man with short brown hair, glasses, and facial hair so pitch patchy and groomed, yet permitted to grow wild where it was permitted to grow at all, that it appeared as though he employed a full-time facial hair stylist. He rubbed the back of his neck, and looked down at the ground, as if deep in thought. He knocked again, this time with even more enthusiasm, but never shifted his gaze from the floor. Had he looked in either direction down the hall, or behind him, or done anything else to indicate that he worried about someone else arriving or seeing him go into the room, I would have been even more worried. But with the thunderous impact of his knocks, and his complete focus on the floor, I realized he wanted to talk to me and he had no reason to hide his urgency, which I hoped meant that he didn’t intend to do me harm. Still, I’d assume he wanted to harm me until he proved otherwise.
If I asked him to identify himself before I opened the door then I’d obviously let him know I was in the room. That gave him an opportunity to prepare for me opening the door, and he could begin doing whatever he came to do. Instead, I opted to surprise him. I turned the light on for a second to look at the layout of the room, which would provide another slight advantage if he attacked me. I took the iron from the top shelf of the closet and put it under my pillow. If he ended up on top of me in bed, I could reach under the pillow and pull out quite a surprise for him. I grabbed the hair dryer from the bathroom and tied one end of the cord to the leg of the table pushed up against the wall near the entrance, and tied the other to a chair I situated a few feet away. The cord became a tripping hazard to anyone who didn’t know it was there, which meant that if he chased me into the room I could hurdle the cord as I ran away from the door, and he’d run after me and end up flat on his face if the cord worked as I hoped. I considered calling the front desk and putting the phone down so they could hear everything that happened in the room and call the police, if necessary, but if the man had a legitimate reason to be in the room then I didn’t want anyone else to hear anything we said.
The man’s knocks became more urgent, and I took one last peek through the peephole. He bounced on the balls of his feet, which I knew to be either a sign of nervousness or anticipation of action. Either could be the case in this situation.
“Mia, I just need to talk to you for a second.” He hadn’t spoken until that moment, and knowing that he knew my name made me even more nervous. I could handle a random hoodlum knocking on my door and looking for trouble, but this guy knew my name, which meant he might know something about me and my training, so he might be prepared. A prepared foe is always more difficult to conquer than an unprepared one.
I decided to quit stalling—or actually, preparing, as I wasn’t avoiding opening the door, but rather putting myself in a better position to handle whatever would happen after I opened it. I turned off the lights, grabbed the handle as quietly as possible, and whipped the door open, while also bending at the knees and getting into a defensive stance. Had the man charged me at that moment I could have punched him in the throat, which is a blow from which most people won’t recover, I could have ducked and flipped him over my shoulders, which causes most people to land on their backs, which—professional wrestling excepted—is a rather debilitating injury. Or I could have turned to run if he seemed too big, too fast, or too damn mean.
I didn’t have to employ any of my avoidance tactics because when I opened the door, nothing happened. He stood in the hallway and looked at me, but didn’t charge at me, didn’t punch me, didn’t try to shoot me. He just looked at me. With no door between us he looked meek, and somewhat overwhelmed. I didn’t say anything. I just stood there and waited for him to speak. I wanted him to think I was still half-asleep, in case he decided to launch a delayed attack.
“Sorry to bother you so late, Mia, but I felt like this was urgent, and he said I could come see you any time, so I rushed over. I think I’ve got some things that might be of interest to you, and I know that you’re of interest to me.”
He stood with his hands to his side, and took a step back from the doorway. He seemed conscious of the fact that he’d put me in a very vulnerable situation, and that I was right to be afraid.
“Who are you?” I asked. “What are you doing here?”
“My name’s Tanner Dodd. You’re Mia Mathis, right?” I nodded. “We’ve been looking for you for a long time.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” I asked. “You’re here by yourself, aren’t you?”
“I am. But Abner and I needed to talk to you. Obviously we didn’t get around to it before he died.”
“What’s this about?” I asked.
“Do you mind if I come in? We need some privacy to discuss this, and frankly, I’m not comfortable standing in the hallway where anyone can here what we’re saying.”
“And you think I’m going to be comfortable having some man I’ve never met come into my room? That seems like a very bad idea.”
“We need to talk, and
we need to do it now. We can do it here or you can get dressed and we can meet somewhere public. This can’t wait though. Both for me, and for you. I’m harmless, I promise.”
“I bet that’s what most killers and rapists say right before they attack.”
“No attacks from me,” Tanner said. “I’ll sit on my hands.”
“Come on in,” I said, standing to the side and letting him cross the threshold into the room. He took a few steps and I shouted, “Stop!” He jumped, lifted his hands in the air like I’d just told him to put his hands up, and slowly turned to face me. I squeezed by him and untied the cord from the chair. “A little booby trap,” I said. “Hard to tell who’s on my side and who’s not.”
“So you set up a third grade prank to trip me?”
“Hey, it might be third grade, but it’s effective. If I hadn’t told you it was there you’d be flat on your face on this disgusting carpet and I’d be free.”
“First of all, I would have regained my balance. No way would I have ended up on the floor. Second, you’re not unfree. You can go any time you want. I’m not holding you prisoner. I just need to talk to you. So don’t go telling the police I kidnapped you or that I’m holding you hostage. It just isn’t so. Third, I’m glad I didn’t fall because you strike me as the type of person who would laugh when people our age fall.”
“Unfree isn’t a word,” I said. “And I don’t laugh when people fall, unless I’m the one who made them fall. Then I think it’s funny. Particularly if they’re hurt. But I can go any time I want? Let me remind you that this is my room. I’m not leaving my room. You’ll be the one who leaves.”
“Fair enough,” Tanner said, raising his hands in the air once again. He pulled the chair away from the wall and sat down, making a point to show me he was sitting on his hands. “I’m sorry for coming so late.”
“Who said you could come this late?”
“Curt. He said you told him any time, day or night.”
“Yeah, I probably said that. Did Curt tell you about our conversation?”
“Not really. We were hanging at my place, talking about the day, about Abner. The whole thing just seems surreal. I can’t believe he’s gone. Anyway, he mentioned your name and I jumped out of my chair.”
“How did you know my name?” I asked. I had butterflies in my stomach. On every mission there are a few moments in which the excitement just overwhelms me. It’s never nerves, always excitement. I can handle nerves. I’ve got enough training and experience that not much happens that can truly make me nervous. But excitement is always new, no matter how many times I’ve experienced it, and my body reacts by producing that fluttery feeling in my stomach.
“Abner has been talking about you for months. Well, maybe not months, but weeks. Three or four weeks. Ever since he first heard your name. He’s been trying to track you down, but apparently you’re tough to find. We spent days making calls, going through files, reading newspaper articles, just searching for your name. He thought if he could just figure out how to contact you that you’d fix this forestry bullshit. But you’re like a ghost, Mia. Deep internet searches turned up nothing on you. Everyone we got on the phone said your name sounded familiar, but they could never place it. No one knew anything about you.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked. I had so many questions for Tanner that I didn’t even know where to begin.
“This can’t be a surprise,” he said.
“Which fucking part?” I asked. “The part where you think I’m the answer to your problems, or the part where strangers spent weeks searching for information about me? Yes, it is a surprise. And it’s creepy as shit.”
“But you’re not surprised we didn’t turn up anything about you?” Tanner asked. “Why is that?”
“I guess you’re not very good at searching,” I said, trying to deflect his question. “Google can find me.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” Tanner added. He looked at me, but said nothing, and I got the feeling that he was watching my reaction as much as he was waiting for my words.
I shook my head, and instead of addressing my invisibility on the internet, which is another protection that The Summit handles for all of its agents, I redirected his line of questioning. “Why do you think I know something about forestry?”
“Don’t you?” he asked.
“Not a goddamn thing,” I said. “Golly fuck, I don’t know why you would think that. Whoever collects your intel doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing. What did Abner think I new?”
Tanner sat back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head. He seemed like a man who waited a long time for a particular prize, and now that he had the prize he wasn’t sure what to do with it. “I don’t know,” Tanner said.
“You don’t know? You’re struggling to find me for weeks, you’re doing deep internet searches, you rush over to my hotel room at one-thirty in the morning, and you’re not even sure what you want from me? How can you not know? Why do all that work if you don’t know?”
“It’s not my job to know that stuff,” Tanner said. “Abner knew. I asked him and he said it was best that I not know. Said that plausible deniability has saved lives before, and he thought that it might save lives in the environmental situation we’re currently in. Some people stood to make hundreds of millions of dollars from the project we opposed, and people will do crazy things to protect hundreds of millions of dollars. So he left me in the dark intentionally. And I knew it, but I didn’t care. I trusted him. He started this organization so many years ago, and he’s the face of it, and he’s a big shot, and all that. He can get Senators and congressman on the phone. So when Abner tells you something, you believe it, and you trust him, and you accept that whatever happens he can handle it, and he’s expecting it.”
“Who else knows?” I asked. “There has to be someone else here that’s privy to this information.”
“I don’t think so. He wanted to protect all of us, and if ignorance was bliss, then he didn’t mind keeping us all out of the loop and taking the entire burden upon his shoulders. The man was a superstar through and through.”
“So he just magically figured this out on his own?” I asked. “Or does he not burden you with his sources either?” I mocked the last part of the sentence to show that I thought the idea of Chamberlain being some superhero who didn’t want to endanger his employees and followers was a bunch of bullshit. The guy lived by himself in the woods in order to avoid the rest of society. I suspect the same part of his personality that drove that decision also drove him to keep information to himself. He didn’t tell anyone else about me because he simply preferred to keep it to himself. He was an opportunist. He used information and human capital to accomplish what he needed to accomplish, but when he didn’t need anyone’s help, he had no problem just pushing them to the side and proceeding on his own.
“I don’t know all his sources. He’s always meeting with people, and a lot of it is one-on-one stuff just between him and the other person in the room with him. People believe in him, and they want to help him. They know he’ll get results, so they open up to him. Some of those people are putting themselves at great risk by opening up. He takes that seriously, so he’s not going to put those people in danger by spreading their name everywhere.”
“Then this is all for nothing,” I said. “All of your searching and coming over here is pointless for you because you don’t even know what you’re looking for.
“You are supposed to know,” Tanner said, raising his voice. “Abner said that you had information that would derail the whole thing. He said you could make it stop.”
“I could make it stop?” I asked. “Are those the words he used?”
“Yeah, more or less.”
“I don’t fucking want more or less,” I said. “I want you to remember what the fuck he said. ‘Mia can make it stop.’ Is that what he said?”
“I don’t know. What the fuck does it matter?”
�
�It matters to me,” I said.
“Calm the fuck down. Let me think. Fuck, I’m glad Abner didn’t find you. The two of you would have killed each other. Restrain. That’s the word he used. ‘Mia can restrain them.’”
“Bingo!” I said, clapping my hands. “So he wanted to find me because he thought I could stop this project.”
“That’s what I just told you. Are you listening to me?”
“You left out the part about restrain,” I said. “That’s some pretty fucking important information.” Tanner said nothing and just looked at me with a confused expression. “I’d never hard of Chamberlain until an investigator came to ask my why my name, address and phone number were on a slip of paper in his cabin. And beneath it all was the word restrain. The name and contact information looked to be written in a woman’s hand, but restrain was scribbled in a man’s writing. I had no idea why he knew who I was, or what restrain meant. He thought I could derail the project. But I still have no idea why he thought that, or who would have told him that.”
“So he had your phone number?” Tanner asked. “He never called you?”
“I never talked to him,” I said. “I don’t know if he ever called. I don’t pay attention to my landline. No one calls me there. Anyone who knows me would never try to reach me there, so I don’t even think to check it. Could be that he’s been calling me for weeks and just missing me. Hold on.” I called the number to the voicemail at my apartment and began weeding through the messages. None of them were from people I wanted to talk to. I reached the end without anyone claiming to be Chamberlain. “If he called he didn’t leave a message.”
“I can’t believe he didn’t call,” Tanner said. “This has been driving us nuts for weeks. It’s been the sole purpose of his life during that time. I’m surprised he didn’t dial your number as soon as he had it.”
“Maybe it’s not a conversation he can have over the phone. You came to see me, even though it’s the middle of the night. You knew where I was staying. You could have called and asked for my room. But you came to see me. Why?”