by Brett Baker
Davis sat down in the chair in front of Mount and watched him. He said nothing, did nothing, asked nothing. Just watched. He locked eyes with Mount, leaned forward in his chair, and stared. Mount couldn’t move his head, but he could move his eyes, and Davis could tell his staring made Mount uncomfortable. The assassin looked left and right, up and down, anywhere but directly at Davis. He closed his eyes for so long that Davis thought he had fallen asleep. Not until he stood up, walked away, and came back to the chair did he see that Mount had just closed his eyes to avoid looking at him.
Three more hours passed, and Davis applied additional doses of proplumonox. Mount hadn’t moved since the initial struggle on the bed, and Davis had stopped speaking to him. He continued to stare though, which obviously bothered Mount. Just after applying the last dose, Davis stood up and looked out the window.
“Everything looks quiet out there,” he said. “I think they’re all asleep. You’re lucky that your buddy decided to leave you alone. Things could have turned very bad, very quickly. That’s one thing working in your favor.” Davis walked to the hotel room door, peeked through the hole, and saw nothing so he returned to Mount. “Time to go.”
Davis opened the closet door and found a set of extra bed sheets. He tore one of the long sheets into strips, and tore a large square piece of fabric from the other sheet.
“You can’t move, but we’re not taking any chances.” Davis straddled Mount’s legs and tied his ankles together with three strips of torn sheet, then tied his knees together with two more strips. He rolled Mount over on his stomach and pulled his hands behind his back. He wrapped three strips of sheet around his wrists, cinching them tightly. Then with four long strips of sheet he tied the strips around his wrists to the strips around his knees. “I’ve got to be careful here,” Davis said. “One wrong move and you can’t breathe, and then instead of a useful resource, I’ve just got another dead guy on my hands.” Davis finished tying and then rolled Mount onto his back. “Don’t misunderstand though. You might be more valuable to me if you’re alive, but I will not hesitate to kill you. Believe me, the world’s a better place without you. I don’t know how someone like you even comes into being. So I’m not going to keep you alive just because you might tell us something we want to know. I don’t give multiple chances. You figure it out quick, or it’s the end of the line for you.”
Davis opened the window, removed the screen, and tossed Mount’s duffel bag onto the ground below. He looked around to ensure no one had seen him, and, satisfied with the anonymity of his action, replaced the screen, and closed the window and the curtains.
He opened the door to the hotel room, looked each direction in the hallway, and then walked the entire floor. No doors opened and no people passed as he walked. Although he would have preferred to canvas the entire hotel, he knew that someone could emerge from a door at any time, so even though the hallways and stairways were empty at the moment, they might not be empty thirty seconds later. Best to make a quick getaway and deal with witnesses as they arise. He’d done all he could do to ensure a witness-free escape.
Back in the room he shoved the small bottle of proplumonox into his pocket, messed up the covers on the bed that Mount wasn’t lying in so that it looked like he’d slept there, and then said, “Time for us to hit the road, Mount. I hope you’re not tired because the fun is just beginning. I’m excited to see some Utah wilderness.”
Davis stood at the foot of Mount’s bed, grabbed his ankles, and pulled him toward the edge of the bed until his feet rested on the ground. He took a piece of the torn sheet and shoved it in Mount’s mouth. “I’m not sure I can carry you,” Davis said. “I should have chosen a smaller assassin to capture. Jesus Christ, you’re as big as a fucking tree.” The Summit provided training in body transport, so Davis knew he wouldn’t have much trouble lifting and carrying Mount, but better to have him think that Davis carried him by sheer luck, rather than capitalizing on his intense training. He grabbed the front of Mount’s shirt and pulled him until he sat upright, and then he leaned over, draping Mount’s upper body across his shoulders, reaching between his thighs and grasping his leg. With Mount secure on his shoulders, Davis stood up, adjusted Mount’s body, and said, “Not too bad. Let’s see if we can manage this.” He walked to the door, opened it, and didn’t even bother peeking to see if anyone was walking down the hall. He’d have no believable explanation if he did encounter someone, so best just to get it done. The door slammed after he exited the room, and Davis wished he had thought to cushion the slam so as not to attract any unneeded attention. He schlepped to the end of the hall, opened the door to the stairway, remembered to cushion the close, and made his way down the steps. As he passed the second floor exit door he heard voices on the other side, but they sounded like they were getting further away. Davis continued down the steps, then out the exterior door, and to his car. He opened the hatchback, threw Mount into the car, and closed it on top of him. “Can you breathe?” Davis asked. Of course Mount did not respond, so Davis put his hand in front of Mount’s nose and felt his breath. “Good. Don’t die.”
Davis removed the torn sheet from his mouth and closed the hatchback. He applied one more dose to Mount, and then found Mount’s duffel bag beneath the palm tree, and went back to retrieve it. Within minutes they’d left the parking lot and Davis steered them onto I-15. He exited just a few miles ahead with no destination in mind, but the sign said Hurricane, and the road was a state route, so he hoped it’d take him even further from civilization. The pitch darkness of night enveloped them as Davis raced through unfamiliar streets, and into Hurricane. Although not a large town, Davis didn’t want to deal with Mount in any situation other than wilderness, so they passed through town and kept going on route 59.
Ten miles ahead, under a sky so black that billions of stars gleamed like diamonds, in a valley surrounded by small mountains, Davis found a natural pass where one mountain cut in front of the other. He checked his rearview mirror, and seeing no cars behind or in front of him, he steered the car off the road, and through the desert shrubs. Two hundred yards set back from the road, he passed behind one mountain and in front of the other, the natural barrier providing a shield from passersby. He parked the car, turned off the headlights, and called back to Mount, “We’re here! I hope you’re still alive.”
As expected, Mount offered no response. Davis opened the hatchback, applied an additional dose to keep Mount subdued, and the pulled him out of the hatchback by his ankles. Mount hit his head on the bumper of the car before landing on the ground. Davis dragged him away from the car, and dropped his feet as he came to rest next to a large Utah juniper tree.
“This will do just fine,” Davis said. He pulled Mount upright by shirt and dragged him so his back rested against the tree trunk. He used a knife from his car to cut the sheet strips from his wrists, and replaced them with black plastic zip ties. He secured one sip tie to each wrist, leaving just enough space between the tie and the skin so he could force in another zip tie. Pulling Mount’s arms behind him, and wrapping them around the tree, he used half-a-dozen more zip ties to secure his hands together.
“Has to be tight,” Davis said. “You’ve got no muscle capabilities at the moment, so these zip ties and the tree trunk are the only things keeping you from doing a face plant. But the good news is no more paralyzing potion. We’ll let this wear off and then we’ll talk. Oh, and just because you’ve caught me in a good mood, you might want to take this chance to get some rest. Maybe sleep for an hour or two. You can’t talk, so I don’t expect you to answer my questions, so I’ll let you rest.”
The same blank, empty, expressionless look remained on Mount’s face. He closed his eyes, but before he walked away Davis reminded him, “We’ve got you, Mount. If you can think of a way out of this, let me know. But I don’t see it. Unless you can pull that tree out of the ground, rip those plastic ties apart, or climb up that tree backward, I think you’re stuck. We’re going to get what we want. It’s
up to you whether we get it today, or we get it three weeks from today. Your choice. But keep in mind, you don’t eat until I believe you.” Davis reached into his pocket and pulled out the small bottle of water he had used to mix the proplumonox. “This bottle’s about half full, which means there are four ounces of water. It’s all yours. I won’t take any of it from you. But this is all you get until I’m satisfied that you’re telling me everything. I’m sure you know that the human body needs more than four ounces of water to survive. Thirty-two ounces is minimum, especially for a guy your size. So it’s not going to take long before you begin to get mighty uncomfortable. I can’t force you to talk, but I can make things pretty unpleasant if you decide not to talk. I’d tell you to keep that in mind, but once you get thirsty, you won’t be able to think of anything else.”
Davis left Mount at the base of the tree and sat in the front seat of his car, reclining back so he could get some rest. The Summit taught every agent how to up the ante when interrogating someone who wouldn’t divulge information. Unbound by laws or ethics, agents often gained answers simply by threatening interrogations beyond the pale. Davis found that explaining consequences of interrogation frequently worked just as well as carrying out the interrogation, so he made sure to explain everything as best he could.
But with a man like Mount, a professional who seemed to have no compassion, no moral compass of his own, Davis doubted whether threats alone would do the job. As he drifted off to sleep in the uncomfortable front seat of his car, he wondered whether even the actual physical interrogation would produce results.
Mount was a madman, and nothing challenged The Summit more than a madman.
31
Chapter 31
Early the next morning, a series of three phone calls gave me Bruce Green’s whereabouts. Success in The Summit often required knowing where to go for answers. Most of the time Polestar could provide any information required, but a call to Polestar meant providing as much information as I obtained, so if I were in a hurry and could uncover information in another way, I often preferred to do so.
Green planned to work from his district office in Chico all week, which pleased me to no end. I wanted to talk to him right away, so I would have flown to D.C. if he was there, but I’d much rather drive six hours up to Chico.
Like many congressman, a non-descript storefront in a strip mall served as his local office. I always expected people in positions of such prestige to have better offices, but congressional budgets aren’t what they used to be, so often members are forced to take the best deal they can find. An insurance agent flanked one side of Green’s office, and a Chinese restaurant enclosed him on the other side. A large replica of his congressional seal hung in the storefront window, along with his official portrait. I’d never met him before, but I recognized the portrait as the same one I’d become familiar with the night before while conducting brief background research. He appeared around my age, late thirties, and somewhat attractive. He had short, impeccably groomed brown hair, icy blue eyes, and seemed to devote a fair amount of time to physical fitness. He had a rather dopey smile, which gave him the exceedingly rare characteristic of actually being more attractive when he didn’t smile than when he did smile. His ears were slightly too large for his head, but most people probably didn’t notice. I have a bit of a fascination with ear size, so I always notice. As I approached his office it occurred to me that his official portrait could just as easily served as an advertisement for the insurance agency next door. He tried hard to portray a trustworthy appearance.
I walked into the office and a young woman who appeared just out of college looked at me, smiled, and then returned to the stack of papers on her desk. From an office behind the main desk a man emerged wearing a starched white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbow, a red and blue tie, and a black-framed eyeglasses that made him look fifty, which was at least twenty years older than his actual age. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days. He nodded in my direction, but walked right past me and out the front door.
I stood in front of the desk where the young sat and waited for her to acknowledge me. She had a large stack of letters in front of her that she appeared to be organizing. She looked for some piece of information on the letter, then sorted it into one of three piles. I waited for at least two minutes, but she wouldn’t look up again. Finally, tired of waiting, I said, “Excuse me, are you able to help me?”
She put up one finger, as if asking me to wait a minute, but didn’t look up from the letters. After she sorted the last letter she looked up and smiled the fakest smile I’d ever seen. “I’m sorry for the delay. How can I help you?”
“I’d like to talk to the congressman. Is he in this afternoon?”
“Do you have an appointment?” the young woman asked. Just then she began chomping on a piece of gum, and as the gum and her tongue made a disgusting slopping noise, I wondered how I hadn’t noticed the gum as I watched her for minutes beforehand.
“I don’t,” I said. “But it’s very important that I talk to him right away.”
“I’m sorry, he’s very busy and he only takes meetings by appointments. Are you a constituent?””
“No, I’m not. I live in Chicago. But I need to talk to him about a bill he has introduced. It won’t take long and I promise it will be worth his while.”
I didn’t expect Slopping Suzy to let me see the congressman. I’m sure she encounters people every single day who demand to see the congressman and assure her that they’ve got a good reason they need to talk to him. But there is little fun to be had in working for The Summit, so I have to take advantage of whatever fun I can find. Watching the quickness with which Slopping Suzy would change her tune about giving me some time with Green would be the most fun I’d have all day.
But first Suzy returned to her standard response to handle my request. “You can’t see the congressman today, but if you’d like to tell me what you’re here to talk with him about I’ll see if we can schedule something. Next week sometime? Or maybe you’d like to chat with his chief of staff, Alex. He just stepped out for lunch, but he’ll be back in an hour or so. He can probably talk with you this afternoon.”
“No, this can’t wait. You need to schedule something for me today. Right away, in fact.”
“I’m sorry. There’s just nothing we can do for you right now.”
I admired Slopping Suzy’s resistance. Despite her age she remained in control of the situation and didn’t intend to provide access to the congressman. He’d chosen a capable defender to shield him from unwanted guests. If I were just some impatient lady who thought a congressman should be available to me whenever I wanted to talk to him, Suzy would have effectively driven me away. She couldn’t have known how quickly the congressman would invite me into his office.
“I understand,” I said. “And I know how this works. You’re running interference for him. His time is valuable, he can’t be bothered by every John and Jane Q. Public that shows up with a problem. He’s lucky to have you. But I’m sure he’s back in his office, and I’m sure he has some time to talk. God forbid he make one fewer fundraising call today, but I think that’s what it’s going to take. I’ll leave in a minute, but before I go can you just call back to his office and tell him that Mia Mathis is here to see him.”
Suzy looked at me as if she could tell that something unexpected was happening. I don’t think she recognized my name, but I think she knew that the congressman would. “Do you know the congressman personally?” she asked.
“I don’t,” I said. “But can you just let him know I’m here?”
“Look, we can make an appointment for you, but I really can’t…”
I cut her off in the middle of her sentence. She seemed slightly flustered, which surprised and pleased me. “I know. Believe me, I understand what you can and can’t do. But I’m afraid I can’t leave until you mention my name to the congressman. If he says he doesn’t want to see me I’ll walk right out that door,
but I can’t leave before that.”
Suzy sighed, stood up, and asked me to have a seat in one of the plastic green chairs situated along the side wall of the space. She made no attempt to smile, and waited until I sat before walking away from her desk, into the door from which the unshaven man had entered. A second later she emerged, said, “Mia Mathis?” and after I nodded, disappeared into the room again.
I sat in the chair and scanned the parking lot, wondering if another assassin might be watching me, ready to pounce. I’d just stood up and took three steps away from the window to put more space between me and the imaginary assassin, when Slopping Suzy called my name. “Ms. Mathis, the congressman will see you now.” She smiled at me, and as I walked past her she held out her arms as if to waive me through. “I appreciate your patience,” she said.
“I appreciate your understanding,” I said. “Thanks so much for this.” Suzy offered an entirely insincere smile.
“In that door, all the way through that first office, and through the second door. The congressman will greet you there.”
I followed as directed and as soon as I entered the first door I looked across the outer office, which I assumed belong to his chief of staff, and saw Congressman Green waiting for me at the doorway to his office. As soon as he saw me a smile plastered across his face, and I marveled at the ease with which he seemed immediately friendly and welcoming. That sort of bullshit warmness couldn’t be taught.
“Mia Mathis, I can’t tell you how pleased I am to meet you,” he said, extending his hand. “Please, come on in.” I shook his hand and entered his office. He placed his hand on the small of my back as I passed by him, which seemed grossly unprofessional, but so nonchalant that he’d probably done it thousands of times. I took a few steps toward the large circular table in the center of the room, but he stopped me and directed me toward an overstuffed chair and an antique couch stuffed into a corner. “Let’s sit in the nook. It’s much more comfortable, and since there are only two of us we might as well.”