by Brett Baker
32
Chapter 32
The sun rose over southern Utah before six in the morning. Forty minutes later it was high enough in the sky to throw rays through the driver’s side window of Davis’s car, and shine into his slumbering eyes. Davis sensed the light while dreaming about riding his bike, one of his favorite hobbies during downtime from The Summit. He threw his arm across his face, hoping to block the rays, but they’d already disrupted his sleep enough to cause him to wake up. After a few groggy seconds, he sat up and recalled the situation.
He looked toward the Utah juniper and saw Mount still sitting at the base, his head resting against the trunk, his legs straight out in front of him, tied at the knees and ankles. Davis felt a wave of relief that Mount hadn’t broken free. He knew he secured him as tightly as possible, but he never underestimated men like Mount. He exited the car and his footsteps gained Mount’s attention.
“Good morning,” Davis said. “How’d you sleep?”
“Shitty,” said Mount. “Feels like a hangover. My head’s pounding, my throat’s dry, and I peed myself about an hour ago.”
“Sorry about that,” Davis said. “That stuff works, but no one tried to eliminate the side effects. We’re not too concerned about that.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised. I thought you were killing me though. I’ve never used it, but I hear chloroform is some bad shit.”
“It’s not chloroform. That stuff doesn’t work like they claim in the movies. It’s not instantaneous, and it’s not lethal unless you use a huge dose. You’d have to pour it down someone’s throat to kill them.”
“Good to know. I’ll be sure not to count on it.”
“That’s not your thing anyway, is it? You prefer something a little more lethal, a little more immediate. A little more distant.”
“What are you talking about?” Mount asked.
“Oh come on, Mount. I know who you are, I know what you do. Don’t play dumb with me.”
“My name’s not Mount.”
“I told you last night that I knew that wasn’t your name. It’s a nickname, man. A tip of the cap to how fucking sadistic you are.”
“I’m not sadistic. I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.” Mount spoke like he didn’t believe any of the words coming out of his own mouth.
“You wanted to mount a victim’s body on your wall. What is that if not sadistic?”
“Fucking funny,” Mount said. “Awesome. Intimidating. Amusing. Pick any of those words. It’s not sadistic though. They’re already dead.”
“Because of you.”
Mount shook his head as if to dismiss a ridiculous idea. “There’s nothing more humane than a bullet to the head. They never see it coming. They die right away. It’s over before they know what happened. And really, isn’t that how we all want to go? Quick and painless?”
“How nice of you to kill them so easily,” Davis said. “You’re such a fucking humanitarian.”
“I’m no humanitarian. People are assholes. Some of them need to be killed. That’s why I’m here.”
“So you’re Mount?” He shrugged his shoulders but said nothing. He turned his head and looked off into the distance. “I thought you said your name wasn’t Mount.”
“My name isn’t Mount. That’s just a nickname some fucker gave me. I know all about it. Who cares? You want to think I’m some sick fuck, go right ahead. In my profession I don’t need to be beloved. I just need everyone to know that I can do the job. And I think I’ve made that clear. So you guys can go ahead and call me whatever you want, but the fact of the matter is, you’re just happy that I’m not on your trail, because if I were, it’d be the end for you, and you know it.”
“Then what’s your real name?”
Mount shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. You don’t need my real name. You know Mr. Mount. You know what I do. That’s all you need to know.”
“Actually, I need to know a lot more than that,” Davis said. “If that’s all I needed to know you wouldn’t be tied to a tree right now. So you better start talking.”
“What do you want to know?” Mount asked.
“Your name.”
“I’m not telling you my name. My name means more to me than it does to you. You’ve got me. Knowing my name won’t do anything for you. You’re not getting my name.”
Davis had two goals in interrogating Mount. He wanted to know if he planned to kill additional agents from The Summit, which would imply that he knew The Summit existed. If Mount possessed such knowledge, then Davis’s investigation would have to dig deeper to find Mount’s source, and eliminate everyone who might have even the most insignificant information regarding The Summit. Uncovering information about the Abner Chamberlain job was Davis’s second goal. But he didn’t want to dive in to those questions right away. Best to work with Mount a little bit first, see how things went, and then devise a plan to glean the information he needed.
“Tell me about the Albuquerque job you did the other day. The concrete guy. What was that about?”
“Silencer.” Mount said. “The fat fuck couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He was going down, and he threatened to take everyone else down with him. One of the guys he threatened decided to call me. End of story.”
“How much do you usually know about the people you’re killing?”
“Whatever I need to know to get the job done. That’s it. People are chatty when they call me though. They feel like they have to justify themselves. Make a case for why they need me to do what I do.”
“So what did you need to know about the eight-year-old girl?”
“Just where she lived,” Mount said. “She was going to be easy money. There would have been so much chaos in the aftermath that I could have walked away holding my weapon and no one would have noticed.” Mount shook his head again, and let out a deep sigh that sounded like regret. “Easy money wasted.”
Davis had kept his distance from Mount, as though he expected the man to break free and attack him, but when he heard Mount’s callousness while talking about killing a little girl, he couldn’t stop himself. He walked toward Mount, who eyed him, but didn’t attempt to resist, and kicked him once in the side of the head. Mount’s head snapped quickly to the right, and he let out a scream.
“You’re a fucking barbarian,” Davis said, kicking Mount again, this time in the neck. Davis once killed a man with a similar kick to the same part of the neck, and he didn’t intend to kill Mount at that moment, but he couldn’t help himself. “She’s a little girl. Eight-years-old. What the fuck could she have done to deserve that? Nothing! I don’t care what she knows, or who feels threatened by her in the cartel, or any of that. She’s eight-years-old!” Davis kicked Mount in the chest three times.
Davis could feel his rage overcoming his self-discipline, so he walked away from Mount and turned his back on the man. He took a deep breath and paced back and forth, which always helped calm him. He had to remain in control if he had any hope of Mount being useful to him.
He walked back to Mount, and could see the restrained man’s entire body tense as he approached.
“I’m not going to kick you,” Davis said. “It’s the kids. They just get to me. Happens every time.” Davis looked at Mount as if waiting for an instant of affirmation, but Mount ignored him. “Let’s get back to it. Why did you do the guy on the balcony in Pigeon Forge? What was his deal?”
Mount’s victim in Pigeon Forge was a decommissioned agent for The Summit. He’s the victim that caught The Summit’s attention, and worried agents across the country. An easy explanation from Mount could clear the entire investigation.
Instead, Mount didn’t respond. He looked at Davis, who felt that Mount was actually looking through him, and had mentally checked-out of the situation. When Davis repeated the question, Mount remained silent, but switched his gaze to the ground.
“You need to talk,” Davis said. “That’s the only reason you’re still alive. So you can talk. The moment you sto
p being helpful to me is the moment you become worthless to me. An impediment. The only way I know how to deal with an impediment is to eliminate it.”
Mount looked at him, but remained silent. He closed his eyes and rested the back of his head against the trunk of the tree. Davis approached him. “You better start talking,” he yelled. Mount didn’t respond, so Davis grabbed the man’s hair and pulled his head to the side. Mount’s eyes remained closed. “I’m not here to play games with you. You have no choice. Either you answer my questions or you die a horrible, slow death tied to this tree. Do you have any idea what a slow death looks like? I’m talking no water. You think you’re thirsty now, wait until you go twenty-four hours without water. Your lips dry out, the skin on your fingertips begins to crack. You’ll notice both of those things. But you don’t have a mirror, so you probably won’t notice the way your eyes will sink in. It’s not pretty. And your hands are tied so you won’t be able to pinch your skin and see the way it doesn’t bounce back. It’ll just stay like that. It’s disgusting. So it’s up to you.”
Davis stood in front of Mount and stared at him for five minutes. The sun had already warmed the hot desert air, and Davis could feel a trickle of sweat drip down his neck. Mount sat on the east side of the juniper’s trunk, so the sun’s rays beat down directly upon him. Later in the day the tree would provide some shade, but the sun’s intensity would take its toll on him by then.
“Let’s get this done,” Davis said. “Start talking. Tell me about Pigeon Forge.”
Mount didn’t move.
“Listen, Mount, you know how this works. I’ve got things I need to know, and you’ve got the answers. You can sit there and pretend you’re mute, but you’ll end up dead. You don’t know who I am, and I’m not going to tell you, but I’m not bound by anything. So if you think that there are laws, or some professional code, or rules of engagement, that are going to rein me in, you need to think again. I’m the same as you, only I’m not an asshole. I can do whatever I want. And I’m going to decide what I want to do based on one thing: how helpful you decide to be. So what are you going to say?”
Davis watched Mount and expected him to start talking. When most people find out the person interrogating them has no restrictions on their actions, they’re usually eager to talk. But Mount wasn’t most people. Davis had never met someone who seemed so cold-blooded, and he realized the challenge Mount presented.
“All right. That’s it,” Davis said. “Now we’ll have some fun. Take a deep breath, Mount. You’re going to need it.”
33
Chapter 33
On the trip to St. George from Tulare County, Davis devised a plan for working on Mount. He knew the challenge Mount presented, but he also understood the importance of gaining the information he needed. No agent for The Summit could ever choose one mission as their most important, but Davis couldn’t think of any mission he’d undertaken that seemed as vital for so many reasons as working on Mount. While thinking about all of the training he’d received from The Summit, and the experience he’d gained on previous missions, and then trying to apply that knowledge to Mount, two plans of action made sense.
He intended to wait Mount out. Deprive him of water, make him so thirsty that he’d do anything for a drink. That plan would take time, but it always proved effective. The victim felt the dryness, the looming dehydration, the heat, and always opened up. But Davis suspected that Mount thrived on misery, and he didn’t want to waste any more time than necessary. He preferred the second option.
Davis returned to his car, opened the back door, and pulled out a coil of three-inch plastic tubing. He looked toward Mount, who still sat with his head resting against the trunk, his eyes closed. Davis wondered if Mount would be more attentive if he knew what was in store for him.
After unrolling the coil of tubing, Davis started his car, and then took one end of the tubing and fit it over the end of his tailpipe. As he did so, he called Mount’s name, but the assassin had been staring at Davis since he heard him start the car.
“Do you know what’s about to happen?” Davis looked over at Mount and shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know what’s going to happen. I know what can happen. But I don’t know what you’re going to do. You can either continue being an asshole, or you can tell me what I need to know. And I’ll let your imagination decide what might happen if you follow either of those courses of action.”
Davis paused to permit Mount a moment to respond, and when he said nothing, Davis returned to his car. From the front seat he retrieved a two-liter bottle of soda, opened it, and dumped out the contents. He used a pair of scissors to cut the bottle in half, and brought the top half, along with some duct tape, over to Mount.
“I couldn’t find a mask, so I’m just going to make my own.” Davis shoved the narrow top of the bottle into the end of the tubing, and wrapped the duct tape around the joint half a dozen times to keep it in place. “Not pretty, but it should work just fine. And the other end should fit right over your face.” Davis placed the cut end of the bottle over Mount’s face, but even though he was tied to the tree, he moved his head back and forth and worked free of the bottle.
“You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m just going to sit here and let you poison me,” Mount said.
“Oh, so you can talk!” Davis said. “I was just beginning to think you couldn’t talk. I actually worried that I’d kill you for not giving me any information, when really you just couldn’t talk. I’m glad that I’m killing you for the right reasons. Let’s see about holding that head still.”
Davis tore a length of duct tape, walked around to the other side of the tree, and reached around to position the piece of tape on Mount’s forehead, then pulled back on each end of the tape, affixing the ends to the tree. But as Davis tried to tear another piece, Mount leaned forward and pulled the tape away from the trunk.
“Let me go,” Mount said, as he struggled not just against the tape, but also against the plastic restraints that held his hands behind the tree, and the torn sheets around his legs. “Get me the fuck out of here. I can’t help you. Keep this shit up and you’ll be lucky if you don’t end up with a bullet in your forehead.”
Davis ignored Mount’s complaints, and instead pulled another end of tape off the roll, and pressed it against the trunk of the tree. Rather than pull the piece off of the roll, Davis wrapped the roll across Mount’s forehead, on to the far side of the tree, and then back around the tree, across his forehead, and around the tree again. He repeated the process eight more times, and when he was complete Mount’s struggle did nothing other than hurt the back of his head. He couldn’t work the tape loose.
“Now, before we get started, let me give you another chance. If you start talking, I’ll turn the car off and loosen all the restraints. But if you choose not to say anything, then you’re choosing not to say anything forever. Eternal silence. I’d prefer you talk to me, but whenever I think about that eight-year-old girl, eternal silence doesn’t sound bad either.”
“Fuck you,” Mount said, and spit toward Davis. “You’re not man enough to go through with this. I knew you were weak the first time I saw you. It took everything you had to knock me out with that chloroform, and it’s going to take more than that to kill me like this. You don’t have it in you. Stop pretending.”
Davis didn’t respond. Mount’s spit landed at his feet, and Davis kicked some red desert dirt to cover it. He walked back behind the tree and wrapped duct tape around Mount’s forehead five more times, before standing in front of him, taking his head in his hands, and shaking it back and forth to make sure he couldn’t move. The duct tape immobilized Mount’s head, so Davis picked up the makeshift mask, held it to his own palm and felt the carbon monoxide coming out of it, and then held it to Mount’s face.
“Take a few deep breaths,” Davis said. “The deeper the breaths, the better. It’s a peaceful way to go. The anticipation is the worst part. Best to get it over with. Your heart’s prob
ably racing, you’re sweating like crazy, and I’m sure some crazy stress chemicals are flooding your body. But just breathe deeply and it’ll all be over.”
Davis watched as Mount’s face turned red from trying to hold his breath. He could see him struggling against the duct tape, and when Mount could no longer hold his breath his saw the vapor from his lungs cloud the makeshift mask. Mount held the exhale, but eventually had to breathe in. He coughed three times, forced more air out, and started yelling. He tried to kick his legs, but since they were tied together all he could do was lift both at the same time and slam them against the ground, creating a flopping fish effect.
“Do you want to talk yet?” Davis asked. Mount’s muffled response didn’t sound like an affirmative answer, but Davis didn’t want to kill him if he had details to share, so he removed the mask. “What did you say?”
“Fuck off. I’m not talking. I’ve got nothing to tell you. If you want to kill me, kill me, but I’m not talking. Nothing I say can make any difference to you.”
Davis didn’t respond. Instead he put the mask back on Mount’s face, this time using both hands to press it against his mouth, eliminating whatever tiny gaps might have existed and ensuring that the full concentration of carbon monoxide reached his lungs.
“That’s it, Mount. Breathe it in. You should be getting light-headed shortly. It doesn’t take too long. Most of the time when people do this they’re in a garage or in their car and the carbon monoxide has to fill that whole space before getting into the person’s lungs. But we’re skipping all that. Straight from the tail pipe to your face, and then down to your lungs. Pure, unadulterated, deeply concentrated poison. Right now your red blood cells are probably asking ‘What the fuck is this asshole doing?’ Care to explain to them that you’re giving them poison because you won’t answer some simple questions? Man, you’re going to make them so mad.”
Davis pulled the mask off of Mount’s face for less than a second and then put it back on.