“I located the medals in a drawer in the master bedroom. I wanted to take them, but that would bring down the law, and my ultimate plan would be discovered. After completing a full reconnoiter, I left. No voice spoke to me on that trip.
“When I told Frank about my adventure, he was very angry.
“‘Walter, I know you are obsessed with your old house, but you could get into real trouble by going there. You can buy any house you want. Why do you covet this old house?’
“‘Somehow, it is part of my future,’ I replied. “‘I can not help myself.’
***
“It wasn’t until the winter of 1957 that I was able to start my plan to win my house back. It was a cool and windy night in December. There were many trees in the yard, mostly fruit trees. When the wind blew, they made rustling noises. Branches snapped; leaves whistled. Night was eerie in the old house, and I was going to make it scarier. I was dressed in black and covered my face. No one would recognize me. I put on kids’ sneakers.
“I waited until I heard the two boys in their room. Then I came out of the hall closet. I put my foot on the top step and pushed down. It creaked, just as it had when I lived there. A little voice asked, ‘Who’s there?’ I shot back into the closet.
“I could hear panic calls for Mom, and then feet coming up the stairs. That was all for the night. I went home, believing I was on the right course and would have them out of my house by spring. Only once did I hear a voice in my head. “Watch out for the little one.” I assumed the voice meant the boy, but why?
“After a while I became a regular visitor to the Banyon house. Sometimes I would open a door and leave it open. I also tilted pictures, and moved things on counters. Sometimes I listened to their talk, and found they were tougher than I suspected. They said the magnetic pole caused disturbances or wind coming through the old house caused the pictures to tilt. But I could tell that they all were a little spooked. It was time to step up my plan.
“One night I let myself down the trapdoor in the boys’ bedroom. They were deep sleepers. The youngest one was Colton Banyon. I walked over to his bed, and saw that he was facing the wall. I sat down on the bed and stayed there for a few minutes. I could smell his fear. The boy was awake now, but afraid to move. When he began to tense up, I knew he would turn over, and face his ghost, so I got up slowly and leaped to the closet. I didn’t know it then but found out later that in my haste to climb up the hole, I accidentally hit the ceiling with my sneaker and left a shoeprint.
“The boy was screaming that someone was in the room. Feet pounded up the steps, and I could hear harsh words from Stan Banyon.
In a drunken voice, he said, “‘Quit your crying before I give you something to cry about.’
“‘But, I’m telling you there was someone on my bed. Maybe he’s are under the bed,’ the boy cried.
“‘So what do you want me to do, look under it,’ Stan Banyon slurred.
“‘Yes, please,’ cried the boy. Banyon grabbed the kid, and threw him on the floor so he could look under the bed. Then he left.
“Suddenly I felt ashamed. I was causing trouble for a child. I wanted Stan Banyon out, but instead, all I was doing was creating a phobia for a child. The voice talked to me that night. ‘Do not harm the boy; you will need him,’ the voice said.
“I did not go back to the house for over two years. I’m not sure if it was the terror of being caught or that I was afraid of the fear I was instilling in my prey. I was also worried the voice in my head would come out again. It was both soothing and demanding. It told me things and gave me advice. It treated me like a child, but always made me think. This voice was very different from the voices of my mission. I believed the single voice was connected to the old house. Or was I going crazy? In any case, I wasn’t sure I wanted to continue. Stan Banyon’s drinking had confused me. I admired him for what he had done during the war. We were alike in that — we had many horrors to keep buried in our brains. I also continued to drink too much. The difference was that I had no children to abuse.
“My next trip back was to satisfy my curiosity more than anything else. I wanted to see how the family was coping and if there was anything new. I heard the cries of a baby. Was it a boy or girl? I found the room with the baby and ascertained that there was a new girl in the house. There were some other changes. Everyone looked bigger and older.
“On my first trip to the house, I drilled several holes in the walls which allowed me to see into the upstairs bedrooms. I was discreet and hid the holes well. I reasoned that if anybody found the holes, they would just think they were left over from the time the house was used for target practice. But, there was one thing I did not consider — wallpaper. The young girl’s room was wallpapered, and the hole had been covered over since my last visit. I almost burst out laughing. The boys were in their room, and the quiet one was tinkering with a radio. He had it all apart on the floor, studying the parts. The younger boy was drawing pictures at a desk. They were very intense about their work. I studied them for some time, and wondered if all boys were so quiet.
“The voice was very loud that night. ‘Take a good look; understand what you see.’ Then it said, ‘Work for the future; you will be needed.’ That night was the first time that I saw the voice. He was sometimes in color, sometimes white, always smoky, and never stationary. He pulled me to the ladder — ‘Understand what you see.’
“I made my way down and through the pantry. It was quiet, except for the TV blaring in the background. I chanced a peek around the corner. The wife was on a couch, reading a book. Stan Banyon was glued to the TV. Next to his chair was a table with six empty bottles of beer.
“I spent several hours going from room to room that night, learning about the family, and their habits. I also decided to get out my drill again.
“Nineteen sixty also bought earth-shattering news. I was perusing the local newspaper when a small article jumped out at me. It was a blurb from a news service and said a war veteran named George Lincoln Rockwell had formed a new political party — the American Nazi Party. Rockwell vowed to attend civil rights meetings and demonstrations to spread his hatred of blacks and Jews. They were back. After only fifteen years, the Nazi movement was again making news.
“By 1961 I was a regular visitor to the Banyon house. I tried not to scare them too much. The Banyon family had another baby, another girl, and the house was really crowded. There were seven in the Banyon family. There was also an uncle, and, at times some grandparents. I did not know how they were able to feed all those people, but they did. Stan was getting worse. His drinking was changing his personality. The younger boy, Colton, was always in trouble because he did not understand about drunks. The rest of the kids tried to be quiet and get along with their father, but Colton was independent and often took the brunt of his father’s condition.
“The problem was made more complicated in the sixties by the imminent war in a far-off place called Vietnam. One night, I heard them arguing.
“Stan opened the argument. “‘I fought in the big war, and both of you will fight in this war.’ I wanted them to stay out of it.
“The older boy, Jim replied. “‘Dad I signed into the navy. I leave for boot camp in two months.’
“‘The navy is not the army. You belong in the Rangers like me.’
“‘They have special schools, I’ll learn a trade. What is wrong with that?’ Jim tried to reason.
“‘What about you Colton, Stan asked?’
“‘I’m going to college.’
“Stan Banyon had lost in both cases and turned further to his cold, foamy friend.”
***
“Visiting the house was not the same with the boys gone. Banyon’s mother had moved in with them. I realized she was too much like my own mother. She was very opinionated, straitlaced, and kept everyone else on edge. I tried scaring her, but she totally ignored me. No wonder Banyon was so tough. I decided to visit only on holidays when everyone was there. The voices were quiet,
too. That was 1966.
Rogers cut in, “I know that you purchased several other companies after 1966. You must have been too busy to visit the house?”
***
“I was not only busy with my companies, but I was continuously reminded that Nazis still existed.”
“What do you mean Walter?” He asked.
Pierce explained. “Another wire service article caught my eye. George Lincoln Rockwell, head of the American Nazi Party, had been assassinated by one of his own men. Since he was a war veteran, he was scheduled for burial in the national cemetery at Culpepper. However, his followers refused to remove their swastika armbands, and had been denied entrance into the cemetery. No one knew where his body was buried, just like Hitler.”
“My only passion became reading everything I could find about living Nazis. There were many articles. I soon realized there were modern Nazis, but they had changed their name. In fact they had many names.
“What names,” Rogers asked. “This makes no sense.”
“Trent, there are too many to discuss, but they all have one goal – white supremacy. It was the same goal the Nazis had preached. Then things got worse.”
Rogers jumped in. “Something happened, what?”
“It happened in early 1986. I received a devastating phone call. It was from Ann Hoch.”
‘“Frank died. It is blamed on heart attack, she said.’
“‘I don’t know what to say to Ann. Frank was always my best friend.’
“‘He loved you too Walter. Nothing will be the same for either of us,’ she replied.
Chapter Sixty-Two
“By the nineteen eighties I had become a recluse. I could not deal with my constant personal loses. My restaurants sent me meals. My only companions were Stella, my housekeeper, and sometimes the presidents of my various companies. Of course, you were there many times too, Trent. I didn’t go to the Banyon home anymore either. I wasn’t sure I wanted to continue. But something kept pushing me to keep studying the new white supremacists.”
“In the summer of 1986, another newspaper article caught my eye. A white supremacist named Richard Scutari was sentenced to sixty years in prison for racketeering, conspiracy, and obstruction of interstate commerce. The charges stemmed from his part in an organization known as The Order. They attempted to establish a separate white state by forming an army, committing assassinations of alleged enemies — including government officials — establishing a war chest, acquiring money through armed robberies, and recruiting new members. The Order was implicated in many criminal activities such as a Brink’s armored-car robbery, and the assassination of Denver radio shock jock David Berg, both in 1984. The leader, Bob Mathews, died in a shootout with the FBI in December 1984. There was no longer speculation on my part. They were back.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
Finally Pierce began the final episode of his story. “Stan Banyon sold the house in 1987, and I bought it through a shell company. I thought this would change my life. But when I got a limo to drive me out to visit it, my mood only worsened. The house was empty, and looked its age, just like me. I realized I was very old and broken-down; I would never be active again. My life was over. I wanted to leave this world. There was no reason to continue. But the voice was very loud on this trip.
“He kept chanting, ‘Your time is near; a plan will appear.’
Rogers noted. “I setup the shell company for you. I thought you were hiding money somewhere.”
“No it was to buy the house. Only Frank Hoch knew the real reason for the company.”
“Later that year, I went to Stan Banyon’s funeral. He had a military burial in a military cemetery with a twenty-one-gun salute. I was jealous. I would not get such treatment. Yet I was a great success in life, and he was a failure. He left a big family to remember him. I would leave no one.”
Pierce looked very tired, but continued. “It was at the funeral that I decided I needed to have some purpose to my life, some accomplishment, and leave some sort of legacy, but what?
“My plan, as always, was simple. I knew history often repeated itself, and this was the case now. The supremacy movement would become a political force again, and start a new version of the Third Reich. My plan was to follow through on the promise I made so many years ago. I would bring out the Aryan tablet for the entire world to see.
“The voices in my head agreed. There seemed to be joy in their rhymes. They were like angels to me, guiding me, pushing me, and assuring me I could do it. I finally understood that the voices were some kind of guardians of the tablet. Who they were, and how they were attached was still a mystery at that time. The single voice which I heard when in my old house was also part of the many voices connected to the tablet, but that voice was sending me separate messages. Why? It was also clear to me that the voices would never leave until I did their bidding.
“First, though, I would need help. I needed the full translation of the tablet to be authenticated. That was when I hatched my plan to find an archeologist. I had my driver take me to Stony Brook University, less than an hour away, to attend a lecture. There I found Raymond Davies. I recall the conversation.”
‘“I am collecting ancient art, and am in need of help to categorize and authenticate the art.’ I said.
“‘How much will you pay?’ He replied.
“‘I will give you a grant to help him with your expenses. I will also send you an assistant to help with the work.’ Over a period of two years, I fed him small pieces of the characters on the tablet, and he filled in the blanks, one by one.
“Now I was ready to implement the next part of my plan. The voices told me I had to be careful. I could not just announce that I had the original history of the Aryan race. It had to be found, and recovered from a hidden place. I thought hard about how to do that. I also wanted to understand the extent of the movement in America, and I wanted to be rewarded for all my more than fifty years of effort.
“I decided I needed to find the strongest and most fanatical group to do my bidding. The mercenary magazines would be my vehicle. They are thinly disguised advertisements for fighters for hire, and I guessed that many of the subscribers would be supremacists. The angle was that I needed to find someone in a picture. The voices led me to a picture in the old house. What was remarkable about the picture was that it had the original marker that Hall, Adams, and I had put in the ground in 1942. It also had a fingerprint. The voices told me that it was Colton Banyon’s. I knew once I found the right group, the members would find Banyon, and assume the picture held the key to the location of the Aryan tablet.
“Michael Dean was my answer. My decision to hire Dean was lucky from the start. I had him steal Stan Banyon’s medals to prove to him that I was a fanatic. I, of course, knew where Banyon lived. I had confederates living right next door for the last year. And before that, there had been others to keep an eye on him. Banyon was pivotal to my plan.
“I failed to realize that Colton Banyon did not have his prints on file. I spent two years waiting for Banyon to be found by Dean. Suddenly his prints appeared a year ago. I spent the last year developing and nurturing my plan. I decided to implement it immediately. The next and final phase will be completed on Monday.
“This is my complete story. I have been a spy and a murderer. I have deceived people, been a voyeur ghost, destroyed some people, and now have a chance to set everything straight. I will not fail.”
With that, Pierce collapsed on the table.
Rogers rushed to his side and realized Pierce was just exhausted. He had been talking for more than three hours. The old man waved him away and eventually was able to sit up straight. He looked at his old friend and saw the amazement in his eyes.
“Walter, is this all true?”
“Every word.”
“My God, can I get the rights to your book?”
“You cannot let this out until I’m gone, Trent. You are my lawyer, client privileges and all.”
“Walter, I’v
e changed my mind, your story needs to be told. I’ll donate all earnings to a charity of your choice. It’s just too incredible not to be told.”
“You will have to write the last chapter, Trent, as I will not be around to write it.”
Part Eight
The Tablet
Chapter Sixty-Four
About the same time that Walter Pierce started telling his life’s story Colton Banyon and Loni Chen were entering the Marriott hotel to meet with Judy Kroll. As they entered the big resort style establishment, Agent Chen was thinking that she was having more fun than she’d ever had before in her life. Finally she had a chance to show that she could do real police work. She was determined, and would try extra hard to make sure this adventure came out positive for everyone. Then she could start her new life. She had actually taken a lover, had a new job prospect, and made a new friend. She was somewhat concerned about the friendship thing though — she wasn’t sure she knew how to be a friend, but she would try very hard to please Colton Banyon.
***
Detective Heinz sat on a couch in the corner of the lobby. He was pretending to read a paper. A blond woman was nervously waiting near the check-in, dressed in a too-short dress of green with a belt that hiked up her hemline provocatively.
Banyon eyeballed the woman and walked over to her. “I think you may be waiting for me.”
“Well, hi,” she cooed as she turned on the charm. “I expected a professor type, not someone so handsome.”
“Let me introduce you to Loni Chen, my assistant.” The woman looked at Chen and pretended she wasn’t there.
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