Colt entered his home and had just made himself a drink when his phone rang.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hi, it’s your favorite sister,” Jesse cooed. “I’ve just read the will of someone named Walter Pierce.”
***
The next night Colt’s doorbell rang unexpectedly. He answered the door to discover Loni Chen standing outside.
“Well, aren’t you going to invite me in? I did save your life, remember?” she said with a coy smile.
“Just this once,” replied Colt, smiling.
Loni was dressed in a short gray business suit with her hair tied in a ponytail. She strolled into his house.
“Come and sit down by me, okay?” she asked. Colt did as requested. “I have a lot to tell you,” she said as she fluttered her eyes at him.
“First, on a personal note: I’m leaving the state police, and I’m coming to work here with the Streamwood Police Department. I’m very thankful for all you have done for me. You really helped me learn how to deal with men and how to be a friend.” She stood up and said, “So give me a big hug and wiggle as you do it, Colt.”
“I think I’ll keep you as a friend,” laughed Colt. “By the way, I now own a company. Maybe you and Carl can help me with my business.”
“Great.” Chen sat back down after the hug.
“Now for the official stuff,” she said. “First, the Woods gang will bother you no more. They are all going away for a long time. Seith Paul and Michael Dean have been indicted for murder and conspiracy. They will never see the light of day again. Joe Kroll and the Altar of the Creator church have hundreds of charges against them. We found detailed records on all the illegal activities of the church. The men that attacked the white supremacists in the woods were actually part of the Woods gang, under orders from Seith Paul, so they’re gone, too.”
“That’s great,” Banyon gushed.
“Also, Agent Greg Gamble has been promoted to Special Agent in Charge of the Chicago bureau of the FBI. I have received a personal reward from an anonymous donor that will allow me to live comfortably for a long while, and a note which suggested that we set up our own detective agency.”
“No kidding, I wonder who did that?” Colt remarked as he studied his nails.
“The mayor of Streamwood has ruled that he will allow us to set up the agency, as he also received a donation that is intended to upgrade our station, and is tied into Carl’s staying on as chief of police. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Colt?”
“I think I know who did it. It will cost you a hug to find out,” he laughed.
“Finally,” she said, ignoring his request, “we come to Walter Pierce. There are some strange findings there.”
“‘Strange’ would be the right word,” said Banyon.
“He has completely disappeared. It’s very mysterious.”
“I don’t think he’s dead. He has disappeared before,” Banyon said as he remembered the history of Pierce he had recently read.
“Wait, there’s more,” Loni said as she touched Banyon’s arm in intimacy. “Remember the body we saw in the tunnel?”
“How could I forget?”
“Well, the body has been identified. It was Wolfgang Becker, Walter Pierce’s father.”
“Yes, I know, he was Walter Pierce’s father,” said Colt.
Loni was shocked. “How did you know that?”
“The ghost told me in the tunnel. You couldn’t hear him.”
“So where do you think Pierce has gone?”
“Maybe we should use our new detective agency to find him,” Colt replied.
Author’s Notes
This book is completely a work of fiction. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is pure coincidence. None of the characters are real, but are a figment of my imagination. It has not been my intention to depict any race, culture, or group in a bad light. It is a simple story. There are some names of actual people who have allowed me to use their names in the book.
I must point out that the places and geographical references are all real. The old house mentioned in the book does exist. I know because I grew up there, ghosts and all. I have modified the structure to meet my needs. The village of Streamwood, Illinois also exists, but I have never been arrested there. The hill on Long Island where much of the action takes place is real and exactly as I described it.
Historical people such as Admiral Canaris and others were also real, and I tried to depict them as they really existed. Historical events like the formation of the glaciers and the German submarine that landed on Long Island were all actual events that I tried to relay to the reader as they were recorded by history. The Great Atlantic Storm actually happened in 1943, not 1942 as in the book.
Finally, the book references many white supremacy groups. They are all fictional. Also, as far as this writer knows, there has never been a history of the Aryan race found.
A Dubious Secret
A Colton Banyon Mystery
By
Gerald J. Kubicki
Writing a story is like telling a good lie–
it must be believable to be accepted.
Prologue
1:00 p.m. August 1, 1938
Private Residence of Maj. Ernest Gerut
Vienna, Austria
The meeting started at exactly 1:00 p.m. The members had been developing plans for many months, and now their plans were approved for implementation. The four men at the table were the core planners of a diabolical plan, code named “boardroom,” set in motion by the chancellor. When completed, it would help change the face of the world. The men worked for the Third Reich.
Maj. Ernest Gerut was in control of the meeting. He was a master planner with recorded success for the Rhineland. The representative of the chancellor had approached him in 1935. The man told him that there would be sacrifices and both his sons would be a part of the plan–especially since they were about to sail to America to go to a prestigious American university. Major Gerut, a third-generation soldier from Prussia, quickly agreed. He said that it was an honor to serve his fuhrer. The Nazi representative further stated that because of the huge amount of money involved, Gerut was to trust no one and to take measures to ensure that the highest level of secrecy was maintained. The Nazi, a colonel named Spitz, was seated across from Major Gerut. Spitz was paranoid and volatile. He often smiled like a hyena when he spoke.
The Navy had a representative as well. Capt, Honus Gruppert maintained a secret fleet of submarines that were used for clandestine operations by the leaders of the Third Reich. He kept his position because he never asked questions and always said the operation could be completed. He’d lost four submarines and hundreds of men in the last year, even though Germany was not at war. The most recent loss had come when someone decided that it was time to colonize Antarctica. The last message from the submarine was that they’d run out of fuel, but would continue to colonize the freezing wasteland.
The fourth member of the group was Captain Holtz of the Abwehr, a military intelligence group. He was in charge of arranging overseas bank accounts for the money. It was his agent who now stood before the group.
“Lieutenant Klemm reporting, sir.” The young man clicked his heals and saluted. He stood ramrod straight and looked at the wall behind the conference table.
“So, was your trip to South America fruitful?” Major Gerut inquired as he lit another cigarette. The smoke choked the Nazi Spitz next to him and he enjoyed that.
“Yes sir. I opened thirty-eight accounts with the money you gave me. There are nine banks that will work with us in Brazil, Uruguay, and Argentina. It is all in the report.” The lieutenant handed a folder to Gerut, who never looked up from his papers.
“You were gone a long time to only have opened the doors of nine banks,” Colonel Spitz remarked suspiciously.
“Sir, I had to travel to three countries unnoticed. Some banks I contacted would not participate. Here is a list of those banks. I thought you migh
t want their names, as well.” Another folder appeared and this one he passed to the colonel.
“Thank you, lieutenant. That is all. You may wait in the next room for new orders,” Major Gerut said.
The man left the room and Colonel Spitz immediately spoke. “We can’t trust him. He doesn’t do as ordered. We didn’t ask him for the second list.”
Captain Holtz was alarmed; he knew what that meant. “Colonel, Lieutenant Klemm is one of my best operatives. He has always carried out every assignment without question. He was just trying to be efficient.”
“Captain Holtz,” the smiling Colonel Spitz said. “He seems to be a bright boy. Too bright, I am afraid. The decision has been made.”
“I protest,” Captain Holtz exclaimed. “He is my man. I am part of this planning committee.”
“Maybe we should see about that as well,” Spitz sneered.
“Enough,” bellowed Major Gerut. “The truth is that we are charged with the security of the money. We are going to channel hundreds of millions of dollars into these accounts. The money will make its way into America, to serve our needs. The risk is very high. Only the colonel and I can know the locations and passwords.”
“But how will we deposit the money?” Captain Holtz thought that he would be responsible for making the deposits.
“Colonel Spitz will accompany each shipment and deposit the money in the proper accounts. No one else,” Gerut said.
“Yes, and I’d better start checking to make sure that the accounts actually exist. Gerut, you know what to do.” Colonel Spitz pushed back his chair and collected both folders. He saluted and left the room.
Captain Holtz turned to Captain Gruppert. “Honus, did you know that Spitz would be sailing on your submarines?”
“It will be fine. My men will do as ordered,” he answered.
“And you Ernest, you are also fine with this?”
“We all must make sacrifices for the good of the Reich. You know that I do not trust Colonel Spitz any more than you do. But he has the authority to do whatever he wants. Let it go Captain, before you become a casualty as well.”
“Admiral Canaris will hear from me about this,” Captain Holtz threatened.
“And he will do nothing,” replied Major Gerut. “The head of the Abwehr knows nothing about this operation. You might even put him in jeopardy by simply telling him about our plan. You most certainly would be eliminated. Klemm would still disappear and the Reich would still go ahead with its plan.”
“This is not right,” Captain Holtz muttered. “Where is the honor in this?”
“When money is involved, I’m afraid that our leaders push honor aside.” Major Gerut signaled to one of the three guards in the next room. They could not hear any of the discussions.
“Yes, sir,” the guard saluted.
“Please take Lieutenant Klemm into custody. He must be confined and no one must talk to him.” Gerut wanted the guard to fully understand what that meant. “He has committed crimes against the state. That is all.”
“Yes, sir,” the guard replied and motioned to his two partners to follow him into the next room.
“So, he will be shot as soon as Spitz verifies the accounts?” Captain Holtz asked.
“Yes,” Major Gerut responded, “along with the three guards.”
“Do we even know if this plan will work?” Captain Holtz suddenly blurted out.
“Of course it will work,” said Captain Gruppert.
Major Gerut took a few minutes to formulize his answer. “Almost 20 percent of the United States population comes from German heritage,” he stated. “In the last ten years, several million Germans have migrated to the major US cities. We have been able to establish several pro-Nazi organizations. In New York alone, we have over fifty-thousand registered members. Germans control many major industries in America, and the depression continues to keep people out of work. The Jew money that we are sending them will have a major impact, especially if we get it into the right hands.”
“So, our ultimate goal is to take over America?”
“Yes,” replied Major Gerut. “But first we must prevent America from entering the war on the side of England. Anything that happens after that will be a bonus.”
Major Gerut stood up and called the meeting to a close. He made a mental note to tell the guards to arrest Captain Holtz before he left the residence.
Part One
Discovery
Chapter One
Colton Banyon carried several pieces of paper in his left hand. The papers were copies of the various lab reports and the doctor’s opinion of his condition. The doctor told Colt that he had made an official diagnosis, but Colt could read, and the papers said that it was just an opinion. Banyon had just left an Eye, Ear, Nose, and Throat clinic located in the Chicago suburb of Schaumburg, Illinois. It was only mid-morning, but Banyon was already frustrated. The doctor told him that he had tinnitus. Most people that have it know it as a ringing in the ear, however no test could verify it and no cure was known to the disease.
Colt quickly adjusted his attitude as he spied his new car. The deep-green Jaguar gleamed in the sunlight. He’d always wanted a Jaguar and now he owned one. He climbed in and fired the engine to life.
The truth was that Colt was pretty sure what the noise in his ears meant. The past year had brought Colton Banyon a lot of good news and now there was this bad news. It was because of his last adventure. He had heard and seen a ghost while attempting to stop an Aryan supremacist group from unveiling a tablet that recounted the history of the Aryan race. The climax occurred in the old house where Banyon had lived as a child. Banyon had been labeled a hero. The ghost was freed from a curse and a man named Walter Pierce had disappeared. The next day, a lawyer gave Banyon the last will and testament of Walter Pierce, along with an autobiography. Banyon inherited an ongoing business, several million dollars in working capital, and control of several thousand acres of land on eastern Long Island. It all had belonged to Pierce and now it belonged to Banyon through a will that he never knew existed.
The problem was that throughout the adventure, Banyon kept hearing a voice in his ear. The voice usually spoke in riddles, but it passed on information. Sometimes the voice told Banyon what to do next. Sometimes it told him about things that he was looking for. After the adventure, the voices stopped. But a different voice had come back about a week ago. Banyon could not make out any of the words—kind of like he had a poor cell phone connection. But the signal was getting stronger.
Banyon had hoped that he was done with ghosts and voices. He’d been told he was predisposed to connect with ghosts and spirits, but he wanted no part of that. He’d made the appointment at the clinic to see if there was a medical cause. Now, he was sure there was a more sinister answer.
The ride out from Schaumburg in the new Jaguar helped to calm Banyon and improved his attitude. He pulled off the highway and headed up Route 59 towards South Barrington and his new home. It was a sprawling ranch set on two acres of high priced land. As Banyon cruised up the circular driveway, he noticed a red Porsche parked by the front door. The driver’s door was open and a very shapely female leg was tapping a spike heel on the pavement. While the leg was exposed to mid-thigh, there was no hint of a skirt to be seen. Loni, he thought, a smile crossing his face.
Colt was out of his car in a heartbeat. Loni had that kind of effect on him. He tried to act casual, as he was sure she was watching. Loni never missed a thing. He started to walk towards her car and heard the unmistakable deep thump of heavy-metal music coming from the car. As he reached the door, he held out his arm. “May I help you out of your car, miss?”
A slender hand emerged from inside the car and gripped his as the second leg appeared, followed by long black hair. Colt realized that he still hadn’t seen a stitch of clothing. Then the hair spoke. “Well thank you, Jeeves.”
As she gracefully exited the low-riding Porsche, Colt couldn’t help but admire the Asian beauty now standing before him.
She was about 5 foot 2, with black hair down to her waist, and weighed less than one hundred pounds. She looked as delicate as a flower, but Banyon knew she was an accomplished fighter with lightning reflexes, and more than ten years of experience in law enforcement. She was impulsive, inquisitive, intelligent, and had no idea whatsoever why any man would even look at her. She considered herself a failure in life because her Chinese parents wanted a boy.
Although she was a native to America, born in Hawaii, Loni Chen was a product of ancient Chinese heritage. Socially, she believed that her place was two steps behind a man. On the job, however, she was a relentless tiger. Colt had met her a year ago. She was chasing the white supremacist group that eventually showed up at Colt’s old house. She was now a detective for the Streamwood Police Department. Colt had recognized the huge chip she carried on her shoulder and befriended her.
Since he was fourteen years older and in a solid relationship with another Chinese woman at the time, she accepted him as a friend. He soon discovered she had a very specific goal. His name was Carl Heinz and he was the captain of the Streamwood Police Department. She had no idea how to corral him.
Colt had given her good advice on men and she now had moved in an apartment with Carl Heinz, but was a partner in a private detective agency with Colt. He was an investor in the firm.
Deep brown, almond-shaped eyes peered at him from behind a curtain of hair. “Colt, it’s great to see you,” she said in a singsong voice that seemed to float through the air. As she stood before him, she flicked her hair and it all disappeared behind her shoulders. A quick wiggle of her lithe body caused her short, pleated, tan skirt, which she always hiked up to drive, to drop down to a respectable length. She wore a matching sleeveless top. Her shapely legs balanced upon spike black heels.
“You look delicious,” was all that Colt could muster.
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