Colton Banyon Mysteries 1-3: Colton Banyon Mysteries (Colton Banyon Mystery Book 20)

by Gerald J Kubicki

  “As you know, sometimes our supremacists have become our terrorists. If we can find out who currently has the book, we can backtrack to find the killer.” Gamble said. “We also want to make sure the book lands in the right hands.”

  “As I told you on the phone, the book has already shown up on eBay. Can’t you just get eBay to give you the information? It’s an American company.”

  “Colt, I can’t discuss our arrangements with eBay, but let me tell you that we have been unable to secure the e-mail address of the seller. The seller is good. He routed his offer through a place called ‘Sealand.’ Sealand is a small island off the coast of England. There is nothing on the island but a huge, secure server. We have asked the British for help, but they have told us that the three-day window for bids will be done before they can penetrate the server and retrieve the e-mail address.”

  “So, what do we do?” Colt asked, shifting in his chair.

  “We’ve also notified the Japanese of our intentions.” Gamble continued.

  “What intensions?” Suddenly, Banyon was suspicious.

  “I didn’t tell you this, but we can track all the bidders. We want you to bid on the book.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hal Jones was sitting at his kitchen table in Jacksonville, Florida. One thought kept whirling around in his mind. I must get that book. I need that book to complete my father’s dreams. Where is the book? How can I get my hands on it?

  Jones couldn’t remember the last time that he had wondered about it. Was it thirty years ago? Maybe it was fifty years ago. Were the codes still in the lining? I must get the book. I must. Jones had given up on finding the book and the hidden secret a long time ago. Now he had one more chance to achieve glory, and he would not fail.

  He remembered how it all started back in Germany, before America entered the war. His real name was Klaus Gerut. He had just returned to Germany after graduating from college in America when his father and brother said that they must have a talk.

  Ernest Gerut, the father, was a major in the German army. He was sent to Austria in late 1938 to be part of the “union” of Austria and Germany and made himself a glorious reputation for efficiency and loyalty. He had come home to greet his returning son. It was 1939.

  Prior to being assigned to Austria, the major, a banking specialist, had been in charge of a very secret project. It was his job to collect and find secure storage for valuables taken from the hated Jews. He had done so well that he was given the same assignment in the Jew-infested country of Austria. There was a slight twist to his new assignment: The valuables were being converted to cash, and the cash was being sent overseas in submarines to be deposited in banks. It was all part of a master plan. Klaus was now about to be included in the plan.

  “Do you know why you were sent to America?” Ernest Gerut questioned his son.

  “All that you told me was that I should learn about America and to make contacts. I have done as you bid,” Klaus said. “I did well in school.”

  Earnest, the strongly disciplined Nazi, rarely complimented his children on their successes. This time was no exception. “Next week, you will be entering spy school and you will be sent back to America. You are to insert yourself into American life under an assumed identity. You will then wait to be contacted by your brother. He will bring you half of a code. The other half of the code will be sent with you to America. Instructions will be provided. It will be your mission, along with your brother, to disrupt the American war machine before they enter the war and after. You will have the resources and the instructions to carry out your assignment. Klaus, if you fail, or if either of you are compromised, then you must abandon the mission and start a new life for yourself. You are not to have contact with anyone that does not have the proper codes. Are there any questions?”

  Klaus did well in spy school, finishing at the top of his class. He prepared to return to America and spent a number of hours discussing the mission with his older brother. George also had been schooled in America and could pass as a citizen, if needed. He was to be the courier, then stay in America with his brother. Timing was critical, as high command expected the Americans to enter the war by 1943. The major told his sons that the final deposits would leave Austria in December 1941. It would take six months for the money to make the journey. Then the account codes could be sent.

  The major gave Klaus new identity papers in the name of Hal Jones. His brother was given the name Clyde Jones as a cover. In addition, the major gave Klaus the title to a house that had been purchased in Jacksonville, Florida. A phone had been installed and the number was included in the packet. He was told that if anything went wrong, Klaus would receive a phone call in code. All contingencies were covered in a precise German manner. Nothing could go wrong.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The first thing to go wrong was that America entered the war a year early. This prevented Klaus from taking a commercial flight out of Germany. Instead, he was transported by submarine and put ashore with three other spies outside Jacksonville. The other spies were quickly rounded up, but Gerut (now Jones), had a safe house. A month later, Jones got the coded phone call. The caller passed on the message and hung up. When Jones decoded the message, he was sad and confused.

  His brother had initiated the message. It said that their father had been arrested for crimes against the state and was executed without a trial in January 1942. It happened three days after the last shipment of money was sent to South America. George had not been given the codes and was being watched. But their father had hidden a copy of the bank account numbers in the lining of a copy of Mein Kampf. Hitler had signed it and circled the number two on the inside cover to identify it. Ernest had George send the book to Shanghai with a woman that they both knew in 1940, as backup. So all was not lost, the amounts were incomplete, as several more shipments had been sent since then, but large amounts of money were already in the nine special bank accounts. George intended to slip the watchers and go to China to retrieve the book. He said that the mission was no longer about the Third Reich. It was now about the Gerut family. He promised to be in contact soon.

  ***

  So Hal Jones had waited. The war ended and he could find no trace of his brother. There was no family left in Germany that he could find; they were all dead. His contacts in America refused him any audience. His money had run out in 1947, so he taken a job selling groceries. He advanced quickly with a grocery company, which was launching a new concept, the supermarket. He did well and retired in the late nineteen-seventies. He continued to live in the house that his father bought for him so many years ago. He never married, had no children, and spent most of his life all alone. But now he could complete his mission. The only problem was how.

  As he pondered his predicament, he realized that he did know one person who had resources and connections. His name was Howard “Billy” Bond. Bond was a lawyer in Atlanta. He was also a white supremacist. Jones had attended many supremacist meetings over the years and knew that Billy Bond was a top dog in the movement. He decided to pay him a visit.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The FBI gave Banyon instructions on how to be a shill for the eBay auction. He was to bid in five-thousand-dollar increments and to bid at least three times a day until the bidding was finished. Their hope was that whoever wanted the book badly enough would bid high and that would ensure that the FBI plan would work.

  The agents also gave Banyon a couple of secret passwords that allowed him to access the eBay database and view who the other bidders were. This would help in identifying potential qualified buyers from those with other goals. The FBI believed that the book probably had value to supremacist groups and expected to add names to the bureau’s fast-growing list of potential terrorists.

  Banyon logged into his account and brought up the book page. He noticed that the bidding was already at fifty thousand dollars and it was only the first day. He then decided to check on the bidders and applied the FBI passwords. As he scro
lled through the list of bidders and the amounts that they had bid, he noticed that the bids had been in very small increments, all except the last bid. The last bid had jumped the auction from eleven thousand dollars to fifty thousand dollars. The account name shocked Banyon even more. The last bidder had used the online name of “LC055.” Her registered name was Loni Chen.

  Without thinking, Banyon picked up the phone and called Loni. She was in her dainty little office at the detective agency in Hoffman Estates, nearby. Although she had Colton as a partner and also as an investor, she ran the agency, and she decorated the office accordingly. She picked up on the third ring.

  “LCH Detective Agency, Loni Chen speaking.” She gaily spoke into the phone.

  “Loni, its Colt.” Banyon realized that he didn’t know what to say so used his most effective straightforward approach.

  “Colt, so good to hear from you.” There was sarcasm in her reply. Loni had not spoken to Banyon since she had discovered her impulsive error about Carl. But it was, of course, Colt’s fault that they hadn’t communicated.

  “Yeah, good to hear from you, too,” replied an equally sarcastic Banyon.

  “Did you start on the next adventure without me? I thought you would call. I have been kind of busy with Carl, you know. He has been so appreciative.” She was just rambling on and Banyon was in no mood to hear the praises of a happy relationship, especially because he was jealous. So he cut her off.

  “Tell me why you are bidding on the book.”

  “What book? I mean how do you know that I am bidding on a book?”

  “You are bidding on the book that was found in the jungle with the old Japanese men. That book.”

  “Colt, are you mad at me?”

  “Just give me a simple answer for once.”

  “I don’t know what to say—”

  He cut her off again. “The two Japanese men have been murdered and the book was stolen a couple of days ago. So why are you bidding on that book?”

  There was silence on the line for some time. “Wow,” she said. “So, there really is something going on here. I want to work with you on this, Colt. Please.” Her voice was all sweet and seductive. It reminded Colt of when one of his wives would want to buy time to cover her tracks or change the subject.

  He wanted none of that. “Right now, tell me how you are involved in the bidding.”

  “It’s not like I am trying to hide anything. I’m working for a client. They don’t want the seller to know who they are, so they hired me to do the bidding. That’s all.”

  “Who’s the client?” He could imagine her standing in her office, hand on hip, rolling her eyes, and pouting.

  “I don’t think I can tell you that. You know, client privilege and all.” Now she was attempting to stall him. He knew the drill.

  He let his emotions blow up. “Loni,” he barked. “I’m part of the agency, remember?”

  “Okay, okay. I was hired by the Museum of History here in Chicago. They didn’t want anyone to know that they were bidding on the book. It is common practice to use someone outside the museum to bid on artifacts. Otherwise, the bidding can get crazy.”

  “So, the museum wants the book?” Did he believe her or was this another attempt to appease him?

  “Right, I was sitting at my desk and a phone call came in from a Dr. Carol Thorne. She is a curator at the museum. They are planning an exhibit on German history and the book would be a focal point. That’s why they want the book. I called the number that she gave me and found out that she is the head of the European Department. She sent me a certified check for a hundred thousand dollars to use for the bidding. We get ten percent of the value as a finder’s fee.”

  “Loni, I’m coming over. We have to talk.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  It took Colt thirty minutes to navigate to the LCH Detective Agency office located in a small strip mall near Schaumburg. As he entered, he noticed Loni intently watching the computer screen.

  He had rushed over to her office with blood in his eyes, but one look at her derailed his tantrum. She assumed the submissive pout that she sometimes used with him and he melted. The fact that she was wearing a very short light blue skirt, showing a lot of leg and a tube top of the same color also contributed. He listened quietly to her explanation of why she was bidding on the book and agreed that it was legitimate. She went back to the screen to watch the bidding

  “Well, there goes our 10 percent commission,” Loni said as she watched the twenty-four inch monitor of her top-of-the-line computer. Her sleek, glass and chrome desk enabled Banyon to look over her shoulder at the monitor and see her legs at the same time. He had watched as she crossed and re-crossed them several times while the drama of the bidding played out. She leaned back on the chair now with her legs splayed.

  “This bidding will go way over the hundred grand,” he said. “You would think that a museum would know that this book would be worth more.”

  Banyon told her about the FBI plan and showed her how to access the eBay database. He also told her about his talk with Wolf. She then declared a truce and said that she wanted to help with the search for the rightful owner. Banyon didn’t know they had been fighting enough to warrant a truce, but expressed his desire to have her around. He then asked her if she could deal with the ghosts. Her reply was typical Loni.

  She said, “You take care of the ghost. I’ll take care of everything else.”

  Banyon hoped that the museum would win the bid. He was even temped to add to the pot to insure that the museum won. It would make things easier, since the book would be in Chicago, and Banyon was sure that he would get a look at it to search for a clue to the rightful owner. But something was nagging at his mind. He wondered why the museum used Loni Chen to make a bid? It seemed too convenient, too easy, and Banyon was sure that this wouldn’t be easy.

  “Whoa,” exclaimed Loni. “With five minutes to go, somebody is getting serious.” She looked over her shoulder at Colt. “Stop looking at my legs and look at the screen. The bidding just went to two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

  “Sorry,” Banyon blushed. “I was thinking. What did you say?” Can she read my mind, too?

  “It looks like the final bid has come from Atlanta,” she said as she examined the secret database file on her screen. “It appears to be someone named Howard Bond. I’m going to do a Web search on him. This may take a couple of minutes.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  At the same time, Agent Kriss sat in a cramped control room at FBI headquarters in Chicago, watching several monitors. He spoke for the first time in more than an hour. “Implement ‘Operation Eyesore,’” he said into the microphone in front of him. The timing of the e-mails that would be sent was critical. They had to be sent after the bidding finished, but before the bidders dropped offline. The e-mails, all bearing the eBay logo in the header, went to the four top bidders and to the seller. An e-mail also went to the Tokyo police department saying that Operation Eyesore had been implemented and Tokyo’s agent could secure his passage to Chicago.

  The most important e-mail, the one to the seller, was received in less than a minute. The seller, a minor Japanese fence, was jubilant when he saw the last bid. Now he stared at the screen and swore a string of curses.

  “Fuck,” said the fence. “These bastards at eBay say that the bid was so high that the transfer has to be made in person and in cash. They say that someone will be there to authenticate the book before a transfer can be made. I’ve never heard of that.” He kicked his dog that was obediently lying at his feet.

  Jin Kurima was standing a short distance away and guzzling a warm beer. “How many bids do you get for two hundred and fifty grand?” Jin Kurima, the Yakuza, didn’t trust anyone, including his friend the fence .

  “I’ll have to go to America, to Chicago, to get the money,” the fence lamented. His devious mind was already developing a plan to steal the money once he had possession of the reward.

  “Then I’ll
be going, too,” Jin Kurima replied.

  ***

  Back at the offices of LCH, Loni was reading copies of the e-mails. Colt told her about Operation Eyesore and she was brisling with energy. He enjoyed seeing her get excited. She was all about emotions that she considered hidden, but they were very visible to Colt.

  “The message says that the exchange will take place in a private conference room at the airport Hilton on Friday. The buyer and seller are expected to be there at eight o’clock in the evening. Colt, I want to go.” Now she was pleading as she turned her head to look into his eyes. Her small mouth was set in a pout.

  “We have not been invited,” Colt said. “Agent Kriss told me that they could not risk it. There may be trouble and we could get hurt.”

  “It’s just not fair,” Loni pouted. “Why should they have all the fun?”

  Just then, a chime rang out. Colt was not sure what the noise was, but quickly realized that Loni had chosen the distinctive sound as the announcement of an incoming call. She grabbed the phone.

  “LCH Detective Agency, this is Loni Chen speaking.” There was a short phase.

  “Yes, Carol, how are you. Sorry about the bid.” Loni was now twisting her long hair with one of her fingers. Colt knew this meant that she was thinking.

  “Of course, if that is what you want,” she spoke sweetly into the phone. “Five thousand sounds reasonable to me. Why don’t you come to our office at seven o’clock? Do you have the address? See you then.”

  Loni hung up the phone and sat quietly for a few seconds, then suddenly jumped up and bounced up and down a few times with her arms straight up in the air, as though she just won the world poker championship. She shook her head and her hair went everywhere. “Yes, yes,” she shouted at the ceiling. She was now muscling up and assumed her best bodybuilding-competition pose. Her small fists were clenched and she was pumping them a la Kirk Gibson. She was happy; Colt was very entertained.