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

by Gerald J Kubicki

  “Fair enough,” The Major replied with vigor, as he slapped his knee. “We know the diamond gives super strength and protects the person holding it. We also know that goat’s blood neutralizes the powers. What other powers does the diamond possess?” The Major now sat back in a relaxed position, arm stretched out on the couch back. He was ready to learn its secrets.

  Wesley was now presented with a dichotomy. Should he reveal all the secrets of the diamond or provide half-truths? If his plan to secure the diamond failed, these fanatics would suddenly have incredible power to spread their lunacy. What if The Major had more information about the diamond? Wesley hadn’t written the letter and didn’t know the contents. He decided to tell the truth, but to add a twist.

  Wesley began the story of the Black Diamond and added the facts, as he knew them. The Major was in complete rapture. His eyes sparkled. He shifted his body several times and asked many questions. In the end, he gazed into the air with reverence. “I told you we would succeed, Cecil,” he announced to the air.

  “There is only one thing more that you must understand,” spoke Wesley, as he interrupted The Major’s mumblings.

  “And what might that be?”

  “Half of the diamond must be washed clean before it is placed in the hand of the owner. It must be placed clean side out and gripped by only three fingers. Once in the hand properly, the diamond needs to be washed again completely by using the right hand. That is when the powers will prevail. This process will take about five minutes.”

  “But that means two people must be part of the ceremony?”

  “Yes, that is true.”

  “Then you shall assist me during the ceremony.”

  “It will be my pleasure.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wesley finally left the room after he and The Major had shared a glass of gin and seltzer. He had learned many things during his visit. The most important was that The Major was easily manipulated. He saw himself as a drunken god. He believed he created fear in everyone around him, but Wesley realized that it was the ghoulish Boers that everyone feared.

  The Boers worked for money, lots of it, and The Major had control of the last will of Cecil Rhodes and the money. If he was to have a problem, it would be with the Boers. Wesley had to watch out for them.

  Wesley had in fact seen men like the Boers before. Hard, ruthless men who were determined to continue their way. Wesley lived Virginia, in the South, the home of the KKK, or Ku Klux Klan. The KKK and the apartheid movements were very similar. Whites were superior, and blacks and others were not. Whites controlled, and blacks obeyed. White Supremacy was a new term, but in practice, it was as old as mankind.

  He was, however, confident they had accepted him as one of the society. Once Wesley noticed the gleam of a zealot in the eye of The Major, he knew he was home free. The Major had told him that he was free to roam the city, but Jan would follow him—to keep him out of trouble. Wesley confided that he wanted to visit an old orthodox church. He told The Major the church had several icons which he wanted to research. The Major had nodded, but pointed out that many blacks were in the area. Wesley noted Jan would be there to protect him. The Major instructed Jan to provide transportation in one hour.

  It was now time to implement step two in Wesley’s plan. He proceeded to the first floor of the mansion and began to look for the butler. He found him in the kitchen and pulled him aside.

  “Harold, I am seeking your help,” Wesley began.

  “How might I be of service?” Harold replied with an air of suspicion.

  “Well…you know…it has been a long journey for me, and I am looking for a bit of indiscretion.”

  The butler nodded knowingly. “Shall I have a provider sent to your room? We have many lovely working girls available. Do you have any specific requirements in mind?”

  “She needs to be slim,” was all Wesley replied. “But there is one more thing. I’m sure The Major has men watching me from someplace behind the walls. I would really prefer that the girl is for my eyes only.” He slipped Harold some money as he watched his eyes.

  “Well then sir, I will arrange your meeting and personally go to tidy up the room before your guest arrives. I believe a towel will be draped over the second trophy on the east wall. It will be left from my cleaning. How clumsy of me.” He gave a grin of conspiracy and shook Wesley’s hand with the firm shake of a friend.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jan secured a small but fast one-horse carriage. He drove. Wesley sat in the back and took in all the sites. Cape Town was European and yet not. Poverty was everywhere, with huge mansions sprinkled throughout their chosen route. Several starving people looked at the carriage horse with hunger in their eyes. Others displayed the vacant stares of convicts. Children were plentiful, making Wesley wonder about their prospects in this eerie world. The carriage rounded a corner and entered a cobbled street. Wesley now found himself in a completely different part of the city. The sound of the horse hooves echoed off many three and four-story buildings. This area is a step up in the world, he thought. Women pushed baby carriages, men wore suits, and there was a park down the street. Jan stopped the horse by the park. He pointed to a structure that was partially hidden by trees. It was tiny by most church standards, but it was made of stone and had a steeple. A copper cross, at the top, glistened in the evening sun.

  “I’ll only be a few minutes,” Wesley informed Jan.

  “I will go, too.” the Boer replied.

  Wesley had hoped to be able to check the hidden compartment in his satchel, but he now realized Jan was still watching him. He exited the carriage and entered the church, with the Boer close at his heals.

  A musty smell filled his senses. The church was older than it looked. There were a few people in the pews, but it was dead silent except for the sound of his hard leather boots on the marble floor. The high arched interior reverberated with sound, making it seem like an army was entering the church. Wesley casually scanned the walls, looking for the icons. He stopped at a pew and opened his satchel. Jan was right by his side, pretending to not notice. Wesley extracted several drawings and began to compare them to the art on the walls of the church. When he recognized one of the drawings, he moved to the corner where it was located. Wesley stepped up to the wall. Two monks suddenly appeared by his side. One was decidedly Russian and older, with white hair and a matching beard. The other was a young obese black. Both turned to look at Jan, and then the older monk spoke in Russian.

  “I am Brother Oleg, and this is my charge, Brother Gabriel,” the man offered as he opened his arms in welcome.

  “I believe you know who I am.” Not wanting to give Jan any possible information, he spoke Russian. “Jan,” Wesley pointed to the Boer, “is my…bodyguard. I believe he is a ruthless killer.” All three men looked at Jan to confirm any hint of reaction. Satisfied that he didn’t seem to understand their mutual language, they turned to the icon.

  “Talk in a language I understand,” Jan suddenly ordered. “I want to know what you’re saying.” It was a threat.

  Wesley used a brazen approach. “Look here, Jan, The Major promised me free reign. These men are Russian clergy. If you want to listen to our conversation, learn to speak Russian.” Wesley assumed a stance which said he was clearly annoyed with the Boer. As he expected, Jan stared back with malice, but he said nothing. Wesley now turned back to the men and gestured to the picture.

  “We have little time. Pretend you are showing me the picture, but quickly fill me in on the plan.”

  “Uh…what plan?” the older Russian asked.

  A startled Wesley stammered. “The plan. What is the plan for the ceremony?”

  Gabriel moved to the picture and pointed to an image to distract Jan as he spoke. “Brother Oleg is not informed. I will be outside the location at eight-thirty in the evening. I will blow up the barn next to the farmhouse. Five minutes later, I will throw dynamite into the building. You must be out of cellar by then.”

 
Stepping closer to the picture, a shaken Wesley replied. “But some could be killed in the explosion.”

  “That is our hope.”

  “But you are a man of the cloth, a clergy.”

  “Not after tomorrow,” the black man spoke solemnly.

  “What?” shouted Brother Oleg. “What is this nonsense that you speak?” Several parishioners were disturbed by the loud noise. Jan was among them.

  Wesley knew he had to act quickly. “Brother Oleg disagrees with my findings,” he said in English to the Boer. “Brother Oleg believes this piece is older than it really is.”

  Brother Oleg was beside himself. His Russian was now loud and forceful. “You have been my charge for several years. Have you learned nothing? I took you off the street, away from the violence, and now you want more?”

  “My brother,” Brother Gabriel spoke soothingly. “You do not understand the havoc and chaos these men are bringing to my people. My own family has disappeared. That is why you found me on the street. They must be stopped. Prayer will not bring my family back. I am in a position to stop them. This I must do.”

  “It is revenge that you seek,” Brother Oleg thundered.

  “If it is revenge, then you must pray for my soul.”

  Oleg stared at Gabriel for some time. There was finality in their association. It was ordained. Oleg whirled around. His frock flowed outward as he moved, and he marched off in a huff. Wesley and Gabriel watched as he moved past Jan, stabbing the Boer with daggered eyes.

  “You caused this,” he scolded while pointing his bony finger at the Boer. All three men stood fixed to the floor. They watched the old monk retreat through a door, slamming it in the process.

  “He is a fiery old coot,” Wesley spoke to Jan. “We’re done here.”

  He then turned to Gabriel and spoke in Russian again. “What will happen to you?”

  “I will return to the bush and rally my people. The British have taught us many lessons, but the loss of our freedoms should not have been one of the courses. Good luck to you, sir.” Gabriel offered his hand.

  As Wesley and Jan headed back to the mansion, he pondered the fate of Brother Gabriel. He was willing to give up his faith to help others. Was this a form of another religion, or was it really revenge as Brother Oleg had said?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wesley’s mind now moved to a more pleasant thought. There would be a woman waiting for him in his suite. What would she be like? I must busy her while I check my hidden compartment, he considered. Will she be as satisfying as the lovely Anna? Where is Anna now? His body shook with desire.

  “Faster,” he ordered Jan.

  With a spring in his step, Wesley exited the carriage and bolted up the steps. The small black boy opened the door and said. “Good evening, sir.” Wesley flipped him a coin. A wide grin appeared on the small face as he saluted.

  On his way to the stairs, he spotted Harold. Harold nodded, indicating he had accomplished his task.

  Wesley fumbled with the key to the door of his suite. His heartbeat had accelerated, and he was now filled with desire. He was very anxious. He threw open the door and scanned the open living room. A faint smell of jasmine filled his nostrils. A woman sat in a chair facing him. Her skin was golden brown, with black straight hair that ended somewhere behind her back, out of sight. Her lips were full, and her eyes were as dark as charcoal. She was slender.

  “Good evening,” she purred. “I assume you are Professor Wayne. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Her voice sent waves of pleasure throughout Wesley’s body. She stood up and turned around, giving him a view of her clothed body. The dress was a loose fitting style that Wesley had admired on several women since he had landed in Cape Town. The locals wore it to attempt to reduce the heat of the day. Hers was a flowered print and draped all the way to the floor. Wesley quickly closed the door and locked it from the inside. He then turned toward the wall and smiled as he noticed a blue towel hung from the Rhino trophy. The woman followed his gaze.

  “It was very sensible of you to block prying eyes.” This told Wesley she had been to the suite before. “Now we can be very private.”

  Before he could think of an answer, she was out of the dress, and it lay in a pile on the floor. He was aware of his sharp intake of breath. She had nothing on underneath. A smile made in heaven was on her lips as she turned slowly in a circle, while keeping her dark eyes on him.

  “Come and sit on the couch,” she requested. “I have much to show you.”

  In a trance, unable to tear his sight from the vision, he staggered to a seat. Throwing off his coat in the process, he also untied his tie.

  “What is your name?” he stammered.

  “Does it matter?” she answered. “I am here to give you relaxation and sex. You do want sex? Or would you rather talk politics?”

  “Sex,” he replied in a horse, lustful voice.

  “Do you like to look at my body?” She stood before him with legs slightly apart, head held high and perky breasts of near-white color pointing at him.

  “Yes” he stammered. He knew he was lost in her beauty and sexuality.

  “Want to see more of it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, then I will dance for you.”

  She strolled over to a phonograph, hips swaying to an unheard rhythm, and turned the handle to start the machine. Her breasts bounced as she worked, producing exotic displays that lathered Wesley’s imagination. The music was a selection Wesley had not heard before. The woman moved in front of him and rose to her toes. The already toned leg muscles tightened, displaying slight curves which Wesley greedily devoured. Her dance was practiced, the dance of a professional. Wesley quickly realized she was trained as a ballerina. Her sensual motion was stimulating, but it was when she raised her leg straight up and pointed her toe to the ceiling, then caressed the inside of her thigh, that he grasped the athleticism of her dancing. He became more aroused and unbuttoned his shirt, throwing it aside on the chair next to the couch.

  “Don’t touch the pants,” she softly demanded. “I want the pleasure of opening them.”

  She was suddenly inside his splayed legs. Her slim leg no longer pointed to the ceiling, it was now pushing his right shoulder deeper into the couch.

  “You can touch me,” she cooed. “I am your sex slave. You can do anything you want with me. I will obey.” Her voice was filled with promises, driving Wesley into a near frenzy. The pressure in his loins became intense.

  Over the next two hours, Wesley experienced every sexual desire, every secret pleasure, every imagined position that a young man could fantasize. They wrestled on the couch, the table, and the floor and they never made it to the bedroom. Wesley didn’t even notice. She was extremely flexible and showed him positions of sex that she said came from a book of poems called the Karma Sutra.

  Wesley now believed she was educated. He was already aware she had a keen intelligence that he had not seen in most women. He knew the book had only been published in English a few years before. Finally sated, he reclined on the couch, and she nestled next to him, with her back toward him. He marveled at her sleek body and ran his hand up and down her flank.

  “You seem to be more than a lady of the night,” he began.

  “I am actually a dancer in the theater, in the old part of Cape Town.”

  “Then why do you do this? I mean, you seem educated. You’re young, and you are beautiful.”

  “Professor Wayne, I live in South Africa. There is little opportunity here for me.” She spat this out with a touch of sarcasm. “I cannot work in the good theaters. I cannot even eat in most restaurants. The British, like you, want it that way. The money I make supports my brother and me. He is the boy at the front door. Someday we may leave, but even that is nearly impossible.”

  “Why, why is it nearly impossible?” Wesley tried to comprehend. “As part of the empire, you still have rights, don’t you?”

  “You don’t understand. I am half-white
. My father is white. This makes me an outcast to the whites and to my mother’s native people. No one wants anything to do with us. I want to leave this place and move to America. Have you been to America, Professor?”

  Wesley was shocked by this revelation and could only stammer a reply. “But surely your father has helped you?”

  “Yes, he has many times. He has provided me with an education, a place to live, and helps us as much as he can. He is a good man, but the political situation in South Africa prevents him from acknowledging us. He doesn’t want to lose his job and be disgraced. If that happens, we will be under worse conditions.”

  “How does he help you?”

  “He finds me jobs like this.”

  The impact of her words reverberated in his head. “Your father is Harold, the butler?” The implications filled his mind. Her father sold his daughter like a basket of ripe fruit to foreigners to make ends meet. Wesley suddenly had great sympathy for this slight woman.

  “Yes,” she replied sheepishly. “But you must not tell anyone. Please. I shouldn’t have told you any of this. Now you, too, have power over me. Just like everyone else.” Her back was still turned to him, but he could feel the warm tears as they fell on his arm. Her cries turned to sobs racking her small body. Wesley was truly moved and decided no matter what, he needed to help her.

  “But your father works in this house. It’s hotbed of racism.”

  “He doesn’t work for The Major, if that is what you mean. The Major just uses the mansion to make it appear that he has much influence. He hates The Major. The Major represents what is the worst of the people here in South Africa. That is one reason I must leave.”

  “Then you must go to America. I have a friend in America. He would take care of you. Help you to find a better life.”