A Dubious Device: The Nanobot Terror (A Colton Banyon Mystery Book 10)

by Gerald Kubicki

  “What’s the charge?” She managed to ask the officer.

  “He is being charged with murder,” the veteran detective replied. “You need to stand back now.”

  Loni Chen was only 5’1” and a hundred pounds soaking wet. She was 100% Chinese, but was born in Hawaii to parents who wanted a boy. They had treated her like a male growing up. As a result, she reached adulthood not knowing that she was a stunning woman. She believed that she was a cute tomboy. But her beauty was ageless. She was actually around fifty years old, about fourteen years younger than Banyon, but could easily pass for twenty-five. She spent countless hours in the gym working out and keeping in perfect shape. She looked like a lovely little Asian girl, but her looks were deceiving.

  Loni was actually an expert hand to hand fighter and a skilled martial arts devotee. She was also a top marksman with most guns. It was all learned during her ten years with the FBI. She readied herself for a fight. She knew she could easily subdue both policemen if she wanted to, but she could see Banyon shaking his head no. Instead, she flicked her long black hair. It got the attention of the policemen.

  “Where are you taking him?”

  “The address is 9850 W. Cheyenne Ave. But it will be some time until you can talk to him,” Marino added as discouragement. “He will be in an interrogation.”

  “Can I at least have the keys to the car,” she then begged in a sweet singsong voice. “I have no way to get back home.”

  The officer believed that she was no threat once he scanned her diminutive body. While it was not protocol, he did have some sympathy for her. “Where are your car keys?” He addressed Banyon in a malicious tone.

  “They are in my front right pocket,” he replied. The officer quickly dug his hand into Banyon’s shorts and tossed the keys to Loni.

  “Loni, call Bart — it appears I need a lawyer,” Banyon yelled to her as the officer pushed his head down out of sight into the police cruiser.

  “Okay,” she replied anxiously with an edge of foreboding. “Good luck,” was all she could think to say.

  As soon as Banyon was secure, the officer slammed the car’s door and jumped into the front seat. The cruiser took off and headed for the station, leaving Loni standing by herself in the parking lot. She felt very alone and very worried. This day is not turning out as we had planned it, she thought.

  Before she called Bart, Loni decided to find out anything she could about Banyon’s arrest. She turned and sprinted into the fingerprinting storefront. When she entered through the door, she saw several people sitting in the small lobby area, trying to look invisible. A receptionist stood behind a flimsy counter about halfway to the back of the building. The place was very no frills and rather spartan. She noticed several work stations setup to scan fingerprints. All the employees wore plastic gloves.

  Pointing her finger towards the door, she quickly addressed the receptionist. “Can you tell me why that man was just arrested?” She nodded humbly, Asian style, as she spoke to the young woman behind the counter. The receptionist was also Chinese.

  “Sorry, we can’t give that information out,” she calmly replied.

  Switching immediately to Chinese Mandarin, Loni screamed at the girl. “That is my boyfriend, you idiot. I can’t let anything happen to him. Do you understand?”

  The girl did understand. Many Chinese women came to America to find a husband. Once they found a good one, they became very protective. The girl understood Loni’s plight, she would have done the same thing.

  “He was arrested for murder,” she replied in Chinese so no one else would understand.

  “Murder!” Loni exclaimed also in Chinese. A swell of panic suddenly filled her body. She knew that Banyon had killed several bad guys over the years. She had killed some too and the rest of Banyon’s team had also been involved. It was necessary and unavoidable in their line of work. Will we all be arrested, she wondered.

  The girl continued. “The police are here several times a week arresting people. Sometimes, it is kind of a scam. They call the people up and tell them they need new fingerprints. When the people show up they are arrested. Some people are so dumb,” she added.

  “Can you tell me anything else?”

  “The policemen were a little more nervous than usual. That’s all I can tell you,” the girl replied with a shrug.

  “Thank you,” Loni said sincerely and headed out the door to call Bart.

  Bart was Bart Longwood. He was the managing partner of Dewey & Beatem, Attorneys at Law, where Banyon was employed. He actually worked for the President of the United States, but so did Dewey & Beatem. They were a real law office, but were also a clandestine organization that handled government projects that could not be public knowledge. Banyon was the Presidents favorite operative and had a very successful track record. Bart and Banyon worked out of the main office located in Chicago.

  Chapter Four

  T

  wenty minutes later, Banyon was deposited in a dingy interrogation room at the Summerlin police station. He knew that the police substation building was fairly new. He remembered when it had been built. But as he looked around his surroundings he realized that the interrogation room was well worn. A lot of criminals have passed thru here, he thought. The ten foot by ten foot brick room was painted a dingy gray. There were many chips in the paint and splotches on the walls. There has been violence in this room, he thought.

  There wasn’t much furniture either. A square metal table was bolted to the floor. He was chained to an eyebolt on the table. He realized they weren’t taking any chances with him escaping. There were only three metal chairs. Nothing else was in the room. A large mirror faced him. He knew he was being watched and everything he did or said was being recorded. He sat nervously waiting for the interrogation process to begin. He hoped that Loni had been able to contact Bart. He needed help. Strangely, he found himself thinking about Loni. She was about to attack those police officers to free me. What was she thinking?

  Soon, the metal door flew open. A young woman with skin the color of a tanning lotion tube entered. She was tall and slender, like a runner, with medium length hair the color of a wheat field. Banyon could see that she was in good physical shape and probably worked out often. She was dressed in tight blue designer jeans and low heels. The white camisole top she wore was covered by a blue blazer with a gold detectives badge hanging from the pocket. She wore no jewelry and little makeup. She was an attractive young woman, but Banyon was sure that she was not there to entertain him.

  She quickly crossed the room to the table and gracefully sat down opposite him. He realized that she was a much harder woman than she had first appeared. She moved like a practiced law officer and her green eyes were not friendly.

  “My name is Detective Haleigh Taylor,” she spoke like she was giving a deposition at a trail.

  “Colton Banyon,” he replied. “I’d shake your hand but I’m a little tied up right now,” he said as a joke to break the ice.

  She ignored his remark. “I have a few questions for you Mr. Banyon.”

  “What is this arrest about? I have done nothing wrong,” he lied.

  “You’re not actually under arrest. At least not yet,” she officially replied. “You are under suspicion at the moment,” she qualified.

  “Of what, exactly?” He put a little anger into his voice. His confidence was already returning. He now understood that they didn’t have enough evidence to charge him. They just wanted to talk.

  The detective stared directly into his eyes and opened a folder. “We have several murders under investigation. You are a ‘person of interest’. I’m here to find out what you know about the murders.”

  “But I know nothing. I have no motive to kill anyone, and I’m sure that I’ll have an alibi,” Banyon told her. “I just got into town last night.”

  “Well, actually everyone has an alibi for these murders,” Detective Taylor noted as she continued to stare at him.

  “What does that mean?”<
br />
  “No one was with the victims when they died.”

  Confusion filled Banyon’s eyes. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ll make everything clearer for you in a minute,” she quickly replied evasively and held up her finger. She then leafed through the folder that contained his paperwork. There seemed to be a lot of paper. In the middle of the folder was a paperback book. Banyon was quite familiar with the book.

  “You wrote this, didn’t you?” Detective Taylor asked as she held up the book for him to see. “It is called ‘My House’”.

  “Why yes,” he said automatically. “I wrote it several years ago. It’s a book of fiction. Why do you ask?” Banyon was totally confused now. The book was actually a recap of his first mystery adventure, but he had claimed it as fiction. He had used a factious name, Gerald J. Kubicki, for the lead character.

  “I have read your book. I bought it at a local retailer” she announced evenly. “The hero has several dealings with neo-Nazi, Aryan type, bad guys, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, it contains historical facts about fanatic Aryan type people and their present day disciples,” Banyon agreed.

  “You have an interesting choice of topics and people, Mr. Banyon,” Detective Taylor commented. “Are you friends with any of the characters in the book? Do you have Aryan friends?”

  “No, I don’t know any Aryans,” Banyon blustered. He didn’t like the direction of her questions. “It’s a fiction book about finding the original history of the Aryan race,” Banyon corrected her. “Anyone who has studied history knows that no written history has ever been found as they didn’t have a written language. The Aryans in the book don’t exist. I made them up.”

  “But the book is plausible, given a discovery of a written history of the Aryans, correct? I mean, for example, another race which came into contact with Aryans could have written about them in their historical records, right?”

  “Yes, and it would have a great impact on the Aryans of today,” he reluctantly agreed. “But no actual history has ever been found,” he repeated. “And no other culture that has a written history has ever written more than a few comments about the race.”

  “Hmm,” Detective Taylor uttered. “So it is easy to assume that many Aryan types would want to read this book,” she continued. Banyon suddenly felt that she was building some sort of case against him. He wondered why?

  “It’s more of an adventure novel,” he said to deflect her. “It was meant to be nothing more than a fun read.”

  Detective Taylor now changed tactics. “Do you keep a record of who buys your books, Mr. Banyon?”

  Not recognizing the trap, Banyon replied. “My distributors don’t tell me who buys my books. They just send me royalty checks each month with a record of the total number of books sold. I have no idea who buys my books unless they put up a review on a major website or send me a comment.”

  “And is that the only way people can buy your books?” The Detective asked. Banyon was sure she knew the answer.

  Banyon thought for a second. “Well, no actually, I sometimes do book signings at book stores,” he responded.

  “That doesn’t help. None of the people I’m concerned about would have been at a book signing,” she quickly answered and shook her head.

  “Why do you say that?”

  Detective Taylor ignored his question. “What about your website? Don’t you sell books directly to consumers and you sometimes sign them as well?”

  “Uh…you’re right. I do get some sales through the website,” he agreed. Sales were small and he had not thought about that. Detective Taylor had done her homework on how the book industry worked, he suddenly thought.

  “Would your fingerprints be on those books?”

  “I pack them myself, in my garage,” he answered. “So, yes they would,” he replied honestly.

  “And you would also have the names and addresses of those people, wouldn’t you?” Detective Taylor appeared to know more than she was letting on, Banyon realized. She is questioning me more like a lawyer than a cop. “You must keep them somewhere,” she pressed him.

  “No detective, I don’t keep them,” Banyon responded feeling that he was digging himself into a deep hole.

  She then spoke in a buttery tone that was meant to put the detainee at ease. “Oh, come now, a smart businessman like yourself. You would keep the addresses so you could contact them if you wrote another book, right?”

  “No, I don’t actually keep them,” Banyon said.

  “But? You could get the names and addresses if you wanted them, right?”

  “Yes,” Banyon acknowledged. “PayPal would have the information if I wanted it,” he admitted.

  “Explain that?”

  “When someone clicks the button and places an order through my website, PayPal collects the money. They then send me the order. PayPal has to supply the name and shipping address of the customer so that I can send them the book. The information is stored in my account profile page on the website,” Banyon said.

  “I’ll need your PayPal password then,” Detective Taylor said as she picked up her pen to write. “We need to cross-check the list of your customers with our victims.”

  “I don’t suppose that I have a choice — do I?”

  “No.”

  Banyon reluctantly gave her his PayPal information. She then started to close the folder and got up to leave.

  “Am I done?”

  “You’re going to a holding cell while I check out your PayPal account. We’ll talk again later,” she said dismissively as she briskly walked to the door.

  Before she could leave, Banyon asked another question. “So, you think I am killing the people that buy my books? That makes no sense and it would be bad for book sales as well,” Banyon said logically.

  “I’ve seen crazier things,” she replied with a swipe of her hand.

  “But what’s the connection? Who are these dead people?” Banyon was now curious as well as scared.

  “If you must know,” Detective Taylor huffed. “So far, we have ten victims, all here in Nevada.”

  “Ten!” Banyon exclaimed.

  “Six of the victims had a signed copy of your book. The last one was reading it when he died. Your fingerprints were found on each book.”

  “What?” Banyon was now very concerned. His book was filled with action, but he didn’t think it was dramatic enough to produce a heart attack material.

  “It’s too big a coincidence to ignore,” Detective Taylor said.

  “But what about the other four victims?”

  “They could have gotten your book from the onsite library,” she added.

  “What onsite library? What are you talking about?”

  “Actually, there are three libraries involved,” she corrected herself.

  “I’m not following you very well. Who are the victims?”

  Her face suddenly changed. A look of hostility was now featured. “All ten were acknowledged neo-Nazi, Aryan assholes,” she spat out with disgust. “Personally, I’m happy they are dead. You have done the world a favor.”

  “I’ve done nothing,” he shouted back at her. Could this have something to do with Wolf, he suddenly wondered.

  “Unfortunately, I’m the one assigned to find their killer,” she said with a huff. Now Banyon could understand why she was not happy. She thought finding their killer was a waste of time.

  He pressed her anyway. “I just want to know who died. If you are going to accuse me of murder, you should at least tell me who was murdered. What were their names?”

  “Most of them haven’t used their real names in many years,” she replied, adding to his confusion.

  “What, I don’t understand?”

  “They were all convicted murderers located in maximum security cells in prisons. They were all here in Nevada. Is that enough information,” she said sarcastically.

  “How did they die?” Banyon continued.

  “We don’t know that ei
ther.”

  Chapter Five

  A

  fter a few minutes, an officer entered the room and escorted Banyon to a small area in the back of the building. There were just four holding cells there. Each separated by a cinder-block wall. Three were filled with other detainees. A guard was sitting close by, reading a newspaper, with a view of all four cells. The handcuffs were removed and Banyon was pushed into the cell. He was now alone.

  He immediately began to scan the room to see if he could detect any cameras or microphones. It didn’t seem logical that the cell would be bugged, but Banyon was an extremely cautious man. He needed to be, as he believed he was in a precarious situation. He wasn’t worried about the possible murder charge; he knew that he hadn’t killed the men. What worried him was that his secret could be discovered — then there would plenty of trouble for him and his unique team. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Colton Banyon was not a normal person. At work he was known as a ‘finder’. Because of his secret he was able to locate and find most things, or people very quickly. In the last few years since he had been given the ‘gift’, Banyon had developed a small team of investigators. They had recovered many ancient artifacts and destroyed many bad men. They had also become wealthy along the way.

  They had also made many enemies and some friends as well. Some of his enemies and friends had become very powerful people. The President of The United States had learned of Banyon’s talent, and immediately put him on the payroll at Dewey & Beatem to help him solve problems that the government could not handle on their own. In essence, it had been blackmail. The President said he would keep Banyon’s secret if he worked for him. Otherwise word would leak out about his secret and many people, bad and good, would be after him. He no longer would have a private life and might even be held captive and forced to find things. Banyon was worried about that, more than anything else. So far, the President had kept his word, but Banyon was sure that many others would not.