Carl said nothing for a few seconds. “Well, I can’t guarantee anything,” Carl replied like a child. “But I’ll try.” He then turned and went back to work.
Bernard ignored Carl’s comment. “Brenda, dear, I think the servants have planned a fine snack for us. Shall we head back?
Chapter Thirty
C
arl was Carl Catfish. He was a little known but brilliant scientist. He had bounced from job to job due to his mad scientist personality and demeanor. He was socially inept, argumentative and had an inability to control his addiction to horse racing. The job hopping had helped develop his knowledge base of nanobots beyond any other scientist alive and his addiction had cost him everything.
Four years ago, Brenda had met him at the Arlington Park Racetrack in the suburb of Chicago with the same name. It was the biggest and most successful horse racing park in Chicagoland. She was trolling for marks to gain information, when she literally ran into the disheveled, baggy suited, unkempt scientist. He was reading his daily betting sheet and wasn’t watching where he was going. He displayed a look of terror for his faux pas and quickly backed up in terror.
Brenda placed a steady gaze on him as she assessed his potential. His hair looked like he had just stuck his finger into a wall plug and his squinty eyes were covered by horned-rimmed glasses. He was around forty years old and thin as a rail. He looked like he was either a bum or a mad scientist.
Brenda had good instincts and decided he was the latter. She immediately began the process of initiating an intimate relationship to see if she could obtain some secret information. She was well schooled in gaining the attention of men.
She dropped her program and waited for him to pick it up for her while giving him a clear view of her attributes. As he groped for the program from a kneeling position, she saw his throat gulp. Got him, she thought.
When he stood back up, she sweetly apologized for bumping into him and offered to buy him a drink to make things right. She then batted her eyes. Soon they were seated at a small table and he was telling her his life story. She was a good listener. She quickly realized he was addicted to horse racing and asked him if he had any recommendations for the next race. When he said he did, she then gave him money and asked him to place a bet for her. She gave him double the money which was needed for the bet. When he informed her that she had given him too much money, she said he should use the extra money to place a bet for himself as money didn’t matter to her, her family owned a huge horse farm she told him.
As the day progressed, she fed him more money to place bets and he always seemed to lose. By the time the last race of the day finished, he had lost over two thousand dollars of her money. Brenda now went into action. She gave him an expectant look and held out her hand for the money he had borrowed.
He recoiled in horror. After a few more demands by Brenda, he sheepishly admitted he was currently unemployed and could not pay her back. He said he had hoped to win some races today and pay her back from the winnings. She placed a stern look on her face and dropped the hammer.
“Well, Carl, how exactly are you going to pay me back the money you now owe me?” She used a frosty voice to intimidate him.
“But I have nothing,” he pleaded. “Just give me some time to win a few races. Then I’ll pay you back.”
“Do I look stupid?” Brenda bristled. “Surely you must have something to trade. You said you were a scientist, right?”
“I’ve lost my job. I have nothing but what’s in my head,” he said dejectedly as he pointed to his noggin.
“What kind of scientist are you? Do you have something to trade?” Brenda had used the ploy several times before. Sometimes she picked up good information and sometimes the mark was a bust.
“Actually, I’m the world’s leading authority on nanobots,” he replied with a measure of pride. “I don’t suppose you could use anything I know, do you?”
“But no one has ever made a working version of a nanobot,” Brenda responded quickly.
“I can make one. That is if I had a good functioning power source. That is the only missing part,” Carl told her. “I know how to do everything else.”
“Hmm,” she muttered as she thought.
Brenda had watched and participated in hundreds of experiments which her father conducted. They had experimented with horses for many years, attempting to produce a super horse. He had a fully functioning modern lab. It was under one of his barns. Two lab technicians worked there full time. He never published anything about his experiments as the humane society would be in an uproar, but the old man had made breakthroughs. One was that the tail of a horse sperm was a strong power supply.
“I’d like for you to talk to my father,” Brenda said.
“He isn’t going to hurt me, is he? I don’t handle violence too well.”
“No, he’s very old, but he might be interested in hiring you,” she coyly replied.
“But all I know has to do with nanobots. I can’t do anything else.”
“Precisely,” She hissed.
Carl Catfish eventually came to work in Bernard’s’ lab. He developed his first working nanobot two years later.
Chapter Thirty-One
O
nce again, Banyon took Timmy off mute. He continued to talk about nanobots and his theories about them. Banyon suddenly noticed a message on his screen. It said that Marlene Moore wanted to talk to them immediately.
“Timmy, I have to cut this short,” Banyon said. “I have another conference call I need to take right now.”
Timmy sounded very disappointed. There was dejection in his voice. “Sure, man, I can fill you in on this technology later when you have more time.”
Banyon decided to make him feel better. “Can you find out who are the most eminent scientists on nanobot technology? We may want to talk to them.”
“No problem, man,” the geek replied happily. “I’ll call you back. Care to tell me what this is about?”
“No,” Banyon replied and switched screens.
***
Marlene Moore looked weary. Strain lines covered her face. She immediately began the update like a news announcer.
“The FedEx guy was a bust,” she said sadly. “When the SWAT team entered his apartment they found that someone had shot him minutes before they got there. The place was clean, expect for one sterile syringe.”
“I’ll bet it was planted,” Banyon offered.
“We could not have moved any faster to capture him,” Marlene noted. “But someone was tipped off and beat us there.”
“I don’t think it would have mattered. I’m pretty sure he could not have identified his employer.”
“I agree,” she stated flatly. “You got anything yet?”
Banyon explained about the theory of organic nanobots. “I’m researching the top people as we speak. They may be able to give us a clue.”
“Well, I’m going to have some of my people look into any recent large purchases of any sperm and also into any purchases of equipment to freeze them,” Marlene replied as she made notes. “If this mad man starts sending nanobots out into the general public, this could become an apocalyptic event.”
“It would be just like the Black Death pandemic all over again,” Banyon agreed.
“What do you think they are attempting to accomplish?” She asked in a serious voice.
“Marlene, the Effort may be involved,” Banyon said cautiously.
Marlene threw up her arms in frustration. “Not again. So they still want to take over America, huh? But who will be the targets of these nanobots?”
“Everyone who doesn’t believe what they believe,” he seriously replied.
***
The next conference call was to the Las Vegas Police Department and Haleigh Taylor’s Captain. He noted that they had found and interrogated the other local author whose book was also used as the delivery vehicle to murder inmates. The author was listed as a young skinhead, named “Violent Views”. He wro
te about the current rise in the Aryan cause and the problems they faced today. But he didn’t seem to have any ties to any known supremacy group, or even any criminal record, the captain told them.
The captain said that when they brought him in for an interview, they found he was actually a she, and was a post-graduate student in literature at UNLV. She wrote the book for a class. She said the teacher wanted them to write a convincing story about something they didn’t believe in. She chose white supremacy.
When the police asked her about book sales, she replied that she only sold them, with signature, through her personal website. When they checked with PayPal, they found the orders were sent from the same computer as Banyon’s orders in Chicago.
Banyon thanked the captain for his input. He knew any new news would come through Homeland Security. The conference call lasted ten minutes.
Loni immediately had a question for Banyon. “Why did they pick you two for the books?”
“We both wrote about supremacy,” Banyon offered with a shrug. “My guess is the actual books were picked at random from the supremacy genre. Inmates would be more likely to pick up a book about supremacy then a romance novel.”
Before they were able to have any further discussions, Banyon’s screen bleeped. It was another message from Marlene Moore. Banyon quickly pressed his Bluetooth and asked to be connected.
She appeared to be a little more excited this time. “Colt,” she said with enthusiasm. “We have identified the woman placing the orders. We are going to do the takedown right now. Do you want to watch? I can include you in the live feed.”
“Did you find her on the Barnes & Noble customer tapes?” Banyon asked.
“No that was a dead end.” Marlene explained. “We spotted her at the university and followed her back to her office.” Loni now looked at Banyon with a weird expression on her pretty face. Banyon was rarely wrong.
“Well, that’s the best offer I have had all day.” He quipped, even though he believed the woman was another cutout and would have no new information.
Chapter Thirty-Two
B
ack at the horse ranch, Brenda and Bernard were back from the lab and leisurely talking about their plans. They were served a light afternoon snack by the servants and now sipped coffee from fine china.
“Brenda, there is something I need to tell you,” Bernard spoke in a sad tone as he turned towards her in his wheel chair.
“Tell me about phase three first,” Brenda replied cheerfully. “According to Carl, it looks like phase two is almost complete.”
“Yes,” he answered. But I wanted all the Hispanics to get the letters at the same time. This delay will hurt our effectiveness and kill ratio,” he complained. A dark cloud seemed to have passed over him.
“So what,” Brenda uttered. “Once the riots start they will die in the cross-fire anyway,” she reasoned.
“The more Hispanics we kill in the beginning, the better my plan will work,” Bernard said like a depressed man. “We’re not trying to reduce their population you know — we’re trying to annihilate them.”
To get his mind off of bad thoughts, Brenda quickly asked him another question. “Where will phase four be implemented?”
“Phase four will take place in Milwaukee in three days,” Bernard replied without hesitation.
“Why there?” Brenda questioned. “I know there are many people with guns in Wisconsin, but there are not as many Hispanics in Milwaukee.
“That’s because we are going after the blacks there,” he said, but didn’t show his usual fanaticism when saying it.
After she thought about his comment for a minute, Brenda proclaimed cheerfully “That’s brilliant Bernard. That means that soon after all blacks anywhere will be shot on sight along with any Hispanics.”
“Yes, you are correct,” he replied distractedly. “We already have their genetic makeup to program the nanobots. We just need another delivery system and we are close to perfecting a new one.”
“Too bad we can’t insert the nanobots into fried chicken. The blacks all eat fried chicken,” Brenda offered as a joke.
“It wouldn’t work, the nanobots would die from the heat,” he replied sincerely. He appeared to be thinking about something else.
“When will we get to the Jews?” Brenda suddenly asked in a rush. “I want them all dead as soon as possible.”
“Brenda, you know there is no genetic identifier for Jews,” he patiently reminded her. “We can’t program the nanobots to go after Jews,” he said offhandedly. “They are more of a religion than a race,”
“So how are we going to eliminate them?” Brenda now ranted. “Don’t tell me that you are going to let them live?”
“We probably will have to kill them the old fashion way, with bullets. We may use the same ways we did back in Germany, only today we can kill them faster and more efficiently,” he said with less emphasis than usual, something was clearly on his mind.
“As long as they are gone in the near future,” Brenda said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
The old man slowly turned toward her. There was a look of sadness and concern in his eyes. “I may not live through the completion of this project,” he said softly.
“What did you say?” Brenda inquired.
“I may not be able to protect you from what is going to happen. There will be many changes in America and many who will try to take advantage.”
“Nonsense,” Brenda replied, but a little panic crept into her voice. “You’re as healthy as an ox.”
“There are other people involved in this project. They are younger and more ruthless than even you,” he responded. “They are all also very greedy.” Brenda was suddenly concerned about her inheritance.
“What are you trying to tell me?” A stunned Brenda asked.
“You need to know some of my secrets,” he admitted.
“What secrets?” Brenda blustered.
“I have kept some secrets about this project to myself,” he told her. “One secret has been kept since I came to America a long time ago. It is time for you to know about all of my secrets so you can use them to protect yourself.” Bernard said as he captured her hands in his own. “Just in case things don’t go well.”
Part Four
Progress
Chapter Thirty-Three
A
t Dewey & Beatem, the members of the strategy team crowded closer to the computer screen to watch the takedown. Banyon was beginning to feel cramped. He noticed that people were so close to the screen that he could detect breathing on his neck.
Bart suddenly spoke into Banyon’s ear. “Tell the geek to put the picture on the flat screen.” Banyon repeated the order into his Bluetooth. As soon as the sixty-inch screen came alive, everyone moved to more comfortable couches and chairs.
No one said anything as they watched the drama unfold. The picture on the big screen was divided into two parts. The cameras were both mounted on the front headgear of two SWAT team members. One camera was on the headgear of the SWAT leader, the other was located in the second van. They were both riding in vehicles which were speeding down a crowded road in a suburb of Northern Chicago. The picture was very herky-jerky and Loni was beginning to feel seasick.
“Coming up on our target in one minute, get ready,” the SWAT leader announced. His ten men began checking their equipment and readying themselves for the assault. They had done this type of assault many times and knew exactly what to do.
The driver of the first van pulled into a small strip mall. The second van continued around to the back of the building. No one was going to get away by using the back exit. The vehicles suddenly screeched to a halt and the SWAT team rushed to a store front in the middle of the mall. The sign on the front said “Sol’s Book Store”. Banyon was already having a bad feeling about the takedown.
With practiced precision they flung open the door and entered the small book store with assault rifles at the ready. The SWAT team members spread out
and immediately headed for the back of the small building. There were no customers in the store. Banyon could hear the men yelling “show yourself” and “hands in the air”. The second screen showed the back room with the SWAT team securing the area and saying the same things.
“Got two here,” Banyon heard from someone off screen. The leader’s camera bounced as he sprinted to the voice. Other voices sounded out the clear sign. So far the assault had taken less than thirty seconds.
When the camera steadied, the picture was of a well-used counter which was the checkout for the store. There were two people, a man and a woman, standing behind it with their hands in the air. Both looked very nervous.
“Identify yourselves,” the SWAT leader ordered in a harsh voice. There were three assault rifles aimed at their heads.
The old man spoke with a slightly accented voice. “I’m Sol Steinburg. I own the store. This is my daughter, Mitzi Steinburg. What have we done?”
The man was very old. He had only a wisp of hair on his age-spotted head. His body was frail and looked shrunken. He stood hunched over in a white shirt and dress pants that were secured by a large black belt. The top of his pants started almost in the middle of his small chest. He appeared to be at least ninety years old.
The woman was somewhere in her sixties. She was dressed fashionably for the nineteen- seventies. She was dressed in a well-worn dress which was a size too small for her overdeveloped body. She wore her silver hair in a bun. White reading glasses lay on her large breasts and were connected to a holder which looped around her neck. Her blue eyes were wide with terror.
A Dubious Device: The Nanobot Terror (A Colton Banyon Mystery Book 10) Page 10