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

  A Dubious Device

  Gerald J. Kubicki & Kristopher Kubicki

  The Nanobot Terror

  A Colton Banyon Adventure/Mystery #10

  Other Books by Gerald J. Kubicki

  A Dubious Mission

  A Dubious Secret

  A Dubious Dream

  A Dubious Terrain

  A Dubious Plan

  A Dubious Artifact

  A Dubious Position

  A Dubious Curse

  A Dubious Crime

  License Note

  This ebook is for your personal enjoyment.

  It may not be re-sold.

  A Dubious Device

  The nanobot terror

  Published by Gerald J. Kubicki & Kristopher Kubicki

  Copyright ©2014 by Gerald J. Kubicki & Kristopher Kubicki

  All rights reserved

  This book is dedicated to my grand children

  Prologue

  I

  t was in the late spring of 1933. Henrich Himmler rushed into a huge solid-looking building. It housed the offices of the new chancellor of Germany, Adolf Hitler. The normally sedate Himmler was very excited as he hurriedly climbed the marble stairs to the second floor. He had important news to share with his leader. The information he intended to present to the future fuehrer of Germany could not wait until a regular scheduled leadership meeting. Himmler did not want another of Hitler’s cronies to steal his thunder. He wanted to implement a plan of action immediately. He needed to get Hitler’s approval now.

  He attempted to return to a more dignified manner as he approached the assistant who guarded Hitler’s time with fanatic zeal. The man was a major in the SS. Himmler’s jackboots tapped on the highly polished floor in front of the desk, but the assistant did not even look up. Himmler stood as tall as his small frame would allow, and took off his glasses to clean them as he sought an audience.

  “I need to see the chancellor immediately,” he said in his demanding voice.

  The assistant displayed the arrogance of a true believer. “No one speaks to the chancellor without making an appointment through me.”

  Himmler was accustomed to dealing with self-important, obstructive bureaucrats. “Are you aware that as of last week, you now work for me?” Himmler inquired in a pleasant tone as he placed his small hand on the desk.

  “Herr Himmler…, I did not know that it was you,” the major suddenly belched out as he shot up from his chair.

  “The two guards protecting the door to Hitler’s office also work for me,” Himmler subtly continued.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the major quickly said.

  “You wouldn’t want them to shoot you would you?” Himmler said as he studied his manicured finger nails. Himmler had a reputation of being merciless with anyone who stood in his way.

  “I’ll announce you right away,” the assistant proclaimed and saluted. He scurried off, and after knocking, entered the office. He was back in a minute.

  “The chancellor will see you now,” he offered.

  “Don’t get comfortable in this position,” Himmler callously threatened.

  “Yes, sir,” the man replied as his Adam’s apple bobbed.

  “I never want to be delayed again. Do you understand?”

  “I will always make room for you in the future,” the assistant stammered.

  “Good,” Himmler replied with a cruel grin. He turned on his heels and headed for the open doorway.

  ***

  As he entered the office, Hitler rose from his desk and walked towards him holding out his hand to shake. He then waved Himmler over to two overly stuffed leather couches, and indicated the Himmler should take the one across from him.

  “How are you Henrich?” It was the same greeting he used for everyone, and marked the end of pleasantries during the meeting.

  “I’m…”

  “What have you got for me? I haven’t time for a social visit,” Chancellor Hitler suddenly demanded ruthlessly.

  “I have some very good news,” Himmler replied evasively as he stared at Hitler with his weasel like eyes.

  “Good, I’m in the mood for some good news,” Hitler quipped and slapped his knee. It was the closest he ever came to a joke.

  “The Abwehr has reported that they have established a spy network in Mexico,” Himmler replied.

  “Why hasn’t Captain Konrad Patzig reported this to me?” Hitler was indignant. He always wanted the chain of command to work, except when he decided against it.

  “He is currently out of the country,” Himmler said with a straight face. In truth, Himmler had sent him on a wild goose chase to Norway.

  “And why is it good news? I expect to have reconnaissance and counterespionage agents in every country. That is what the Abwehr does, is it not?” Hitler roared.

  “Yes, sir,” Himmler agreed. “But the organization is still small. The first major spy network in the western hemisphere is a notable accomplishment.”

  “Why is that? We have no plans to fight on western soil.” Hitler believed in one thing; power. He believed in overwhelming his enemies with surprise and massive firepower. Himmler was slightly more far-sighted. He had started out as a pig farmer, and believed in a sneak attack. Then you ripped out the guts.

  “Ah, but the plan would be to prevent the Americans from ever fighting on European soil.”

  Suddenly interested, Hitler leaned forward. “What do you have in mind my devious little friend.” Hitler was well aware that the head of the SS was very ambitious and not above using trickery to get his way.

  “Now that we have a base of operations in the West, we can open a spy ring in the United States. Something like sixty percent of the population there is of German heritage. If we plan,” and fund our approach properly we can sway the people.”

  “And keep them out of any conflicts until we are ready to deal with them,” Hitler completed the thought.

  “That would be my hope,” Himmler agreed.

  “And precisely what would setting up a spy network in America require?” A pensive Hitler asked.

  “We would start with three English speaking agents. I want to send them to Chicago. They would then recruit others there. Of course, we would need to be adequately funded, and we need to supply them with radio equipment.”

  “That doesn’t sound like very much,” Hitler said with concern.

  “On the contrary, sir,” Himmler explained with a slight grin. He realized that Hitler was leaning his way. “We can fill an entire truck with what is needed, and the men could just drive up from Mexico into the United States. The borders are only lightly guarded there. We could even resupply them if needed.”

  “If I decide to do this, there can be no records. Nothing can be written down, do you understand?” Hitler said as a disclaimer.

  “Of course,” Himmler immediately replied. “The three men I have in mind all work for me, so naturally, they will report to me alone.”

  “That makes sense to me,” Hitler said thoughtfully. “I don’t trust that incompetent Patzig anyway,” he waved his hand as if in dismissal.

  “Yes, you are correct there,” Himmler said to twist the knife.

  “But, why Chicago?”

  “It is the center of horse racing,” Himmler replied and watched Hitler’s reaction.

  “This is nonsense,” Hitler screamed. “We can’t stop America from entering the war because of horse racing. No — I will have no part of this crazy scheme.” He slammed his fist on the coffee table between them.

  Himmler had expected the outburst. He unde
rstood his boss well. “In America, the wealthy, the influential, the politicians, and the decision makers all go to the race track. There is much intelligence to gather there and the opportunity to blackmail as well.”

  After a few seconds, Hitler responded. “Hmm, I see your point,” he said as he rubbed his chin.

  “Who knows who we can grab in our net?”

  “If I agree to this, how will we provide the monies for our spies? Remember that there can be no paper trail.”

  “Why, we’ll have the Jews of Germany pay for it all,” Himmler said with a throaty laugh. “We’ll just have to confiscate some property.”

  Hitler roared with laughter

  Part One

  The Problem

  Chapter One

  “S

  tand up!”

  Colton Banyon was sitting in an uncomfortable plastic molded chair, reading an outdated magazine, when he heard the order. Are they talking to me? He peeked over the top of the periodical and saw two pairs of expensive running shoes standing in front of him. As he scanned up the legs, he realized that the men were actually policemen in running shoes. Both appeared to be under thirty years old and in fit condition. They didn’t seem to be happy.

  “What’s going on here?” Banyon asked politely.

  “I said stand up,” one of the officers repeated a little louder. He raised his arms upward. The heads of several people in the lobby suddenly snapped up. No one in the small business front wanted to hear a policeman give harsh orders.

  “Why?” Banyon questioned.

  “Stand up and turn around, now,” the police officer said. His tone was more threatening this time. Banyon could see that the officers were serious and tense. Both had their hands on their guns.

  Banyon casually tossed the magazine onto the table next to his chair and stood up. “What’s this about?” He didn’t want to show any fear. The other people waiting in the lobby area suddenly seemed very nervous and pretended to be invisible.

  The second officer grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and spun him around to face the wall. He pulled his arms behind him and suddenly Banyon could feel plastic handcuffs capturing his wrists. Once that was completed, he was once again spun around to face the law enforcement officers.

  “You are under arrest, Colton Banyon,” the first officer announced with a predatory smile on his face.

  “Under arrest for what?” Banyon chocked out with alarm. He was beginning to feel the first stages of panic now. He had been arrested once before. But he had proven his innocence that time.

  “The charge is multiple murders,” the second officer replied without emotion as he frisked Banyon for a weapon.

  “Multiple murders?” Banyon was now in the second stage of panic. His blood pressure immediately shot up. “There must be some mistake.”

  “He’s clean,” the officer said as soon as he was finished. He took up a menacing pose just to the right of Banyon.

  “Read him his Miranda rights,” the first officer ordered.

  The second officer began to speak. “You have the right to remain…” But Banyon interrupted him.

  “I know my rights. I want to call my lawyer right now,” he quickly said.

  “You can do that at the station house later wise guy — you’ll be there for some time. Let’s go,” the first officer said as he grabbed Banyon’s arm an attempted to pull him towards the front door.

  “Who have I supposedly killed?” Banyon had in fact killed several people, but they had been bad guys and it had been sanctioned by the President of the United States. Are some of those killings coming back to haunt me,” he wondered with dread.

  “They’ll answer that at the station house. Now are you going to go easy or are we going to have to persuade you,” the first officer threatened. His hand went to the wooden night stick that hung from his waist.

  “I’m not going anywhere until you prove that you are really the police,” Banyon said as he dug his heels in. The thought occurred to him that this might be a kidnapping. “Show me your badges.”

  The first office produced his badge. It said that he was Detective John Marino of the Las Vegas Police Department. “That good enough?” The detective asked.

  The woman at the reception desk quickly added, “Oh, they are the police alright buddy. They are often here to pick up deadbeats like you. It’s a sting setup to catch crooks. The criminals come to them.”

  “I’m not a deadbeat,” Banyon yelled back at her. “This is all a big mistake.”

  “That’s what they all say,” she replied sarcastically.

  “Why the running shoes then?” Banyon questioned as he looked down.

  “We get a lot of guys who think that they can out run us when we come here,” the second officer remarked. “You saved yourself some pain by not running pal.”

  Suddenly, Banyon began to feel that this was not going to be a good day.

  Chapter Two

  T

  he morning started out like it would be a fine, fun, day. Banyon and his live-in girlfriend, companion, and business partner, Loni Chen, had flown to Las Vegas to spend some quality time together at their winter condominium home in Summerlin, Nevada. It was located in a suburb of Las Vegas, high in the mountains, in the western part of the city. It was over one thousand feet above the strip, which was about twenty minutes away. They had only arrived the night before and were anticipating a day of relaxation and golfing at a local club.

  They were dressed for the occasion in matching outfits. They both wore green golf shirts and white shorts. His shorts were long and hers were not.

  They had recently solved their last mystery, but the pace had been frantic — they were worn out. They were looking for some R&R. Spending sometime in Las Vegas seemed like a good idea, but then came the phone call.

  Banyon had just finished breakfast when his cell phone rang. The woman on the other end of the phone explained she was from the department of the government that handled security clearances. She informed him that there was some sort of issue with Banyon’s fingerprints on file and he needed to be reprinted immediately if not sooner, or he would not be able to work for the government.

  Because of Banyon’s work, he was required to have a top security clearance, which included having his fingerprints on file. Banyon told her that he would take care of it that morning.

  “Who was that?” Loni asked as she threw the breakfast dishes into the sink. Loni didn’t do dishes, she didn’t clean, nor did she do laundry. She was, however, very curious and Banyon seemed perplexed.

  “It appears that there has been some sort of muck up and I have to be fingerprinted again right away,” Banyon replied.

  “But you were just fingerprinted a few years ago back in Streamwood, Illinois,” Loni reminded him with a moan and flapped her arms in frustration. She was looking forward to having Banyon all to herself and now that would be delayed.

  “Yes, I remember,” he replied. The fingerprinting had been the result of a charge against him for leaving the scene of an accident. In the end, the charge had been overturned as the accident had been proven to be a part of an insurance scam. It was also part of a much bigger mystery. It was the first mystery that Colton Banyon had solved.

  Loni looked at him for a second and then asked a question, “And what else happened at that time?” The always demanding Loni asked the question, even though she knew that he remembered. She now had her small hands planted firmly on her hips. She just wanted him to say it.

  “It was when I first met you, sweetie,” he offered. He knew that she was always looking to remind him that she was the best thing to ever happen to him. He did agree.

  “Well, you won a kiss for remembering,” she announced cheerfully as she pranced over to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and dragged herself up his body to plant a kiss on his lips. Colton Banyon was six feet tall, with a muscular build, but the diminutive Loni was much shorter.

  “I’m going to have to get the fingerprints don
e this morning before we go golfing,” he told her as he grabbed his cell phone. He began scanning the web for the nearest police station. Loni placed her delicate hand over the screen.

  “Stop Colt,” she said. “In Las Vegas, you no longer go to the police station to get fingerprinted,” Loni quickly pointed out.

  “What? Where do you go then?”

  “It’s really cool now, Colt. You go to a private contractor that works for the police department and various other companies here in town. Don’t forget that the Casinos need to have people fingerprinted too,” she explained.

  “That actually makes sense,” Banyon agreed.

  “Also, they don’t use ink. They scan your fingers and can spit out your print card in a matter of minutes.” Loni loved to show off her knowledge about police work. She was a former FBI agent.

  “That sounds easy enough. Where are they located?”

  “The storefront is down on Maryland Parkway, near UNLV.”

  “It shouldn’t take too long,” Banyon said. “I’ll run down there and be back in a jiffy, then we’ll go golfing.”

  “You have a habit of getting sidetracked,” Loni quickly replied. “I’ll go with you, but I’ll wait in the car.”

  Chapter Three

  A

  s the two policemen dragged Banyon out the door, Loni noticed and bolted from Banyon’s rented Jaguar. She sprinted to his side.

  “What’s happening?” She asked the officer named Marino. “Why are you arresting Colton? He belongs with me.”

  “Back up and stay out of the way, little lady,” Marino replied with authority. “This man is under arrest. We are taking him to the command center.” The officer immediately put his hand on his gun as he assessed whether she was a threat. He had been attacked before when trying to make an arrest.