A Dubious Curse (A Colton Banyon Mystery Book 8)

by Gerald J Kubicki

  “And what is it, specifically, that you do for the President?” Darlene demanded in a suspicious voice.

  “I’m afraid what I do is classified,” Banyon replied in kind.

  “So we have accomplished nothing,” Darlene cried out. “This whole trip has netted us nothing.”

  “I think the director of the NSA has something special planned for you guys when you get back,” Banyon truthfully offered.

  “Well, I guess we should be on our way then,” Darlene replied. She stood and shook Banyon’s hand.

  “Nice to meet you,” he said.

  After the agents had left, Loni complained to Banyon, “You made them leave with their tails between their legs.”

  “Loni, they wanted to lock us away forever. I like things just the way they are. Now, come over here, and reward me for fixing things.”

  “I think it will be my reward,” she flirted, running into his arms.

  A week later, Banyon stood at the back of a lecture hall at UNLV. Lisa Lange was just finishing up her first lecture after spring break. He had to admit that she looked great. She wore a skintight, paisley dress that magnified her figure and showed off her dynamite legs. The blonde wig made a great contrast to her darker dress.

  As he slowly made his way to the podium, she looked up. “Can I help you?” she asked in a sweet, clear voice.

  “My name is Colton Banyon,” he told her.

  “You seem familiar, have we met before?” she stepped back, flicking her hair.

  “Yes, we have, but you don’t remember,” Banyon smoothly replied.

  “I don’t understand. What do you want?” she said, a little nervously.

  “How is Barry?” Banyon inquired.

  “He is part of my personal life and of no concern to you,” she frostily replied. “How can I help you?”

  “It is I who am helping you,” Banyon quickly corrected.

  “How?” Lisa suspiciously asked.

  “Here, this belongs to you,” he said, handing her a small, wooden box.

  “What’s in it?” Lisa asked.

  “It contains a copy of the book of the Vril. I have kept it for you until now.”

  Shock filled her pretty face. “Why would you give this to me?” she asked as she opened the box.

  “Your great-grandmother, Maria Orsic, wanted you to have it. She also left you an inheritance. The check is for $200,000.00,” he told her.

  “But…” It was as far as Lisa got before Banyon interrupted her.

  “Your great-grandmother wanted you to continue your work with the Vril Society. She believed the book and the money would help,” Banyon told her. “Yes, I know about your work, your tattoo, and your ability to receive communications from the others. I’m pretty sure that one day you will be proven right.” He handed her his card. “I am also your friend. Call me if you ever need me.”

  With that, Banyon turned and began walking out of the lecture hall.

  his book is work of pure fiction. None of the characters in the book are meant to represent actual people. Some names used in the book are people who have agreed to let me use their names for characters or are the names of historical figures. The way these people act comes purely from my mind and is not intended to make anyone believe that I see them that way.

  The writing of this book was most interesting, as there are many true facts that inspired the plot. For example, the Thule Society was a real organization in Germany. The main goal of the society was to preserve true German heritage, what many called the Aryan race. They also were heavily into the occult. Many of its members went on to become diehard, powerful Nazis. There is, however, no record that Hitler was ever a member of the society. He banned the society when he took control of Germany.

  The Vril Society was a real organization and was based upon the book The Coming Race, written by Edward Bulwer-Lytton in 1871. It was one of the very first science-fiction novels and was very popular in its day. The society believed in a utopia. Its members could be considered the first hippies. In 1919, Maria Orsic was the leader of the society and she attempted to convince the Thule Society to finance a flying saucer from diagrams she had drawn while in a trance. Maria was very beautiful and she did have hair that reached her ankles. Any Internet search will reveal pictures of her and her silhouette showing her long hair. The Vril Society and the Thule eventually merged. Maria was kept captive by the Nazis, and in 1945, two years after Hitler commissioned his scientists to build a flying saucer, she suddenly vanished.

  Mt. Charleston is a real place and it is a good place to escape the heat of the desert for anyone who makes the trek. I tried to depict it just how it is today. There was recently a devastating fire on the mountain. It destroyed over 30,000 acres near the top.

  Likewise, the town of Rachel, Nevada is an actual place. It is lonely and desolate and it is far from any other town. In 1988, when someone reported seeing aliens near area 51, it became a popular tourist attraction.

  The information about silver and the ramifications of cornering the silver market is also true. Silver is quickly becoming essential to the manufacture of many consumer goods, especially anything electronic. Both the Hunt brothers and Warren Buffet made attempts to corner the market in the last forty years. It is not unreasonable to assume someone might try it again.

  Colloidal silver has also been hailed as a medical marvel by many people over the years. The studies have not been conclusive, but we do know that if too much colloidal silver is ingested, it will turn your skin blue.

  Finally, we come to the practice of performing a Freud-a-size on someone. The information about Sigmund Freud is true. When he fled to England, he was very concerned that some of his discoveries about hypnosis and the workings of the brain would fall into Nazi hands. He believed they would begin using his breakthroughs to influence Germans and people they had captured, which, at one time, was almost all of Europe. Therefore, he never published much of his findings. Some of them remain unpublished to this very day.

  n writing this book, I had to find people who could explain the various societies and cults listed in the adventure. While the conclusions and the plot are my own, I want to thank several people who responded to my emails about information. There are too many to mention, but I want to thank them all. I want to acknowledge three of my friends; Joan Kane, Cindy Creighton and Darlene Krenitz who let me use their names for characters in my book. If you know them, you can judge how close I came to their real personalities.

  Once again, I also want to thank my editor, Brittany Walters-Bearden, for her fine work on the book.

  Joe and Karen Gersch have spent countless hours reading and correcting my errors and recommending the proper way to phrase my inept sentences. So, thanks guys.

  My son, Kristopher, is also a co-author of this book and he has provided much insight into the technical issues that are sometimes difficult for me to understand.

  And, keeping it all in the family, my son Jonathan Kubicki is responsible for the design of the book cover.

  Finally, I want to thank Kathy Mayeda, who gives me the backbone to continue writing these fun books.

  he initial meeting took place in the hot summer of 1935. The meeting room was steamily hot in the late afternoon. The shades had been drawn to prevent snooping eyes. This was a secret planning session.

  The man, who was the leader of the meeting, stood at the head of the conference table. He stood at rigid attention as the other men filed into the room. He did not move a muscle, nor did he acknowledge anyone as they took their seats. He stared at the wall at the end of the long narrow room. To him, this was the beginning of a glorious path.

  Before the meeting, he had ritualistically shaved his head to make himself look older and tougher. He was a man of heavy discipline. He did, however, sport a small, black mustache, like those of many of the leaders of his day that he admired. He was dressed in an immaculate, freshly pressed, army uniform. Several decorations adorned his small chest and around his waist, a
huge sword was secured by a red sash. The long samurai sword almost reached the ground. He made up for his short, five-foot-two-inch stature by attempting to radiate authority. He displayed a perpetual scowl on his oval face and stood as rigid as possible. The small, round eyeglasses made him appear intelligent, but he did not expect to impress the men attending the meeting. His goal was more important than that; his goal was to intimidate everyone in the room. To ensure his success, he placed three armed guards inside the locked room, with bayonets attached to their rifles. They stood at attention, their rifles at-the-ready.

  He surveyed the conference room and counted the men sitting at attention around the big table. Today, there were sixteen young men, all with medical degrees. A few months ago, the men were common, everyday doctors spread throughout the “Land of the Rising Sun”, but today, they were all members of the celebrated Kwantung division of the Imperial army. They had all been drafted into the organization.

  He knew these men were more comfortable sitting on the floors of their homes and comforting sick and injured people, but their expertise was now needed by the Imperial government. Their future roles would be more difficult. He needed to teach the men the discipline he required for them to achieve their destiny. As a result, his invitation letter demanded that they sit at attention around the conference table in the center of Tokyo, Japan. Talking was forbidden unless called upon. Discipline was the cornerstone of the modern Japanese army and the leader was a battle-hardened veteran. He knew he could bend them into loyal military personnel.

  The leader’s name was Hiroki Mura, and he was a Colonel in the Kwantung Army, despite being only 29 years old. He had not gained his rank by social position, as his commander had. He was proud to tell people that he had earned it on the battlefield. He did not hold a medical degree, but relished in the power he now had over other, more educated and experienced doctors. He cared not that he had a title, only that he had people to follow his orders. He was very much a controlling, demanding person.

  His climb up the military hierarchy had begun by accident, but he had taken full advantage along the way, and he had worked himself into the number-two position for the top secret assignment they were about to discuss during the meeting. A satisfying smirk crossed his face as he relived his glorious past.

  Hiroki Mura came from the Chiba prefecture, just across the large bay from modern Tokyo. He was just a common man. Mura had a high-school education and joined the army to get away from his oppressive, longshoreman father, who beat him regularly. In the summer of 1931, Mura, who was a lowly corporal at the time, was sent to Manchuria, China, to help protect the extensive Japanese-owned railroad systems that provided vital raw materials to the emerging Japanese industrial complex. Japan was void of most natural resources and depended upon trade to keep its economy growing. The military-influenced government wanted to ensure the flow of the precious resources from China, so they sent more troops than necessary to guard the railway system. It was actually a buildup of strength. A new division of the army was created to guard the railways in China. It was called the Kwantung Army and they even had a secret police section, called the Kempetai. It was set up to emulate the admired German Gestapo. The members were brutal, self-serving, vicious, and merciless. Mura became one of them and was able to direct his pent-up rage on defenseless Chinese citizens.

  The opportunity had started when Japan won the concession to lease the South Manchurian Railway Zone in China as a point granted in the Treaty of Portsmouth in 1905, after the first Sino-Japanese war. The resource-rich province of Manchuria, China, became the largest supplier to the Japanese and Japan was allowed to provide security for the railroad system that delivered the goods to ports to ferry over to Japan. The ever-efficient and cunning Japanese soon began expanding their economic and political interests in the area.

  By 1931, powers in the Japanese military in China believed they needed to annex Manchuria, just as they had annexed Korea 25 years earlier to ensure their long term economic growth. They petitioned the Emperor for approval to invade, but were turned down. The Army was told to wait for an incident by the Chinese army, or dissidents, so that world opinion would not turn against Japan. The Army didn’t want to wait. On September 18th, 1931, officers of the Kwantung defied orders from the Imperial government to wait for an incident and manufactured their own. It was called the Mukden incident.

  Then, Sergeant Mura, along with several others, set charges along the railroad tracks. The charges were not meant to do damage to the railways, but were intended to provide the opportunity to blame the Chinese for sabotage. There was a Chinese garrison very near where Mura and the others planted their explosives. When they set the charges off, the Chinese soldiers from the garrison came running to investigate. The Japanese conspirators blamed them for setting the charges. The Kwantung opened fire on the garrison the next morning and the invasion of Manchuria began. By early 1932, the northern section of China belonged to Japan. The area was renamed Manchukuo, and a puppet government was established, which lasted until the end of the war. Mura fought in many battles and gained a reputation as a successful leader of fighting men. But his real break came when he was transferred to a special secret research group known as the “Tōgō Unit”, located near the city of Harbin, in Manchukuo.

  Hiroki Mura’s stock rose rapidly in the special, secret unit. He had a knack for organization, followed orders, and was efficiently brutal. By the time he was recalled to headquarters in Tokyo in 1935, he had risen to the rank of major. He was told that when he returned to China, he would be made a colonel.

  A fire blazed in Colonel Mura’s close-set, weasel-like eyes, and he spoke from deep within his small frame. His announcement was more like a command when it left his mouth. “The Emperor has approved our plan,” he said with finality. He assumed an aggressive position as he glared at each man.

  The men at the table knew nothing about a plan, but they were afraid to admit it. They were just told to report to the conference room. Several sets of eyes quickly searched the faces of the man across from them, only to find complete confusion staring back at them. No one said anything for some time. They were all afraid of a reprisal. Finally, an older doctor, who was over 40 years old asked, “What plan?”

  “The plan to make medical history,” Colonel Mura replied with a smile on his face. “Nothing like this has ever been attempted.”

  “But… we are doctors; we heal sick and damaged people. Who will we be healing?” another doctor asked.

  “Your calling, from now on, is to do research. Research will strengthen the Imperial Japanese Army,” Colonel Mura tersely replied. “The Emperor has dictated it.”

  “Please tell us about the plan to make medical history?” another doctor, now interested, sheepishly asked.

  Before he answered the question, Colonel Mura told them what was required. “Everyone in this room is sworn to secrecy. You can never talk about our secret medical facility. Not even to loved ones, under penalty of death. Are you in agreement?” he demanded as he slammed his fist on the table.

  In unison, sixteen men all said “hai”.

  Colonel Mura now spoke softly. “Our plan is to build the largest, most secure medical research facility in the world,” he said with fanatical glee.

  “We are not builders,” a doctor objected.

  “No, you will not be building the facility, moron. You each have been chosen to head up different sections of the research center. You will all report directly to my commander. His name is Lieutenant General Shiro Ishii.”

  “I have heard of him,” one of the doctors spoke, nodding his head. “He is a doctor, like us. I have read some of his research.”

  “What will we be researching?” another doctor asked.

  “You will be studying the effects of disease, chemicals, weather, and weapons on the subject matter,” Colonel Mura announced with a sinister smile. He didn’t tell the men that the research would involve biological warfare, weapons testing, chemical agents,
medical experiments, and various surgeries.

  “If it will ultimately save lives, I’ll be happy to do research. Too many of our men are dying in these wars,” the older doctor remarked. All the men in the room nodded their heads in agreement.

  “How big will the facility be?” another man asked.

  “The compound, according to the plans, will cover over six square miles and contain more than 150 buildings,” Colonel Mura informed them.

  The men at the table were stunned by the magnitude of the project. “But it will require thousands of workers,” the older doctor exclaimed.

  “Most of the workers will be Japanese nationals,” Mura said. “There will be a large number of scientists and doctors. You will manage them.”

  “A facility of that magnitude will require many test subjects to work. Will you be able to provide the necessary number of subjects?”

  “Oh, I think you will find we have an unlimited supply of test subjects,” the Colonel replied with a smile.

  “What will they be? Rats? Mice? Rabbits?” a doctor at the back of the conference table inquired.

  “The experiments will be conducted on humans,” Colonel Mura informed him.

  “But… it is not legal!” screamed one of the men. “Japan signed the agreement at the end of World War I preventing the use of human subjects for experiments.”

  “The Emperor has approved the plan,” screamed back Colonel Mura. “Do you defy the Emperor?”

  “Why would he agree to such an immoral act?”

  “We will be studying the effects of diseases and weapons on people to use against our enemies. Would you rather our enemies use them on our troops or your family?”

  “I would not like that,” the man admitted.

  An eerie silence fell over the conference table as each man contemplated the impact of the plan. Finally, someone asked a question. “When will the facility be operational?”