A Dubious Artifact (A Colton Banyon Mystery Book 6) Read online

  A Dubious Artifact

  Colton Banyon Adventure/Mystery #6

  By

  Gerald J. Kubicki

  Other Books by Gerald J. Kubicki

  A Dubious Mission #1

  A Dubious Secret #2

  A Dubious Dream #3

  A Dubious Terrain #4

  A Dubious Plan #5

  A Dubious Artifact #6

  Books by Gerald J. Kubicki & Kristopher Kubicki

  A Dubious Position #7

  A Dubious Curse #8

  A Dubious Crime #9

  A Dubious Device #10

  A Dubious Race # 11

  The Society of Orion Series

  The Weapons #1

  The Recovery #2

  The Deception #3

  The Orion Codex #4

  The Tayos Caves #5

  The Moroccan Affair #6

  License Note

  This ebook is for your personal enjoyment.

  It may not be re-sold.

  A Dubious Artifact

  Colton Banyon Mystery #6

  Published by Gerald J. Kubicki

  Copyright ©2015 by Gerald J. Kubicki

  All rights reserved

  This book is dedicated to my late father, Stephen Kubicki, who actually was there during WWII.

  Prologue

  It was late in July, the year was 1944. Two men crouched in the shallow, mud-filled, hole they had laboriously dug several hours earlier. The protective fortification had been completed well before the morning sun rose. The rain continued to fall, just has it had for several months. It was currently the height of the monsoon season in Southeast Asia. But both men shivered in their foxhole, even though it was late afternoon. Their shivers didn’t come from being cold; after all, it was over one hundred degrees in the jungle. Their shivers came from diseases. They were sick, just like everyone else left alive in the entire regiment. The two men had malaria and to top it off, dysentery and fevers.

  While disease was expected in jungle fighting, the majority of the soldiers in their regiment became sick less than a month ago. It had happened when the Chinese soldiers known as the “X Force”, had shown up to help fight the dreaded Japanese entrenched in the area. The sanitation and hygiene of the Chinese troops was less than perfect. Many of the Chinese were teenagers or younger and not prepared for jungle fighting. While the Americans had been issued halizone pills to ward off the dreaded dysentery disease, the pills were in short supply, due to the lack of accurate and timely airlifts. So, shit happened, literally.

  “Sarge, why don’t we just get out of here and head back to the base,” one soldier asked the other as he grabbed a leech from his exposed neck.

  “You’re an army Ranger, soldier, suck it up,” replied the weak, but determined man next to him.

  “But we have been here for hours and all that we have seen is a couple of monster snakes and a fresh water crocodile that you wouldn’t let me shoot. It would have been good to eat some meat, you know.”

  “We are on a secret mission here, dummy. The General was very specific. We are to observe the pagoda and retrieve the artifact once we locate it. We must not let it get into the hands of the Japanese.”

  “Who cares about some dumb piece of old junk? I certainly don’t,” whined the sick soldier.

  “Well, General Merrill cares, that makes it our business,” answered the Sergeant.

  Changing the subject, Corporal Tom Cruickshank said, “I hear that we’re getting out of here soon. What do you hear?”

  “The Burma Road is not open, that’s what I hear. If we can’t get it open soon, the Chinese war effort may collapse and many of our guys will die.”

  “Yeah, but if things don’t change soon, you and I won’t be around for that, anyway.”

  “Let’s just finish this mission, okay,” Sergeant Stephen Banyon responded with little enthusiasm. “Let’s take it one day at a time, Tom.”

  General Merrill had chosen the two men for the secret mission because they were some of his best fighters. The two men had both received battle-field promotions and they could still walk. In addition, they were not from Iowa. Tom hailed from a small town on Eastern Long Island, and Steve grew up in the Bronx. They were both street smart and cunning. They were just what the General needed.

  They had been summoned to the General’s tent one night and told that their mission was of upmost importance. They were tasked with retrieving an item that the higher ups in Washington had to have. The information about the item was top secret, but had been passed to the higher ups by an underground resistance group in Burma. It came down to General Merrill as an order; he had to retrieve the item.

  When the General asked them to volunteer, the two men looked at each other and shrugged, volunteering was how they had gotten into this mess in the first place. Then, General Merrill told them that they each would receive extra rations. Suddenly, they both agreed to retrieve the item. Food was scarce for the men that would later be called “Merrill’s Marauders”. It was good incentive to fight. Steve was down to under a hundred pounds and Thomas was no better off. Both young men had lost over sixty pounds in a little over five months of jungle fighting.

  That had been two days ago. They had followed the crude map and worked their way out of the camp perimeter and into the Jap infested jungle. Now, they waited in the deep jungle about a hundred feet from the pagoda. A fast running stream ran between the men and the pagoda. They were told to wait until the item was brought to the three monks that resided there. The monks would give the two Rangers the artifact. Their instructions were to then hightail it back to the camp.

  “Think that we’ll get a medal?” Tom asked his trench mate.

  “I just want to go home,” Banyon replied. “I don’t care about medals.”

  “But you have enough battle scars to get you some,” Tom told him. “First there was the double ruptured hernia in the jungles of Panama, while in training camp,” Tom said. “You remember training there, don’t you?” Tom then snapped his fingers. It was not the usual snap of two fingers; it was a special way of snapping that both men learned while training in Panama. Only the men that had trained there knew how to do it.

  Steve immediately snapped his fingers in acknowledgement. He then answered Tom. “I was a cook then and hurt myself while lifting water in a big pot. Hardly medal material,” Steve pointed out.

  “That is true, but what about the shrapnel in your knee or the bullet hole in your shoulder, not to mention the disease and….”

  “Stop,” roared Banyon a little too loudly. “Shut your friggin mouth, your making me sicker,” the Sergeant ordered.

  ***

  About two hours later, the jungle became alive. Monkeys screeched, birds fluttered, and the sound of someone running through the dense foliage caught their attention. Both Rangers slithered deeper into their fox hole. The three monks were alerted as well and turned towards the pathway along the stream. Suddenly, a young Asian girl sprinted out of the jungle and into the clearing. She was carrying a brown cylinder that was about eight inches long and six inches wide. She held it to her small breast like a baby. As soon as she reached the monks, she handed them the item. She then began to jabber away and pointed to the jungle behind her. Sergeant Banyon now became fully alert. He realized that she was being tracked by Japanese soldiers.

  “What do we do?” Cruickskank asked.

  “We wait. We may have to take out the Japs,” Banyon answered as he checked his ammo supply. Each Ranger had a devastatingly powerful Thompson submachine gun that could put out a steady stream of hot lead, two pistols and their machetes. Japanese patrol
s generally had single shot carbines. Banyon figured they could handle up to twenty Japs if they had too. Japanese soldiers were proven fearless fighters, when hidden in a hole, and up in a tree, but in the open jungle they were no match for the sharp-shooting Rangers.

  While the men watched, the monk with the cylinder calmly walked to the edge of the stream and unceremoniously tossed the item into the very middle of the bubbling water.

  “You take,” he said in broken English loud enough for them to hear.

  He then returned to the pagoda and stood by the young girl. The Rangers were shocked that the monks knew they were there hiding across the stream. The monks stood calmly with their arms up their sleeves. The girl stood in front of them like they were posing for a picture.

  Banyon stared at the girl. He noticed that she seemed unafraid, almost angel like. Her dress was too short for her and had been ripped in many places. It was clear that there was nothing on under the thin material. She was also drop-dead gorgeous and Banyon could not take his eyes off of her.

  “What are you thinking Banyon, she is just a kid,” Tom whispered into his ear.

  “They grow up early in this part of the world,” Banyon replied. “A girl like her is usually married by this time. She sure is beautiful.”

  “Why aren’t they running and hiding?” Tom asked.

  “Because they believe we will help them,” Banyon reasoned.

  Suddenly five Japanese broke out from the trees and into the clearing, screaming unintelligible words. The leader had his sword drawn and held it high in the air like he had achieved a tremendous victory. He began yelling at the monks. He forced them all to kneel on the wet ground and one of the men immediately went to the girl as if to search for the cylinder. But instead of looking for the item, he quickly ripped the front of her dress open and started to grope her with both hands. The girl didn’t cry out or scream. She just kneeled passively like the monks.

  “We go now,” Banyon growled. “You go left and I’ll go right. After we cross the stream, we will give them a chance to give up.”

  “Sarge, we’ve run into thousands of Japs in these jungles. Have any of them given up?”

  “Yeah you’re right, let’s just kill them.”

  ***

  As the Sergeant and the Corporal stealthy crossed the stream and entered the dense jungle the Japanese commander continued threatening the monks. He brandished his sword and sliced the open air with sword thrusts. He was slightly taller then everyone in the clearing. He wore round eyeglasses on his also round head. His body was shaped like a pear; he was not a jungle fighter. He was something else. The four soldiers with him pointed their guns, with bayonets attached, at the small group. The four Japanese soldiers were small, thin and young, but were experienced fighters. These were hard men, but not as hard as a Ranger. They had not considered a cunning ambush.

  When he didn’t get any response from the monks, the fat commander dragged the first monk in front of the small group and made him kneel with his head down. He then raised the sword as if to cut off his head, all the while screaming and ranting at the remaining people. Corporal Tom suddenly stepped into the clearing behind the four soldiers.

  “Hello, Tojo,” he said with a grin on his face.

  The Jap soldiers turned their heads and with lightning speed brought their guns around to bear on the Ranger. But Tom was quicker. He opened fire and the four soldiers went down in a heap. The distracted commander watched in horror as his protection detail was massacred. Realizing that he was not going to survive, he decided to behead the monk anyway. As he swung his sword a single shot rang out from Sergeant Banyon’s gun and the sword flew out of the commander’s hand. Before he could react, Banyon was on him hitting him with a crushing right fist. The commander withered to the ground, out cold. The kneeling monk had not even moved a muscle.

  Tom ran to where the Japanese commander lay on the ground. As he skidded to a stop, he pulled out his pistol and took aim intending to put a bullet in his head.

  “No,” Banyon’s voice boomed out.

  “Why?” Tom asked as he holstered his pistol. He stared at Banyon in confusion. “We agreed to kill them all.”

  “This one is different,” Banyon replied. “He’s not a field soldier. He may have information that we can take back to the camp.”

  “Well just how the hell are we going to interrogate him? You didn’t all of a sudden pickup Japanese, did you? And we certainly can’t take him with us, we can barely walk ourselves?”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet,” Banyon admitted.

  “Perhaps I can help,” the young girl said in clear English with a slight British accent that sounded more like a song than a statement.

  Both Rangers turned their heads in disbelief. “You speak English?” Tom uttered.

  “And Japanese too,” she replied proudly. “But we must hurry; there will be more Japanese coming. First, I must retrieve the artifact for you Sergeant.”

  Before the speechless Rangers could say anything, the girl leaped up and ran into the stream. She dove into the deeper middle and suddenly the Rangers saw a slender arm break the surface with the cylinder clutched in her small hand. As she began to make her way to the shore, the Rangers stood with their mouths open. While she waded purposely out of the water, she presented as sexy a picture as either man had ever seen. Her long black hair shrouded her face, but everything else was there for their review. Banyon thought that she was the sexiest female that he had ever seen.

  As soon as she reached the muddy bank of the stream, she shook her head vigorously and parted her hair away from her face. She then walked straight up to the immobile Banyon who held his machine gun at the ready. She stopped inches from him and offered the cylinder like a present. As Banyon stared into her dark, almond eyes, he realized that she was much older than a teenager. She smiled at him.

  “I brought this for you.”

  “How did you know that I am a Sergeant?” Banyon asked her as he tried to catch her off guard?

  “I have studied the American Army ranks, you are a Sergeant,” she simply replied. “What is your name Sergeant?”

  “I’m Sergeant Stephen Banyon and he is Corporal Thomas Cruickskank,” Banyon pointed to Tom. “We are Rangers and were sent to retrieve the item in your hand.”

  “Yes, you are with Merrill’s Marauders,” she replied.

  “So what is your name?” Banyon asked.

  “My name is Xin, I am Chinese.” Banyon knew that the Chinese gave their last name first. Telling him that she was Chinese also explained a lot.

  “Is that your first name or your last name?” he said her.

  “It is war, no last name, okay.”

  “Pleasure to meet you Xin,” he replied with a smile. “Boy, the guys in camp will never believe that I met someone like you in the jungle,” he said jovially.

  “Perhaps it was all ordained,” she coyly answered as she tilted her head.

  He torn his eyes from her long enough to see the monks now stripping the bodies of the dead soldiers. They took the guns and ammunition first then searched the bodies for food and trinkets.

  “Get her one of those tunics so she can cover up,” Banyon ordered, not knowing if the monks understood. He dropped his backpack to the ground, opened it and stuffed the cylinder deep into one of the pockets.

  “I would prefer just an undershirt, yours to be exact. I wouldn’t want to be mistaken for a Japanese soldier. Besides, I couldn’t handle the stink of the Japanese. Your smell is much better for me.”

  Banyon didn’t hesitate. He quickly unbuttoned his shirt. When he pulled his tee shirt over his head, he heard a short gasp come from Xin. His many scars had become visible. She looked at him with compassion in her eyes as he handed her the green shirt. She slipped it over her head and it flowed down to her knees. She was very sexy in her new found dress.

  “You have been hurt several times,” she remarked as she touched his bullet holed shoulder. A spark of electricity pa
ssed through Banyon.

  “How is it that you are here in the jungle?” he inquired.

  “It is quite simple really,” she off-handily replied. “I am a member of the Kuomintang.”

  “Chiang Kai-shek,” Banyon muttered.

  “Yes, we are allies. I am part of the ‘X Force’ sent to help open the Burma Road. While you Americans have taken the airfield, we still need to take the city of Myitkyina.”

  “That could take a while,” Banyon explained. Banyon had heard rumors of heavy resistance in the city.

  “You are correct,” she answered. “I was doing reconnaissance inside the city. I pass for a young native girl you know,” she said as she smiled at him.

  “I’ve noticed,” he flirted.

  “Anyway, there are almost five thousand Japanese in the city. It won’t be easy to uproot them.”

  “How is it that you have the artifact?”

  Xin strolled over to the unconscious Japanese commander and took his holster from the monk that had liberated it. She attempted to use it as a belt but found it two times her waist size. Banyon stepped over, took out his machete and hacked the holster in half. She wrapped it around her small waist and now stood with her dress cinched and a Japanese pistol on her right hip. She then answered him.

  “It came originally from Northern China. Some mountain folks have inscribed an important formula on it. It is disguised as a metal ashtray. That is all that I know. I was ordered to take it to these monks so that you could bring it to America. I know nothing else. The monks know less,” she pointed with a slender finger for emphasis.

  Before Banyon could ask another question, the Japanese commander moaned and opened his eyes. Xin skidded to a stop in front of him. She placed both knees on his chest, grabbed him by the collar with both hands and screamed some unintelligible Japanese words at his face. Fear radiated from his body. Xin suddenly slapped him. He quivered with fear, but said nothing. She stood up and punched him hard in the fat stomach. He rolled to his side and began crying. Xin punched him in his kidney. Her face was now a mask of fury, her body flushed with exertion. As she pummeled the defenseless Jap, Banyon realized that the Chinese way of interrogation was to inflict fast, brutal pain. Xin knew how to do that quite well. Soon, the man began to babble and she asked a few short questions. She then turned to Tom, “You can kill him now. I’m done with him.”