Hunter

by Andrew Macdonald

  “Why?” Oscar asked.

  “Well, that takes a little explanation.” The older man leaned back in his chair for a moment. He still held his revolver in his hand, but he was resting it in his lap now instead of keeping it aimed directly at Oscar’s chest. He sighed. “I’ve been with the Bureau for 33 years. I’ve been the deputy chief of our Anti-Terrorism Section for the last nine years. I worked my way up back during the days when I was proud to be an FBI agent. Did you know that my father was in the Bureau for 26 years before I became a special agent? We were in the Bureau together for seven years, until he retired. He died two years ago.”

  “I recognize you now,” Oscar replied, his numbness gone. “I saw you on the CBS Evening News last year, when the FBI was rounding up all of those Ku Klux Klan people. You were the one in charge of the FBI task force. Your name is Ryan — William Ryan.”

  Ryan did not respond directly to Oscar. He paused to gather his thoughts, then began again, speaking with more emphasis: “I’ve watched the Bureau change from a first-class law-enforcement agency to a politicized, mongrelized, third-rate secret-police bureaucracy, with the level of morale and efficiency you’d expect to find in Panama or Nicaragua. In the last 15 years the Jews have taken over the place and ruined it. Not that you find them out on the street busting the Mafia or shooting it out with Colombian drug smugglers like the rest of us. No, they’re too busy running the ‘racial sensitivity’ classes all the agents have to take. And heading our Affirmative Action office. And worming their way into the Counterespionage Section, so that they can make sure we don’t catch too many more of their cousins from Israel swiping American military secrets.

  “Things change slowly in the government. From day to day you don’t notice much difference. But it mounts up. It used to be a rare thing for an agent to go bad. Hoover would drum a man out of the Bureau for trying to beat a parking ticket or writing a bad check. In the last two years we’ve had 19 agents convicted on various felony charges — everything from selling drugs and pimping to spying for the Soviet Union. Eight others managed to beat the charges against them, and four of those guys are still with the Bureau!”

  “Yes, I read about several of those cases in the newspapers,” Oscar commented drily.

  “Hell, not a tenth of it gets in the papers!” Ryan exploded. “We’re able to keep most of it covered up. You know what I saw just last week? I went down to our analytical lab to check on the results of a test on some material from a crime site. There was no one in the lab, but I heard some noise coming from the stock room. I opened the door and found one of our Black special agents screwing the White lab technician on a table! And you know what? There wasn’t a damned thing I could do to either of them! I filed a report, of course, but these days something like that is regarded by the bureaucracy as in the same league with being reported for loitering at the water cooler.”

  Ryan paused again, studying Oscar’s face for a minute before continuing. “What’s happening in the Bureau is just a reflection of what’s happening everywhere. When America started going bad, there was no way for the Bureau to escape the same fate. If I’ve got you figured right, you’ve had about the same reaction to the general decay, Yeager, as I’ve had to the decay of the Bureau. The difference is that you’ve done something about it, and I haven’t. I’ve just had to take it, year after year, and let the pressure build up.”

  “So, there are still some decent men in the FBI!” Oscar exclaimed in surprise. “I thought you fellows had all joined the other side.”

  “Oh, we have, Yeager, indeed we have, and you’d better believe it! You just don’t understand the secret-police mentality,” Ryan chuckled. “Don’t you ever get the idea into your head that you can confide in anybody at the FBI. There are lots of us over there, especially the old-timers, who have decent instincts, men who hate the same rottenness you do and would like to have their children grow up in the same kind of world you would want for your kids. But we work for whoever signs our paychecks, and we clobber anybody who raises his hand against the System we’re part of. We may be secretly glad when you waste some race-mixer in a parking lot, but we’d fall all over ourselves to be the first to nail you for it. We’re the Jews’ mercenaries, and we earn our keep. Not only that, we take personal offense when some son of a bitch like you challenges us.”

  Oscar thought for a second, then responded, “In other words, you got more than 150 Klansmen convicted last year on charges of conspiring to violate the civil rights of Blacks, because that’s the job you’re paid to do, but you didn’t really enjoy it as much as you pretended to when you were describing the investigation and the arrests on tele….”

  “Wrong!” Ryan interrupted. “You still don’t understand the secret-police mentality. I enjoyed busting those turds more than just about anything I’ve done for the Bureau. I wasn’t pretending at all when I described them as ‘the scum of the earth.’ I know what you’re thinking, Yeager. You’re thinking that those Klansmen’s hearts were in the right places, that they were just doing in their own way what you were doing in yours. But they were bums, losers. They were stupid. And they made the mistake of thinking they were smarter than we were. They challenged us. They waved their pricks in our faces. And so we cut their balls off.”

  “All right. I guess I’ve challenged you too. So now what are you going to do about it, Ryan?”

  “That depends on you, Yeager. If you’re a reasonable man, who knows when somebody’s got him by the balls and accepts the fact, then maybe we can work together. On the other hand, if you want to play hard-ass with me, I’ll crucify you. I’ll call in the media right now and let ‘em show me on the late news tonight walking you out of here in handcuffs.”

  “I regard myself as a reasonable man. What sort of work do you have in mind?”

  “That’s the answer I wanted to hear,” Ryan beamed. “Don’t worry about the work. You’ll love it. It’ll just be more of the same sort of thing you’ve proved yourself so good at. Except from now on I’ll be choosing your targets for you.” He paused for a moment, and the twinkle faded from his eyes. When he continued his voice was hard and icy. “Before we get into the details I want to impress on you that I’m a careful man, Yeager — a very careful man. There’s no way out of this for you, except to do exactly what I tell you. If you ever try to double-cross me, it won’t be handcuffs for you — it’ll be a cold slab. And don’t even think about trying to get the drop on me. It won’t solve your problem for you. No others in the Bureau know what I know about you now, but I’ve taken steps to ensure that if anything happens to me they soon will.”

  There was silence as Ryan paused again to gather his thoughts. Oscar’s face remained expressionless, but his mind was busy. He doubted Ryan’s last claim; the man didn’t strike him as the kind to waste his time on a futile, post-mortem revenge. He wouldn’t have been likely to leave any of his evidence lying around his Bureau office where others might find it prematurely, because that would spell problems for him as well as for Oscar. If he really had taken any steps, then he should have spelled them out for Oscar. Only by being credible could they serve as an effective deterrent.

  Suppose Ryan had left a sealed envelope with his wife. What could there be in it that would hold up in court, if Oscar had just one day to clean up a few loose ends and dispose of some incriminating items, such as his ordnance? A single thumb print by itself wouldn’t convict him. At the thought of that thumb print he kicked himself mentally. He had been so careful to avoid leaving prints every time he had carried out an action! And then he had left one during a reconnaissance! And he hadn’t even used that rest-room closet for the action!

  Focusing on Ryan again, Oscar decided that if the man would let down his guard for just a fraction of a second, he could jump him, dispose of the body, and take some hasty measures to protect himself from a subsequent investigation — if there ever were one. If nothing happened for a month or two, he could then resume his former activity.

  That
course of action appealed to him much more than letting himself be used as Ryan’s private hit man. He tried not to let his new resolve show in a tensing of his muscles. Jumping Ryan would not be easy. He would need total surprise.

  XII

  “I think I’ll let you take out Kaplan first,” Ryan resumed reflectively, almost as if he were thinking aloud. “That’s David Kaplan, the little Hebe who’s the number-three man in my own section. The other kikes in the Bureau are priming him to be jumped over my head to become chief of the Anti-Terrorism Section when the present chief gets canned for not being able to catch you.”

  “Is that why you want to get rid of him?” Oscar asked, allowing himself a slight smile. “You want the job for yourself?”

  “You misjudge me, Yeager. I don’t want you to bump him off just because he’s a career threat. What kind of a jerk do you think I am?” There was exasperation in the other man’s voice. “He’s a Jew, dammit! He’s one of the Yids who’re taking over the Bureau.”

  Oscar hesitated, his puzzlement showing in his face. “You’ve mentioned Jews two or three times. Just what is it you have against them?”

  It was Ryan’s turn to look puzzled. “What do you mean, what do I have against them? I hate them for the same reasons you do. Now let’s cut the crap and get down to business. Pick up that pad from the desk — slowly and carefully. I’m going to give you a complete personal rundown on Kaplan — physical description, work schedule, daily itinerary, personal habits — and I want you to take notes.”

  Oscar held up his hand. “Now wait just a minute, Ryan. If I’m going to be killing people for you, first I’d like to have at least a general idea of your rationale. I’m one of those troublesome types who needs to know why before he carries out an assignment. In this case I really haven’t the foggiest. I think you’ve assumed that I know some things I don’t. For one thing, I’ve never been fond of Jews as a group, but I don’t really hate them, and I don’t understand your references to their taking over the FBI. Why would they want to do that?”

  The puzzled expression on Ryan’s face had changed to a look of utter amazement as Oscar spoke. He stared wide-eyed at Oscar. “Jesus Christ! I can’t believe it! I do not believe what I’m hearing! You sound like some ignorant goy who learned everything he knows from watching TV. You sound like the typical American voter. But you can’t be that stupid. You didn’t knock off Congressman Horowitz just because he was such an ugly bastard. You didn’t blow up that B’nai B’rith honcho, Shapiro,just because he had bad breath. You didn’t waste that kike columnist at the Washington Post, Jacobs, just because his opinions were too liberal for you. You’re not going to try to tell me that it’s just a coincidence they all happened to be Jews. Come off it, Yeager!”

  Forgetting for a moment his resolution to watch for the first possible opportunity to jump Ryan and letting his irritation show, Oscar leaned forward in his seat and stabbed a finger at Ryan. “As a matter of fact, it is just a coincidence. I didn’t even know Jacobs was Jewish. I shot him simply because he was the most obnoxious writer on the race question at the Post. I wasn’t really aiming at Shapiro when I bombed the People’s Committee; he just happened to be one of the people on the platform when I blew the place up. And I didn’t kill Horowitz because he was Jewish; I killed him because he was the leader of the race-mixing faction in the House.”

  “Right! Just like Senator Mandelbaum is the head of the race-mixing faction in the Senate. Perhaps you hadn’t noticed that he just happens to be a Hebe too,” Ryan snorted in derision.

  “Well, what if he is? What does that prove? There are plenty of race-mixers who aren’t Jewish,” Oscar replied somewhat defensively.

  “Omigod, I believe the man is serious,” Ryan moaned, clapping his free hand to his head and rolling his eyes up. “I suppose you also didn’t realize that Shapiro was pulling all of the strings in the People’s Committee Against Hate from the beginning, that all of those preachers and actors and faggots on the Committee were just window dressing?”

  Oscar didn’t answer, but he tensed, ready to hurl himself at the other man. Before he could move, however, Ryan was staring straight at him again. And although Ryan’s right hand was still resting casually on his leg, the muzzle of his pistol remained pointed steadily at Oscar’s chest.

  “Maybe I overestimated you, Yeager. Maybe you’re not smart enough for what I have in mind: a good tactician, perhaps, but certainly no strategist,” Ryan mused. “But then, a good tactician is all I really need. I’ll be the strategist. You don’t have to understand the reasons for what you do.”

  “Try me,” Oscar shot back. “You tell me the significance of the fact that Jewish people are somewhat more heavily involved than members of other religious groups in the effort to ram miscegenation down America’s throat. You explain to me what that has to do with Kaplan and a Jewish plot to take over the FBI. I’ll listen. Maybe I’ll even understand.”

  Ryan glanced at his watch and sighed. “Yeager, if you’ve managed to live 40 years and still believe that the Jews are only a religious group, there’s no way I can make you see the light tonight. It would take a week just to get you started toward an understanding of the Jews. I assumed you already had figured them out, but I guess I was wrong.” Ryan shook his head sadly.

  For a moment the older man remained undecided, then he sighed again, leaned back in his chair, and began: “All right, Yeager, you’ve noticed that Jews are more heavily involved in efforts to encourage race-mixing than others are. Have you also noticed their involvement in the news and entertainment media?”

  Oscar blushed, feeling a bit like a retarded pupil. “Well, of course. Everyone knows that there are a lot of Jewish people in the media. It’s their forte.”

  “Yeah, it’s their fort, all right. Fort with no ‘e.’ It’s their fortress, their citadel, their strategic headquarters for their campaign of annihilation against our kind,” Ryan replied bitingly. “I suppose you believe that the reason the Jews own everything in Hollywood and the other strongholds of the entertainment industry is that they just have a knack for show business. Is that it? And I suppose you believe that, as a religious group, they acquired that knack from attending synagogue services. Or maybe it comes from their kosher diet. Right?”

  Oscar’s blush became more intense. “Well, they’ve always been good businessmen too. Some families get a good start in certain businesses, and then their descendants become more entrenched with each generation, like the Krupps in armaments and the Vanderbilts in railroads,” Oscar answered lamely.

  “You’re reaching, boy, you’re reaching. It’s natural enough for a son to step into his father’s shoes in the family business. Nothing sinister in that. But when all the sons in a family head for other businesses — other businesses in the same industry, that is — owned by families quite different from their own, and start buying them out and taking them over, and helping their cousins do the same, then one should at least suspect that this particular family wants to control the industry in question. And when one sees other families which are related in some distinctive way to this one — all the same ethnic minority, say — doing the same thing in the same industry, one should be even more suspicious.

  “The Jews aren’t the only minority in this country which behaves more or less like that, of course. There are the Hindus and the motel business, for example — or Gypsies and the used-car business. But then, owning a motel, or even a chain of motels, doesn’t give a person quite the same clout as owning a big Hollywood production company or the New York Times, does it?

  “In fact, Yeager, just think about it: I know that you aren’t active in any church, but I also know that your family was Lutheran. Now let’s just imagine. Let’s just forget about the real world for a minute and suppose that all of the Lutherans in Europe — your own ancestors — were a really tightly knit, well organized minority, and that the non-Lutheran majority despised them, hated their guts, based on centuries of bad experiences with them. And
suppose that until about a hundred years ago there were only a handful of Lutherans in this country — a few scouts or advance men, one might say — and that these advance men then sent word back to the rest of the Lutheran tribe in Europe that the pickings were good in the United States, that the really rough work of fighting the Indians and taming the wilderness was done, and that the time was ripe to move in and take over.

  “And suppose three or four million of your relatives then came pouring into the country over the course of 30 years or so, remaining just as tightly knit as they had been in Europe, bearing the same burning hatred for the rest of the human race, and utterly determined to get the upper hand. The first thing they’d have to do, of course, would be to get a toehold. So they’d take over whatever industries were available — the pushcart trade, the rag business, pawn shops — and move up from there into more lucrative endeavors, like the garment industry, the fur business, chain stores, and wholesale trade.

  “So eventually they’ve established themselves in this country, salted away plenty of loot, learned the local folkways, blended into the local scenery as well as they can, and are ready to go for the jugular. How would they do it? How would you do it? By getting a corner on the button-hook market? By aiming at a stranglehold on the proctology profession?”

  Oscar remained silent, and Ryan continued his monologue: “No, you know the answer as well as I, Yeager. They’d start grabbing the mass media. In Europe they exercised their control through money, through banking. They worked from the top down, by making themselves invaluable to the rulers as moneylenders. Here things are different, more democratic. Here the person who controls public opinion wields more real power than the banker. Of course, the Lutherans wouldn’t be shy about grabbing control of the moneylending business here, either. But if their aim was not just to gain wealth for themselves, but to dominate and then destroy the nonLutheran majority among whom they lived, more than anything else they’d go for every medium of entertainment and information they could get their acquisitive hands on. They’d go for Hollywood. They’d go for Broadway. They’d go for radio. They’d go for the newspapers and magazines and comic books and book publishers. And, of course, when TV came along later they’d control that too.”