Hunter

by Andrew Macdonald

  “Well, I admit that Jewish people are as thick as fleas on a dog in Hollywood, but….”

  Ryan cut him off explosively, “Kee-rist, Yeager! Cut out that ‘Jewish people’ crap before I gag.”

  “All right. So the Jews control Hollywood. And it’s true that the sort of entertainment Hollywood produces these days seems almost calculated to promote racial mixing and other forms of degeneracy. But….”

  “There’s no ‘almost’ about it, Yeager,” Ryan interrupted him again.

  “I don’t see how you can be so sure about that. The Mafia distributes drugs, which certainly are destructive to our society. But I believe it’s pretty clear that the Mafia’s aim is simply to make money, not to destroy society. They’re simply taking advantage of a vice which already existed. How do you know the Jews don’t have the same sort of motivation?”

  Before Ryan could respond Oscar continued, “Actually, I shouldn’t let you bully me into saying the Jews. Some Jews take advantage of our society’s vices in order to make money. Most Jews don’t. My dentist, Dr. Steinberg, is a Jew, I believe. The newsstand where I buy magazines is operated by a Jew. One of the contract people I deal with in the Pentagon is Jewish — excuse me, a Jew — and so was one of my best professors at Colorado. I simply can’t buy the theory that they’re all part of some gigantic conspiracy to destroy our race. I think that you’re making a lot of unjustified assumptions.

  “Our race certainly is being destroyed. But it’s we ourselves who are the destroyers. We’ve let ourselves become decadent. We’ve lost our sense of identity and purpose. We’re wallowing in our own vices. We’ve left ourselves open to exploitation by everyone else on the planet.

  “If you want to pin the blame on a more specific group, you can blame your own employers, the greedy, gutless, lying politicians and bureaucrats who run the rotten and irresponsible government for which you’re working.”

  Ryan shrugged. “Yeager, I have to agree with a large part of what you’ve said. The American people are decadent. The politicians are crooked — and believe me, I’ve seen a lot more solid evidence of that than you can even imagine in your wildest fantasies. The government is rotten. We have brought a lot of our present grief down on ourselves.

  “But I’m not one to make unjustified or unnecessary assumptions. In that regard I’m a true disciple of Occam. Nor did I get where I am in the Bureau by being a crackpot theorist. There is solid, irrefutable, unambiguous evidence for everything I’ve said about the Jews — and plenty of it, although one may have to dig a bit to find all of it.

  “I see from the books in your bookcase that you’ve done a little reading in history. Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised that you failed to learn much about the Jews, though. You have to be able to read between the lines of most history books written in the last 50 years in order to follow the Jews’ trail. It’s a taboo subject. There are lots of older books with explicit information in them, but you’ll only find most of those in the larger university libraries, certainly not in bookstores. If you’re interested I’ll give you a list of titles sometime. By the way, you didn’t know that I have a master’s degree in history from Georgetown University, did you? Really, I’m not just a dumb cop, Yeager.”

  Ryan paused for a second and then continued: “Of course, you’re right when you say that your dentist and the Jew who runs your neighborhood newsstand aren’t participants in a conspiracy to destroy us. I’m sure that most Jews in this country have their hands full just making the payments on their condos and putting their kids through dental school. They don’t have time for much conspiring.

  “But you’re also wrong. It depends upon how you look at it. I’ll give you an example. The United States fought a war against Germany a few years back. It was a bloody, hard-fought war. It was a deadly serious war. Americans were told that Germany was our enemy. Germans were told that America was their enemy. We killed millions of them, and they killed hundreds of thousands of us.

  “Now you can easily convince me that there were lots of German dentists and newsstand operators and university professors who didn’t hate Americans and who weren’t conspiring against us. They were just ordinary Germans, whose hands were full earning a living and raising their families. Some of them may not even have agreed with the policies of their government. Is it fair to say that all these Germans were our enemies?”

  Ryan paused for effect and then answered his own question: “Of course, it is. They were our enemies because they paid with their taxes for the bullets their soldiers used against us. Even if they weren’t in the trenches and the tanks, they were keeping the home front going, in one way or another. They thought of themselves as members of the German nation, and we were at war with the German nation.

  “Do you get the idea, Yeager? Your Jewish dentist pays his taxes too, with his contributions to the United Jewish Appeal. He may not be in the front lines with the fellows from B’nai B’rith, but you can bet that he does his part on the home front in lots of little ways. He votes for the politicians who vote for your taxes to be sent to Israel. He writes letters with the right slant to the editor of the Washington Post. He’s probably very civic minded, working with the PTA, where he can keep an eye on the teachers hired by the school board; serving on the county library board, where he can have some input into the types of books the library stocks; and acting as a patron of the local art museum or theater group, where he can ensure that we get a few carved African masks and tom-toms in the museum or some really freaky stage performances, with an affirmative action cast.

  “Or maybe your dentist is one of those really rare Jews who doesn’t pay a bit of attention to what the B’nai B’rith tells him and doesn’t even buy Israel Bonds. He still thinks of himself as a member of the Jewish people, and the Jewish people — the Jewish nation, the Jewish race, whatever you want to call the damned thing — is at war with our people, make no mistake about it.

  “I’ve been in the front lines of one little part of that war long enough to have a pretty good understanding of it. Actually, my understanding began even before I joined the Bureau. My dad used to tell us at the dinner table about his work during and right after the Second World War. He had been working mostly on internal subversion until the war began, then they put him in the counterespionage section. That’s when he learned about the Jews.

  “These days whenever people hear about espionage during the war they think of German agents landed by submarine with maps of defense installations, or Japs with secret radio transmitters, that sort of thing. Actually the counterespionage people in the Bureau spent only about ten per cent of their time during the war catching Nazi and Jap spies, because they had to spend 90 per cent of their time trying to keep the Jews from stealing every secret we had and passing it along to the Soviet Union. My dad could never get over the fact that we were fighting the war for the Jews in the first place, and they showed their gratitude by selling us out to the Reds.

  “If you learned anything at all from those history books,” Ryan waved toward the bookcase, “you know that Roosevelt had been doing everything he could in 1940 and 1941 to provoke the Germans into declaring war. He had the Bureau fingering German agents in this country to the British, who had been at war with the Germans since September 1939, of course, and then playing dumb when those agents were murdered. He had our Navy tracking German ships and reporting their positions to the British, so they could be sunk. He let his Jewish Treasury secretary, Morgenthau, seize German assets in this country. Finally he ordered our Navy to shoot at German ships on sight. Hitler, however, refused to be provoked. Roosevelt eventually had to get us into the war by the back door, by setting us up for the Japanese ‘surprise’ attack on Pearl Harbor.

  “And all the time a cabal of Jewish ‘advisors’ — Morgenthau, Baruch, Frankfurter, Rosenman, Cohen — was telling him exactly what to do and when to do it. And in turn they were on the phone every day with the head Jews in New York, London, and Moscow. Hoover had taps on half the telepho
nes in Washington, and he knew everything that was going on.

  “After the Germans attacked the Soviet Union in June 1941, Jews in every one of our defense establishments began swiping secret documents and giving them to the Soviets. Hoover complained to Roosevelt about it, but FDR wouldn’t let him arrest them. About all Hoover could do was quietly warn some of the top military people and the big industrialists doing defense work, so that they could move Jewish subordinates to less sensitive positions and tighten up security. After Pearl Harbor, of course, the Soviet Union was officially our ‘ally.’ But even though Roosevelt continued to protect the Jews, Hoover kept the Bureau on top of everything that was going on, collecting evidence and biding his time.

  “Then when FDR died early in 1945, Hoover lowered the boom on the kikes. The Bureau rounded up hundreds of them who were involved in espionage work for the Soviets. That’s when my dad saw how the Jews are organized, how they work together and back each other up. Terrific pressure was brought on Hoover to stop arresting Jews for espionage. He would have caved in if he hadn’t spent years gathering the means to protect himself. He had confidential dossiers on most of the top politicians. One of them would get an angry call from Morgenthau or one of the other Jewish leaders, demanding that something be done to curb the FBI. The politician would in turn call Hoover, and Hoover would invite him to drop by the Bureau for a friendly chat. Then Hoover would show him a few choice items from his personal dossier. The politician would immediately forget all about trying to pressure Hoover into halting the investigation of Jewish spies.

  “Eventually, though, Hoover was forced to compromise with the Jews. A few dozen of them who had been caught red-handed — most notably the Rosenbergs and their accomplices — were put on trial and convicted. The investigative files on hundreds of others were quietly closed. And from that time on the Jews were determined to capture the Bureau for themselves. As long as Hoover was alive, however, they couldn’t do much. And he built a lot of internal roadblocks into the FBI bureaucracy to slow them down even after he died in 1972.

  “But they are persistent bastards, and they are well on the way to completing their takeover of the Bureau. It won’t make much difference who’s appointed Director after that; they’ll control the internal workings of the Bureau — what’s left of it — and do whatever they please. I’ve fought them to the extent I’ve been able. But I have a family, and I’m not the martyr type. Everything I’ve done has been in the way of bureaucratic infighting. I’ve gone by the book.

  “Fortunately, however, there is a provident God in heaven, and he has delivered you into my hands. You’re going to do some of the things I’ve wanted to do but couldn’t.” Ryan glanced at his watch again. “Now start taking notes, Yeager. I haven’t got all night.”

  XIII

  The Kaplan job was not difficult. Armed with a detailed knowledge of the man’s habits and weekly schedule, a description of his automobile, and a wealth of other personal data, Oscar quickly laid his plans.

  Kaplan was addicted to pornography, Ryan had told him. He kept a stack of kinky photographs in his desk and regularly showed them around the office to the other agents, despite the fact that most of them did not share his obsession and looked at the photographs now and then only from a morbid curiosity to see what weird, new perversions the Jewish agent was drooling over at the time. Kaplan was so hung up on the stuff, Ryan had said in a tone of obvious disgust, that he stopped by a porno store just four blocks from the Hoover Building every Wednesday evening on his way home; the store normally received its shipments of new stock on Wednesdays.

  The idea of using Kaplan’s vice as a means for bringing about his downfall appealed to Oscar. The porno store itself did not seem auspicious as a site, however. It was a narrow stall in the middle of an extraordinarily busy block, with no obvious parking facility. Furthermore, the timing of Kaplan’s after-work visits to the store would make it necessary for Oscar to do his work in daylight. Nevertheless, he decided to be present at the expected time of Kaplan’s next appearance there.

  Decked out in the same wig, fake glasses, and other paraphernalia he had used at the Shoreham and with a brand new silenced pistol — a duplicate of the one he had used on Jones and Jacobs, with the same silencer screwed onto the muzzle — in a shoulder holster under his coat, Oscar strolled into Hyman’s Novelty Book and Photo Shop for a quick look around, half an hour before Kaplan was due to leave his office. He had had to park more than six blocks away. He couldn’t understand why Kaplan favored this particular porno store. There were three others in the same block, all larger, better lighted, and with more stock. Perhaps the appeal of this place was that it seemed to have relatively little business, and so a customer concerned about not being seen in such an establishment might feel more secure, or perhaps it carried some line of filth that the others didn’t. Perusing the shelves he saw a sampling of just about every kind of perversion one could imagine: sadism, bondage, homosexuality, bestiality, interracial sex, and various other practices that seemed so bizarre to him that it was hard to imagine anyone deriving sexual pleasure from them. About all that seemed to be missing was material dealing with straight sex between men and women of the same race.

  The man behind the counter, a grossly overweight, dark, greasy-looking specimen with a cigar in his mouth, was eyeing Oscar closely. Oscar glanced at his watch, strolled out, and took up a post two doors down, where he could appear to be absorbed in a study of the book titles in a crowded display window, yet still keep an eye on the entrance to Hyman’s place.

  He spotted Kaplan nearly a block away as the latter emerged from his car, which he had just parked illegally in front of a fire hydrant. If Oscar were to hit the man when he returned to his car, there would be scores of witnesses.

  He made a quick decision. He had been watching the sparse traffic in and out of Hyman’s door, and he knew that there were no customers in the shop at the moment, nor was anyone else likely to enter in the next minute. So Oscar himself quickly re-entered the store, about 15 seconds ahead of Kaplan.

  Even as he came through the door he had his pistol in his hand, and he fired two shots into the proprietor’s forehead at a range of about four feet without breaking his stride. The latter toppled sideways off his stool into the dark, narrow space behind the counter. The noise of the body crashing to the floor was louder than that of the silenced pistol shots, but Oscar was certain that no one on the busy, noisy sidewalk would notice either sound.

  He continued a dozen feet down the narrow shop’s single aisle, then turned on his heel just beyond a wire display rack of paperback books, which sufficed to conceal his gun hand. Oscar’s head was bent over the rack as if he were examining a book, but he was peering over the top of his glasses at Kaplan as the man entered the shop.

  Kaplan glanced with curiosity at the unattended counter and halted for a moment before hesitantly walking further into the shop, toward Oscar. When he was eight feet away, Oscar raised his hand and shot the man six times in the chest and head, firing rapidly. Kaplan fell face down, and Oscar bent over the body and fired two more shots into the back of his head.

  Oscar ejected the empty magazine from his pistol and slipped in a loaded one, then leaned over the counter and fired four more shots into the side of the proprietor’s head before returning the weapon to its holster. Finally, he took two small plastic packets of white powder from his coat pocket, kneeled beside Kaplan’s corpse, and pressed the man’s dead fingers onto them several times before sliding the packets into a pocket of Kaplan’s suit coat. As an afterthought he took Kaplan’s wallet.

  The cocaine — both the idea and the actual packets — had come from Ryan, who thought it would be better to muddy the water a bit by leaving a hint that Kaplan’s killing may have been connected to casual drug dealing instead of to his regular line of work. There was an average of two drug-related murders a day in Washington, and so the hint should meet little resistance.

  Oscar buttoned his coat and ste
pped out onto the sidewalk. As he turned the corner at the end of the block he glanced back briefly. No one was near the entrance to Hyman’s store. Back at his car he noted that it had been less than an hour since he had left home. He still had one errand to do before meeting Adelaide, and he should be able to finish it without missing the 7:30 deadline he had promised her he would try to keep.

  His next stop was the Library of Congress, where he had the amazing good luck to find a parking space only two blocks away. He had tried to obtain some of the books he wanted at the suburban libraries, but, as Ryan had indicated, they were not to be found there. Here he expected his search to be more productive.

  He had spent the first four days after his encounter with Ryan just trying to become accustomed to his changed situation, turning over in his mind the various possibilities now open to him. It was something that needed getting used to. The skiing trip with Adelaide had helped him orient himself. He had spent several more hours talking with her about race and human quality, race and history, racial conditions in America, the racial prospects for the future, and his own need to act against the manifest evil of the genocide he saw taking place, all without getting into the specific details of what he had been doing.

  At the same time he had been puzzling over a new element in the picture: the Jews. After hearing what Ryan had said about Jews, his first inclination was to dismiss the man’s remarks as cranky anti-Semitism, just as he had dismissed Keller’s views on the Jews earlier. He had seen enough of that sort of mindless bigotry, and he had no patience with it. Ryan, with his old-fashioned, Irish-Catholic conservatism, had probably imbibed his dislike of Jews from some paleolithic Jesuit teacher in parochial school who still taught that Jews were “Christ killers,” in defiance of the new party line from the Vatican. And Keller was tied in with that neo-Nazi group, which explained his own theories about the Jews.