The Hunt

“Perhaps I am a good Hitlerite, mein Fuhrer. That might be a more accurate way of putting it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I see the party as a means to the end. To me, it’s a necessary glory show. There are too many buffoons and hooligans.”

“Buffoons and hooligans?” Hitler echoed with surprise. Vierhaus was right, Ingersoll was certainly outspoken. Ingersoll could sense Hitler’s growing irritation.

“I would follow you into fire, mein Fuhrer,” he quickly added, “But there are some I’d prefer to shove into the flames.”

Cajole and flatter. Hear him out.

“As I told you, I’ve read Mein Kampf cover to cover many times. It is always on my nightstand. It is a great book, greater than the Bible. I agree with everything you say, particularly regarding the Jewish problem.”

“Herr Schauspieler, tell me the truth. How do you really feel about the Jews?”

“I hate them,” Ingersoll said, his voice taut and low. “I bate their Marxist tricks. Their whining

“Ja. Ja! Very good. They are whiners. And you’re right, they are the backbone of the Marxist movement. They’ve had fourteen years, fourteen years to show us what they can do and all they have produced is rubble. Look around you. Rubble! The secret to our success, Hans, is that we are honest. We deal honestly. We seek only what is fair, what is proper. What is right for Germany.”

He smiled, an understated smile, a momentary manipulation of the corners of his mouth that was almost a smirk. He sat down again, perched on the edge of his chair and leaned toward Ingersoll with fists clenched.

“We must take the Jews out of the marketplace, out of the banks, out of our industries. Perhaps even . . . rid Germany totally of this Jude scourge. Would you agree?”

Ingersoll smiled in return and nodded. “Yes, but how? And how will you justify what we do to the rest of the world?”

Hitler’s mood changed radically. His face turned red. His voice rose fervently and rage simmered deep inside him, He glared out the window.

“Justify? We justify nothing! The rest of the world? Who in the rest of the world? The French?” lie snorted indignantly. “How can you have an understanding with a man who is choking you as you speak? The Americans with their Monroe Doctrine? My God! The ultimate hypocrisy. They exclude would-be immigrants if they are undesirable. Regulate their numbers. Demand certain physical standards, insist they bring in a certain amount of money, interrogate them about their political beliefs. Listen, my friend, one learns from one’s enemies. Anyway, there is a way we can deal with the Americans. The Communists say that power comes from the barrel of a gun. Well, I’ll show them power, all right. I’ll show them the barrel of our gun.” He smashed his fist into his open palm and stamped his foot on the floor. “How can they blame us for doing the same things, eh? I don’t give a damn about the Jews in other countries. But here, this is Germany’s business. This is our business.”

For a moment it seemed to Ingersoll as if Hitler had forgotten he was in the room. He seemed to be speaking to all the unseen hordes of disenfranchised Germans out there somewhere. And his fervor was hypnotic. Ingersoll’s heart began to race. Then just as quickly the voice became quiet again. He turned back to Ingersoll, his eyes still burning with the fever of power.

“As for the British? Compromisers, that’s their style. The Britishers are tough and proud. And they are exploiters. England is a psychological force embracing the entire world. They are protected by a great navy and a very courageous air service. But these things will be dealt with in their time.

“I say the hell with the rest of the world,” he whispered, leaning over Ingersoll. “Another year a.id ours will be the most powerful political party in history and all Europe will be on its knees before us. Tomorrow we will be the world, my young friend.”

So, Hitler’s mind was already preparing for war, thought Ingersoll. To him it is an inevitability.

Hitler paused, saw the unconcealed excitement in Ingersoll’s face.

“You believe that, don’t you, Ingersoll?”

Entranced, Ingersoll nodded.

He is hooked, Hitler said to himself. Der Schauspieler is ours.

“And you want to be an important player in this crusade, don’t you?”

“Yes!”

“More than just making contributions to the party, yes?”

“Yes, mein Fuhrer!”

“And so you shall, Herr Ingersoll,” Hitler said, patting Ingersoll’s knee, “so you shall.”

Looking over Hitler’s shoulder through the frosty window, Ingersoll saw Willie Vierhaus scurrying awkwardly down the icy footpath toward the tea house.

As cold as Vierhaus obviously was, he stood outside the tea house and knocked. Hitler waved him in.

“My God it’s cold out there,” he complained as he burst through the door. “That trooper out there says it’s ten