The Hunt

freedoms guaranteed by the Constitution.

Five days since the fire and the man was now ruling Germany by decree.

Ingersoll went to the kitchen to refill his glass. Hitler is now the Emperor of Germany, he thought. He is the ruler of Germany. Laughing aloud, he raised his glass in a silent toast to the Fuhrer.

Then he heard a key click in the front door lock, heard the tumblers clink.

My God! he thought. It’s Friedrich. I-Fe’s the only one who has a key. What the hell was he doing here?

He heard the door open, the floors creak, the door close. He moved to the edge of the kitchen door and sneaked a look. Kreisler was taking off his coat. He looked at the table, walked over to it and began leafing through the papers. He looked around the room.

“Hello,” he called out, confused. ‘Is someone here?” Well, Ingersoll thought. What the hell.

He stepped into the living room.

“Hello, Freddie,” he said casually.

Kreisler was stunned, shocked to speechlessness. He stared at the ghost standing before him.

“My God,” he said and his voice was barely audible. “My God, it’s you, Johnny!”

“In the flesh, pardon the pun.”

“I don’t understand. . . what in God’s name.

“It’s a long, rather involved story, Freddie. Relax. I’ll get you a glass of wine. Chateauneuf-du-Pape, twenty- nine. Incredible year.”

“What in hell is going on?” Kreisler demanded, finding his voice. “My God, what kind of publicity stunt have you dreamed up now? Where’s Heinz? How did you get him in on this?”

“Heinz is dead. For real.”

“Then who was that other poor devil I identified? He was wearing your clothes. He was .

“I have no idea who he was, Freddie. I never saw the man. I don’t know anything about him and I don’t want to.”

“What happened? Did Heinz pick somebody up on the road? How did he get into your clothes?”

The lie came as easily as whistling a tune.

“He was Heinz’s lover,” Ingersoll said. “I assume they were going down to the village from the ski camp. The road was icy . .

“But why did you . . . ?“

Kreisler stopped and looked Ingersoll up and down, realizing suddenly that he was wearing his SS uniform.

“And what are you doing in that uniform? What’s come over you, Johann? What is going on?”

There was no way to lie to Kreisler. No way to explain. Freddie had made an error by coming to the house. A fatal error.

“What are you doing here, by the way?” Ingersoll asked.

“I wanted to check the place over, figure out what to do with all these antiques, the paintings. The wine. You’ve got a fortune in wine downstairs, Johnny.”

“It’s all taken care of. The house will be closed up as is. Caretakers will keep it up. The apartment in Berlin will be sold.”

“What are you doing in that uniform?”

Ingersoll stared across the room at his friend. His face turned cold.

“It may be the last time I’ll get to wear it for a long time,” he said.

“You shouldn’t be wearing it at all.’

“Why not,” Ingersoll said proudly. “My appointment was made directly by the Fuhrer.”

“Christ, Johnny, do you know what that madman’s up to? He’s abolished the Constitution, taken away all our rights. He decreed it, for God’s sake. He decreed away all our rights. Freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom to think, to make a phone call, to send a damn letter without having it intercepted. The SA is tearing up Berlin. Hitler’s become a damn dictator in just a few weeks.”

“Days, actually,” Ingersoll said smugly. “Oh, the process of getting elected chancellor, building up the party, all that took years. But actually he’s completely taken over a failed, corrupt, rotten government, and done it in only five days.”

He laughed and held up five fingers.

“How can you support this, Johnny? You’re a creative artist . .

Ingersoll cut him off,

“I’m an actor in scary movies, Freddie, that’s all. Until now.

Now I’ve been invited to play an important role in the greatest revolution in history.”