"Main's how they say it at the China Dragon. You know, chow mein."
"A different language altogether. The words mean 'My Battle.' A great man wrote it."
"Adolf Hitler," Boyce read aloud. "Wasn't he a bad guy."
"The losers are always called that. Had Hitler won the war, there would now be no Jews, no blacks, no inferior peoples living in America, taking American jobs from true Americans and draining the vitality out of this once-strong nation."
"Is that so?"
"His ideas are your ideas," said Konrad Blutsturz. "He was espousing them before you were born. You, Boyce Barlow, have reinvented the wheel. Read this book and see for vourself. When you are done, call me at the number I have written on the flyleaf and we will talk."
Boyce Barlow had read the book. The old man without legs had been right. Boyce Barlow found that the old man was right about many things.
Konrad Blutsturz told them he could triple the membership of the White Purity League of America and Alabama. Overnight.
"You have only to do three things."
"What are those?" Boyce had asked suspiciously. "Starting today, fly this flag from your highest building."
Boyce Barlow took the flag. It was red. In the center was a twisted black crass in a white circle. Boyce recognized the flag; he had seen it in World War Two films. He showed the flag to Luke and Bud.
"What do you guys think?"
"It would look better if it were green," said Luke.
"I like red," said Bud, thinking of the Confederate flag.
"Me too," said Boyce. "Done."
"Excellent. Second, change the name of your organization to the Aryan League of America."
"What's an Aryan?"
"We are Aryans," said Konrad Blutstrarz. "Aryans are the master race, descendants of the racially pure warrior- Vikings. Like Ilsa, here."
They all looked at Ilsa. Ilsa looked back. She smiled sweetly.
"We're all Aryans, ain't we, boys?" Boyce said. "Especially me. How about we call it the White Aryan League of America, though? So the dumb ones don't get confused. "
"I will agree to that," said Konrad Blutsturz.
"And the third thing?"
"Appoint me your second-in-command."
Boyce Barlow had done this too, and, true to the old man's promise, the membership rolls swelled. That they swelled with people who had German last names was at first troublesome to the ruling triad of the newly renamed White Aryan League of America and Alabama. Boyce had insisted on retaining the "Alabama" part, in his words, "to remind folks this great movement began in the heart of Dixie."
One night, while counting up the month's dues, Boyee asked the old man, "Isn't our slogan supposed to be 'America for Americans'?"
"That is our slogan," admitted Konrad Blutsturz.
"Then what are those damn furriners doin' here?"
"They are not foreigners. America is a melting pot. The best of all white nations have come to these shores. German-Americans are as American as any. More so. It is the blacks, the Jews, the Smiths who are to be eradicated."
"The smiths?" asked Boyce. "Aren't they white too? I mean mostly?"
"They are the worst of all. They look white. Their skins appear to be white. But their souls are black, and evil. We will rid America of the blacks and the Jews and other inferior peoples. But first we must crush the Smiths."
Boyce Barlow didn't quite follow Konrad Blutsturz on that last point, but the dues kept coming in and so he did everything that Konrad Blutsturz suggested.
Konrad Blutsturz had showed how to get the White Aryan League of America publicity. Instead of just preaching the word over cable TV, or on street corners where they were hooted and booed, he showed that marching down the streets of American towns, shouting racial epithets, usually brought media coverage. Free media coverage. And when you shouted racial slogans, the races you insulted always shouted back. Sometimes they threw rotten fruit and bottles.
"Do this and we will get sympathy. Provoke the blacks and Jews and Orientals to attack us. We will look good and they will look bad because the networks can not spend more than three minutes of footage on any news event. They will omit our slogans and show our enemies attacking our peaceful march."
And it had worked. All of it had worked. That man Konrad Blutsturz was a genius. He knew everything. And when Blutsturz had insisted that he be called Herr Fuhrer, Boyce Barlow had made it White Aryan League policy. And when Herr Fuhrer Blutsturz had made the finding of one man named Harold Smith the League's top priority, Boyce Barlow had not questioned him. After all. Harold Smith was a black-souled Smith, possibly the secret leader of the coming Smith uprising that threatened to undermine the racial purity of America.
And when Herr Fuhrer Blutsturz ordered Boyce Barlow and his cousins Luke and Bud to personally go to Falls Church, Virginia, after a scientist named Ferris D'Orr, Boyce Barlow asked only one question.
"You want him alive or dead?"
Chapter 12
At first, Dr. Harold W. Smith thought he was hallucinating. He had not gone home the night before. He dared not. First, there was the fear that he would miss some critical report coming over his computers. And then there was the shame. He did not want to face his wife in his current state, as the old Harold Smith, the lemony-faced, cold-blooded Harold Smith who had been ground down by a lifetime of intelligence work. Last, there was the fear that if he went home, he would lead the unknown killer straight to his door, and to his wife.
"Could you repeat that, please?" Smith asked, thinking that lack of sleep had caused him to hear things. Mrs. Mikulka patiently repeated herself, speaking slowly and distinctly through the office intercom.
"I said a Mr. Chiun is here to see you. He's very insistent, and the guards at the gate don't know what to do."
"You did say Chiun?"
"Yes, Dr. Smith. Chiun. What shall I tell the guards?"
"Tell them to escort Mr. Chiun to my office. Carefully. Tell them not to touch him, provoke him, or otherwise get in his way."
"My goodness, is he an escaped patient?" asked Mrs. Mikulka, placing a plump hand to her well-cushioned chest.
"Just do it," said Smith, one harried eye on his computer console.
Minutes later, the guards left their charge outside Smith's office door.
"Oh, hello." said Mrs. Mikulka, recognizing the Master of Sinanju. She had seen the elderly Oriental before. He had visited Smith on other occasions.
"Greetings, lady-in-waiting to the Emperor Smith. Please inform the emperor that the Master of Sinanju, formerly his royal assassin, has arrived."
"I'll do just that," breathed Mrs. Mikulka, wondering if this man was not a candidate for a Folcroft rubber room.