"Never mind," said Konrad Blutsturz. "Continue."
"Well, we looked and we looked and finally we found one guy hiding in a big room with all this science-looking stuff. He kinda looked like the newspaper picture of the Ferris Wheel guy and so we asked if he was him."
"And he said no," Konrad Blutsturz said tiredly.
"Hey, that's right. How'd you know?"
"Please continue."
"Well, when he said no, naturally we kept on looking. But we couldn't find the guy. I think he musta gone home. About that time, the cops showed up and we cut out of there. Barely made it, too. I think Luke shot one of the cops. I dunno. Are we in trouble?"
There was a long silence. The receiver hissed.
"Herr Fuhrer?" said Bovee Barlow. He pronounced it "Hair Fairer." He couldn't help it. It kept coming out that way. It always annoyed Herr Fuhrer Blutsturz, but he couldn't help it.
"Everyone knows you're looking for Ferris D'Orr now," said Konrad Blutsturz slowly. "They will move him. It will be more difficult now."
"Can we come home now? Bud is homesick. And you can't find country music on any of the radio stations around here."
"No. You screwed up. You admitted so yourself."
"The guy who said he wasn't this Ferris guy really was, wasn't he?"
"He was."
"Hey, you were right, Bud," Boyce called. "It was him, the stinker."
"Boyce Barlow," said Konrad Blutsturz, "find a place to hide your truck. Find some woods. Stay there. Sleep there. Call me in the morning. I will have new instructions for you."
"We gonna try to get him again?"
"Exactly."
"Well, okay. I'm kinda scared, but the way that guy up and lied through his teeth at us, well, it sets my boil to boiling."
"Hold that thought," said Konrad Blutsturz, and hung up.
Ilsa Gans came into the office carrying a stack of letters.
Konrad Blutsturz looked up from his desk. He wore a terrycloth robe for comfort. Rougher cloth scratched his ravaged skin. Another scourge visited by that devil Harold Smith.
"More goodies," Ilsa said brightly.
She perched herself on the armrest of the wheelchair. Her perfume filled his nostrils.
"From the members?"
"Yes, this one is from St. Louis," she said, razoring the envelope open with a multiblade letter opener in the shape of a swastika. It spilled thin folded pages torn from a phone directory into her lap.
"There are lots and lots of Harold Smiths on this page," Ilsa breathed happily.
Konrad Blutsturz made a disgusted sound in his throat. "Why couldn't his name have been Zankowski or Boyington?" he said miserably.
"It's not that bad. The over-sixties are circled. There's only . . . one-two-three . . . um, twelve of them. According to the letter, our man in St. Louis pretended to be a pollster and got their ages."
"Twelve is too many, Ilsa. I am not voting, I cannot drive around this country killing Harold Smiths for the rest of my days."
"Oh, but I'll be with you. You know that."
Konrad Blutsturz patted Iisa's hand warmly. "I know that, liebchen, but look how few we have done in two months."
"You're not giving Lip!" Ilsa said, jumping to her feet. There was fire in her eves. "I was counting on having his skin. I want to cover my diary with it. Don't you think that would be neat? On the last page I could write, 'We finally caught him and used his skin to cover this book.' "
"No, Ilsa, I am not giving up. It is just that I have been thinking. This way is not working. instead of going to them, they should be coming to us."
"How are we going to do that?'
"We will invite them. We will send out invitations to every Harold Smith we can find."
"You mean a party?"
"No, I mean a massacre."
Ilsa dropped to her knees before Konrad Blutsturz. "Tell me more."
"No, it is just an idea forming. I must talk to Dr. Beflecken first. I am going to ask him to do more for me than just provide legs of titanium. Much more," he said, eyeing the gently rising valley of her cleavage. And he smiled.
"Oooh, I can hardly wait. Does this mean that Boyce captured Ferris?"
"No, he failed. He is a fool. But only a fool would have allowed me to gain so much control over so many blindly obedient followers so quickly."
"Oh, poo. Can't we do something? You just have to have legs."
"You are so eager, Ilsa. You have no patience. I admit my patience is wearing, as well. But our time is coming soon, I promise."
"I was thinking," said Ilsa slowly. "After we get Harold Smith-the real one, I mean-do you think we could go after the Jews next?"
"The Jews?"
"I mean, really go after them. Not just picket them and insult them."
"Why would you want to do that, my child?"
"Don't you remember? They murdered my parents. You told me so."
"Ach, I had forgotten. Yes, the Jews hacked them to pieces with machetes."