mid-deep, sharp, and cutting, each echoing consonant delivered like a swinging ax meeting hard wood. In some ways it evoked the memory of Hitler's diatribes in the sense that the hysterical climaxes came numerously and rapidly, but there the similarity ended. For this speaker was more of this age; the shock value of his screaming apogees was preceded by cold words, spoken slowly, icily, followed by sudden bursts of emotional excess that lent power to his conclusions. His harangues were not diminished by the shrieking one-note delivery of Hitler; instead, they were heightened by contrast, as if he were confiding in his -audience, who undoubtedly understood every point he was leading up to, then rewarded their acumen by shouting, affirming the judgments they had already made. The Age of Aquarius was long gone; the age of manipulation had taken its place. The lessons of Madison Avenue were heeded across the world.
"We are at the beginning, and the future is ours! But you know that, don't you? You who work tirelessly here in the Fatherland, and you who labor unceasingly in foreign countries-you can see what is happening, can't you? And isn't it magnificent? The message we bring is not only accepted, but zealously desired, desired in the hearts and minds of people everywhere-and you do see that and hear that, and you know it! .. I cannot see you, but I hear you, and I accept your gratitude, although, to be frank, it is misplaced. I am merely your voice, the voice of the righteously discontented all over the civilized globe.
And you understand that, don't you? You understand the agony we face everywhere when inferior people make us pay for their inferiority! When industrious men and women are deprived of their hard-earned benefits by those who refuse to work, or are incapable of working, or too demented even to try! Are we to suffer for their laziness, their incompetence, or their derangement? If so, the indolent, the incompetent, and the deranged will rule the world! For they-will rob us of our moral leadership by overwhelming us, draining our coffers in the name of humanity-but no, it is not humanity, my soldiers, for they are garbage! .. . But they cannot and will not do that, for the future is ours!
"Everywhere our enemies are increasingly confused, bewildered by what is sweeping over them, not sure who is and who is not part of us, in their deepest thoughts applauding our progress, even as they deny those thoughts. Continue the march, my soldiers. The future is ours!" Again, the applause was thunderous, as the strains of the Horst Wessel anthem filled the huge stadium carved out of the forest. And in a prearranged back row, two men, alternately clapping and shouting cries of devotion, turned to each other and spoke softly, both recognizing their partially shaved opposing eyebrows.
"Madness," said the Frenchman in English.
"Not unlike the newsreels we've seen of Hitler's speeches," added the Hollander from the Dutch Foreign Service.
"I think you're wrong, monsieur. This Fahrer is far more believable. He doesn't force his judgments on the crowd by constant shouting. He leads them there by ask- Ming seemingly reasonable questions. Then suddenly explodes, delivering the answers they want to hear. He understands dynamics-very clever, indeed."
"Who is he, do you think?"
"He could be any one of the far-right wingers in the Bundestag, I imagine. As instructed, I've recorded him so our department can match voiceprints, if the ridiculously small machine in my pocket is sufficient for the task."
"I haven't been in touch with the office in over a month," offered the Dutchman.
"Nor I in six weeks," said the Frenchman.
"We must, however, give our superiors credit. The satellites picked up the clearing of the forest the way the high-altitude planes revealed the missiles in Cuba nearly thirty years ago. They could not accept the explanation of another wealthy Far Eastern religious retreat despite the official papers. They were right."
"My people were convinced something was odd when foreign construction workers were recruited."
"I was a simple carpenter, what about you?"
"An electrician. My father owned a magasin ilectrique in Lyons.
I worked there until I went away to university."
"Now we have to get out of here, and I don't think that's going to be so easy. This compound is nothing short of an old concentration camp-barbed-wire fences, towers with machine guns, and all the rest."
"Be patient, we'll find a way, monsieur'. We'll meet at breakfast, tent six. There has to be a way."
The two men turned from each