Prey by William W. Johnstone

the identity of the man. Nothing of any importance was ever discussed in the presence of the government informer.
    Jim didn’t blame Wesley Parren for what he was doing; the feds had the poor guy over a barrel because of an unintentional foul-up on his personal income tax returns for several years. Wesley had taken some deductions that he had honestly believed were legal and the IRS caught it, but only after about five years, and that left the guy owing the goddamn government about fifty thousand dollars, most of that in penalties and interest. So the feds worked a deal: inform on Jim Beal and his survivalist group, and we will, eventually, forgive the money.
    Wesley really didn’t have much choice in the matter. He had two kids in college and a hypochondriac for a wife who rushed off to the doctor every time she experienced an ache or a pain. He was in debt up to his butt with no way out. Then the feds moved in on him.
    Jim Beal knew personally what kind of a bind Wesley was in, for the feds had been auditing him for years . . . on a regular basis. Auditing him, investigating him, spying on him. There was not one area of his life the feds had not scrutinized, from the cradle to the present.
    And Jim Beal hated them for it.
    He rose from his chair to pace the office. If he could, he would see the reporter, Stormy Knight, and tell her about the planned assassination, on the condition that he remain anonymous. It was a big story, and Jim felt that she would go for it. He hoped she would, for he knew he had to do something. Congressman Madison was a good man.
    Then Jim pondered for a few moments over this: if the visiting dignitary being lined up in cross hairs was a very liberal senator or representative, would he make any effort to save his life?
    After a moment, he decided he would not.
    * * *
    Victor Radford closed the book and put it aside. He never tired of reading the writings of his hero, Adolf Hitler. Such a great man. A man with vision. And really, a peace-seeking man. It was all nonsense about the concentration camps and the killing of millions of Jews. That was just Jew propaganda. Lies to sully the memory of a man with a wonderful vision of a master race and a society free of inferiors.
    But the dream did not die with the führer. Oh, no. Not at all. Hitler’s vision was very much alive and doing quite well, thank you. And not just in this area. Oh, no. There were cells all over America. Men and women who shared the dreams of the great man.
    Victor looked at the wall of his den, covered from floor to ceiling with Nazi memorabilia. And right in the center of the wall, hanging above the fireplace, a huge portrait of Victor’s idol: Adolf Hitler.
    * * *
    â€œI am really looking forward to this vacation,” Congressman Madison said to several of his colleagues. The legislature’s summer break had rolled around, and members of Congress were anxious to get back to their home base. “I’ve never been river rafting before.”
    A representative from Idaho smiled. “Well, you can practice on that little river in Arkansas, Cliff. When you get ready for the big time, come on out to my state and run our wild rivers.”
    The men and woman gathered around laughed, then shook hands and said their goodbyes for the upcoming month’s vacation.
    Cliff Madison’s aide said, “You’ll be met at the lodge by two Secret Service agents out of the Little Rock office, Mr. Speaker. You and your wife will be accompanied on the plane to Memphis by two deputy federal marshals.”
    â€œAny word on why the beefed-up security, Ed?”
    â€œNo, sir. I think it’s just a precaution, that’s all.”
    â€œI’m sure that’s it. You and Emily all packed and ready to go?”
    Ed smiled. “Rarin’ to go, sir. We’re leaving several days ahead of you and Jane. We’re going to drive and enjoy the scenery.”
    Cliff sighed and returned the smile. He