A prominent bank executive, Morton Kent was subverted to globalism long ago, and has been on Hilton’s hit list for many years. He lives in a very high security house situated on a lake. There is no safe way to get in.

Since the Charles River, Hilton has begun to think of himself as the Were-Otter. His success underwater in that venture has given him a creative idea.

Kent and family are known to skate on the Lake behind their house. On these weekly occasions, Papa Kent carries a small pocket pistol in case of attack by patriots using an ice boat, an extreme unlikelihood at best.

December 23, 2006 10:22 A.M.

It’s been unseasonably cold for three weeks and the lake is already frozen hard. Kent and family are gliding around, racing and doing pirouettes. Like their parents, even the kids are very good skaters.

Papa Kent stops to tighten his skate lacings. Suddenly the ice cracks explosively under him’ The Werebear, able to stand on the lake floor, breaks through easily with both fists. He grabs Kent, pulls him under, breaks his neck, and pitches him back out onto the ice.

All of this happens so quickly that the family isn’t even sure what happened. One of the daughters thought she saw an arm, but it could have been a bobbing tree limb. The usual resuscitation efforts, of course, fail. Later, the coroner’s autopsy report confounds everyone. Including the police.

Hilton enjoys a bracing rapid half mile swim to the point of entry near his car. The Werebear’s lung capacity is amazing even to himself.