Reign in Hell by William Diehl

Author:William Diehl
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780345395061
Publisher: Random House Digital, Inc.
Published: 1994-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

At dusk Woodbine left the airport outside Fort Wayne and drove the circuitous route to the dirt road north of Ralph Anderson’s farmhouse, timing himself. It took forty-eight minutes. It was dark when he turned down the road, which was still caked with ice patches and rock hard. When he reached the intersection of the two dirt roads, he pulled off the road, turned around, and backed under some trees. He took the aluminum case from the trunk, assembled the .50 caliber rifle, then snapped the sight in place. He got out the pair of night binoculars and crept up the bluff to the tall oak tree and zeroed in on the farmhouse. He jockeyed his position a bit until he had a clear sight line to the farmhouse, then checked the area around the house: a small barn, a pickup truck parked beside it, what looked like a small shed of some kind. He moved the binoculars back to the kitchen.

A thousand yards. Piece of cake if he could get a clean shot.

He knelt down, augered a unipod into the hard earth, and set the rifle in its cradle. His heart was pumping hard but his hands were steady. He scanned the house through the scope, sweeping it slowly past the kitchen windows and back door, checking the small porch and the corner windows, where he picked up a television set. He assumed it was a recreation room of some kind. He moved the sight back to the kitchen and could make out the woman, obviously cleaning up after dinner.

But where was Waller/Anderson?

Woodbine wasn’t in any hurry. He was dressed for the cold, and no matter how long he had to wait, he knew the escape route and how long it would take once the job was done. The time was relative.

He waited, sweeping the rifle back and forth between the windows of the house, waiting to catch a glimpse of his prey. He kept scanning the house, and then, as he was watching the window of the den, he saw the television station change.

Waller was in the room, watching television.

Woodbine had to lure him outside.

He turned to his binoculars, which gave him a broader view of the site. The tractor was still sitting in the field, its back wheels mired in a mud hole.

Woodbine sat back on his haunches and considered the problem.

The sequence was fixed in his mind. Take out Waller. Blow the tires on the pickup. This would leave his wife with no phone and no transportation. Unless someone happened to visit the Andersons, she would be trapped a mile from the state road. It could be an hour or two before she summoned help.

His other choice was to kill them both.

He waited, concentrating on the den window.

Inside the farmhouse, George Waller a.k.a. Ralph Anderson walked into the kitchen.

“Want to take out the garbage?” Marie asked.

“Okay,” Ralph said. “I’m gonna crank up the tractor for a few minutes and put a tarp over it. I’m worried it might freeze up on me.

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