Reign in Hell

by William Diehl

  “Are you scared about something, Marty?” she asked finally. “Scared? No, why would I be scared?”

  “You just seem… apprehensive.”

  “Well… I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about, uh…”

  He stopped in mid-sentence, as if he’d lost track of what he was saying.

  “Yes…” she said, and smiled.

  “Magoo really loves it here,” he said, looking over at the dog, who was sitting in front of the window.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And, uh…”

  “Marty, what’s the matter?” she asked, touching his forearm. “This case really has you on edge, doesn’t it?”

  “This has nothing to do with that.”

  “What is it, then?”

  He raised his champagne glass toward her and smiled. “I love you very much,” he said.

  “And I love you, darling,” she answered, tapping his glass with hers. “Then… will you marry me, Janie?”

  The question took her totally by surprise. They had been together for more than two years, and the word “marriage” had never been mentioned by either of them.

  “Is that what’s been on your mind?”

  “I just wasn’t sure how to do it. I’ll be glad to get down on one knee and ask you the old-fashioned way,” he said, almost stammering. “Marty, you’re blushing.”

  “It’s hot in here.”

  “It is not hot in here, you’re blushing. I think it’s lovely. And of course I’ll marry you. I didn’t think you were the marrying kind or I would have asked first.”

  “I’m the marrying kind now,” he said. “I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life without you.”

  “We don’t have to get married to spend our life together.”

  “Oh… well, then, what’ll I do with this?”

  He took a black velvet box from his pocket, snapped it open, and held it out to her. The ring was a three-carat round diamond set in gold. Simple and elegant.

  “This belonged to my grandmother,” he said.

  Tears filled her eyes and she covered her mouth with the fingers of one hand.

  “Oh, Marty,” she said. “It’s lovely. Was this Ma Cat’s engagement ring?”

  He nodded. “I know she’d be overjoyed if she were here at this moment.”

  Jane squeezed his hand. “I’m sure she’s close by.”

  He slipped the ring on her finger and kissed her, a devouring kiss that lingered. Finally he leaned back in his chair.

  “I wonder if the boys were watching,” she said, holding her hand up and studying the ring.

  “Maybe we ought to invite them in to share a glass of champagne.”

  “Are they supposed to do that? Drink on duty, I mean.”

  “One glass of champagne?”

  She laughed and said, “I think it would be delightful to share the moment with our bodyguards.”

  He picked up the walkie-talkie and buzzed Avery.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Avery, will you and Cliff come here a minute?”

  “Yes, sir. Is there a problem?”

  “No problem.”

  A moment later they appeared at the door to the kitchen, huddled in their blue FBI jackets. Avery was a tall man with silver hair and brown eyes. Cliff Mandel was shorter, his black hair trimmed neatly over his ears, his dark eyes always on the go, always checking things out.

  “Come on in,” Vail said, and led them into the dining room. “I know this is against regulations, but Jane and I would like you to share a toast with us. We’re getting married.”

  Both of the agents beamed at the news. Vail refilled their glasses and poured fresh ones for their two guests.

  “Here’s to both of you,” Baxter said. “I hope you’ll always be as happy as you are at this minute.”

  She held out her hand and the diamond glittered in the candlelight.

  “Beautiful,” Mandel said. “I wish you both all the happiness in the world.”

  Tears were trickling down Jane’s cheeks and her damp eyes were glowing with joy.

  “When’s the big day?” Baxter asked.

  Jane looked at Martin and raised her eyebrows.

  “As soon as we wrap the RICO case,” he said. “Suit you?”

  “Do we have to wait that long?” she whispered.

  The two agents finished their champagne.

  “Gotta get back to work,” Baxter said. He checked his watch. It was nine-twenty. They went back outside.

  Martin and Jane went into the living room, sat in front of the fire, and finished the last of the champagne while Magoo lay at their feet, lazily gnawing on a steak bone. Suddenly he stopped and looked up, his ears twisting and searching out a sound they could not hear.

  “What is it?” Vail asked. “Hear a rabbit out there?”

  Outside, Mandel was walking along the six-foot-high wire fence Hardistan had insisted they put up around the forested ten-acre estate. His flashlight beam flicked along the ground and searched the area on the other side of the fence.

  “Things are quiet out here, Avery,” he said into his headset.

  “Here, too,” Baxter answered. “Beautiful night if it wasn’t so damned cold.”

  “That champagne kinda took the chill off,” Mandel answered. He was thinking about Vail and the beautiful Jane Venable and how happy they seemed.

  It was the last thought he ever had.

  The figure seemed to grow out of the earth behind him, rising slowly from the leaves, eyes glowing in a blackened face, night goggles pushed up on his forehead, a jagged Marine knife glistening at his side.

  Mandel did not hear him; he was talking to Baxter as Tunny emerged from the shallow pit he had dug in the ground. Tunny reached out swiftly, cupped his gloved hand under Mandel’s chin, and snapped his head back. Before Mandel could cry out, the knife sliced through his throat, cutting jugular, esophagus, and air pipe. Breath whistled from his lungs. Mandel was dead when he dropped to the ground at his killer’s feet.

  The killer quickly stooped down, jabbed the bloody blade into the earth, cleaning off the blood, took the dead agent’s headset, wiped off the blood with leaves, and put it on. He reached into the ditch and removed a plastic bag containing his rifle. He clicked off the flashlight, lowered the goggles over his eyes, and scanned the forest around him, being careful not to look at the lights in the house, which would have blinded him. He stalked through the forest looking for the man the dead agent had called Avery.

  The day before booby traps had killed eleven agents, Tunny alias Woodbine had flown down from Michigan. He had read the newspaper and magazine articles Abraham had left in the locker at the Oklahoma City airport. One of the articles mentioned Vail’s getaway cabin where he and Jane Venable spent weekends. The article said “the cabin has a sweeping view of Lake Sloan.”

  Tunny checked his sectionals and found the lake. Not that big. He set his course and flew to the lake. From the air he could see half a dozen shacks and small cabins on the lakeside.

  But one was enormous, a barnlike structure. A link fence surrounded the large property. There was a locked gate and a long drive leading to the cabin, which could not be seen from the two-lane road that led past it. He circled the place. A large picture window in back of the house faced the lake. It was worth checking out. Then he crisscrossed the area across the road from the cabin. He finally found what he was looking for—an abandoned barn. It was a mile and a half from the Vail place. Perfect. A safe place to hide a car for the night.

  Tunny had rented a car using a new credit card. He took his weapons case, his combat fatigues, and cap, and drove out to the lake late in the afternoon. Using a county map, he found the abandoned barn, changed into thermal long johns and his combat outfit, and waited until dark. Then he trotted to the county road with a sports gear bag over his shoulder. It was deserted. It took him twenty minutes to get to the fence surrounding the Vail property.

  He slipped into the woods adjacent to the cabin, climbed th
e fence, and cautiously approached the house. He flashed his light in the window. It was the kitchen. On the floor near the sink was a large porcelain bowl with MAGOO painted on the side.

  He circled the house. Glass everywhere. Excellent. Then he checked the woods. It was thick with pine trees and bushes. His first consideration was his getaway. He would have to take out the FBI bodyguards first, they were the big threat. Then it would be an easy shot through a window to drop Vail and Venable. She had to go, too, to prevent her from calling the police. He went back to the fence. If the guards patrolled the perimeter, they would pass by the fence. This was the place to be.

  He opened the gear bag and took out a shovel and a tarp to wrap himself in. Then he started digging.

  Inside the house, Magoo stood up, his ears twitching, his nose testing the air. He trotted swiftly to the front door of the cabin and growled low in his throat.

  Vail followed Magoo to the door.

  “What’s the matter?” he said. “You know Avery and Cliff.”

  The dog scratched at the door, still growling. Vail opened the door and Magoo streaked out. Vail flipped a light switch, and a half-dozen floodlights mounted on the house and in the trees burst on.

  Tunny shrieked with pain as the bright lights, amplified by the night goggles, seared his eyes.

  Baxter rushed around the side of the house and yelled at Vail. “Get back in the house and call the police! Turn off the inside lights.”

  Magoo rushed through the woods, his nose and ears leading him toward Mandel’s bloody corpse. Then he saw Tunny on his knees rubbing his eyes. He changed course and raced toward the assassin.

  Through teared vision Tunny saw a white streak coming toward him, its teeth bared. He rolled to one side and fired a single shot from the hip. The bullet ripped into Magoo, knocked him into the air and sideways. The dog crashed to the ground and lay motionless.

  Baxter zigzagged his way across the clearing in front of the house and dodged into the woods, dropped to his knees, and fell back against a tree.

  “Cliff,” he whispered into his headset, “you copy?”

  A moment later a voice came back at him.

  “Help me,” the voice whispered.

  “God damn!” Baxter growled.

  Tunny lay prone behind a tree stump and looked toward the house, searching the darkness for the surviving agent.

  Vail raced through the house, turning off lights, while Venable ran into the dining room and blew out the candles.

  “Jane, come here,” Vail whispered. She joined him in the living room and he pulled her into the doorway of the darkened guest room. He had retrieved both shotguns from the kitchen, where he had left them to be cleaned, but the gun cabinet with shotgun shells was across the room.

  “What do you think’s going on?” Venable asked. She seemed remarkably calm.

  “My guess is it’s Tunny, the killer who got Waller. I’m going over to the gun cabinet and get some more shells.”

  “Stay here,” she pleaded. “He’ll see you in the light from the fireplace.”

  “We’ve got to protect ourselves in case he gets past Baxter and Mandel.”

  “Magoo’s out there,” she said plaintively.

  “I know it. Just stay here. Back into the room so he can’t see you.”

  “Where are Cliff and Avery?”

  “I don’t know, darling.”

  He crawled away, slithering across the wide room to the gun cabinet. He opened the drawer, grabbed two boxes of shotgun shells, and crawled back. In the flickering light from the fireplace he shoved shells into the two .20 gauge shotguns.

  Outside, Avery Baxter held his ground, listening for signs of movement. He decided the best place for him to be was in the house, where he could protect Vail and Venable. He got into a crouch, then ran toward the house, veering back and forth as he dashed for the door.

  A hundred yards away Tunny watched him through his night scope. He waited until Baxter reached the back entrance and hesitated for a moment to open the door. Tunny got off one shot as Baxter leaped through the door. It hit Baxter in the back and spun him into the darkened house.

  Baxter rolled over on his stomach and crawled through the entrance hall into the living room.

  “It’s me, Avery!” he cried out. “Don’t shoot.”

  “Prove it,” came Vail’s voice out of the darkness.

  Baxter struggled to a sitting position against the wall and thought for a minute.

  “Diamond ring,” he stammered. “About three carats. Solitaire setting.”

  Vail put his shotgun down and in a crouch ran to the entranceway. He could barely see Baxter in the failing light of the fireplace. He squatted beside the injured agent and checked his wound.

  “Went right through your body armor. In the shoulder,” Vail said.

  “Did you call the police?”

  “Jane did.”

  “Good,” Baxter said, pain wracking his voice. “I dropped my weapon when I came in. It’s by the door. An automatic. And turn on the lights. We got him at a disadvantage now.”

  Vail crawled across the floor, feeling for the machine gun, felt its cool surface, and picked it up. Then he crawled to the door and flicked on the outside lights again.

  Tunny was fifty yards from the house with a clear view through the windows of the kitchen and living room when the outside lights blazed on again. Damn! he said to himself. He removed the night scope, tossed it aside, eye-sighted the rear of the house, and fired a continuous burst from his .50 caliber across the back of the house.

  Inside, the bullets stitched across the kitchen, sending splinters of wood and broken glass into the room. The steel jacket bullets ripped through the stove and microwave, shattered the blender and toaster, and tore into the free-standing gas grill in the middle of the room. One bullet ruptured the gas lines. Hot lead ignited the escaping gas and it exploded in a dull whoosh. Flames roared up from the ruined grill and set off the fire alarms and sprinklers. Flaming gas and cold water fused.

  Another burst of gunfire ripped across the windows of the main room, shattering them and sending billows of cotton and cloth from ruptured sofas and chairs as the slugs tore into the furniture.

  Tunny held his ground. He had heard the shotguns earlier in the day, so he knew Vail had shotguns in the house. He had caught a glimpse of Baxter’s gun and guessed it was an Uzi. He moved quickly to the brush close to the house and checked it out.

  Then he heard the sirens.

  Tunny was too good a pro to continue what had suddenly become a losing battle. He turned immediately and ran back through the woods, past Mandel’s body, leaped onto the galvanized wire fence, and, vaulting over it, ran toward the road. He dropped to the ground as a police car roared by and skidded into the drive leading to Vail’s cabin. From the other direction another police car, an ambulance, and a fire truck entered the drive.

  Cut and run, he thought. Nothing’s worth dying for. Tunny dashed across the two-lane road and ran as fast as he could into the darkness.

  O’HARE AIRPORT, FRIDAY 10:14 P.M., CST

  When he arrived at the airport, Hardistan got the good and bad news from McCurdy, who was still circling the Vail cabin in the chopper.

  “You were right, Billy,” he said. “He took out Cliff Mandel.”

  “Oh my God.” It was the worst kind of nightmare.

  McCurdy went on. “He clipped Baxter but he’ll be okay. Vail and Venable are fine. The cabin’s a mess.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “They went in the ambulance. Half the state patrol is escorting them. Apparently Tunny shot Vail’s dog but it’s still alive. They’re taking it to the hospital with Baxter. A vet’s going to meet them there.”

  “And Tunny…”

  “We’re still looking.”

  “Road blocks?”

  “On all the main roads and the interstate. We’re going to keep patrolling the area in the chopper. But Billy, there are dozens of little back roads up here.�
�

  “If he gets through the road blocks, he only has one option left. He’ll come to the plane.”

  Hardistan sat down and his body sagged. He had lost twelve men to Tunny. He knew Vail wanted him alive, but he wasn’t going to risk another man to take Tunny alive.

  His cell phone rang and he answered it immediately.

  “What the hell, who is this?” he said softly but sternly.

  “It’s Claude, Billy, we need to talk….”

  Hardistan stepped into an empty adjoining office and closed the door.

  “God damn it,” he said, still whispering, “I’ve got twelve dead agents and their families to deal with, and I’m in the middle of a stakeout. Not now.”

  “Listen to me, Billy, this is to protect the Man, you understand what I’m saying?”

  Hardistan was stumped for a moment. “I understand that.”

  “Don’t bring him in.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t bring him in.”

  “You mean Tunny?”

  “Take him out.”

  “He could be an important witness for Vail—”

  “Fuck Vail. If you do bring Tunny in and he agrees to testify, it could do us more harm than them. Understand what I’m saying, Hardistan. Put the son of a bitch down. Period. End of conversation.” The phone went dead.

  O’HARE AIRPORT, SATURDAY, MIDNIGHT CST

  Hardistan and a young sniper were in a darkened office on the second floor of the concourse overlooking the parking bay. Eight agents dressed in utility clothes were busy doing inconsequential chores in the bay surrounding Woodbine’s plane. Hardistan was wearing a headset and was scanning the tarmac below. He was sure Tunny would come back for the plane, it was his one way out. But Woodbine was an expert. He might have guessed they had a fix on the plane. Maybe he had an alternate route planned.

  He continued scanning the tarmac, thinking about what Claude Hooker had just told him.

  “What’s your name, agent?” he said.