Dick Stivers - Royal Flush

Lyons ran to the downed cop. A spray of slugs from the house sought him and he had to dive for the cover of an oak tree. Stewart was not so fortunate. Bullets found several vital organs, ensuring his permanent silence.

Lyons pulled out the M-10 and sprayed .45s across the second story in three-round bursts. He quickly changed magazines and kept firing as he saw Pol working his way along the house toward the back door. A head briefly peered over one of the windowsills on the lower floor, only to disappear again as Lyons directed a blast of fire at it. Lyons ducked behind a tree, 7.62 missiles from the second story smacking into trees all around him.

Blancanales made the back door. Lyons jammed in a third magazine, fired two more bursts and left the cover of the tree to join his partner.

Blancanales fired into the latch and his partner hurled himself at the door, diving into the kitchen. To his right, a shotgun blasted. Lyons sent three rounds into the gunner, finding the man's belly.

A few of the shotgun pellets had burrowed into Lyons's side, but the full blast of pellets had found one of the other terrorists. Blood sprayed the kitchen walls.

Gadgets checked Phillips. The corporal was losing blood quickly. But the assault could not wait.

Gadgets aimed his M-10 at the door. Beside him, Phillips joined the blitz. The two men stormed the door simultaneously, firing at the lock and doorknob.

The door swayed inward. Gadgets pulled back quickly as bullets whistled past him. Staying low, he swung in front of the door, loosing a hail of .45s from his M-10.

The opponent within caught two bullets, one in his shoulder, the other in his right knee.

Gadgets and the corporal charged into the house. Only the groaning of the wounded man greeted them.

Catching movement, Gadgets spun and was about to pull the trigger. He saw Lyons and Blancanales emerging from the kitchen and lowered his weapon.

Lyons looked at the man on the floor. Knee-capping was a favorite method of terrorist torture. This was poetic justice.

"Let justice take its course," he muttered to himself as he stepped over the man and headed cautiously upstairs.

Blancanales and Schwarz joined him in the post-battle reconnoiter. Lyons poked his head above the landing. Finding the hallway empty, he continued to the top of the stairs.

Carefully the three men moved from room to room. Corpses lay in poses of death in different rooms.

The three men descended the stairs, Lyons trailing his two companions. The screams of the kneecapped terrorist had turned to low moans.

Lyons leaned down to speak to the injured man.

"I have some questions that you're going to answer."

He did not need to say any more, he simply moved his hand toward what was left of the man's knee.

"Ask, for Christ's sake, ask me anything," gasped the terrorist.

"Where's Shillelagh?"

"Went to the basement when the shooting started. Stairs are in the kitchen."

Lyons leaned on the right leg slightly as he straightened up. He looked at Corporal Phillips, who sat in a corner of the room, eyes closed.

"Just the three of us, then," he said. Blancanales and Gadgets joined him as he moved into the kitchen. They saw a partly open door.

Blancanales and Gadgets took up positions on either side of the door. Lyons swung it open. When no fire came up the stairs, he gingerly headed down, one step at a time.

He reached the bottom of the stairs. The basement was empty. He called to Gadgets and Blancanales. They leaned into the doorway and went down the stairs.

"Nothing here," Lyons said. "Let's get some help for Phillips, then check in with Leo back at the embassy. And I'll deal with our kneecapped friend upstairs myself ..."

Lyons brought the Granada to a stop in front of the hotel on Sussex Gardens. The hotel was an old house that had been converted into a hotel just after the Second World War. It was what the English called a "bed and breakfast" — cheap but clean accommodation. It was here that the American specialists would connect with vital information. Leo's contact, Lieutenant Colonel Carlton, had come up with the likely whereabouts of a certain lady, thanks to more loose talk caught by the bugs.

The three men of Able Team climbed the hotel's steps and rang the front door bell. A woman in her late sixties opened the door.

"May I help you, gentlemen?"

Blancanales spoke. "We're looking for Lieutenant Colonel Carlton."

"Ah, you must be George's American friends. Do come in."

She led them to a small living room on the first floor in what was obviously the owner's apartment. Carlton was seated in one of the overstuffed armchairs. He rose when the woman came in with the three visitors.

"My mother, gentlemen," he said as she left. To Blancanales's unspoken question, Carlton continued, "I bought this place for her a couple of years ago. It provides a small income, and she enjoys mixing with all the tourists. As it was convenient, I thought that we could meet here, keeping you off the streets and out of trouble — if that's possible."

The three men hovered uncomfortably in the room. They were in their blacksuits.

"We shouldn't have to wait," continued Carlton. "Several of my men are taking turns watching the place from a cafe across the street. Her hideout is located in a long stretch of Westbourne Terrace. The building is four stories and contains several apartments. The top two floors are luxury flats, and we have established that Lady Carole secretly owns one of these."

The colonel's radio, on a table next to his chair, crackled to life.

"Colonel, a lady matching the target just entered the building," a voice said. "You may want to come and check this out."

"Right, gentlemen," Carlton said, standing up. "Shall we be off?"

Westbourne Terrace was one of the principal streets in Paddington. The stone building where Lady Carole maintained her lair was obviously well-cared for, the exterior free of the black soot that scarred so many of London's older buildings. The door was well-secured against any casual intruder. But these were no casual intruders. Carlton brought out two keys.

"Got these from the landlord earlier today," he whispered. He opened the door and they entered.

They avoided the elevator and worked their way up the stairs. With a click and a whir, the elevator started up and the warriors retreated into the shadows as the old cage-type elevator descended past them. The four men checked out the occupant. The woman did not resemble Lady Carole, and as the elevator sank down below the second floor, the four men returned to the stairs and climbed to the third floor.

Lyons cautiously poked his head around the corner of the corridor, quickly pulled it back. There were two men on either side of a doorway.

The two guards were alert, and one of them had seen Lyons's head. Footsteps sounded as the man came to investigate.

Lyons brought up his silenced Colt. He saw the barrel of a gun precede the guard around the corner. The four men waited in silence for the rest of the man, a brief wait before he cautiously peeked around the corner. The Colt sighed, and the bullet all but tore the cautious head off.

Before the body had even hit the floor, the four invaders were around the corner and a slug from Gadgets's Colt had slammed into the second guard.

The door to a nearby apartment opened and a head looked out. Blancanales tracked onto the head, refraining from pulling the trigger.

A gray-haired man gazed horror-struck at the four men and retreated into the shelter of his apartment. Blancanales stuck a foot in the door, preventing it from closing completely. While the man appeared to be an innocent, Pol had to check him out. Quietly, the senior member of Able Team forced his way into the apartment.