Don Pendleton - The Hostaged Island

"But what about the people?" Lyons demanded of the recorded voice. "Didn't you Federals get the message?"

"Sssh!" Gadgets silenced him.

"...Concerning the peril of hostages, consensus here is that coordinated assault must be reserved for last resort. That is, if your team fails. Group here has confidence in your team. Group does not believe helicopters supposedly carrying gold to island but actually bringing airborne assault units would succeed. Solution to peril is infiltration, not external assault. Will stand by for communication."

Only their whispers and the tiny red point of the scanner/auto-recorder's power light revealed Able Team's presence in the lush hillside garden. After slipping from the warehouse under cover of the smoke and confusion, the three men — the older one, mature and mellow in his strength, the blond one, all action and intensity, but graceful, and the youngest, the tousled-haired thinking man, funny and resourceful and also very strong — had commandeered three motorcycles and retreated to the hills above the town as dusk fell. They hid behind a palatial home on the slope of Mount Ada. The terraced garden viewed Avalon, the bay, and the Casino.

They had monitored both the gang's communications and the private conversations of Horse with Severine, and they knew the full horror of the gang leader's intentions.

Though they had defeated the Outlaws at the seaplane terminal, Able Team felt no pride. They realized that Horse would take his revenge on the innocent townspeople and tourists of Avalon.

Lyons addressed his colleagues. "If I have to watch sixteen hundred innocent people die in flames, I tell you, I'm jumping off this hill. I'd rather die than see that gas bomb down there go up."

"Yeah," Gadgets nodded. "That's it. Jump off the hill."

"Hey, man," Lyons snapped back, "I know it's melodramatic, but that's how I feel. This gasoline trick, turning a whole building into a bomb, all those people..."

"Carl, I'm not being sarcastic," Gadgets said quickly. "There's a hang-glider shop in Avalon. I saw it when we were cruising..."

"Wizard! You are a wizard!" Lyons jumped to his feet, then gasped from the pain in his ribs. Clutching at the agony in his chest, he started down to the motorcycles. He looked back to them. "Come on, we got a flight to catch!"

Descending the hotel stairs silently, the Davis cousins heard Mrs. Shepard's voice. They glanced to each other. Chris reached for the fire door's handle, but Roger stopped him. "Let them be alone."

Glen Shepard soon pushed open the fire door, and was startled when he saw the boys there. His shotgun jerked up instinctively. He relaxed when he recognized them. "Ready to go?"

They nodded. "We got everything we need," Chris said as they descended the stairs.

They approached the fire door to the lobby. The hotel's timer-controlled lights were on. Glen gave instructions. "Act like rough-tough Outlaws, walk straight through."

They carried their weapons casually and crossed the bright lobby. Beyond the windows, the streetlights lit Crescent to daylight brilliance. They stepped through the service door and continued to the alley behind the hotel.

In the alley's darkness, Glen spoke to the youths once more: "All you two need to do is drive. Wait for my signal, then drive. We'll need a big truck and a fast car."

"How will you get into the Casino?"

"I'll go up Chimes Tower Road, then cut across the hills. When I'm ready to start down the hill, I'll signal you. You wait fifteen minutes, then drive for the Casino. Fire a few shots out the window to get their attention. They'll shoot at you.

"Two hundred yards from the Casino, wreck the truck so it blocks the road. Hit it with a molotov cocktail, run back to the car and split.

"Go up Marilla to Vieudelou, as if you're taking the road out of town. But turn onto La Mesa and park. Just like one of the neighborhood cars. They won't catch you, and I'll be in the Casino."

"You're just going to walk in?" Chris asked.

"Look at me! Outlaw jacket, dirty jeans, shotgun, two days' beard on my face, and I stink. I know I'll get in."

"What if..."

"What if nothing. It's the only way I can think of that any of us has any chance to do something and still live. Once I'm in, I'll do what I can."

Glen went to the alley mouth and looked up and down the side street. He whispered to the cousins. "Let's get in gear. We got to steal the truck and the car for you both. And a flashlight for me, a big one."

"Mr. Shepard, wait." Chris pulled Glen into a shadowy doorway. The teenager's eyes scanned the street for Outlaws. "Are you sure you don't want to wait for the police? Because... because you're going to die. I know you are."

Twisting away, Glen walked into the street. He glanced at the shop signs, started toward a hardware store. The cousins ran to catch up with him. Passing a mailbox, he pointed. The teenagers dropped in letters, then followed Glen Shepard through the dark, deserted street.

"Outlaws!" Gadgets hissed.

Stepping through the door of the ManBird Hang-Glider shop, lock-pick still in his hand, Lyons froze. Gadgets eased up his Uzi. Blancanales pushed the Uzi down, slipped out the silent Beretta.

Across the street, three Outlaws — two of them carrying shotguns, the third an M-14 rifle — crept up to a one-ton delivery truck. One Outlaw scanned the street, sawed-off riot shotgun in his hands, then tried the truck's door. Locked.

Glass shattered. On the curb side, an Outlaw opened the door, then slid across to the driver's seat. The truck's hood popped open.

Slow and silent as a shadow, Blancanales stepped back into the hang-glider shop's doorway. Taking a marksman stance, he held the Beretta in both hands and sighted on the third Outlaw. Blancanales flicked the burst selector down to single-shot.

The biker stepped behind the truck, spoke with the Outlaw sitting in the cab. The Outlaw carrying the riot shotgun slung the weapon over his shoulder and reached under the hood of the truck. The Outlaw in the driver's seat got out, closed the truck door softly, glanced toward the beach.

Blancanales pointed the Beretta at the center of this biker's forehead. He looked past the biker. He would fire when the third Outlaw was in the open. He would kill all three before they knew what hit them.

It was then that he realized that this Outlaw was only a teenager. Shaved, wearing a clean shirt under his Outlaw jacket, the boy wore filthy Levi's that bagged around his slim legs. He also wore clean tennis shoes.

"Kill them," Gadgets whispered.

The teenage Outlaw was crossing the street. He went to a curbside tree only two steps from Blancanales. The teenager leaned back against the truck and watched the street. His back was to the doorway where Able Team hid.

Silently, Blancanales stepped up behind the teenager, cupped his left hand over the boy's mouth, put the Beretta's suppressor behind his ear. Blancanales whispered to the boy: "I'm the police. Are you an Outlaw?"

The boy shook his head, no. Blancanales took his hand off the teenager's mouth, then grabbed the M-14 he held.

"Are they Outlaws?"

"No," Chris Davis gulped.

Turning, Chris found himself face to face with what looked like a hard-eyed biker. "Glen! Roger!" Chris screamed as he punched the biker again and again. The biker locked an arm around Chris' throat. Blancanales thought, I'm getting too old for these fun and games. He held the teenager tight as the boy struggled and called out: "Run! Run for it! They got..."

Throwing himself behind a parked car, Glen jerked the riot shotgun from his shoulder and pointed it at the shadows and dark doorways across the street. Blancanales commanded: "Don't shoot! We're police! We got Outlaw jackets just like you. Nobody shoot!"