Phillips then went to the door of each of the affected houses. Dressed in dark blue overalls, he checked out the house's telephone. Earlier in the morning, Gadgets had shown him how to take one apart, tinker with it and put it back together.
The cover established, Phillips called on the Secretary of State's home. A butler led the corporal to all of the phones in the house. But instead of leaving, the butler hovered by Phillips, making it impossible for him to plant either of the two bugs he was carrying. He cursed as he came out of the house to report his failure to Gadgets.
"We'll plant an outside tap," Gadgets said. He scaled a telephone pole, using the appropriate equipment.
It took Gadgets five minutes to install the tap. When he was done, he climbed back down the pole and returned with Phillips to the truck.
As Phillips drove, Gadgets consulted the map of further targets.
It took them just under two hours to plant all the bugs, both internal and external.
Then they had to retrace their route and proceed at a crawl past each target, so that the receiver-recorders could collect. They did so in less than ten seconds per transmission.
On returning to the embassy, Gadgets copied the collected tapes and divided them up among the seven men to listen for information. The process was a tedious one. After an hour, all the voices sounded the same.
But Leo found something that made him rewind the tape. The voice of Chief Inspector Stewart came through the cassette-player's small speaker.
"I don't care what it takes. I want a meeting today..."
"Okay, the Preston Road place," said the voice on the other telephone. "And I'll make sure that Shillelagh's there."
The battle was on. Able Team left the room with Corporal Phillips.
A tired Turrin stayed behind with Richardson and the prince.
"Sir Jack, I think it's about time we taught His Highness to play poker," Turrin said.
"How about it, Your Highness?" Sir Jack asked.
"Only if I can deal first," the young man replied. He took the deck from Turrin. "I'd like to play a game I learned in Mexico," he said, shuffling the cards expertly. "It's called five-card Texas hold-'em. Do you know it, Yank?"
15
Preston Road was in the heart of Kenton, a small suburb northwest of London.
Shops lined both sides of the street for about four blocks. Beyond the shopping area, Preston Road was lined with single family homes.
The four warriors, dressed in civvies, SMGs suspended in Desantis rigs, autopistols secured in modified holsters, extra magazines for the weapons weighing down their suitcoat pockets, drove slowly along Preston Road. They spotted a police cruiser parked in front of one of the small, Tudor-style houses.
Phillips drove the Ford Granada past the house a little way and then parked. Getting out, the four headed back toward the house. When they reached it, the front door opened.
Recognition flared in Stewart's eyes as he spotted Blancanales, the Prince's bodyguard from that morning. The four men scattered as Stewart ducked back into the house.
Lyons ran toward the narrow passage on one side of the house, Blancanales toward the other, both men unholstering their Colts. Gadgets and Phillips barely made the shelter of the police car as the first shots came from the second-story window.
The side windows of the Ford dissolved under the fusillade of 7.62mm and 9mm missiles. Gadgets and Phillips covered themselves as pieces of safety glass rained on them.
Gadgets crawled toward the front of the car. Phillips pulled out a Beretta and worked his way toward the rear of the car. He popped his head over the trunk long enough to dispatch three 9mm discouragers toward the house. One man was terminally discouraged with a 115-grain slug through the junction of his neck and shoulder, severing his jugular.
Gadgets's silenced Colt sighed once and the .45 met a face at another window. The face disappeared in a pink mist.
More gunners trained onto the car from the first-floor windows. Phillips pulled back, but not fast enough. He grunted as a 7.62mm slug found his right shoulder. Gadgets moved to him as Phillips tore at his shirt to make a bandage. Schwarz finished the job and hurriedly tied the bandage into place.
Rounds from the house continued to puncture the side of the car. It would not be long before they found the gas tank.
"Can you move, Phillips?"
"Yeah but where to, mate?"
Gadgets holstered the Colt and pulled out the Ingram. He helped Phillips holster the Beretta and remove the Uzi from the Desantis.
"We're retreating, to the front."
Gadgets poked his head up and sent a burst from the Ingram toward the front windows of the house. Phillips pulled himself up and started to run toward the front door. A burst from his Uzi kept their opponents' heads down. Three heartbeats later, he collapsed against the house, with Gadgets a heartbeat behind him.
An AK poked out over the window ledge, seeking the two men. Gadgets fired his M-10 straight up, slugs finding the man's hands. The assault rifle dropped as its former owner screamed in his retreat.
Gadgets looked at Phillips's expression of pain. "We'll rest here for a couple of minutes."
Phillips nodded, leaned back and adjusted his blood-soaked bandage.
Lyons rounded the corner of the house just in time to see the fat old cop called Stewart running toward the gate to the back lane. Three silent .45s splintered the wood of the gate, and Stewart rolled to the ground. When he turned from his roll, his fist held a Browning that spat flame at Lyons.
From the other side of the house, Blancanales saw the cop fire. He wanted Stewart alive. He took his Colt in a two-handed grip and squeezed off a .45. The slug tore into the meaty part of Stewart's left leg. He lost the Browning in his surprise.
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.