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 ..."
16
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.
"What are you doing?" the occupant demanded, terror in his voice.
"Just checking things out nothing to worry about." Blancanales barged past the man and charged from room to room. In one of the upstairs bedrooms, he found the man's wife getting ready for bed. She screamed at the intruder, and Blancanales beat a hasty retreat closely followed by a flying hairbrush. He returned downstairs.
"Sorry for the intrusion," he said to the old man. "You and your wife must stay inside, and away from the front door of your apartment."
To confirm the wisdom of the American's advice, sounds of pitched battle penetrated from down the hall.
Carl Lyons had gained entrance to Lady Carole's place by firing three .45s into the door latch. A shotgun had boomed at him from within, sending pellets crashing into the swinging door. Lyons dived low into the apartment, M-10 spraying as he went.
A second shotgun blast shredded the couch he hid behind. Its stuffing exploded into the air.
Lyons crawled to the end of the couch. He heard the sound of the shotgun being broken open.
Gadgets came in low, sending a spray from the Ingram toward the sound of the shotgun.
The gunner did not hear the smack of the bullets as they slammed into him. He heard nothing but the roar of the emptiness of death.
Gadgets rolled to the couch and took in the apartment as he did so.
The white, well-decorated room stretched thirty feet to the left. Stairs led to the apartment's second floor at the far end.
Silence filled the place, ominously. Blancanales peered cautiously around the door, gun-muzzle preceding his eye. He saw the splattered blood spots on the white carpet.
Lyons and Gadgets cautiously worked their way toward the stairs.
Blancanales joined Lieutenant Colonel Carlton and they moved to back up Schwarz and Lyons.
The two men in the lead stepped silently along the corridor at the top of the stairs. There were four doors in the hallway, two on the right, one on the left and the last at the end of the corridor. Lyons and Gadgets placed themselves on either side of the first door on the right.