Royal Flush

9

Lyons, Blancanales and Corporal Phillips had chased Flynn through a warren of corridors. They saw him as he reached the Waterloo Chamber, but by the time they got there the battle was over. Blancanales had to restrain Lyons and Phillips as shots rang out within the room. Provocation now would only ensure the deaths of the innocents inside.

The three men waited by the entrance. When Phillips's radio intercepted McGowan's voice giving instructions, they pulled back from the entrance, ready to herd the released hostages farther into the private apartments and greater safety.

Two men appeared in the corridor. Instinctively the trio raised their weapons. Just as quickly they lowered them. Blancanales and Lyons recognized Gadgets, and Phillips recognized his CO, Lieutenant Colonel Carlton.

Phillips snapped off a salute to his superior which was crisply returned. The introductions among the five men were brief.

Blancanales placed Carlton's age at somewhere around thirty-five, but it could have been five years either way. The man was in magnificent condition. A quiet fire burned in the blue eyes and beneath the grime of combat there radiated a quiet strength.

Pol's assessment of the lieutenant colonel was cut short by the emergence of the young earl from the chamber. Carlton listened grimly to the boy's message. Then the hostages appeared through the wrecked east door. Carlton called to them and directed the released captives to go to the Green Drawing Room, down the Grand Corridor.

Then he spoke with Able Team.

"The bastards haven't given us a lot of time. I don't know where we'll get a coach on such short notice."

"If that's a bus you're referring to," Gadgets said, "there's one out front. Full of civilians."

"Christ, what the hell are they doing here?" the colonel exploded.

All five of them moved fast down the corridor toward the exit into the Upper Ward. By the time they reached it they were running flat out.

The scene that greeted them in the Upper Ward was organized bedlam. Bodies littered the courtyard — mostly British, but some terrorists as well. The dead were covered in an assortment of blankets. The living were being tended to in the darkness by a corps of civilians.

Near the collapsed Norman Gate, civilians and soldiers worked to move the rubble and free those trapped beneath it. Their efforts were directed by a figure familiar to Able Team, Geoffrey Hall.

Seeing the three Americans, the old man walked briskly over to them and nodded at the bus.

"Best that I could throw together on short notice," he announced. "After our talk this afternoon, I laid in some supplies and borrowed this motorcoach. I thought we might be able to help in the cleanup. From the looks of things, I gather it's not going too well for us."

The stench of burned flesh permeated the night air. The Americans headed for the bus.

Gadgets quickly slithered under the coach to attach something there. He emerged a moment later. "Standard tracking device," he muttered to Hall.

Only moments later Flynn appeared in the Upper Ward. As he passed by the ruins of the King George IV Gate, soldiers and civilians stopped their rescue work to stare at the strutting terrorist. He matched their stares with his own. Uneasily, the British turned back to their tasks.

Flynn reached the bus and checked it out. He put himself behind the wheel and started the engine. He checked the gauges, found a nearly full tank of gasoline.

He radioed the all-clear sign to Kathleen McGowan and the other terrorists inside the Waterloo Chamber.

The group of hostages made its way to the bus under the watchful eyes of Able Team, Phillips, Carlton and Hall.

"We've lost this one," Phillips murmured.

"The battle only, my friend," Blancanales soothed as the bus pulled away. "Those bastards haven't won this war by a long shot."