He jerked a pistol from his belt. Awkwardly aiming as he tried to control his motorcycle, he fired.

Lyons heard the bullet buzz past his head. He cranked back the accelerator, watching the Harley's tachometer red line.

The Outlaw pulled on the handlebars of his bike and speeded up in pursuit of the three impostors. Pulling close again, he sighted over the barrel of the revolver. He emptied the cylinder at the riders ahead of him.

Blancanales' back tire blew out. Struggling with the bucking machine, with instinct and strength he kept it upright. He lost half an inch of sole from his combat boots. Lyons slowed fast, his bike fishtailing and the back tire smoking. He pointed his Ingram at the lone pursuer and sprayed him. At least one 9mm slug would punch into his gut, he knew it. The Outlaw doubled over, his motorcycle drifting into the guardrail. At sixty miles an hour, the bike flipped. The Outlaw was sent hurtling into the seawall below.

Retrieving his backpack and weapons from his motorcycle's saddlebags, Blancanales ran to Lyons' Harley and jumped on. The ten Outlaws rounded the curve behind them.

"No time for that ambush!" Blancanales shouted. "Hope Gadgets knows where he's going!"

Glancing back, Gadgets had seen Blancanales' bike on its side in the road and a group of pursuing Outlaws closing fast on the Harley. With the weight of Blancanales, Lyons could not outdistance the Outlaws. Gadgets noticed the steel buildings of the seaplane terminal. He pointed and turned, Lyons turning only an instant behind him.

Weaving through fences, parked cars, rows of oil drums, Able Team blitzed through the open side door of a steel building, then screeched to a stop. Fire from the Outlaws outside hammered on the sheet steel walls, tiny points of light appearing with the impact of each bullet. Tools, cans and cables flew from that front wall.

Firing wild through the door, Lyons emptied his Ingram at the Outlaws. Car windows shattered, slugs slammed metal, Outlaws dived for cover. Lyons dragged the high sliding door closed. Bullets were still punching through. He dived for the floor, groaning.

"You hit?" Gadgets called out.

"Nah, I just hurt." Rolling onto his back, Lyons surveyed the interior of the building. It was a steel prefab, twelve feet high from the concrete floor to the corrugated metal roof. It contained a workshop and a storage area. A forklift stood against the far wall. A row of 50-gallon oil drums lined another wall. Crates, tires, and seaplane pontoons crowded one end of the building. Small windows viewed the ocean on one side, the terminal on the other. The door Lyons had just closed was the only way out. Outside, a voice called to them: "Give up! We need hostages, not corpses. Give up or we'll kill you."

"Bad scene," Gadgets muttered.

Lyons grinned. "Real bad scene. No doubt about it."

15

Banzai directed his squad of Outlaws to encircle the steel building. He sent two men with rifles to cover the south wall. Two other men ran behind the airline offices, took positions covering the east wall and part of the north. Banzai spread out his other men throughout the parking lot and equipment yard.

Keying his walkie-talkie, he reported to Horse: "I've got men covering every way out. And there's nothing but the ocean behind them."

"Take them alive," Horse ordered.

"What if they won't come out?"

"Then kill them."

Banzai called out again to the besieged warriors. "Come out or we kill you."

An Uzi burst answered, the slugs punching into the car in front of him. Tinted glass showered him.

"KILL THEM!"

Shotguns and automatic rifles ripped the corrugated steel walls of the warehouse. Bullets and pellets tore through one side and out the other. Return fire from Able Team faked the cars in the parking lot.

Gasoline started to pour from the punctured tank of a Volkswagen. Then a tracer round hit the car and the fuel exploded. Two cars to the side, an Outlaw broke cover to escape the flames. Slugs caught him in one knee and in his gut. It knocked him down. The spreading pool of flame enveloped him. Screaming, his body burning, the Outlaw clawed at the asphalt, trying to drag himself clear, but without success. Foul, greasy smoke rose from the flaming man.

Several other cars exploded. Smoke from the tires of the already gutted Volkswagen darkened the sky. The heat from the burning cars drove the Outlaws out of the south end of the parking lot, leaving the west end of the warehouse uncovered. Three bikers gathered around Banzai.

"Ace!" Banzai looked to a man with an M-16. "Run up that slope across the road. Put some shots down on that end. Watch that window there." Banzai pointed to the end of the building nearest the flaming cars.

"On my way." Ace ran through the swirling clouds of smoke. Overweight and out of condition, the smoke around him acrid, he panted across the road and struggled to run up the steep embankment. A three-shot burst broke his back, spraying parts of him onto the crumbling rock. His broken spine arched over in an impossible backbend. He lay in the road, his body bent back at a ninety degree angle.

The other two Outlaws looked at the crumpled Ace and turned to Banzai, fear in their eyes. Banzai pointed to a skinny man with an eyepatch.

"You, Bone. You can run fast. Make it up that slope."

"But I only got a shotgun."

"So pick up Ace's rifle and ammo. Move it!"

"How can I run fast and pick up that stuff, too?" he pleaded. "Besides, I can't hardly see out of this one eye of mine..."

"Can you see this?" Banzai put a .44 Magnum to Bone's face. "Now move it!"

Slinging his shotgun over his back, Bone darted from the parking lot and sprinted across the road. He snatched at the M-16 of the dead biker. The sling tangled with the dead man's arm. Bone tugged at it desperately, dragging the body to the curb before the sling pulled free.

A slug smashed Bone's right knee. He spun backwards onto the embankment, screaming. He held his knee as blood gushed between his fingers, and yelled at the others: "I'm hit! I can't run, get me out of..."

Another slug slammed him back. "Get me out of here, ohhhhhhhhhhh..."

Then his left shoulder exploded. Both arms hung limp, blood pouring from the sleeves of his jacket. Another slug bounced him off the embankment. Yet another slug hit the gore that had been his right shoulder. Thrashing like a fish, he rolled into the road and then lay on his belly, yelping.

Banzai sighted over the eight-inch barrel of his .44 Magnum and fired a shot into Bone's head. The slug flipped the broken biker onto his back. He lay bloodied against the curb, arms and broken legs akimbo. The vast hole where his face had been stared back at Banzai.

Keying his walkie-talkie again, Banzai's voice shook: "Horse. We need rockets. Send another bunch of guys with some rockets. We need..."

"What the fuck's going on!" the voice screamed from the radio. "You got them trapped. Now you need rockets? What kind of jerk-off are you? You got grenades, use them!"

"We still need more men. I've lost three guys already. We need the rockets to knock down the building."

"Okay, they're on their way. Use your grenades, rip the place up. The rockets will be there in four minutes."

Pulling a fragmentation grenade from his jacket pocket, Banzai crept up between two parked cars. He motioned the biker behind him to follow. The biker carried an antique Thompson submachine gun with a drum magazine.

"Put a burst in there when I stand up to throw. I'll tell you when." He watched the warehouse door, now open six inches. A muzzle flashed fire. Another weapon fired from one of the small windows. Banzai jerked the pin from the grenade. "Okay, right now!"