When she left the store, Lyons came up to Sir Jack. "Did you notice she didn't ask if Leo had told Shillelagh about her? Surely she'd be worried about having her cover blown…"

In a flash, Lyons was at the door, scanning the street for Lady Carole. She was just turning the corner into Charing Cross Road when Lyons spotted her.

He turned to Richardson. "Sir Jack, get to the car. Call Leo on the earphone. I'll stay in touch with him on my radio." Then he took off after Lady Carole.

The car came to a dead stop in front of Richardson. He climbed in the back. He picked up the phone and called Leo.

His narrative was interrupted several times as Leo got directions over the radio from Lyons. Then came the last direction. "Lost her in Leicester Square. Damn. Have Sir Jack pick me up. Out."

Blancanales and the prince had just returned to the limo from their second stop when Lyons's call came through. As they sat in their car, their own mission temporarily on hold, Blancanales discussed the situation with the young royal.

Then His Highness slid back the divider between the front and back seats and gave the chauffeur instructions for their next target.

A few minutes later, the big car pulled up to the Victoria Street entrance of New Scotland Yard. The two men got out of the Phantom VI and headed inside.

The individual they had come to see was Chief Inspector Bruce Stewart, head of the CID's counterterrorist division and that agency's representative on COATUK.

Stewart had a reputation for being high-strung but a good leader. Since the formation of the counterterrorist force he had risen from heading up a small group of Special Weapons Officers to become head of the entire department. He was definitely a target for a bug.

His Highness and Blancanales walked into the reception area of Stewart's office. The secretary turned from her typing to greet them and stared in disbelief at the young man whose face she knew from a generation of newspapers.

"I'd like to see Chief Inspector Stewart — now please," the young man commanded.

"Certainly, Your Highness. I'll announce you."

In a moment, Stewart came out. Blancanales sized the man up. Stewart shook hands with the prince and ushered the young man toward his office.

Since the prince had made no move to introduce his companion, Stewart assumed that Blancanales was a bodyguard. Pol sat down in the reception area. The secretary asked him if he would care for some tea. He answered with a grunt. Taking the hint, she returned to her typing.

Blancanales reached into his pocket and took out a receiver-recorder. Surreptitiously he removed its backing and stuck it to the underside of the chair.

The secretary was glancing nervously at the door to Stewart's office. The sound of His Highness's voice occasionally penetrated to the outer office. Clearly, the young man was upset about something.

The sounds of talk died as a visibly upset Stewart emerged from his office and asked his secretary to bring in tea.

It was while Stewart was away from his desk that His Highness stuck a microphone-transmitter to the underside of it. When Stewart returned, he saw the young man hunched over tying his shoelace. Then the young prince rose.

"I don't want tea — I want answers," he stormed. "Clearly, I am not going to get them here. Good day, sir," the prince snapped as he stormed out of the office, collecting Blancanales in his wake.

Back in the confines of the car, the American congratulated the prince.

"Hell of a performance, Your Highness," Blancanales said with a smile. "Damn good show."

Gadgets and Corporal Phillips, disguised as telephone repairmen, set about placing a microphone-transmitter on the home telephone of the Secretary of State for Northern Ireland. To give their cover credibility, Gadgets took the simple expedient of knocking out phone service to several of the houses in the neighborhood.

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.