Royal Flush at-10

by Dick Stivers

  Sir Jack Richardson produced an Uzi from a shelf beneath the seat. Standard issue for the Secret Service, the Israeli SMG could empty a 32-round magazine of 9mm flesh-shredders in just under three seconds. There were no Secret Servicemen in the car, nor in its proximity; the fear of personal sabotage had taken its toll and denied the American penetrators any protection. But the weapons of the Service remained in the car, primed and ready for use.

  Ripper found the quiet street he was looking for and powered the limousine into a sharp turn. He brought the car to a halt immediately. Lyons and Schwarz jumped out and headed in opposite directions.

  With the sound of the slammed doors, Ripper tromped the gas pedal and the car roared down the street. After about four hundred feet, he managed a controlled spin that brought it screeching across the street. It was still backing from its turn as Ripper and Richardson got out and ran for the buildings aft of the car. Blancanales had already exited and made for cover.

  Ripper's "quiet street" was a fashionable residential row in the south London suburbs. It was lined with houses built close to the street. The side of one building nearly touched the side of its neighbor, leaving a narrow space between them.

  The Jag took the corner very quickly. It flew past Lyons and Schwarz and headed toward the limousine. The driver stood on the brake. The big sedan's nose touched the side of the blocking vehicle. Four gunners clambered out brandishing AK-47s and Uzis. Two stayed with the Jag, while their partners went to the street corners and began a building-to-building sweep.

  A Rover TC-3500 slowly turned the corner and came to a smooth stop at the top of the street. Four more men entered the scene. The new arrivals opened up.

  Schwarz flattened as rounds chipped at the brickwork around his position. One chip grazed his right cheek below the eye. He inched forward, extending the muzzle of the Colt just past the edge of the wall, and a stroke of the trigger sent a three-round burst to the Rover. He jerked quickly back. He heard a dying man moaning as his life drained away into the London gutter.

  Lyons directed another quick burst of persuaders toward the Rover. Targets died hurriedly.

  The sweep began to fall apart. Colts dispatched 230-grain messages and brooked no reply. A string of crimson holes sprouted down the side of two enemy gunners as Ingram slugs stitched them from collar to crotch.

  But Gadgets was still pinned down with a hail of 7.62mm lead. From fifty yards away, Ripper saw the American's predicament. The ex-mafioso gripped his weapon in two hands and sent three 9mm slugs to provide an edge in the confrontation. The slugs slammed into the shoulder and chest of the last visible gunner. Wounds gurgled as air leaked into the chest cavity.

  Lyons looked around him. Residents remained cowering in their homes in the damp late afternoon. It was a scene that reminded him of Northern Ireland firefight footage he had studied back in the States. The air hung with palpable horror on all sides. Who knew where the next shot would come from?

  Lyons took the risk. He ran to the nearest dying man. The guy looked up at him with fear and helplessness in his eyes. Lyons kicked him in the side.

  The mortally wounded man groaned. "This ain't personal — I was just sent on a job…"

  "And now?" Lyons glared at him, kneeling.

  "Huh?"

  "Now that I've wiped out your buddies, you still have no personal feelings about me?"

  "Yeah.No…!"

  The foresight of Lyons's Colt ripped along the guy's cheek, splitting the skin apart.

  "Who sent you?" Lyons shouted.

  The almost-dead tough found a last gasp of bravado.

  "Fuck you! Wha'd you have to say to that?"

  "That you're not a very interesting character," Lyons replied. Standing, he stroked the Colt's trigger with his forefinger.

  Any other survivors from the Jag had split, presumably through the gaps between the buildings and away.

  Ripper walked to the Rover and removed two of the bodies that lay in its path, leaving trails of red in his wake. He climbed into the Rover and was thankful that the keys to the car were still in the ignition. He didn't want to search the bodies. The car started smoothly and he moved it out of the way of the Secret Service vehicle, feeling the bump as he drove over an arm. He parked, then returned to move the Jag away from the side of the limo.

  Finally Ripper returned to sit at the wheel of the limo. He stared into the mirror at the men in the back seat, their bodies crouched next to the sweating figure of Sir Jack Richardson, their eyes darting about at all times.

  What in the hell kind of men were these?

  3

  Settling back into the limo's front seat, Ripper took his passengers away from the battleground. The police were very efficient in London. The limo encountered a roadblock within two blocks. There had been no exterior damage to the car, and the diplomatic status of the vehicle guaranteed its passage through police lines without difficulty. The hardware rested snugly in the cases and the tinted windows of the vehicle prevented examination of its occupants.

  Ripper drove on through wet streets to Grosvenor Square and the underground garage beneath the U.S. Embassy. There, Able Team went EVA in peace and quiet, disembarking and stretching their limbs and anxiously looking forward to some food and sleep. In the embassy itself, they were guided to quarters without introductions or interference. They had an hour or two before meeting with Leo.

  Security for Leo Turrin had been a nightmare, so his arrivals and departures were secret and erratic. If the wrong people saw him in London, then eventually Leo could be assured of a slow and very painful death at the hands of a turkey doctor.

  "Turkey" was a brutal form of torture, used by the mob to "interrogate" informants or to punish traitors. The victim's body was slowly brutalized until only a living mound of something resembling flesh remained. Throughout the ordeal, the victim was kept alive and fully aware of everything going on, screaming anything his torturers wanted to hear — anything to stop the pain.

  Leo appeared at the embassy in the company of Sergeant Paul Henry, USMC. Sergeant Henry's expertise was survival under combat conditions. In Indochina, he'd earned a cluster of citations for bravery and resourcefulness. Before his London assignment he underwent a secret intensive training program taught by the U.S. Secret Service. The topic of that program was personal protection.

  Henry called for an assembly of all those concerned in the Shillelagh matter and for the sleeping to be awakened. Within minutes, the three visiting American specialists caught their first sight in a long while of Stony Man buddy Leo Turrin. The men beamed recognition at each other.

  Sergeant Henry presented himself to the small group of assembled staffers and visitors. "I was told that this was on a 'need-to-know' basis," he announced. "All I need to know is which of you gentlemen is Able Team."

  The three warriors stepped forward and greeted Leo warmly, as others in the room began to talk amongst themselves, exchanging late-breaking information.

  The four men were joined by the Marine sergeant as they went down to the garage to supervise the unloading of the weaponry. Leo watched Able Team open the trunk of the limo and reveal weapons of war provided by Sir Jack Richardson and the Secret Service. When Sergeant Henry saw the nature of the weaponry, he understood the scale of the coming war.

  Three M-16/M-203s lay on top of the hoard. The M-16 was the battle-proven, standard-issue assault rifle for the U.S. armed forces. A breech-loaded grenade launcher, the M-203, was mounted under the M-16's barrel; 5.92mm ammo and 38mm high-explosive grenades made for a deadly combination.

  Poking out between the fat rifles were radios, sheaths and webbing. Lyons delved into the smaller implements of war — HE and stun grenades, garrotes, additional magazines for the Colts and Ingrams, three Startron nightscopes. The battle ordnance was complete.

  "How are you guys going to unpack this stuff and carry it around?" Leo asked. "Where am I supposed to get you a vehicle at this short notice?"

  "How about right here,"
said Sergeant Henry. He tossed a set of keys to Blancanales, along with the instructions: "A Ford Transit van is parked in Section B. It was mine. Now it's yours."

  Pol left to locate the vehicle. Henry looked down at the arsenal stashed tightly in the huge trunk.

  "I feel sorry for the bastards on the receiving end of this," he muttered.

  "Don't waste your sympathy on them," Lyons said. "They deserve everything we're going to give them. What shape is the van in?"

  "It's been modified in anticipation of your kind of needs," Henry said. "It's an RV that'll keep you alive, sir."

  Gadgets drove the vehicle into view. The boxy van looked big enough to provide sleeping accommodations for four. Evident talents had been applied to a suspension system that was visible behind the wheels, and the engine cowling sported air-gulping cooling louvers. The vehicle looked prepared to hold its own against any of the leading British high— speed sedans. It had the additional quiet advantage of not bearing diplomatic plates, so the vehicle could blend in with Windsor's other tourist traffic.

  The Americans spent the next half hour stowing the armament in the war wagon.

  Then Leo spent time briefing Able Team on Windsor Castle. He mentioned a Mr. Geoffrey Hall, a former castle employee who would handle the final briefing. Hall was one of Brognola's contacts, and Leo wasn't too sure where the man fit in. The meeting would take place in a small pub in Windsor — the Boar and Bull.

  Then Leo and Ripper spent hushed minutes going over the plans for a meeting later that day with one of Leo's contacts. The woman's name was Lady Carole Essex.

  4

  According to the file that Leo had secured from Stony Man Farm, Lady Carole, a cousin of the queen and thus in the line of royal succession, had since early childhood been interested in police work. It was not unusual for some of the royal cousins to hold jobs, and soon after she graduated, Lady Carole joined Scotland Yard. According to the record, Lady Carole had proven herself to be a diligent and capable worker, and soon became head clerk of the evidence vault at the New Scotland Yard headquarters. But after she'd been at the job for two years, a scandal broke. Drugs were finding their way out of the evidence vault and back into the streets.

  When the drug ring was busted, Lady Carole too was convicted. As a felon, Lady Carole became the black sheep of the royal family. She had been dismissed from Scotland Yard, served time in prison and was still closely involved in the drug scene.

  Since that first conviction, there had been a number of subsequent court appearances, mostly relating to drug trafficking. For the past several months, she was known to be involved with John McElroy's bunch.

  Leo was aware that the scandal in the evidence vault was true for the most part. But what was not in the official files was the fact that Lady Carole had been approached by the ringleaders after working in the vault for about six months. She reported the contact to her superiors, who decided to set up a "sting operation" in order to bring down the ring. Lady Carole was an integral part of the sting, and for eighteen months the lady played her part to perfection, arranging for the drugs to go out of the vault and altering the records accordingly.

  She wore a body pack to several meetings. The recordings were used to set up situations in which the ringleaders could be caught with their fingers dirty. She found the work exciting, and she developed a talent for undercover work. In order to preserve her value as an undercover agent, it was arranged for her to be convicted of various crimes in connection with the operation.

  With her cover intact, the lady had proved to be very effective in subsequent operations. She had been doing this for about five years when she made it into McElroy's circle.

  It had been Lady Carole who tipped off Leo Turrin to the Canal Queen. But he had never met her, had only communicated with her through Sir Jack Richardson.

  Now Leo very much wanted to find out what the lady knew about Shillelagh.

  He closed his eyes in thought as the limo weaved through London traffic to the meeting.

  Leo had found Lady Carole to be an excellent pipeline into the NAL. Besides being one of his operation's most reliable couriers, she was McElroy's lover.

  Now the operation was broken, but new heat was coming down. Apparently Leo's work in fingering the Manhattan dope transfer, then bringing specialists into London, was stirring things up.

  The word was out, of course, about the specialists. Subversion was winning the war for now. But the chain that led to Shillelagh was shorter all the time — damn short, in fact. The attack on Sir Jack's limousine was obviously intended to be a sudden and complete wipeout.

  Leo knew that more blood would flow very soon as the specialists did their job.

  This morning's meeting was to take place at the Tower of London. Leo Turrin's mind drifted back to the last time he'd met someone at the Tower.

  It was early in the Executioner's war against the Mafia. Bolan had found himself in England, trying to get home after the battles in France.

  In their efforts to bring an end to the "Bolan problem," the mob chieftains had mounted a two-pronged attack against Mack. One prong was the war party led by Arnie "The Farmer" Castiglione. The other prong was the peace party sent to offer Bolan employment in the mob.

  Leo, in his undercover role as mobster, was part of the peace party and a meeting between Leo and Mack took place in the Tower — appropriately on Execution Row. In the aftermath of that meeting, Arnie was given his ticket to hell by Mack Bolan.

  As the limo pulled to a smooth stop on Tower Hill, Leo opened his eyes to the present. He was accompanied in the car by his personal bodyguard, Sergeant Henry, who sat beside him, and Ripper Dan Aliotto, hit man turned chauffeur for the truth-and-justice team, who drove. Leo Turrin was swathed in bandages.

  He would stay in the car, guarded by Sergeant Henry, while Ripper made the rendezvous with the lady in the Tower. If she was amenable to Ripper's suggestion, they would return to the car and the four would simply drive around. Once Leo and Lady Carole were finished, she would be returned to the Tower.

  Ripper and Henry got out of the car. Ripper headed off to meet the lady. Henry held his Uzi at the ready under a folded raincoat.

  After ten minutes, Ripper returned with a petite blonde. Leo took a good look at the lady and enjoyed the rest his tired eyes were getting. She was tiny — about five one — and beautiful. Her hair fell in gentle waves about her shoulders, and even behind large dark glasses the fine cheekbones were apparent. The coat she wore almost hid the curves, but not quite.

  Ripper opened the back door of the car and she climbed in. Leo stared at her. The car pulled away from the curb.

  The woman settled into the seat. She removed the dark glasses and opened the coat. The promise was fulfilled; soft curves pressed against a white blouse, and her skirt rose inches up shapely thighs as she sat back in the plush upholstery. His eyes drifted up toward her face and Leo found himself staring into a lovely smile, eyes and lips sparkling in greeting. She was quite aware of the effect she was having on the man in the bandages.

  "You look like the 'Invisible Man,' Mr. Sticker," she said, then laughed. Leo joined in the laughter as well as he could, his smile visible between the strips of bandages.

  "It may look ridiculous, but it keeps me alive," he said.

  One hour later, the limo returned to the Tower. Sergeant Henry got out and opened the rear door as Leo sighed with genuine regret. He hadn't been able to speak entirely freely to this woman, but they both sensed the bond beginning between them.

  The blonde beauty walked briskly back to the Tower and joined a crowd of tourists. Sergeant Paul Henry scanned the area to ensure that no one was paying undue attention to her.

  The Marine's head snapped back. The impact of the bullet sprayed the limo with blood.

  Before Leo and Ripper could react to the loss of their only guard, the back door flew open and a man jumped into the car, the muzzle of his Uzi pointing directly at Leo's swathed head. The front passenger door op
ened and a second man joined them. Leo packed a Colt Python — but the first man had expertly searched the Fed and come away with it.

  The second man ordered Ripper to roll. Ripper's fist, held in an iron grip by his captor, contained both keys and Colt in clumsy disorder; he was soon disarmed. Leo cursed. He and Ripper had been forced to make this meet with small numbers — no heavy armament, no backup for a secret meeting with a double agent in the royal family. That was the way it had to be, and it had backfired.

  One of the assailants pulled a folded canvas sack from under his jacket and placed it over Leo's head. The same man gave Ripper directions, leaning over the partition that separated the driver's compartment from the rear passenger area. His partner sat in front, silent, pointing a semiautomatic at Ripper's groin. After twenty minutes of following directions, Ripper parked on command.

  The back door of the limo opened and Leo was pulled out onto the sidewalk.

  Ripper never heard the report of the gun as it boomed within the close confines of the car, nor did he feel the impact of the bullet as it parted bone and brain on its way through his skull. The bullet emerged to continue through the windshield of the car, leaving a star-shaped, blood-soaked glass memorial to an Able Team ally who did his duty because of a burning conviction that it was right.

  The murderer quickly got out of the limo and ran to a Ford Granada parked behind them. Leo and his abductor were already in the back seat. The bandaged, trussed and bagged Leo fought with the man on hearing the gunshot that ended Ripper's life. The man viciously clubbed his struggling captive. Ripper's killer settled into the driver's seat and tore off, tires smoking.

  Leo had no idea how long he was unconscious, but he came to in a room with cement walls, an overhead light, and the chair he sat in. Ropes bound him hand and foot. The bandages that had hidden his identity had been removed. He was stripped to the waist. On his chest he felt small electrodes. Leo knew what these were for and knew that his situation was desperate.