by Dick Stivers
"Oh, I doubt I would want to miss such a fine example of American ingenuity," the young man said.
Gadgets grinned. He started making out the shopping list.
Within minutes the men had selected a car from the embassy pool of vehicles.
The shoppers found what they were looking for on the Edgeware Road: an electronics store that dimly displayed a supply of basic components.
Corporal Phillips pulled the station wagon over to the curb and remained behind the wheel. Lyons and Schwarz got out and checked the street. Only an occasional car passed.
Seeing no pedestrians or cops, the two men signaled Phillips and the car pulled away. Phillips would circle the block at regular intervals until he saw one of the men back on the street.
Gadgets went boldly up to the front door and located the ancient alarm. He disarmed it by attaching a piece of wire to the alarm connection visible between the door and the jamb. When he broke the connection, the alarm tickled only the ground, not any rusty bells. Lyons expertly picked the lock, and the two men slipped into the store.
Aisle after aisle of equipment was spread out in front of them. Gadgets worked his way up and down the aisles, occasionally picking up an item. His pencil flash fell across silicon chips, microphones, circuit boards. Some of them found their way into his bag.
Lyons saw movement on the street and hissed a warning to his shopping partner. The pencil flash blinked off. Gadgets dropped behind one of the rows of cases. Lyons crouched directly below the window ledge. The light from the cop's flashlight came perilously close to Lyons's huddled form, but he was out of the policeman's line of sight and the light moved on. The door rattled slightly as the cop checked it was locked.
Lyons and Schwarz waited two minutes before peering out from their hiding places. Then Gadgets double-checked his list and made a rough estimate of the price. He pulled out a wad of bills, counted some out, added twenty percent as a fudge factor, and left them with the list by the till. The two men waited for Phillips's return.
When they spotted the car's headlights, Lyons calmly left the store. Schwarz emerged with his bag. He rearmed the alarm system and joined Lyons in the car. Phillips smoothly pulled away from the curb and headed back to the embassy.
* * *
Blancanales, Sir Jack Richardson and the prince had been busy. They had worked out a plan whereby all seven of them would split into three teams. Sir Jack and Carl Lyons would keep Leo's appointment with Lady Carole Essex. Phillips and Gadgets would don telephone-repairman uniforms and bug the residences of the members of COATUK. Blancanales and the prince were to visit the empty offices of certain key individuals and leave a few of Gadgets's "souvenirs" at each stop. Leo Turrin would remain at the embassy, to coordinate the three teams' efforts.
Gadgets set up shop in another part of the embassy and assembled a dozen miniature microphone-transmitters and an equal number of receiver-recorders. He also started a small collection of telephone taps. Three hours later, he pushed himself away from the table and examined his handiwork.
The microphone-transmitters were small enough to fit comfortably in the pocket of a suitcoat, and their self-adhesive backing would stick to anything solid. The microphone was ganged to the short-range transmitter, which contained voice activated circuits. When the signal was received from the microphone, the transmitter boosted the signal and sent it to the receiver-recorder.
The receiver-recorders, only slightly larger than the microphone-transmitters, could be operated anywhere within a one-hundred-foot radius of the transmitters.
Wherever he found himself in the world, Gadgets Schwarz would always end up better equipped than when he arrived…
14
Lyons and Sir Jack left to keep Leo's appointment with Lady Carole Essex. They were rigged for the street. Lyons suspended the M-10 on a Desantis shoulder rig underneath his suitcoat that made the weapon instantly accessible. Attached to the strap of the Desantis was a modified military holster that held the Colt.
Sir Jack had a similar setup for his Uzi. His hand weapon was Ripper's Beretta.
The meeting was set for a bookstore on Cecil Court, a short street that ran between Charing Cross Road and St. Martin's Lane in the very heart of London. Lined on both sides with antique shops, Cecil Court was a magnet for collectors of all kinds.
The limousine pulled up to the old bookstore. Lyons stepped onto the pavement and checked up and down the street. He signaled Sir Jack who clambered clumsily out of the car. The door slammed, and the vehicle continued on down the street. The Marine driver had instructions to circle until the two men came out.
A bell over the door tinkled as the men stepped into the store's musty interior. Lyons looked around him. The store had evidently not changed much in about a century. Books lined all of the walls from floor to rafters, with more on shelves built over a doorway that led into the back of the shop.
The proprietor came out from the back as Sir Jack browsed among the books. Half-moon glasses perched on the end of his nose, he stooped slightly from spending a lifetime bent over the volumes that passed through his shop.
"May I be of some service, gentlemen?"
"No, thanks, just browsing," replied Sir Jack.
"Certainly. If I may be of service, please call."
With that the man stepped back to give them the run of the small shop. Their eyes turned as the bell rang and a petite blonde entered the shop.
Clearly Lady Carole was known here. The proprietor reappeared and was about to greet her when she held up a hand to silence him. Turning to Sir Jack, she showed concern in her expression at the presence of Lyons.
"He's with me," Sir Jack said.
"James, would you please leave us alone for a few moments?" Lady Carole requested.
The old man bowed slightly and retreated into the shop's back room.
"From what Mr. Sticker told me, Sir Jack, I hadn't expected you for a while."
Sir Jack Richardson filled Lady Carole in on Leo's kidnapping.
"I'm afraid that I haven't been able to find out much more about Shillelagh," was all that the lady volunteered. Her coolness worried Sir Jack, who asked her some more questions, then set the date and time of a later meeting.
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 Blancanal
es 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.
Gadgets's silenced Colt sighed once and the .45 met a face at another window. The face disappeared in a pink mist.
More gunners trained onto the car from the first-floor windows. Phillips pulled back, but not fast enough. He grunted as a 7.62mm slug found his right shoulder. Gadgets moved to him as Phillips tore at his shirt to make a bandage. Schwarz finished the job and hurriedly tied the bandage into place.
Rounds from the house continued to puncture the side of the car. It would not be long before they found the gas tank.
"Can you move, Phillips?"
"Yeah — but where to, mate?"
Gadgets holstered the Colt and pulled out the Ingram. He helped Phillips holster the Beretta and remove the Uzi from the Desantis.
"We're retreating, to the front."
Gadgets poked his head up and sent a burst from the Ingram toward the front windows of the house. Phillips pulled himself up and started to run toward the front door. A burst from his Uzi kept their opponents' heads down. Three heartbeats later, he collapsed against the house, with Gadgets a heartbeat behind him.
An AK poked out over the window ledge, seeking the two men. Gadgets fired his M-10 straight up, slugs finding the man's hands. The assault rifle dropped as its former owner screamed in his retreat.
Gadgets looked at Phillips's expression of pain. "We'll rest here for a couple of minutes."
Phillips nodded, leaned back and adjusted his blood-soaked bandage.
* * *
Lyons rounded the corner of the house just in time to see the fat old cop called Stewart running toward the gate to the back lane. Three silent .45s splintered the wood of the gate, and Stewart rolled to the ground. When he turned from his roll, his fist held a Browning that spat flame at Lyons.
From the other side of the house, Blancanales saw the cop fire. He wanted Stewart alive. He took his Colt in a two-handed grip and squeezed off a .45. The slug tore into the meaty part of Stewart's left leg. He lost the Browning in his surprise.
Lyons ran to the downed cop. A spray of slugs from the house sought him and he had to dive for the cover
of an oak tree. Stewart was not so fortunate. Bullets found several vital organs, ensuring his permanent silence.
Lyons pulled out the M-10 and sprayed .45s across the second story in three-round bursts. He quickly changed magazines and kept firing as he saw Pol working his way along the house toward the back door. A head briefly peered over one of the windowsills on the lower floor, only to disappear again as Lyons directed a blast of fire at it. Lyons ducked behind a tree, 7.62 missiles from the second story smacking into trees all around him.
Blancanales made the back door. Lyons jammed in a third magazine, fired two more bursts and left the cover of the tree to join his partner.
Blancanales fired into the latch and his partner hurled himself at the door, diving into the kitchen. To his right, a shotgun blasted. Lyons sent three rounds into the gunner, finding the man's belly.
A few of the shotgun pellets had burrowed into Lyons's side, but the full blast of pellets had found one of the other terrorists. Blood sprayed the kitchen walls.
* * *
Gadgets checked Phillips. The corporal was losing blood quickly. But the assault could not wait.
Gadgets aimed his M-10 at the door. Beside him, Phillips joined the blitz. The two men stormed the door simultaneously, firing at the lock and doorknob.
The door swayed inward. Gadgets pulled back quickly as bullets whistled past him. Staying low, he swung in front of the door, loosing a hail of .45s from his M-10.
The opponent within caught two bullets, one in his shoulder, the other in his right knee.
Gadgets and the corporal charged into the house. Only the groaning of the wounded man greeted them.
Catching movement, Gadgets spun and was about to pull the trigger. He saw Lyons and Blancanales emerging from the kitchen and lowered his weapon.
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.
