In twenty seconds, the gunships would be moving in to take care of the troops in the yard. To avoid being chewed up in the impending slaughter, the raiders had to be inside the farmhouse when the gunships hit.

Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…

Phillips tapped Blancanales on the shoulder and pointed to their left. Blancanales saw two approaching terrorists. The terrorists still had not seen the raiders.

Ten, nine, eight…

The terrorists never would see the raiders. Three .45's from Pol's Colt sailed into them like angels of death.

Five, four, three…

Blancanales did not wait to see the two corpses fall. Already they could hear the rotors of the three gunships roaring into M-60 range.

Two, one…

Blancanales and the British corporal ran toward the side of the house as the choppers opened up on the troops gathered in the yard. Blancanales reached for a stun grenade, pulled the pin and lobbed it through a window, shattering the glass. The grenade was quickly followed by one from Phillips. As the first grenade burst, Lyons and Gadgets dashed for the front of the house.

The Hueys' M-60s raked through the terrorists.

Terrorists fired back from the barn where the bus had been parked.

Major Johnson brought his Huey in and delivered eight rockets to the barn. The structure exploded in a ball of fire, the rockets igniting the fuel in the bus. Three terrorists emerged from the inferno, burning like torches.

Christ, thought Kathleen McGowan, staring at the headless remains of Joseph Flynn as she hid behind the smoking remains of the barn.

She ran the length of the barn toward the open field. Someone saw her, friend or foe, and suddenly a mass of pellets tore through her insides. The shooting triggered more shooting as the remaining terrorists opened fire in panic on anything that moved. The raiders, too, joined in the mayhem, but with purposeful precision.

Outside the battle was over.

Pandemonium had erupted in the two rooms where Blancanales's and Corporal Phillips's stun grenades had burst. A stun grenade explodes without shrapnel. The flash temporarily blinds anyone within a confined area. The concussion can cause deafness. In every way, stun grenades disorient the enemy.

Gadgets on one side of the door and Lyons on the other poked their Ingrams through windows and sprayed the walls at chest height. Nine millimeter slugs stitched through plaster and flesh alike.

Under the cover of the fire, Blancanales and Phillips slammed the door open with their feet and rolled into the room. Phillips's Sterling barked twice, delivering death both times. Four fell in the dining room under Blancanales's onslaught.

Lyons squeezed the trigger of his M-16 and carved a figure eight into everything before him. He caught a hint of movement at the top of the stairs to his left, and rolled as a 7.62mm slug plowed into the hardwood floor where he had stood a heartbeat earlier. More slugs slashed the floor as the burst from the top of the stairs continued. Then the gunner fell, and the staccato challenge ceased as abruptly as it had begun.

Lyons looked into the dining room. The hostages cowered behind a young man holding a smoking Uzi. The Uzi pointed directly at Lyons.

Carlton's voice called from the open window. "Your Highness, he's one of us."

The young prince looked unblinkingly at the intruder.

Lyons nodded to a nearby youth holding an AK-47. "Friend of yours?" Lyons asked the prince.

"My brother."

"Take my M-16," he said, tossing the weapon to the younger prince. "It looks better on you." He admired the two young aristocrats for their alacrity in securing guns from the dead and protecting the other hostages.

The other hostages included the Queen of England. The regal lady, her tawny suit marked with dust, stepped forward from within the group to confront the stranger in the blacksuit, who used his Ingram to cover the scene before him.

"Why your black uniform? Who are you?"

Donald Fagan's penetration of her palace in 1983 might have shaken the queen, but nothing had prepared her for the horror and carnage that had scarred the most recent hours of her reign. Abducted from a palace filled with bodies chopped by gunfire, terrorists and soldiers alike draped bleeding over the furniture, then herded into a farmhouse that came under attack from missile-firing helicopters, she stood at last under the suspicious gaze of a blacksuited man waving a gun. It took all the stamina she possessed to come forward with her head high.

"I demand to know who you are," she said to the stranger.

"Lady, I haven't got the time," Lyons said.

A good-looking man stepped forward. "Mother..."

The queen signaled him not to interrupt. She was still in control. She repeated her question to Lyons, adding, "Whose side are you on?"

"If I was a bad guy, you'd be dead by now."

The prince bridled at hearing his mother addressed with such lack of respect. "Are you some sort of American mercenary?" he said.

"Mercenary?" Lyons sneered contemptuously. "If a man fights only for money..." he swept the snout of his weapon to indicate the smouldering corpses outside "...he won't go the last mile for you. Maybe you wouldn't understand."

The prince stared back into the cold steel of Lyons's eyes.

The queen headed off a clash between the two men by shaking her head in resignation. "Is there to be no end to this killing?" she intoned softly. "Does peace demand such a bitter price?"

Lyons looked at her. "You can only hope for peace," he said levelly, "if you can bring yourself to understand war."

"You are an intentional and emotional berserker!" huffed the young prince. "We do it different over here."

"I kill people who don't give other people respect," Lyons shot back. "We're not so different."

"All you talking of is killing…" the prince replied.

"If you want peace," Lyons explained, "you must understand war. You must understand the organization of violence. You must know why men fight. It's a bloody game and mankind has had a long time to practice it. We are much better at waging war than making peace."

The prince revealed a respect for the American's words. "Madam," he said to his mother, using the formal term in order to seek permission, "I must go with these gentlemen. I believe they can use my contacts and influence to track down the perpetrators." The young man's eyes were eager.

Lieutenant Colonel Carlton addressed the queen from the doorway of the overcrowded room. "Your son tells the truth, Your Majesty. We must act fast. We need access and influence, starting now. I will ensure His Royal Highness's safety."

The queen glared at Lyons. "If word of any of this should ever leak out…" She hesitated; she did not even know the stranger's name. Lyons looked back over his shoulder as he left with the lieutenant colonel and the prince.

"I'm sure not going to tell anybody, lady. Are you?"