"Right, gentlemen," Carlton said, standing up. "Shall we be off?"

Westbourne Terrace was one of the principal streets in Paddington. The stone building where Lady Carole maintained her lair was obviously well-cared for, the exterior free of the black soot that scarred so many of London's older buildings. The door was well-secured against any casual intruder. But these were no casual intruders. Carlton brought out two keys.

"Got these from the landlord earlier today," he whispered. He opened the door and they entered.

They avoided the elevator and worked their way up the stairs. With a click and a whir, the elevator started up and the warriors retreated into the shadows as the old cage-type elevator descended past them. The four men checked out the occupant. The woman did not resemble Lady Carole, and as the elevator sank down below the second floor, the four men returned to the stairs and climbed to the third floor.

Lyons cautiously poked his head around the corner of the corridor, quickly pulled it back. There were two men on either side of a doorway.

The two guards were alert, and one of them had seen Lyons's head. Footsteps sounded as the man came to investigate.

Lyons brought up his silenced Colt. He saw the barrel of a gun precede the guard around the corner. The four men waited in silence for the rest of the man, a brief wait before he cautiously peeked around the corner. The Colt sighed, and the bullet all but tore the cautious head off.

Before the body had even hit the floor, the four invaders were around the corner and a slug from Gadgets's Colt had slammed into the second guard.

The door to a nearby apartment opened and a head looked out. Blancanales tracked onto the head, refraining from pulling the trigger.

A gray-haired man gazed horror-struck at the four men and retreated into the shelter of his apartment. Blancanales stuck a foot in the door, preventing it from closing completely. While the man appeared to be an innocent, Pol had to check him out. Quietly, the senior member of Able Team forced his way into the apartment.

"What are you doing?" the occupant demanded, terror in his voice.

"Just checking things out — nothing to worry about." Blancanales barged past the man and charged from room to room. In one of the upstairs bedrooms, he found the man's wife getting ready for bed. She screamed at the intruder, and Blancanales beat a hasty retreat — closely followed by a flying hairbrush. He returned downstairs.

"Sorry for the intrusion," he said to the old man. "You and your wife must stay inside, and away from the front door of your apartment."

To confirm the wisdom of the American's advice, sounds of pitched battle penetrated from down the hall.

Carl Lyons had gained entrance to Lady Carole's place by firing three .45s into the door latch. A shotgun had boomed at him from within, sending pellets crashing into the swinging door. Lyons dived low into the apartment, M-10 spraying as he went.

A second shotgun blast shredded the couch he hid behind. Its stuffing exploded into the air.

Lyons crawled to the end of the couch. He heard the sound of the shotgun being broken open.

Gadgets came in low, sending a spray from the Ingram toward the sound of the shotgun.

The gunner did not hear the smack of the bullets as they slammed into him. He heard nothing but the roar of the emptiness of death.

Gadgets rolled to the couch and took in the apartment as he did so.

The white, well-decorated room stretched thirty feet to the left. Stairs led to the apartment's second floor at the far end.

Silence filled the place, ominously. Blancanales peered cautiously around the door, gun-muzzle preceding his eye. He saw the splattered blood spots on the white carpet.

Lyons and Gadgets cautiously worked their way toward the stairs.

Blancanales joined Lieutenant Colonel Carlton and they moved to back up Schwarz and Lyons.

The two men in the lead stepped silently along the corridor at the top of the stairs. There were four doors in the hallway, two on the right, one on the left and the last at the end of the corridor. Lyons and Gadgets placed themselves on either side of the first door on the right.

Lyons slowly turned the handle. When no shots greeted him, he pushed open the door. It was a bathroom. Lyons entered and pushed aside the shower curtain. Nothing. The room was empty.

Blancanales and Carlton checked the door on the left. Pol pushed it open slightly. It slammed shut on him, bullets drilling through the white-painted wood. Splinters sprayed as Blancanales leaped back. Carlton groaned as if hit. Then he opened up with his Sterling, stitching a figure eight in the closed door.

Blancanales kicked open the door and dived in. His caution was unnecessary. On the floor beside him lay a moaning figure doubled up on the floor. The guy fought a losing battle to stuff entrails back inside a 9mm zipper across his stomach. The man stared at Blancanales, then his eyes glazed over and he fell silent.

The last door on the right was already partially open. Gadgets opened it the rest of the way. Silence met him, and he walked in unopposed. The room may have been a bedroom once, but it was a study now. Two filing cabinets stood along one wall, with a desk and chair in front of them. The place was meant for work and nothing else. It would have to be checked out thoroughly — later.

Lyons stared at the remaining door. Suddenly he snapped a new magazine into place and pulled the trigger. A three-round burst at the lock blew the door open.

Carlton moved to one side. Blancanales to the other. Gadgets rolled into the room. He was nearly cut apart by a stream of submachine-gun bullets.

The bullets tracked across the floor, trying to find the rolling figure.

Lyons stepped through the door and gave the M-10 its head.

Silence descended on the room as the dust settled. They were in the upstairs master suite. Gadgets sheltered behind a divan. Lyons had thrown himself behind a tub chair.

Off to the left was the open door to the dressing room where the submachine-gun fire had come from. Signaling Blancanales and Carlton, Lyons covered the door as the two men stepped into the master suite and moved toward the dressing room.

Blancanales looked into the small room and saw flapping curtains. He checked it out. A fire escape.

He cursed.

Noisy chaos greeted the four men as they left the building. Police were everywhere, trying to control the curiosity seekers who had gathered at the sound of gunfire. Some of Carlton's men were helping the bobbies keep the crowd away.

Able Team stepped back as three of Carlton's men moved past them with a curt nod. The Americans recognized some of them as they headed up to secure the apartment from intruders.

Lyons paced away from the crowd with Carlton. "Where the hell do we look?" he said.

"We look in the alley that leads to Paddington Station, that's where," Carlton grinned. A glint of triumph showed in his eyes. The nearby railway station was the ideal bait for their prey.

Lyons waved to his partners. The three men jogged after the English soldier who knew the mean streets and alleyways of London like a coroner knows the arteries of a corpse.

They turned sharp right at the end of the street into an alley connecting with the wider pedestrian alleyway that ran behind the row of houses. In the main alleyway, about a hundred yards to the left of them, the pursuers saw the small, unmistakable figure of Lady Carole Essex. Unmistakable because she walked briskly, as if to avoid attention.

The pounding of boots on the pavement alerted her. She looked over her shoulder and broke into a run at the sight of the four men.