Carl Lyons, the third member of Able Team, stood just inside the entry. He greeted his teammates with rabbit punches to their shoulders.

The three justice warriors from Stony Man Farm had escaped a sacrificial slaughter in the lair of a smugglers' broker called The Dragon, tens of thousands of feet up in the Hindu Kush. It was one helluva close call. And it was a story that would stay buried, too tangled in bloodcurdling treachery to be retold.

Few words were exchanged between the men. They had fought together, nearly died together — words fell short of what they felt about one another. They convened around a small conference table as the plane taxied for runway space.

"Love that logo on this souped-up flybox," Schwarz said. "We sure didn't have trouble recognizing the right plane.''

"Where're the S.M. boys?" Blancanales asked.

"The big Stony Man guns are up to their asses in trouble. This one's our baby. We're on our own," Lyons informed them.

"Sweet shit," Blancanales said, a smile on his face. "What's the action?"

"In less than two hours," Lyons said, "we'll be up to our butts in local and international politics. But don't worry — I've become a diplomat. I can handle politics like a pro."

"What's this political crap?" Gadgets demanded. "You're about as good at politics as I am at catching lead in my teeth."

"Job still has to be done. Order came directly from the Oval Office."

Lyons produced two eight-by-ten photographs.

"We've got some shapely compensation on this trip." He handed them the pictures. "The tall Caucasian is Babette Pavlovski. She's one of the athletes Mack Bolan rescued when he destroyed the Zwilling Horde. She's a defector from Czechoslovakia. Someone tried to kill her this morning, killed a kid gymnast instead. Also got Pavlovski's two FBI bodyguards.

"The young black is Ellie Kay King, known as Kelly. She's our best bet for gold at the Olympics. Pavlovski's been coaching the team since she defected two years ago. It was King who called Stony Man Farm and told them what happened."