At the buffet table, Lyons grabbed a handful of sliced roast beef. He took a plate and held it under his chin to catch the blood dripping from the rare-cooked beef.

"Pardon me for living," Lyons said with his mouth full of meat and blood. "I'm just an animal on the prowl."

Blancanales took a plate. A Latin waiter served him slices of beef and turkey. Blancanales held up a fork and spoke to Lyons.

"Now that you're moving in high society… this is a fork. Watch, I will demonstrate how to use it."

"You!" a Spanish-accented voice demanded. "Who are you?"

The Americans turned — Blancanales with a speared slab of white turkey meat in his mouth, Lyons holding a hunk of beef dripping blood — to see two young Latins confronting them.

Except for their expensive suits and gold wrist-watches, the Latins looked like soldiers. Their backs ramrod-straight, they wore their hair military-short. Their wide shoulders and barrel chests stretched the fabric of their expensive Italian suits. As the two members of Able Team studied the men who demanded their identities, one of the Salvadorans raised a hand to point at Lyons's chest.

"I said, who..."

Lyons grasped the young soldier's immaculate hand, shook it like a long-lost friend. He talked through a mouthful of beef. "I'm Mike! I'm pleased to meet you. Who are you?"

The Salvadoran tore his hand free. He grabbed a napkin from the caterer's table and wiped the smeared blood and gravy from his hand and shirt cuff. The elegant diplomats and women around them stared.

"You come with us. We are security."

Blancanales turned to Lyons. "See what happens when you flirt with a general's girl friend?"

"I didn't even talk to her."

"Come!" the other soldier demanded.

"Sure, where you want to go?" Lyons grinned. He reached toward the rows of wine bottles. He saw a waiter stripping a champagne bottle of its foil and wire. "Let me get a drink..."