"You Irish son of a bitch. You take one more step and you're dead!" the Mafia slime-bucket hollered at the retreating terrorist. The reply to the challenge was a burst from McElroy's AK-47.

Scaramelli died protecting his assets. Gadgets watched from above, saw vital juices pump out onto the floor.

McElroy's victory was short-lived. A blast of shot from one of Scaramelli's tagmen found the Irishman's back near point-blank range. The dead terrorist folded quietly like a sail falling when the wind stops.

"The pigeon is dead," Gadgets told his partners. The signal removed any cautionary restraints on Able Team.

Lyons had been moving slowly away from his original cover, dashing across the small aisles between the stacks of crates, seeking a better firing line. Now he opened up with the appropriated AK-47, sending 7.62mm tumblers through a gap between crates. The gap was narrow, but the bullets negotiated it and shredded flesh as they plowed into the gunner beyond.

From his position among crates at the front of the building, Blancanales saw two men working their way beneath Gadgets's perch.

With his Colt in a two-handed grip, Blancanales terminated one-half of the threat, but bullets meant for the second man were still being absorbed by the first when the fleeing guy gained cover.

"Watch it, Gadgets, I only hit one of them," Blancanales relayed through his throat mike.

A head popped up over the crates in front of Gadgets. The Wizard sheared it off with a stream of bullets aimed at eye level. The anatomy that remained landed on the floor with the heavy crumple of wet laundry.