Andy McNab - Meltdown

Danny looked down at her and saw that her eyes were beginning to glaze over. He shook his head. 'I haven't won. Elena's still dead.'

'Just do it.'

Danny took aim at Deveraux's forehead and fired a single round.

It was over.

Somewhere in the building, a door crashed back. The automatic fire had stopped and Danny heard someone running down the corridor and a Brit shouting out orders.

He dropped the AK and stepped away from the bodies as the team entered the room. He raised both arms – he knew the drill: get his hands up so he was not deemed a threat and then identify himself.

'It's Danny! Danny! No weapon! I'm weapons free! It's Danny!'

Three months later Fergus, Danny and Dudley walked slowly down the wide staircase; portraits of past British prime ministers stared out at them as they passed by, like a guard of honour from the pages of political history.

Marcie Deveraux had been posthumously awarded the George Cross, the highest possible honour for anyone outside the military, following her heroic actions in both Operation Meltdown and the mission to eliminate Kubara.

The citation mentioned her gallantry, her outstanding leadership and, ultimately, her death by hostile fire.

Her funeral had been a small, private affair; it had to be because of the nature of the work of the security services. The medal ceremony would, likewise, receive no press publicity, but at least it had been conducted at Number Ten, and by the Prime Minister himself.

He had presented the medal to Deveraux's grieving but dignified parents and her brother, who bore a striking resemblance to his younger sister.

Danny and Fergus had not received medals. It didn't bother them and it wasn't possible, anyway. Officially they'd played no part in Operation Meltdown. But the Prime Minister had made a point of personally thanking them, and shaking them warmly by the hand.

The even better news for Fergus was that his days on the run as a wanted man were finally and officially over. Not that Fergus could run – he could barely walk; the walking stick he used now was going to be a permanent fixture in his life. But at least Dudley had kept his promise and the slate was wiped clean.

Fergus, Danny and Dudley had made their excuses and departed as soon as it was polite to do so. They left the Prime Minister earnestly engaged in conversation with Deveraux's brother as aides stood by, checking their watches, waiting for the moment when they could legitimately intervene and usher the PM away to his next engagement.

Danny walked ahead of his grandfather and Dudley, who were making much slower progress. He glanced at the portraits of the PMs. They all looked serious, severe, statesmanlike. And their penetrating eyes seemed to follow Danny as he passed.

He smiled. Perhaps they knew; perhaps they could penetrate his secret. But they wouldn't be telling.

The official autopsy had shown that rounds from the AK47 used by Kubara's bodyguard had killed Deveraux. No one was going to question whose finger had been on the trigger of the AK; it was obvious that they'd killed each other in the final shoot-out.

At the foot of the staircase Danny turned and glanced back at Dudley and his grandfather. Dudley looked pleased: after all, Operation Meltdown had been a total success and he had finally been allowed to take his long-deferred retirement. The knighthood would follow in the next New Year's Honours List.

The destruction of the two trucks, the Mini, the aircraft hangar, and the accompanying unfortunate deaths had been reported as a tragic accident; fires sparked by the explosion of a wartime bomb, which had lain undiscovered for more than sixty years.

Dudley had chosen the wartime bomb story. He had planned to use the 'exploding gas bottle' explanation, but the bomb seemed more fitting, almost like a tribute to the real heroes who had flown from the old airbase.

As far as the Headingham twins were concerned, they were officially listed as missing persons, last seen at a football match in Barcelona. Mummy had detectives working on the case – she wasn't going to give up the search for her beloved boys.

The Meltdown formula was gone, destroyed with its creators and their accomplices. The four trucks had been tracked across Europe by various agencies and those networks had been mopped up before the shipments were destroyed. Dudley knew that in some government laboratory, scientists would still be at work on the few remaining tablets, attempting to unravel the secrets of the manufacturing process. They would want to know, just in case some other brilliant chemist ever managed to find the answer and then pick up where the twins had left off.

But that wasn't Dudley's problem. He'd done his job. To the letter. It had all panned out perfectly.

Dudley had been obliged to remove his muchloved overcoat for the award ceremony, but as a Downing Street minion approached with the coat in his hands, Dudley smiled as if he was welcoming back a long-lost friend.

He slipped the coat on and began doing up the buttons. Fergus stood at the bottom of the staircase, leaning on his walking stick, and watched.

'Four of these have seen me through my entire career,' said Dudley wistfully. 'This one has lasted thirteen – no, fourteen years.' He sighed. 'Don't think they make them any more.'

They were ushered towards the front door and Dudley led the way out into Downing Street, nodding at the uniformed police officer, who stepped aside to let them pass.

A car stood waiting by the kerb outside.

Dudley fastened the top button on his overcoat and then looked at Danny. 'A very moving and fitting ceremony, I thought.'

Danny's face gave absolutely nothing away. 'Yeah, I guess she died the way she would have wanted to.'

Dudley held his gaze briefly and then nodded. 'Yes, I'm sure you're right.' He held out his hand. 'Good luck, Danny,' he said.

'Thanks.' Danny took the outstretched hand.

Dudley turned to Fergus and they also shook hands. 'And good luck to you, Mr Watts. If you take my advice, you'll slow down a little now. We're neither of us as young as we used to be, you know.'

He glanced at the waiting car. 'Well, I'm off to the tube station. They don't stretch to cars for me now I'm officially retired.'

He nodded once more and then turned and strode purposefully away.

Danny smiled at his grandfather. 'Want a lift?'

Fergus shook his head. 'Think I'll walk for a bit. The doctor reckons I should keep this knee working as much as I can.'

They were silent for a moment, looking at each other, knowing that their long adventure was finally over and that from now on their lives would take completely different directions.

But Fergus had one final question. 'So, come on, you can tell me now – what did happen with Deveraux?'

'You know what happened,' said Danny without a flicker of emotion.

'Do I?'

'Yeah. Exactly what it says in the report.'

Fergus nodded slowly. He could have been looking at himself all those years ago. His thoughts flicked back to the many times he'd ranted and raved at his grandson about not obeying orders, not sticking to SOPs. But he knew now that he was wrong. Danny had learned well; there was nothing more he could teach him.

Fergus smiled. 'You'll keep in touch, eh?'

'When I can. You know it might be difficult sometimes.'

'Yeah, I know,' said Fergus. He reached out and wrapped his arms around his grandson and held him tightly for a few seconds. When he stepped back, Danny could see that his grandfather's eyes were moist.

'Take care, Danny,' he said quickly and then walked away.

After a few steps he called out to the figure that had almost reached the gates at the end of Downing Street. 'Dudley!'

Dudley looked back and then stopped and waited as Fergus, with the aid of his walking stick, marched towards him, like a veteran at a Remembrance Day parade. He was showing them that, despite his injury, despite the years of conflict and action, he was still strong. He always would be.