Meltdown bs-4

by Andy McNab

  Danny got up, his jeans heavily caked in wet mud, and ran round to the rear of the building. It was almost in darkness; no light shone through any of the windows, but a small glimmer was coming from a single door towards the far end. It was ajar, and as Danny approached, he could see that it opened inwards.

  He pressed himself against the wall on the hinge side of the door. Drawing down his Sig, he sucked in oxygen, trying to stop his chest from heaving so that he would be able to make his shots accurate.

  He curled the three lower fingers of his right hand around the pistol grip. His index finger rested lightly on the trigger, inside the trigger guard.

  His mind was working swiftly, running through the vital details he had learned in training and from his grandfather. Briefly he thought of Fergus; he hoped he'd manage to make his way back to the heli safely.

  Danny could hear the fire fight continuing on the far side of the building. He couldn't worry about that now. He brought the Sig up into the aim and pushed open the door.

  45

  Kubara had considered making a run for it when the firing started, but everything had happened too quickly. One of his heavies had come to tell him to stay put while they dealt with the attack.

  The large room that Kubara had earmarked for the laboratory was at the back of the building; it had no windows, just artificial light – he had wanted the twins to concentrate on their work. But it meant that he couldn't see what was going on outside.

  He listened to the fire fight and cursed. In any other circumstances he would have been alongside his men, at the forefront of the battle. But this time he had Storm to consider. She was infinitely precious to Kubara and he would willingly have given his own life for her.

  The situation was bad, but not desperate. Not yet. The enemy, whoever they were, had not yet entered the building, and his own men were good, hand picked. They might well finish off the attackers before they even made it inside.

  Briefly Kubara wondered who they were and how they had picked up his trail. He shook his head – he didn't have time to speculate now. He decided that if they did get inside, this room at the rear of the building would be his final battleground.

  His personal bodyguard was still with him, armed now with an AK47. Storm was standing close to her father. She smiled at him confidently, and he smiled back and nodded, attempting to reassure her that everything would be all right.

  The twins were sitting down, huddled together in the furthest corner of the room, as far away from the door as possible.

  Kubara glared at them, brandishing his own pistol in their direction. 'Get up!'

  Teddy and Will scrambled to their feet, terrified for a moment that the Bosnian was about to put bullets into their heads.

  'Move over there! Quickly!'

  He motioned with the pistol, showing the twins exactly where he wanted them to go.

  Slowly they moved closer to the door, realizing that Kubara was using them as his first line of defence. If anyone burst into the room, the twins would surely be their first target.

  Kubara made sure that he and Storm were behind the door if it opened, giving him time to react to anyone appearing in the doorway.

  The twins stood side by side, shaking with fear. Teddy reached for his brother's hand and gripped it. Tightly. Danny moved from the doorway into a narrow, dimly lit hallway leading to a corridor. His left hand joined the other on the Sig. Eyes and mouth open, he looked and listened.

  He edged carefully into the corridor. To his left was a door that must give access to the front of the building: the sounds of automatic fire clearly came from that direction. To his right, the corridor stretched away with a number of rooms on each side, their doors open.

  As he moved slowly down the long corridor, he saw movement to his right, in one of the rooms. He turned, finger on the trigger, taking first pressure, ready to fire at the centre of the mass that was moving towards him.

  It was Deveraux; her own weapon was raised in exactly the same way as Danny's.

  Their eyes locked onto each other, and then Deveraux's head flicked to one side, telling Danny wordlessly to continue checking the other rooms. It appeared that finally, after all their conflicts, she was prepared to work with the boy soldier rather than against him in order to bring her mission to a successful conclusion.

  Danny moved forward, checking out the rooms to his left. Deveraux was behind him, looking right, but Danny was totally focused on what he was doing. The fire fight was just metres away on the other side of the building, but it was like something separate, another battle, or even a dream. The gunfire was strangely muffled in Danny's head, even though he could smell the cordite that was slowly creeping into every part of the building.

  Danny was in automatic mode; the training was paying off. Train hard; fight easy. Train easy, fight hard – and die.

  He was approaching the end of the corridor. One door remained, directly ahead. It was shut. Something – instinct, training, intuition, he didn't know what – was telling him that Kubara and the twins were hiding behind that closed door.

  He wanted to go in first. He had to take them out. He had to see this through.

  Deveraux was still a little way behind him, emerging from the last room on the right. Danny knew that once she reached him, she would insist on going in first.

  Suddenly the door at the far end of the corridor burst open. Deveraux turned to see who was approaching and immediately started putting down rounds from her Sig. It was one of Kubara's men. He ducked back behind the door and Deveraux backed into the room on the right, ready to fire again if he showed his head.

  Danny knew he had to make his move through the closed door. Now.

  46

  Danny gripped the door handle, turned it and pushed the door open with his shoulder. He saw the twins first, their petrified faces staring back at him from a few metres away.

  But then he saw movement behind them and to one side. A weapon was coming up into the aim. It was all Danny needed to know. His eyes fixed on a bald head and wide eyes on top of black leather as the target brought an AK up to his shoulder. Danny's brain took in the information his eyes were receiving in a split second. The twins were not a threat, he realized, but the moving head Danny was focused on could have been one of the many red balloons he'd double tapped during training.

  It all happened in an instant, but for Danny it was almost like it was taking place in slow motion. He stood in the doorway, feet solid on the floor, shoulder-width apart to give the weapon a stable firing platform, left hand gripped around the right and the pistol grip. Danny's Sig was racing the AK into a firing position.

  The foresight on the Sig came into focus, the bald head blurred, and Danny squeezed the trigger and double tapped the target. Both rounds entered the target's head before he had time to fire his own weapon. And this time it wasn't red chalk-dust flying through the air; it was blood.

  As the target fell back, the AK clattered to the floor and skidded towards Danny.

  Danny stared, knowing what he had done but not thinking about it. He was masked from the left side of the room by the open door, but the twins' horrified expressions as their eyes flicked to their right told him that someone else was there. It had to be Kubara. But why wasn't he firing?

  Danny kicked the door back and turned, pistol still in the aim. Kubara was standing there, his own pistol raised.

  And then Danny caught sight of Storm.

  His mouth gaped open. And he hesitated.

  It was enough. Kubara started to squeeze the trigger of his Makarov.

  Storm screamed, 'No!'

  There was a click. A stoppage. Kubara stared at the pistol and Danny realized that he still had a chance. But before he could fire, Storm leaped in front of Kubara.

  'No, Danny! No! He's my father!'

  'What?!'

  'It's true! I swear it! I couldn't tell you! Please! Please don't shoot him!'

  Danny's mind was reeling. He heard the weapon fire from other par
ts of the building, but it was Storm's words that were ringing loudest in his head. It was too much to take in. Her father? It wasn't possible. It didn't make sense.

  Teddy and Will were backing further into the room, away from Danny and Kubara.

  'It's true!' yelled Teddy. 'Kill him!'

  'Kill the bastard!' screamed Will. 'Kill him!'

  Danny heard movement behind him – footsteps coming into the room – and then, before he had a chance to turn and take aim, rounds were being fired.

  The twins had spoken their last words. They took rounds into the head and chest, and Deveraux kept firing until their jerking bodies hit the wall and she was almost level with Danny.

  She ignored him completely; her head turned and she focused on Kubara. Danny saw that Storm was still standing in front of him, and he knew instantly that Deveraux would not ask questions; she would take them both out.

  Kubara pushed his daughter away, still struggling with the mechanism of his weapon. Suddenly he gave up and lunged towards Deveraux. Instinctively, Danny flung out his right arm to slap Deveraux's pistol away and put her off her aim, but as he did so, he lost his grip on his Sig and it fell to the ground.

  Deveraux was momentarily off balance. Danny dived for the AK the bodyguard had carried. He focused on the forward stock and the pistol grip and rolled over on his right shoulder, gripping the weapon with both hands.

  He heard the double tap as Deveraux dropped Kubara, followed by Storm's scream, and as he came up onto his knees, he saw Deveraux taking aim on her final target. Storm.

  Danny fired a burst – there was no time to take aim – and Deveraux was thrown forward as the rounds entered her body.

  A second later there was an explosion from the other side of the building. The door charges had been detonated: the team, or what remained of the team, was in. The automatic fire continued, but there was less of it now. It sounded as if the battle was almost won.

  Danny got to his feet and dragged Storm away from the body of her father.

  'You've got to go!' he yelled. 'Get out now! Back door! Quick!'

  'I… I can't. My father…'

  'He's dead! Go now, or they'll kill you too!'

  Storm's eyes flicked back to the body of Kubara, motionless on the floor. Then she looked at Danny again for just a moment.

  And then she was gone.

  Danny heard her footsteps fading away along the corridor as he turned to look at Deveraux. He stood over her, sweat dripping from his face down onto hers. She had taken the rounds in her legs and back. Her stomach was heaving up and down as her blood slowly oozed out, flowing onto the cold concrete floor and mingling with the dead guard's and Kubara's so that it looked as though all three were floating on a sea of red.

  Deveraux remained conscious as her life slowly ebbed away, but Danny still had words he needed her to hear.

  'This wasn't how I wanted it. I wanted you to suffer before I killed you. For Elena, for what you did to her, and for what you put her through, even before she died.'

  Deveraux coughed, and blood appeared at one corner of her mouth. She forced herself to speak. 'Get on with it, Danny. You've won.'

  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!'

  EPILOGUE

  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 wel
coming 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?'