Disclaimer

Here we go again…And for the last time this 'season'…(Don't panic – after a short hiatus there WILL be a 'season three, that's a promise…)

Due to budgetary cuts, there are no trumpets, dancing girls or pyrotechnics available for this instalment. Ya'd think they'd make an effort for the finale, wouldn't ya? In fact, budgetary cuts have also meant that the letters p, w, x and v have been deemed as expensive luxuries and the use of these particular letters is now rationed. Which is gonna make words like peripatetic, xylophone and voluptuous bloody expensive. This may also impact on the pyrotechnics budget so there's gonna be a lot less blowing shit up. Don't blame me, blame the execs…

Aaaaaaaaaaaanyhoo, I have nothing to do with Numb3rs. I don't own anything to do with the show, I have no creative licence (at all), I don't date anyone in the crew and I have no say over their hairstyles (the cause of much debate recently on the boards). I DO, however, own the rights to Diane Armstrong/Alex Carter, Micky 'I'm so bleedin' Cockney it's actually painful' Cox and Danny 'Gawd love a duck, Guv!' Smith. And I'll smack down with anyone who says otherwise.

Right then. Off to talk to a black market supplier in letters to see if I can't dodge these budget cuts and give you all the finale you deserve…

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Colby reached the SUV and paused, his hand on the door. He turned and looked at Diane one last time…

"You know this could be the end of the line for us, baby." He ran a hand through his short hair and sighed. A small smile spread across his lips and he gently cupped her cheek with his hand, stroking her skin softly. "Remember that day on the beach?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like you said." He shrugged and kissed her gently. "It's been fun, Dee."

Diane laid a hand on his arm, her voice as soft as her touch. "It ain't over yet, sweetheart. I didn't hear any fat lady sing, did you?" She returned his kiss and a perfectly arched eyebrow raised in mocking amusement. Colby smiled back at her.

"You just never give up, do you?"

"Nope. Nor do you. And if we did, we'd be dead by now, wouldn't we?" Her fingers flexed on his arm, reassuring him. "Your lead on this, CJ." She released her grip and moved around to the front passenger door. Colby took one last look around the clearing and sighed again, muttering quietly to himself. "If there's any fat ladies out there, you start singing and so help me God I'll punch you in the damn throat, clear?" He wrenched the driver door open and climbed into the SUV.

Miller watched both agents get into the car with a feral look in his eyes. His knee hurt like a bastard, but Colby's shot hadn't done any major damage. He'd angled it so that only the fleshy part at the side of his kneecap took the impact. Miller knew that Colby's shot wasn't an accident. Granger was a superb marksman. If he had wanted to, that kneecap could be in pieces by now…"So. Agent Granger. Come to a decision?"

Colby turned slowly, one powerful arm resting casually across the head restraint. He smiled a slow, lazy and utterly chilling smile at the wounded man. "Oh you bet I have, my friend. Let's see what you got."

"A wise decision, Granger." Miller smirked. The man wasn't stupid, but then, he'd never underestimated Granger's abilities. That's why he'd created the entire file to begin with. His survival instincts had warned him that Granger would be a risk at some stage. Right now, that risk had suddenly become very real. There was no real flashdrive detailing the plot. It had all been a wild goose chase to give him and his cronies the time to clear out every piece of incriminating evidence against them. The whole, messy affair. The betrayal in Kosovo. Aranimov and his fake list. Everything had been interwoven over years of subterfuge and counter move. It was difficult sometimes to know exactly what the truth really was. But then, as the saying went – the first casualty of war is the truth…

"So. Where to, Miller?"

"Head for the Valley. I'll give you directions."

"Nope, you'll give me an address right now, buddy."

"Sir? D'ya mind me asking what the hell's going on here?" Mark Tyler was having a real problem knowing who was the good guy and who was the bad guy here. The Colby Granger he'd just seen shoot a man in the knee with nothing more than a bright smile and zero remorse was not the man he had heard so much about.

"Mark, I need you to trust me, bud."

"Yeah, kinda just about all out on trust here, Granger." Mark frowned, his eyes locking with Colby's. His voice was sharp with sarcasm.

"Okay, so let me ask you this. What's your gut telling you right now?"

"That I'm in way over my head?"

"Wanna bail?"

"Would it be in my interest to?"

"Probably not, no. Sorry, my friend, but you're a part of this, whether you want to be or not. We're at end-game now. After tonight?" Colby shrugged. "Well, you probably won't have to worry about me, Diane or this scumbag any more. You can go back to Langley with your conscience clear, hell, man, you'll probably get a damn commendation outta this ball of crap!" Colby paused, looking directly at Mark. "I'm asking you one last time to trust me, Mark. Can you do that?"

Mark looked at Granger. There was no hint of an untruth in those clear, green eyes. Mark listened to his gut. The man speaking to him was one that had been given a commendation. Several, in fact… "Okay. Deal."

"Thank you." The statement was quiet, simple and full of meaning. Colby turned and started the engine. "Address, Miller. Unless you want that knee to start hurtin' real bad." He looked at Miller through the driver's mirror. The mirror showed only his eyes. Miller could see no trace of compassion in those hard, pale green eyes…

"Four twenty seven, West Drive."

Granger glanced at Diane. A barely perceivable nod passed between them and the SUV vanished into the night…

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The SUV pulled up outside the house and Colby killed the engine. "Mark, you and Diane wait here. Miller? Out." He threw open the door and jumped out of the truck, wrenching the rear passenger door open and dragging the injured man out by the scruff of the neck. Miller protested loudly but Colby merely shoved him towards the house. "Lead on, MacDuff." He pushed Miller towards the house and started to follow him.

"Colby?" Diane had exited the vehicle and leaned across the hood, her hands resting on the metal in front of her. In her right hand was a cell-phone. "I think you better take this." She held the phone up and Colby scowled.

"God damn it, Dee…"

"You really need to take this call, Col."

"Shit. Okay, hang on." Colby turned around and called out to Miller, who stood with his key poised in the lock of the door. Miller turned and scowled at Colby. "Hold it right there, Miller." Colby trotted back to the car and spoke to Mark through the rear passenger window. "Mark? Cover the bastard. If he moves, shoot him."

"On it." Mark jumped out of the car and raised his gun, pointing it straight at Miller. The man froze, glaring angrily at his former subordinate.

Colby grabbed the phone out of Diane's hand and barked into the mouthpiece. "What?"

"Agent Granger?"

"Yes?"

"Duck…"

Colby pulled the phone away from his ear and frowned briefly at it. Then sudden realisation kicked in and he threw the phone on the ground…"Oh, SHIT!" He sprinted around the front of the SUV and started to run towards Miller. Miller turned back to the lock and turned the key…

The explosion hurled Colby backward, punching into his chest like a wrecking ball. Diane immediately hit the ground, sheltered behind the front of the SUV. Flames erupted from the house and engulfed the screaming form of Miller utterly, his cries of agony silenced within a split second as the sheer ferocity of the fireball seared his lungs into ash. He was dead before he hit the ground…

Colby lay still on the grass, the house behind him now a raging inferno. "COLBY!" Diane sprinted towards the prone figure, panic twisting her guts into knots. He'd been close when the house had gone up. Too damn close… She skidded to a halt beside the big man, ignoring the pounding feet behind her of Mark Tyler. Dropping to her knees, she checked for a pulse. It was there and it was strong. Slowly, Granger opened his eyes and groaned loudly.

"Jesus…" Colby felt Diane's hands checking his body for wounds. He could sense another presence on the other side…Tyler. He tried to move but a strong hand pressed against his shoulder, forcing him to lay still.

"Easy, sir. Just lay still." Mark's voice was cracking with the panic. He'd been in enough firefights in his time but this? This was an unknown enemy. Unseen.

"I'm okay." Colby shrugged off the hand and Colby lay still, taking a moment to try and clear the ringing in his ears. He grunted loudly and angrily, throwing an arm over his eyes and snarling in frustration. "God DAMN SON OF A BITCH! WOULD EVERYBODY, PLEASE, STOP TRYING TO FUCKING KILL ME!"

"If he's swearing, he's okay." Diane flashed Mark a fleeting grin. "It's standard procedure with Special Forces, mate. If you can swear, you're good. This one's as bad as Micky when he gets going. Upsy daisy, sweetheart!" Mark returned the grin and helped Diane sit a still cursing Colby upright. He knew the gallows humour of Special Forces soldiers well…

Slowly, Colby struggled to his feet, letting both Diane and Mark help him stand. The three agents stood staring at the house, oblivious to the scream of sirens and the crowds of early-morning bystanders who had been shaken out of their cocooned sleep by the explosion. Colby frowned. "Whatever Miller had, it's in there." He nodded towards the inferno.

"And he's taken it to the grave with him, babes." Diane slipped an arm around Colby's waist, reassuring and supporting the big man.

"Fitting end for a traitor." Mark's voice was quiet. Colby glanced at him, the frown still knotting his brow.

"You sound almost okay with that, Mark."

"Bud, I knew the man was dirty. He tried to kill you, me, Christ, Colby, he tried to kill everyone in his path to cover his own fucking ass!" He turned to Colby, his intense blue eyes serious. "Col, when you asked me to trust you this morning, I'll be honest. At that point I didn't know who to trust. Whatever went on between you and Miller in that clearing…" He shrugged. "Well, let's just say that it stays in that clearing as far as I'm concerned, okay?" He stretched out an open hand and Colby took it, the grip firm and purposeful. Mark grinned at Colby and Diane. "Man, seriously. You two in town at the same time? Ever have a day when shit doesn't blow up around ya? Oh, yeah and don't think I've forgotten about that fucking fork, Granger. Payback's gonna be a bitch!" Mark rubbed at his arm, the three puncture marks of the hurled fork still sore even after several days. He suddenly grinned broadly at Colby.

Colby laughed. It was the first time Diane had heard him genuinely laugh in days. She smiled quietly and tightened her grip around his waist, feeling his own arm slip around hers. He pulled her close to him and kissed her gently on the forehead. "Guess we just know how to have fun, huh?" He grinned at her and took a deep breath. "Cavalry's here, babes."

"Yeah. This is gonna take some serious 'splaining, Lucy."

Mark chuckled. "Don't worry, Dee. The CIA'll handle this one." He nodded quickly and turned to intercept the LAPD officers who were sprinting towards them. Pulling out his ID, he held it up for the officers to see and held out an arm stopping them from approaching Colby and Diane any closer…

"Looks like Langley's on our side, babes." Diane glanced over her shoulder, watching as Mark barked out orders to the uniforms and stepping to one side to allow the fire department to run the hoses towards the blazing house.

"Guess so. Mark's a good guy. Ya think they knew all along?"

"Probably. But that still doesn't explain who did this. Or who they were targeting."

Colby shrugged. "My guess is probably…" He heard his cell-phone ring, cutting him off in mid sentence. Searching the tarmac, he saw where he had thrown the phone moments earlier and picked it up, glancing at the caller ID. Scowling, he flipped open the handset.

"You okay, Col?"

"Who is this?"

"Someone who's glad to hear that you weren't that much closer to Miller's house, my friend."

Colby glanced around, scanning the street. Whoever was calling him could see every move they made…

"Operation Amber Room is over. We'll be in touch. Don't concern yourself with any…outstanding overseas problems, okay? And Colby?" The voice paused and then chuckled quietly. "Good work, buddy." The voice went dead…

Colby stared at the phone and then, without another word, hurled the damaged phone into the fire, letting the flames consume the last reminder of the nightmarish scenario he had just lived through, trying to make a symbolic break with the nameless voice that seemed to know everything. He looked at Diane, a small smile playing around the corner of his lips. "It's over."

"You sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure." He pulled her closer, just wanting to hold her for a moment. Colby felt her embrace tighten in response. He kissed her softly on the forehead and gazed deep into her emerald green eyes. A warm smile played around his lips. "Wanna go get some breakfast?"

Diane laughed and nodded. "Sounds good, old son. I haven't eaten in days!" She grinned broadly. "I'm thinking tequila."

"It's six in the damn morning, woman!"

"Your point?"

"You're a nutjob, you know that?"

"Bugger. Alright then. Eggs and bacon it is."

Colby grinned broadly. "That's more like it!"

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Don flicked to the last page of the report Colby had handed to him and glanced up. The office was quiet. Everyone was still trying to pick up the pieces of the Deputy Director's treachery. Only Colby, Don and David knew the truth. Internal Affairs had descended on the Bullpen and pulled every case file for the past six months, desperately hunting down anyone and everyone who may have been complicit in the plot. There hadn't been much to go on. The Deputy Director had at least had the decency to keep his treason to himself…

Everyone had been interviewed. At length. Colby had disappeared for two days, presumably back to The Farm to file a report with his paymasters at Langley. Don still had trouble rectifying that situation, but he had come to terms that Colby Granger wasn't just a humble G-Man. He knew that if Colby decided to stay in Langley, there was nothing he could do to get him back to Los Angeles and the team he'd become a part of.

But he had come back.

And that had counted for a lot, in Don's eyes…

"So we still don't know who was behind Miller's murder?"

"Nope."

"If you did know, would you tell me?"

"Nope. Not without clearance from Langley." Colby shrugged. "Sorry Don, that's just the way it is. Amber Room was a fuck up from start to finish. Someone at Langley knew that. They knew Miller was dirty so I guess they just decided to…well, tidy up."

"And what about you?" Don closed the file and put it on the desk. He sat back and studied Granger. The man looked exhausted – mentally and physically. The week had been hard on him, and he knew that, even though Miller was dead and the Brits had left for England with Mountbatten in tow, the repercussions would still rumble on for some time yet. And Colby was still potentially in the firing line. He had a feeling that there was still something unanswered, something bigger behind it all - something that Colby seemed to feel guilty about… "There's a lot of unanswered questions here, Col."

"Such as?"

"Such as who are you gonna be working for on Monday morning, buddy?"

Colby's eyes widened. "You serious?"

"Yes, Col, I'm serious." Don sat forward, staring intently at Granger. "The team's been cleared by internal. Which means we're all sanctioned to carry on doing what we do, Col. I wanna know if I'm gonna be a man down next week, or if you're gonna be here. The truth, Col. The truth."

"You got the full briefing from Langley, Don. You know all about Spiderweb." Colby matched Don's stare. "Question is, do you want me here?"

Don smiled slowly and shrugged. "Hey, listen. I've got a math professor on the team, why shouldn't I have a damn spook?"

Colby mirrored Don's smile. "Then I'll be in on Monday. You mind if I take the weekend off, Don? I haven't slept for days."

Don laughed quietly. "Yeah, sure. I think you've earned it. Diane still in town?"

Colby didn't answer straight away. Don saw the sadness in the man's eyes and Colby shook his head. "No. She's gone back to England."

"What's the deal with you two, Col? Seriously?"

"It's…complicated."

"Yeah, you ain't wrong there, buddy!" Don stood up and stood in front of his junior agent, his eyes boring into Grangers. "OK, so if you're gonna be at your desk on Monday, let's get a few things straight. Here's how things are gonna go from now on in, Col. You work for me, regardless of who signs your pay check at the end of every damn month! You're my go to guy for anything covert, fucked up, spy shit crap that comes across our desks. You're completely open with me on everything, Colby. You don't screw me about, you don't lie to me, you don't hide anything from me. If I think you're up to your old tricks, I'll kick your ass outta this department so fast your head'll spin. Anything that comes from your masters in Washington? I wanna know about it. You do your job and, Col," He laid a hand on the big man's shoulder… "You get some help, buddy." There was a gentleness to his voice in his last words that belied the concern he had for the younger man's state of mind. Too many times over the past weeks he had seen flashes of a Colby he didn't like; a Colby that was torn apart by black thoughts, nightmares of a darker time and an almost cavalier attitude towards his own life. Don didn't want to see his friend go to an early grave…

Colby glanced up sharply. "What?"

"You get some help. I ain't gonna watch you tailspin yourself into the ground through PTSD, Granger." He held up a hand. "A-a-a, no arguments." He patted the man gently on the shoulder. "Col, it helped me and I was nowhere near as fucked up as you are!"

Colby raised an eyebrow and a small smile flickered across his face. "Yeah. Um, thanks for that vote of confidence, Don!"

Don handed Colby a business card. "He's damn good, buddy. He's sorted my head out and he's got the clearance." Don grinned. "I've okayed it with Langley and they agree with me."

"Don, I…"

"No arguments, Col." Don patted him on the shoulder again and smiled gently. "See you Monday." Don left Colby sitting alone, staring at the business card…

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"Agent Granger. I've been expecting you. Come on in."

"Doctor Bradford?" Colby stood nervously at the door of the psychiatrist's office. "I'm, um, yeah, look I'm sorry to bother you and all, but…"

"It's not a bother, Colby. Like I said. I've been expecting you." Bradford gave the nervous man a small, reassuring smile and beckoned into the office. "Coffee?"

"Huh?"

"Would you like some coffee?"

"Err, no, no thanks. I'm good." Colby walked into the office, his eyes taking in every detail of the room as he made his way to the chair furthest from Bradford's desk. Bradford watched the man, studying his body language. He walked on the balls of his feet, as if he was ready to take off running at a split second's notice. The muscles along his jaw were tense, as were those in his shoulders and hands. The clear green eyes darted around the room, expertly scanning every detail.

Bradford smiled quietly to himself. Colby Granger was going to be a challenge. Right now, he looked like a frightened colt. That was Bradford's 'in'. Instantly, he knew how to handle the man. He'd read Granger's file. The man was a walking textbook of PTSD symptoms. But he also knew that underneath the troubled exterior of a man tormented by past mistakes, horrific nightmares and the hell of battle was a complex, decent man whose biggest critic was himself. He knew how deeply the death of his father had affected Colby at age 15. The man had lost his hero in tragic circumstances that had never truly been satisfactorily explained. Perhaps this was the cause of the man's underlying lack of confidence in himself. Perhaps that was also why he always tried twice as hard as those around him. To continually push himself beyond what was actually expected of him.

The psychologists had done a fairly good job on reconstructing Granger after his return from Kosovo. But they hadn't finished the job properly, and the past few days had brought some once hidden demons crashing back into Colby's world. This initial session would be an exercise in 'talking him off the ledge'. From there? Well, then they could start to build back the shattered pieces of Colby's life into a complete whole, one bit at a time…

"Nervous?" The doctor motioned to a chair closer to his own at the window. For a second, Granger looked confused – he had been trying to put some distance between himself and the doctor but this shrink was as good as Don said he was – he'd picked up on it straight away.

"Honestly? Yes."

"Why?" Bradford turned away from the coffee machine and sat down in the chair next to Granger. He noticed how the man sat on the very edge of the seat, again, looking as if he was ready to bolt at the slightest excuse. His hands were clasped together, the fingers wound tightly and almost white with tension…"I mean, you've faced far scarier opponents than me, Agent Granger."

"Yeah. But none of them were trying to climb inside my head. With respect, sir."

"Why did you call me sir, Colby?"

"Um…I, um, I don't know, sir. Um, habit?" Colby looked panicked. "Have we started here?"

"Let me tell you why you called me sir, shall I?" Bradford settled back into the chair and smiled again, that reassuring smile at the nervous man. "And yes, Colby, we started the moment you walked into my office. You called me sir because that way you can put a mental barrier up between you and me. You're establishing a boundary that acts as a buffer should I start asking a question that you find a little too…close to home?" Bradford raised an eyebrow. "It's easier that way, isn't it? Establishing a chain of command? Being able to answer an awkward question with an I'm sorry sir, I can't disclose that information?"

"No, that's not it. I…"

"And by doing that, it means that you can depersonalise me into just another commanding officer figurehead that you can palm off with the bare minimum, right?" Colby leapt like a scolded cat out of the chair and paced angrily. He suddenly turned and glared at Bradford. The man's words had hit home hard…

"No! Look. I'm here because Don told me to be! Okay? Whether I call you sir or not isn't even relevant to anything!"

"You sure about that?" Bradford raised an eyebrow, waiting for Colby's response. He'd pushed the man's buttons deliberately to see how brittle he was. He'd got his answer. The frightened colt had quickly been replaced by a defensive, snarling tiger. Colby stopped pacing and stood absolutely still for a second. Bradford saw his body language suddenly switch; from passive aggressive to submissive. The muscles in his shoulders relaxed and his head dropped slightly. All clear signs that Bradford had scored a direct hit. 'Like Don warned me,' thought Colby. 'He's good…'

Colby sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to blow up like that. Kinda short on sleep and ideas here." He sat back down into the chair and chewed nervously at his bottom lip. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to go through this hell again. He just wanted to forget about the nightmares, the fear, the flashbacks – all of it. Just go back to work. Get on with life. Bury this crap. Move on…

But Bradford wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily…

"How about we start with something simple?"

"Like?" Colby's voice was leaden and resigned.

"Like tell me about Diane."

Colby looked up, surprised. He let out a short, sharp laugh. "You call that simple?"

"What would you call it?" Bradford's voice was calm, measured and even. He gave the man time to answer….

"I thought you wanted to climb inside my brain, not hers."

"But the two of you are practically joined at the hip, according to this. I'm guessing find out about the woman behind the man, and you'll find out about the man." Bradford held up a buff file with the unmistakable insignia of the CIA on the front. He smiled again. "I know all about it, Colby. Operation Amber Room, Kosovo, everything. Why don't you take your time and start at the beginning?"

"Crap…" Panic started to rise again in Colby. There was no way out of this now…

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Hereford, England…

The service had been a quiet affair – a handful of friends, very few family members. The majority of the congregation and the guard of honour were made up of the Regiment. Diane Armstrong stood alone at Gary Park's graveside, lost in thought. She heard the soft footsteps behind her but didn't bother turning. Whoever it was would make their presence known if they wanted to. Right now? She was mourning the loss of her friend and oppo. She didn't give a crap about protocol any more. Her pristine uniform offered her a measure of security, but she knew that protective and comforting blanket wouldn't last much longer.

"He was a good man, Captain."

Diane turned and faced her commanding officer. "Yes sir."

Colonel Bridgewater stood next to her at the graveside, looking down at the dirt-strewn coffin. He raised an eyebrow, mirth making the corners of his mouth twitch. "Exactly who thought it appropriate to throw in a hip flask, Captain?"

"That was Cox, sir. He thought Gary might like one last drink." Diane's voice was neutral, flat. But Bridgewater could hear the emotion behind it. He'd worked with the woman long enough to know when she was keeping her feelings bottled up…

"Remind me to have a little talk with Cox about that kind of thing."

"Sir."

Bridgewater clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. "So. You'll be leaving us soon."

"Yes sir."

"Any plans?"

"Six have already said they're interested in me working in their Moscow station. The Americans have put in a bid as well."

"Somehow, I can't see you in Moscow, Dee." Bridgewater chuckled. "You never did like the cold, did you?"

"I prefer warmer climes, sir."

"Yes. I remember a certain young I-Corps officer bitching like a little girl about being cold and wet in the middle of Brecon Beacons eight years ago."

"Marcus had just thrown me into a damn foxhole arse deep in freezing water and shit, sir!" Diane looked momentarily mortified at her use of coarse language in front of her commanding officer. "I'm sorry sir, that was unacceptable. My apologies."

"I shouldn't concern yourself too much, Captain. I've been arse deep in mud and shit for the vast majority of my career. Both literally and metaphorically speaking. But he did make a point though, didn't he?" Bridgewater laughed. "I also seem to remember Marcus having a particularly bad day after that. I also believe it took him a week to get his hearing back properly after someone threw a flash-bang into the foxhole he was hiding in!"

"Let no bad deed go left unpunished, sir."

Bridgewater chuckled. "Indeed. So. You'll be taking the Yank's offer then?"

Diane shook her head. "I don't know, sir. I mean, I've served my queen and country for thirteen years. I know I have the whole duel nationality thing because of my mum and that we're all on the same side and that, but…" She paused, trying to find the right words. "The English half of me feels like I'm abandoning my country by working for the Americans full-time."

"You could always sign on for another few years with us, you know. We would certainly be more than happy to keep you and that vast experience of yours for our own benefit."

"And spend every last bloody minute of it sat behind a desk at the London barracks at Six's beck and call? Bailing their sorry arses out every time some pratt leaves a bag unattended on the Circle Line? Does that honestly sound like my style, sir? Really?"

The Colonel laughed. "No. It doesn't. You'd rather be in the thick of things, wouldn't you?"

"Dad always said I was a tomboy. Guess that's what happens when you have two older brothers and a father who was a Lieutenant in the Regiment, sir."

"Your father was a remarkable man, Diane. So were Robin and Douglas. You've honoured their name with your service to your country, Dee."

"That's why I'm not sure about the American offer, sir. It almost feels like…I dunno. I'm letting them down somehow." Diane looked at the Colonel, her green eyes searching for answers. Colonel Bridgewater had known the woman well for over eight years. And in that moment, standing by Gary Park's graveside, he saw something in her eyes he'd never seen before. He saw uncertainty…

The Colonel laid a hand on Diane's shoulder. He could feel the tension in her muscles underneath the heavy material of her dress uniform. "It's a different world out there now, Dee. Your father understood that, so did your brothers. And so do you. Terrorists don't believe in international borders. It's a universal fight, Captain, them and us. Granted, that nasty affair over releasing the Lockerbie bomber probably hasn't helped our so-called special relationship with the Yanks. But here's a thought." The hand on Diane's shoulder gripped just the tiniest bit more firmly. "Perhaps you can do something to rectify that?"

"I don't understand, sir."

"Diane, you're an SAS intelligence officer. Probably one of the best we've had in years." The Colonel stopped briefly and frowned. "Actually? No, not probably, definitely. And apart from that uncanny sixth bloody sense of yours, you work best when you're thinking on your feet. You adapt. Regardless of more…practised methods of operation. Now personally, I wholeheartedly approve of your methods, but then again, I suppose I'm slightly biased, seeing as I trained you. But do you honestly think that the jobs for the boys brigade at Six would appreciate your, shall we say, rather unique interpretation of protocol and your somewhat improvised methods? Or do you think you could do more good with a more liberal approach, such as that adopted by our American cousins? God help me, Diane, one of your greatest strengths is that you think like a damn terrorist. Thank goodness you're on our bloody side, regardless of who's signing your pay cheque at the end of every damn month!"

"I see your point."

"Good. I think Gary would've given you the same advice, Dee." Bridgewater smiled gently at Diane. "Besides. I believe that, not only are you half-colonial, but you also have property over there?"

Diane smiled at the 'half-colonial' dig. She knew perfectly well that the Colonel had spent two years training those very same 'Colonials' he so gently mocked. Despite his gentle teasing, she knew he had a lot of respect for the Americans. "My mother's beach house at Manhattan Beach. She bought it back in the Seventies and left it to me in her will when she died." Diane paused, her voice trailing off as she spoke for the first time about her mother to the Colonel. "She said it was so I would always have somewhere I could call home." Diane's head dropped and she stared into the grave, recalling distant memories of the one person in her life that wasn't touched by the army…

"England isn't home any more to you, then?" Bridgewater asked the question quietly, gently. The quality that made Colonel Bridgewater such an outstanding commanding officer is that he knew when to listen to his soldiers. He'd always had a soft spot for Diane. She reminded him so much of her father. They had served together over 10 years before Diane joined the Regiment on attachment from I-Corps. Diane was the spitting image of her father. She had his emerald green eyes and steely determination. She also had that edge that made her stand out from the others. It was a dangerous edge that needed a firm control over. He had meant what he said about the woman being able to think like a terrorist. And while that made her a fearsome intelligence agent, it also meant that if Diane wanted to, she could be a massive threat. But the overriding sense of duty, loyalty and honour that her father had instilled in her controlled that ferocity. It gave it focus, direction and intensity. All qualities the Americans appreciated. She'd do well, working for them. And at the end of the day, that's what it was all about. It was about presenting a common front against a dangerous enemy…

"All I've got left here are graves. Everyone I've ever loved is in one. Apart from one person." Diane turned and looked directly at her commanding officer, the uncertainty in her eyes suddenly replaced by a look of steely determination, so characteristic of the Armstrong family... "Not exactly the most compelling of reasons to stay. Sir."

"And that one person who's still alive just happens to be in the United States, I presume."

Diane didn't answer.

"Then just make sure you send me the occasional postcard from the Sunshine State, would you, Captain?" Bridgewater smiled warmly. "I believe Cox is fleeing England's green and pleasant land too."

"Yep. The Yanks want him as well. The man's a bloody idiot and he drives everyone nuts, but he's the best damn tech there is. He basically stuck the finger up at Six. He says its because the Yanks pay better. At least I'll have some company on the flight over."

"I fear for both the stewardess's safety and sanity. And Smith?"

"He is going to Six."

"So the old team's scattering then."

"God bless the digital age, sir. We'll all still be in contact with each other."

"And what about Granger?"

For a moment, Diane didn't answer. When she finally did, her voice was barely a whisper. "It's…complicated."

333333

CIA headquarters, Langley…

The corridors echoed to his footsteps. Mark Tyler had taken the next plane back to Washington. He didn't want to hang around for the FBI's inquisition…

Mark finally reached the door he was looking for and knocked softly. He was called in by a strong, powerful voice on the other side of the door and, pushing the door open, he caught his first glimpse of his new boss. The muscular man sitting at the desk looked up and smiled. "Tyler. Welcome back. You have the report?"

"All here, sir." Mark held out a thick file. "Operation Amber Room. Start to finish."

"The final chapter." The man reached out a hand and took the file. "Are our friends at the FBI all okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent."

"Sir? May I speak freely?"

"It's in the Constitution, son. Have at it."

"Who the hell blew up Miller's house?"

"Need to know, Agent Tyler."

"I really need to know." Mark's voice wavered just for a second but he held his ground.

"No. You really don't."

"Sir…"

"Listen, Mark. Amber Room has been a considerable embarrassment to us and the Brits. Right now, we don't need any more awkward questions. I think everyone wants to put this behind us and move on?""

"Who blew up the house, sir?"

The man looked up, surprised. "You've been hanging around with Granger too much, Mark. That's just the sort of bloody-minded, tenacious approach he'd take."

"He's a good teacher, sir."

The man chuckled. "He is good, isn't he?" He chuckled again. "It was an…executive order. There were certain…aspects of this case that really don't need to see the light of day."

"Any of it involve Agent Granger, sir?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"But…"

"Any more than that, Mark, you really don't need to know. Just rest assured that Agent Granger is still one of the good guys. He's staying in LA because we think he can do the most good there. The FBI don't want to let him go and as part of Operation Spiderweb, it's best that one of our finest intelligence officers covers one of the most important target areas on the terrorist's to do list, don't you agree?"

"Yes, sir, but…"

"And that someone he can trust is working the same patch?" The man raised an eyebrow and looked directly at Mark.

"That's a given sir, but I still…"

"That'll be all, Agent Tyler. Have a good flight back to LA. Give my regards to Louise."

Mark stood awkwardly for a moment, wanting to press the matter. Wanting to ask if this was the CIA he'd signed up for. The man glanced up and raised an eyebrow. "Was that all, Agent

Tyler?"

The question didn't demand a reply. The conversation was at an end. This was the CIA Mark had signed up to. He sighed and nodded. "Thank you, sir."

The man watched Tyler leave the room and waited until he had closed the door behind him. Reaching into a drawer, the man pulled out two flashdrives and a crumpled piece of paper that looked like it had been kept in a sock. He unfolded the tattered piece of paper and read it one last time. It was an 'unofficial executive order' dated September 2003. The man flipped open a zippo lighter and the scratch of the wheel sounded harsh in the confines of the room. A flame leapt up and he carefully applied it to the corner of the paper. Watching it curl and blacken, he dropped it into an ashtray and watched the flame consume it utterly…

The two flashdrives were ground into pieces under the heel of his expensive shoes. He gathered up the pieces and carefully checked that they had been destroyed utterly. Dropping the pieces into the trash bin, he turned his attention to the file. He stood up, reading the first page of the report and strolled over to the shredder. One by one, selected pages of the report were pushed into the shredder and turned into unreadable confetti, never to see the light of day again…

333333

"Hellooo!" Don slammed the door behind him and threw his jacket across the back of a chair. Wandering over to the table, he picked up the post and started sorting through it, studying every envelope carefully. He knew there wouldn't be any for him. He hadn't lived here for years. But every time he came 'home', instinct took over and he followed a subconscious urge to carry out the same ritual. Don glanced up from the letters and smiled as his father walked towards him from the kitchen. Behind him, the door creaked as it swung, old hinges in dire need of some oil.

"Charlie's in the garage. Working on a new aspect of his cognitive emergence theory. He muttered something about it being to do with how things go on underneath the surface that are right in front of our eyes but we're too blind to see." Alan raised an eyebrow and crossed over to his favourite armchair. Collapsing into it with a grunt, he picked up a newspaper and spread it out across his knees, searching the TV listings.

"Charlie tell you what happened?"

"Charlie didn't need to. What, you think I couldn't see with my own eyes, Donny? When you were laying in that hospital bed? Again?" He folded the newspaper closed with a rustle and discarded it on the table. Peering over the top of his black-rimmed glasses, he studied his eldest son. "Things okay with Colby?"

"What? Yeah, yeah they're good."

"You sure?"

Don smiled warmly. "Yeah, dad, I'm sure."

"Because I wouldn't want to see you make the same mistake you did last time."

"Waddya mean?"

"About Colby."

"Dad, that was different. He's been absolutely straight with me. I trust him."

"It's been tough on him."

"Yeah, well, Dad? It's been tough on all of us." Don rubbed his eyes and frowned. Alan picked up the signal. Don didn't want to talk about it. He'd collided with Colby's world for a third time. Alan knew how much Don hated the whole 'covert operation' aspect of intelligence work. But he also knew that, however repellent to him, that aspect of the job was necessary if they were going to stop another 9/11, a drive-by shooting or the next big drug shipment to devastate the streets of LA. The FBI needed people like Colby, whether it liked it or not. Don had always hated the inter-agency rivalry and here he was, guilty of the same sentiments. He'd resented Colby's involvement with that dark and rather sordid world because the Colby he knew wasn't that person. The Colby he knew was a decent, honest man. Not some covert agent. The two halves of the same man clashed in Don's mind. He was having real difficulty getting his head around the younger man's Jekyll and Hyde character.

"So you're okay with him being a spy?"

Don thought long and hard about his answer. Finally, he looked up at his father and smiled. "Maybe not. But ya know? It doesn't matter. Because I don't care about that. I don't care about the fact that he's a Company man and not a Fed. Because no matter what else, he's still Colby Granger." Don grinned. "And that's good enough for me."

Alan stared hard at his son for a moment and then suddenly smiled. He relaxed back into his chair and picked up the paper. "Then that's good enough for all of us." He snapped out the newspaper with a loud crackle and scanned the print. "Hockey, football or baseball?"

"You need to ask?"

"Hockey."

Alan nodded and threw the paper to one side. Picking up the remote, he flicked the distraction of the television on and settled back to watch the game. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his son. Don looked thoughtful, lost in his own world. He stared, unseeing, at the television picture, the clash of the hockey players mere white noise in the background.

Alan smiled to himself.

It was okay.

At last.

The End.

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This story is dedicated to the memory of the men and women who have given their lives in the service of their country. We shall remember them…

Kes