Disclaimer & Author's apology:

Firstly, apologies to everyone for the delay in this update. This was due to work commitments that had me writing anything from 4,000 to 8,000 words a day for the past few weeks, so as you can imagine, the last bloody thing I wanted to do once I'd finished work was write some more…

Usual disclaimer applies, ya know, about me not owning anything to do with the regular Numb3rs characters. The Brits and the story, however, are mine, miney mine, mine, mine!

Also usual warnings for bad language, unintelligable Cockney slang and violence.

And if you were expecting one of the usual smart-arse disclaimers, tough. It's early, I haven't had a coffee yet and my 'comedy' muse is running an errand and won't be back until Thursday afternoon…

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"You know full well this has trap written all over it in big, fuck-off shiny letters Col, right?" The team had left Franklin bound and gagged and had moved into another room, away from treacherous ears and accusing eyes. Micky Cox sat back on the corner of a table, his arms crossed over his chest and a serious cast in his eyes. All the fun, the sparkle, the mischievous twinkle had gone. Micky and the others knew exactly how this would play out. Nothing they could say or do would stop Colby meeting with Burkess. Absolutely nothing. Colby would make that meet, no matter what. All they had to figure out now was the best way to make sure he walked away from it still upright and breathing. "I mean, you're not planning to do that whole, bloody stupid and guaranteed bullet with your name on it going in alone shit are you?"

"What, are you crazy?" Colby snapped the phone shut and grinned at his friend. "Waddya think my name is, Micky, Colby Dumbass Granger? I'm not on some kinda suicide mission here, bud, ya know, taking one for the team and all that crap, dude, seriously, c'mon! We do that, I end up very dead, which, my friend," he wagged an accusing finger at Micky, "I have no intention of doing, and Burkess gets away with murder. Literally. Sure, he might be dead as well," Colby paused, frowning. "Actually, nope, scratch the might, you can depend on that, because I swear I am so gonna kill that son of a bitch given half an excuse! Goddamn it, he is pissing me off!" The momentary outburst vanished as quickly as it had erupted. Colby paced like a caged panther, talking as much to himself as he was to Micky Cox. "Yeah, he'd be dead but his reputation and his organisation would still be intact. Mick, I don't give a fuck about Burkess. He's just a means to an end. What I do give a fuck about is what's behind Burkess."

Colby swung a chair around and sat down. He stared hard at his friend, the vivid green eyes burning with passion as his mind worked through every angle… "And no, I ain't going in alone. At least…" Colby threw a questioning look around the circle of friends that surrounded him. This was as much his team as Don and David were. This was a team he could trust. But he would never blindly assume that they would follow his every order. The Brits were funny like that. If they thought your order was a pile of crap, they told you so. With the utmost respect, of course… "I was kinda hoping you guys would join the party."

"Blimey, you have to even ask?" Marcus Bowen grinned, his deep, northern accented voice carrying an accusatory note. "When have we ever been known to miss a party?"

"Can't remember missin' a single one of your knees-ups, mate." Doug grinned and winked conspiratorially at the American. "Things are always interesting whenever we work with you, you bloody nutcase." Doug shrugged. "I like interesting. Damn sight better than sitting on your arse picking yer nose all day in a barrack room on down time. Tell me who you want whacked, point me in the right direction and I'll take a couple of pot shots at the bugger for ya with extreme prejudice. I'll even wing the sod if you don't want him killed. Your call, squire." Doug's East London accent slipped through the more neutral timbre he usually adopted. Both he and Diane were Mile End kids born and bred. But through their abilities and talent both had risen to become officers. However, you can take the kid out of East London, but you can't take East London out of the kid. And these particular East Londoners were spoiling for a fight…

Micky had been quiet up until now. Slowly he stood up and picked up the pacing where Colby had left off. He suddenly stopped and turned, staring hard at his friend. "Ever read any Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Col?"

"Sherlock Holmes? Of course."

"Does the name Moriarty mean anything to you, bud?"

"I don't get the point, Mick…"

Micky suddenly grabbed the back of Colby's chair and span the man around to face him. Their faces were inches from each other and Micky spoke quietly. "Holmes' nemesis, old son. Professor Moriarty. They played game after twisted game trying to outwit each other while around them people died, Col. Innocent people. Just pawns in some kind of intellectual, sick game of chess. Don't let Burkess lure you into the same kinda game, my friend. Don't let him become your bloody Moriarty. Don't start enjoying this, Granger." Micky stared hard into Colby's eyes, looking for any trace of the madness he had seen in Diane's eyes all those years before.

Colby didn't answer for a second – he merely held Micky's gaze. A slow, subtle smile pulled at the corners of his mouth and he quietly lapsed into Farsi, a language he knew Micky spoke fluently. "Sherlock Holmes always had an ace up his sleeve, Micky."

"Which was?" Micky answered back in the Persian language. He knew neither Doug nor Marcus would understand their conversation.

"He had Doctor Watson watching his back." Colby's cold, emotionless stare spoke volumes to the Englishman. Micky nodded curtly and straightened up, patting Colby on the shoulder. He looked briefly at Diane. She did speak Farsi. Fluently. She had understood every word and the briefest of glances from her and an almost inperceivable nod reassured Micky that one of his oldest friends was still just about on the right side of crazy…

"Burkess'll have his own back-up, Col." Diane's voice was quiet and serious. "Probably ghosts, but they'll be there, moseying around in the background and generally being obnoxious little buggers." Her own East End accent made the words clipped, short and sharp.

Colby smiled gently at her and stood up, pushing the chair away. He moved closer to her, putting one arm around her waist and kissing her tenderly on the brow. "I ain't scared of no ghosts, baby. Especially when I've got my own team of Ghostbusters right here, yeah?" He raised an eyebrow and Diane stared hard at him. For a few seconds she said nothing, but Colby knew that almost feral look that flickered in her eyes.

Poker faced, she shrugged. "If you think I'm wearing a grey jump-suit and carrying a damn atomic ghost sucker-upper thingy on a stick on my back, you've got another thing coming, Granger." Colby laughed and kissed her hard on the mouth, ignoring the smirks and the sound of Micky clearing his throat.

"Um, Guv? Do you guys want a couple of minute's privacy here?"

Colby broke the kiss and glanced over at Micky, grinning broadly. "What's up Mick? Getting' jealous?"

"Bollocks, you wanker."

"Why is it a race of people that manages to construct the finest, most complicated and most literary insults, you Brits still stoop to 'bollocks, you wanker' when you've got nothin' else left?"

The three Englishmen glanced at each other and then directly at Colby. They spoke with one voice…"Bollocks, you wanker!"

Colby let out a shout of laughter, genuine, and almost with a sense of relief. He knew that these men had his back. Their casual, bone dry and sarcastic wit told him that they were willing and ready to take his lead on this operation. Even Diane's flippant remarks carried with them their own meaning. Underneath the seemingly disrespectful and rude banter was a simple message. You're CO. You order it, we do it. They were looking to him to take command. Colby could ask for nothing more from the most dangerous, ruthlessly professional and expertly capable bunch of crazy-arsed Brit bastards in the world. In that moment, he finally began to see a light at the end of the tunnel. And this time, thank fuck, it wasn't an oncoming goddamn train…

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Micky Cox rammed the power connection into the back of the laptop and fired the machine up. His eyes never left the screen as he punched in a sequence of code. The laptop screen blazed into life and a cascade of files, photographs and documents filled it from corner to corner. Colby leaned forward, watching closely over Micky's shoulder. "From the top, Mick."

Micky started reading out the words on the screen. Behind the two men, Doug and Marcus checked and rechecked two .338 sniper rifles, slotting laser-guided night-scopes into place and screwing bulbous silencers onto the ends of the barrels. They glanced briefly across as Micky began reading loudly enough for them all to hear. There was not enough time to do a full brief and a weapons check and prepare. They worked simultaneously, taking in the briefing and automatically going through the C&P drill they knew by heart. Diane listened quietly in the back. The effects of the morphine she had been pumped full of in the hospital had now almost faded to nothing and the pain of aching muscles and open wounds was sapping her strength. She felt hot and cold at the same time, and a bead of sweat trickled down the back of her neck. She should be in a hospital bed. She knew that. But she fought desperately to hide any signs of fatigue from her colleagues. There was no way she was going to abandon Colby now…

"Walter William Burkess. Born Seattle nineteen fifty…"

"Skip the bloody bio, Mick. Just tell us what we need to know." Diane's voice was sharper than she had meant it to be and she inwardly flinched. Colby shot her a concerned look. He hadn't missed the edge in her voice and knew her well enough to know that she was in pain. He held her defiant gaze for a few seconds and turned back to Micky, his face expressionless.

Micky carried on. "Sorry Guv. Head of some shady department nobody's ever heard of at Langley. Been with the Company for fifteen years. Nothing before that, though." He peered closely at the screen. "Standard...yeah, standard record wipe. Pretty thorough from what I can make out, too. He only pops up in official records in nineteen ninety one, right at the start of the Balkan war in Yugoslavia. He was stationed at the Prague embassy, pretty low level, ya know, a field agent who thought that John le Carre wrote actual bleedin' manuals for spies and was all upturned collars, trilby hats and dodgy passwords in dark alleys. Nothing major on him, just seemed to run a network of informants who had relations in Yugoslavia and kept them updated about the conflict. Then he drops off the grid again and resurfaces in two thousand in Pristina, right at the start of…"

"…The Kosovo war." Colby finished the sentence for Micky and straightened up, his eyes closed and a pained expression on his face. "Burkess. I knew that name rang a bell when I first heard it." He looked across at Diane. Her face was blank. But he could sense the boiling rage simmering just below the surface. Burkess. The betrayer…

They finally knew now who had given them up to their torturers all those years ago. The pieces fitted. Aranamov hadn't been lying when he said that greater powers lay behind the treachery that had led to their capture and prolonged torture. Tyler had been right. The men behind this betrayal had links to them going back nearly ten years. Colby felt all the old, crushing rage, fear and hatred come pouring back into his soul. The same rage he had felt when he went looking for those who had inflicted the horror onto him and Diane. Men who had killed his friends, maimed innocent civilians and tried again and again to kill him.

"Enigma had him listed as a person of interest during the investigation, Col." Micky turned in his chair and looked up at his friend. "I can get into Enigma files, but it could take a while. The ones at this level are sealed beyond my pay grade, mate."

"Back door?"

Micky grinned. "Always, my sneaky American friend. There's always a back door in. I just gotta find it."

"Work on it, bud. Give me as much as you can." Colby straightened up and looked at Marcus. "Marcus, I'm gonna need comms. Can you work with what you've got and wire me up for sound?"

Marcus grinned and reached into a hold-all and pulled out a small case. He opened it and inside were ear-mikes, transmitters and receivers – all of them no bigger than a shirt button. Marcus held out the box for Colby to see, proudly displaying his 'toys'. "Never leave home without 'em. Borrowed 'em off a mate of mine in MI6. Well, I say a mate, more of an acquaintance, really, And I say borrowed…"

"They'll do just fine, bud." Colby nodded. "I want a recording of everything that's said, Marcus. Every goddamn word."

"Consider it done." Marcus snapped the box shut and immediately went back to checking the rifle that rested in his lap.

"We're going to need a layout of the meet point. Where's he called it for?" Doug slid the bolt on the rifle home, swung the gun up to his shoulder in one smooth movement and squeezed the trigger. The gun clicked smoothly and Doug nodded approvingly at it, happy that there was no chance of a misfire or jam when he needed it least.

"MacArthur Park. The raised bandstand at the south end."

"That's gonna be a bitch to cover, Col. You've got overlooking sniper points on three sides, open ground in front, unknown terrain behind you. If Burkess has ghosts watching his back, they're gonna be an absolute bastard to hunt down before they get a shot in. Best wear a vest, mate."

"Doug, if they go for a kill it'll be a head shot. And unless you've got a kevlar beanie in your magic holdall, a vest ain't gonna be a whole heap of useful."

"You're wearing a damn vest, Colby." Diane briefly glared at the big American. "Non-negotiable."

The room stilled. Everyone in there had heard the sharp tone of Diane's order and Colby looked straight at the woman, his eyes locking with hers. "Guys, you wanna give me and Diane a few minutes please?" Colby spoke quietly, his eyes never leaving Diane. The three Englishmen exchanged glances and moved out of the room quietly, leaving the two ex-soldiers alone together. Colby waited until the door softly closed. He looked at Diane, watching her. Her gaze met his and didn't flinch. "You okay baby?"

"Not really, no." Diane shrugged. "But I've 'ad worse."

"Look Dee…"

"No Colby, you look." Diane stood up quickly and seemingly confident, hiding the pain that washed through her with effort. Colby saw through the attempt straight away… "Burkess has been ahead of us from the word go. He's been running bloody rings around us and you know it. So riddle me this, baby. Why's he so bloody keen to start talking to you now?"

"Because I asked him to."

"You what?"

"I asked him." Colby put a reassuring arm around her tired shoulders. He could feel the tension there and the way that she flinched as his arm rested against her muscles. She had never flinched from his embrace before and the sensation cut him to the core. He pulled her closer, trying to reassure her. "Dee, the only way we're going to find out what Burkess has planned is to damn well ask him. He's so certain that he's winning that I promise you, he'll do the whole James Bond evil villain thing and tell me everything. He won't be able to help himself. Get inside his head, baby. Think. What would you do in his position?"

"I'd've killed you six years ago."

Colby laughed gently. "Remind me to never piss you off, sweetheart!" He kissed her gently and guided her back over to the couch. Her complexion had a sickly grey tinge to it and he could sense that standing for any length of time was becoming an effort for her. Carefully, he sat down next to her, his arm never leaving her shoulders. As they sat, he felt her move into his embrace, reassuring him that her earlier flinch was down to tiredness and pain, not some kind of emotional response. "Listen baby. I have to end this. And yeah…" he held up a hand before she could interrupt. "I know it's dangerous. But I've got your boys covering my back every step of the way and I couldn't ask for more." He stroked her cheek gently and his voice softened. "But you're in no fit state to go into the field, baby." Diane frowned furiously and opened her mouth to speak, but again, he held up his hand, and his eyes hardened. "Dee, I can't go into this with anything else on my mind. And right now, I'm worried about you. You're not fit, baby. You know you ain't. Look at you, you can barely keep your eyes open! You've pushed yourself too hard, too early." He wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her close, enveloping her in a gentle, loving embrace. "You know I'm right." He kissed her brow and her eyes met his.

Diane felt drained. Exhausted. Frustrated to the point of fury because she knew Colby was right. If she went in on the operation, she'd be a liability. A distraction. But she could still help…"Okay."

"Huh?" Colby feigned surprised. "What, really? Just like that?"

"Don't push it, Granger."

"You really must be feeling crappy."

"Wanna bloody join me, smart-arse?" Diane glowered at him. "Don't think I'm backing down here, Mister cleverclogs. I know in my present state I'm a bleedin' liability in combat right now. But there's another team that could probably do with knowing what's going on, don'tchya think?" Her eyebrow arched questioningly. "Col, you have a duty to keep Don and David in on this. It involves them as much as it does us now, baby. Micky's got your back, and the two lads are as good as gold. As long as I've got somewhere to sit down when me legs go a bit wobbly, I can still co-ordinate things with the Feds. Agreed?"

Colby chuckled quietly and shook his head. "God damn it woman, you're the most stubborn, tenacious, pig-headed…"

Diane bristled. "You running out of insults yet, or do you want some suggestions?"

Colby laughed gently and laid a finger on her lips. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, you're the most stubborn, tenacious, pig-headed, beautiful, courageous and brilliant woman I have ever known. I don't know what I'd do without you, you know that?"

Diane stared straight into his eyes, her face completely expressionless. But behind the neutral mask, Colby could see a cascade of emotions mirrored in her eyes. She was tired. Desperately tired. And frightened. But there was a steely determination to her that pushed all of that to one side. All except the obvious concern she had for him…

"Just make sure I don't have to go through the rest of my life having to do without you, Colby." Her voice was a mere whisper. "I couldn't live, baby. Not without you. Don't make me do that."

Her head dropped onto his chest and he felt her own strong arms wrap around him. They sat there for a few brief, tranquil seconds. Just being together. Holding on to the one thing that meant everything to them. Each other…

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"Don, we got all hell bustin' loose out there. LAPD are in full panic mode." David burst into the war room and picked up a remote. He pointed it at the plasma screen and pressed a button. CNN news flashed onto the screen. A red, rolling banner announced riots across Downtown LA. The gang war that had been simmering just below the surface and held in check by an uneasy truce had burst into bloody, violent life. The image behind the banner showed a Chrysler on its roof, flames engulfing it. Scattered around the burning car lay still bodies. Gang members with scarves covering their faces braved the chatter of small arms fire to grab their fallen friends and drag them to safety. Don watched with mounting horror. It was blatantly obvious that for many of those limp, rag-doll like bodies the desperate attempts to save them had come too late.

A cacophony of telephones rang incessantly in the Bullpen. Agents worked furiously, trying to gather as much information as quickly as possible. Tim King's SWAT team had temporarily commandeered a corner of the office and were going through their own check and prepare routine before deploying to the riot zone. Agents checked their handguns and pulled on kevlar vests. LAPD had sent out a distress call to all agencies. They were overwhelmed. It was up to the FBI to respond…

David turned his back on the chaos behind them and looked at his boss. "This is bad, bud."

"Col was too late. Whatever those bastards have planned, it's already started."

"Not quite."

Don spun around and looked at the figure in the doorway. Diane Armstrong stood defiantly, but he noticed that she held onto the doorframe for support and her pale, drawn face told him of a woman who was on the verge of collapse. "Dee. Hey, am I ever glad to see you!" He moved quickly towards her and gently took her arm, supporting her. She didn't shrug his hand away but let him guide her towards a chair. David moved quickly – he too had seen how sick the normally strong, fit woman looked and he laid his hand on her back, ready to support her as well if necessary. Diane sank slowly down into the chair and paused, running a hand over her face.

"Good to see you too, lads." She puffed her cheeks out. "Whew! That's a long old walk from the foyer. Thought my legs were gonna fold under me in the lift." She flashed Don the briefest of smiles, glossing over the effort it had taken her to just walk from the elevator doors to the war room. Don laid a hand on her shoulder and pulled a chair towards him with his foot. He sat down next to her, his hand never leaving her shoulder and a look of deep concern on his face. Diane had become more than just another agent to Don. She had become a friend and he couldn't hide his worry for her.

"Dee, you look…"

"Like crap. Yeah, I know mate. And I'm really very grateful that people keep pointing that fact out to me so subtly." She patted Don's hand reassuringly. "I'm okay, Don, really. Just so long as I don't try to move too quickly." She glanced up at the plasma screen. "How bad is it?"

"Bad. What did you mean, Dee?" David perched on the corner of a table, ensuring he was in her line of sight without her having to move to see him. He too could see how close to collapse the woman was and, like Don, he considered her to be a friend. "Ya know, when you said it hadn't started yet?"

"This isn't what they've got planned. Believe me, this is small fry. Think about it, guys. Would another inner city riot undermine the presidency?"

"No." David shook his head. "The media are gonna have a field day and yeah, it's gonna be a mess for the Whitehouse to clean up, but ultimately, it's a state matter, not a federal one. It ain't gonna worry John Doe in Iowa."

"Exactly, David. Don, we've been joining the dots and this," she jerked her thumb at the screen, "was something we'd predicted. But it's not enough."

"So you're thinking it's a diversion?"

"Everything else has been so far, mate." Diane paused and her eyes closed for a second. Don's fingers flexed on her shoulder and she opened her eyes and breathed deeply. "I'm okay. Just give me a minute." She took the cup of water David had got for her gratefully and took a sip. Don noticed a slight tremor in her hand. She carefully put the cup down on the table and carried on. "Like David said, it's not enough. Colby's trying to find out now what else they've got planned."

Don's stomach twisted as she mentioned Colby's name. He knew that whatever Colby was doing it was probably a damn sight more dangerous than being in the middle of a downtown riot. "Is he okay?"

"My lads are with him."

It was reassurance, but Don wanted more. "Dee, if you know anything, sweetheart, anything at all…"

"That's why I'm here, Don. Colby needs you guys to get digging this end." She glanced out into the rapidly emptying Bullpen. "That is, if you've got any kind of a team left, mate…"

Don glanced up. Tim and his SWAT team had moved out, and the usual melee of activity had slowed. Clusters of agents were heading towards the elevators and down to the foyer. He frowned. "Yeah, I know. LAPD have called in a bunch of favours. They're having real problems trying to contain that riot. The whole area's full of federal buildings all screaming for help. Our guys are positioning themselves in key locations to stop any incursion into federal property. We've got banks, courthouses, schools and god knows what else down there."

Diane nodded. "Actually, that may work in our favour. Leaves us clear to give Colby the back up he needs without drawing any attention to ourselves."

David shifted on the table and frowned. "I dunno, guys. I got a bad feeling about this."

Don glanced up at his friend. "What kinda bad feeling?"

"That we're missing something. Something so damn obvious. If this riot isn't their primary plan, then what is? What's the real target, Dee? What could really make people think that they're not safe to such an extent that…" A low rumble echoed through the room and the two men glanced at each other and David grabbed at the edge of the table. "Earthquake?"

"Ah crap, that we do not nee…" Before Don could finish, the rumble grew into a roar and the entire building shook violently…

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The foyer of the FBI building was full of agents, all heading off to their various assignments. Tim King barked orders at his SWAT team and they trotted in formation out through the doors. Guards were so busy checking agents out that they paid little attention to anyone coming in and a queue started to form in front of the metal detector arches.

Nobody noticed the slim, nervous looking man who slipped through the doors. Nobody paid attention to his blue FBI windcheater, a windcheater that was several sizes too big for him.

And nobody noticed the small detonator in the palm of his hand…

The man stood still in the centre of the foyer and closed his eyes. He knew this was the right thing to do. God had guided him to this moment. God had promised him a life of eternal paradise for his sacrifice. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he felt it trickle down his skin. In those last seconds, every sense was heightened to an extreme. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest, the whooshing of blood echoing in his ears as it pumped its last around his body.

He was surrounded by the enemy. They weren't innocent civilians. These were the people who had sent soldiers to his village. These were the people who had sent their drones whining across the Afghani countryside and bombed the village school. They had claimed the bomb had been a Taliban RPG, not one of their evil, cowardly weapons. He knew different. The Iman had told him so. And he had told him that their cause had supporters in this evil land – supporters who wanted to see the overthrow of their own, corrupt government and its puppet president. This wasn't an act of war. It was an act of peace. He did God's work. The work of Allah. His name would go down in history…

A small smile spread across his lips and he opened his eyes. He wanted his last memory to be the destruction of this stinking pariah of corruption and the death of its minions. His thumb rested on the small red button of the detonator…

Agent Paul Foster was a family man. His beautiful wife Audrey had just given birth to their third child. Dwayne. At last, Paul had the son he had always wanted. He loved his two daughters with the true passion of any father, but Dwayne was his boy. At last he had a son he could teach how to play baseball. Take fishing. Cheer for at Swim meets and football games. He checked his badge and patted his jacket breast pocket. In the wallet that nestled against his chest was a picture of Paul, his beautiful wife Audrey and Nancy and Rebecca, his two little angels. And cradled in Audrey's arms was their pride and joy, their little Dwayne. The picture had been taken only three days earlier and he had shown it to everyone in his team with pride and had basked in the warm congratulations from his friends with a beaming smile.

He glanced around the foyer. Jesus, the balloon really had gone up… He fiddled with his earpiece and adjusted the mike on his wrist, making sure they were both secure. His partner was dawdling by the water fountain and Paul frowned briefly. "Andy, seriously? C'mon! We've got orders, ya know."

Agent Andrea O'Mally straightened up and ran her fingers quickly over her mouth, wiping any droplets of water from her lips. "Okay, okay! I had to leave a perfectly good cup of coffee on my desk and I'm parched." She buttoned her suit jacket and started towards her partner, smiling at his obvious impatience to get going. That was Paul. Always wanting to be in the thick of the action… Andrea was a slim, blonde petite woman with a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and a degree in Criminal Psychology. She'd aced the Academy and had been assigned to the LA office robberies unit. It was her third day on the job…

Paul Foster sighed and rolled his eyes. Damn newbies… He turned away as she caught up to him and started towards the door. Suddenly, he stopped, frowning. Andrea O'Mally barrelled into his back and swore. "Damn it Foster, you wanna get stop lights fitted to your ass or something?" She followed his gaze. "What? What is it?"

Paul ignored her and stared at the man standing stock still in the middle of the foyer. Something was wrong… Foster glanced at the man's right hand and his eyes widened in horror. In one move, he reached into his holster and drew his gun. "FREEZE!" He screamed the instruction at the man and a ripple of reaction flowed through the foyer as agents turned to look for the reason for Paul's yelled command. The man stood perfectly still, listening to the sound of his enemies fruitlessly pulling out their guns. It was no match for the vest made of high explosive he wore…

His eyes locked with Paul Foster's blue orbs. The dark eyes sent out a wave of hatred towards the man he didn't even know and he smiled slowly. He slowly brought his hand up so everyone around him could see the detonator, his thumb resting on the red button.

Paul watched as time slowed down.

He saw agents faces change from cold professionalism to sheer panic as the realisation sank in…

He saw those around him scattering in different directions, as if they were running through molasses…

Paul knew that there was no point in running. There was nowhere far away enough to hide, nothing to dive behind for protection, no way of avoiding the full force of the coming blast…

In that last instant, Paul saw an image of Audrey in his mind, laughing and holding their son. He'd loved her since high school. He loved her even more right now…

Mamoud Al Fari gave his heart to God and pressed the detonator…

The foyer of the FBI building became a fire-filled inferno full of flying concrete, glass and twisted steel. Bodies, the life already ripped from them by the blast, were thrown through the air, spraying blood and entrails across the marble floor. The glass doors exploded in a shimmering, lethal shower of death, spraying those outside with glass shards that were as effective as a hail of bullets. Dozens more died on the forecourt of the building and on the steps down to the path leading away from the building. Flame erupted out of the gaping holes, incinerating anyone in the way. The cataclysmic boom of the explosion vibrated through the solid concrete walls, fracturing them down to the rebar. Choking grey dust flowed like a pyroclastic flow through the foyer and rolled down the steps. In a few seconds, the noise, the deafening, screaming roar of a massive blast that sucked the air out of lungs and the skin from bones, died away. Silence descended…

From a pile of rubble a dust-covered hand flexed in an agonizing death throw, the fingers reaching upward, the wrist buried in the shattered remains of a column that hid the rest of the body. The fingers slowly relaxed and were still. A few inches away from the blood-covered fingers lay a picture. A smear of blood obscured the man's face. But still just visible was a young wife and two blonde, pig-tailed and beaming little girls. In the woman's arms was a newborn child.

A child who would never now learn how to play baseball with his father…

TBC…