Noughts & Crosses 1 page

Table of Contents

Title

By the Same Author

Praise for the Noughts & Crosses sequence

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Epigraphs

Prologue

SIX WEEKS EARLIER

The Rise . . . Chapter one Tobey Chapter two Callie Chapter three Tobey Chapter four Tobey Chapter five Callie Chapter six Tobey Chapter seven Tobey Chapter eight Callie Chapter nine Tobey Chapter ten Callie Chapter eleven Tobey Chapter twelve Callie Chapter thirteen Tobey Chapter fourteen Callie Chapter fifteen Tobey Chapter sixteen Callie Chapter seventeen Tobey Chapter eighteen Callie Chapter nineteen Tobey Chapter twenty Callie Chapter twenty-one Tobey Chapter twenty-two Tobey Chapter twenty-three Callie Chapter twenty-four Tobey Chapter twenty-five Tobey

The Fall . . . Chapter twenty-six Chapter twenty-seven Chapter twenty-eight Chapter twenty-nine Chapter thirty Chapter thirty-one Chapter thirty-two Chapter thirty-three Chapter thirty-four Chapter thirty-five Chapter thirty-six Chapter thirty-seven Chapter thirty-eight Chapter thirty-nine Chapter forty Chapter forty-one Chapter forty-two Chapter forty-three Chapter forty-four Chapter forty-five Chapter forty-six Chapter forty-seven Chapter forty-eight Chapter forty-nine Chapter fifty Chapter fifty-one Chapter fifty-two Chapter fifty-three Chapter fifty-four Chapter fifty-five Chapter fifty-six Chapter fifty-seven Chapter fifty-eight Chapter fifty-nine Chapter sixty Chapter sixty-one Chapter sixty-two. Callie Chapter sixty-three Chapter sixty-four Chapter sixty-five Chapter sixty-six Chapter sixty-seven Chapter sixty-eight Chapter sixty-nine Chapter seventy

The Reckoning Chapter seventy-one Chapter seventy-two

Epilogue

Double Cross

www.rbooks.co.uk

By Malorie Blackman and published
by Doubleday/Corgi Books:

The Noughts & Crosses sequence
NOUGHTS & CROSSES
KNIFE EDGE
CHECKMATE
DOUBLE CROSS

A.N.T.I.D.O.T.E.
DANGEROUS REALITY
DEAD GORGEOUS
HACKER
PIG-HEART BOY
THE DEADLY DARE MYSTERIES
THE STUFF OF NIGHTMARES
THIEF!

UNHEARD VOICES
(An anthology of short stories and poems,
collected by Malorie Blackman)

For junior readers, published by Corgi Yearling Books:
CLOUD BUSTING
OPERATION GADGETMAN!
WHIZZIWIG and WHIZZIWIG RETURNS

For beginner readers, publishe
by Corgi Pups/Young Corgi Books:
JACK SWEETTOOTH
SNOW DOGM
SPACE RACE
THE MONSTER CRISP-GUZZLER

Audio editions available on CDs
NOUGHTS & CROSSES
KNIFE EDGE
CHECKMATE
DOUBLE CROSS

www.malorieblackman.co.uk
www.myspace.com/malorieblackman

Praise for the Noughts & Crosses sequence:

Noughts & Crosses

'Packs some powerful political punches to which readers will undoubtedly respond. But Blackman never compromises the story, which is dramatic, moving and brave' Guardian

'A sad, bleak, brutal novel that promotes empathy and understanding of the history of civil rights as it inverts truths about racial injustice . . . But this is also a novel about love, and inspires the reader to wish for a world that is not divided by colour or class' Sunday Times

'A book which will linger in the mind long after it has been read and which will challenge children to think again and again about the clichés and stereotypes with which they are presented' Observer

Knife Edge

'Devastatingly powerful' Guardian

'A powerful story of race and prejudice' Sunday Times

'Supercharged' Scottish Sunday Herald

Checkmate

'Thought-provoking brilliance' Funday Times

'Another emotional hard-hitter . . . bluntly told and ingeniously constructed' Sunday Times

'Complex but beautifully crafted . . . dramatic, intensely moving . . . it truly ensnares the reader' Carousel

MALORIE BLACKMAN

Double Cross

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

ISBN 9781407044873

Version 1.0

www.randomhouse.co.uk

DOUBLE CROSS

ISBN: 9781407044873

Version 1.0

Published in Great Britain by Doubleday,
an imprint of Random House Children's Books
A Random House Group Company

This edition published 2008

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

Copyright © Oneta Malorie Blackman, 2008

The right of Malorie Blackman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This electronic book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

For Neil and Lizzy,

Mum and Wendy – with love.

And big thanks to Annie and
sue – what would I do without you?

Lizzy, this is the book you asked me for. Sort of!

'The mere imparting of information is
not education. Above all things, the effort must
result in making a man think for himself . . .

When you control a man's thinking you
do not have to worry about his actions.
You do not have to tell him not to stand
here or go yonder. He will find his
"proper place" and will stay in it.'

Carter G. Woodson

'. . . What would he do,
Had he the motive and the cue for passion
That I have?'

Hamlet – Act II, Scene II

Prologue

The Glock 23 felt heavy and seductively comfortable in my hand. The pearl stock, warmed by my body heat, fitted snugly against my palm. I now held McAuley's custom-made semi automatic.

A real, honest-to-God gun in my hand.

A proper killing machine.

Or was that me? Where did I stop and the gun start? I really couldn't tell any more.

Now what?

McAuley lay on the floor, the previous torrent of blood that had been gushing from his nose now reduced to a trickle. His once crisp, white designer suit and matching designer shirt lay twisted in an ungainly manner around him. The random splashes of red on McAuley's suit resembled an abstract painting. I stared into one particular bloodstain in the middle of McAuley's chest.

'It's more like a Rorschach ink blot than a painting,' I thought inanely.

It reminded me of my own face in skewed profile.

Now what?

McAuley's blond hair hung like day-old spaghetti around his face. It was streaked with random red highlights which occasionally dripped onto his shoulders. Red highlights donated involuntarily by McAuley's last victim. The assorted blood splatters on his jacket alone would fill at least a couple of chapters in a forensic science textbook. I wondered whether the SOCO – scene-of-crime-officer – lucky enough to be assigned to McAuley's body would be an art-lover?

I glanced towards the office door. The heavy, arrhythmic banging on it was beginning to get to me. The noise vibrated straight through my head, making it hard to think. Making a slow fist with my free hand, I dug my short nails as deeply as I could into my palms. I had to resist the temptation to let the frenetic drumming on the door dictate the pace of my thinking.

Think, Tobey. Think.

There had to be a way out of this.

But even as the thought pushed its way into consciousness, I knew I was deluding myself. Turn and face the truth.

Time had run out.

'Durbridge, dig yourself a grave and crawl into it 'cause you are dead. D'you hear me?'

I aimed a kick between McAuley's legs and allowed myself a small, satisfied smile as the blood-spattered scumbag howled, curling up like the letter C. Small pleasures. There was nothing and no one in McAuley's office to stop me getting a few kicks in. And if I was going to die . . . The smile faded from my face as I watched McAuley writhe on the floor.

At the sound of their boss's roar of pain, McAuley's men pounded even harder on the office door. Luckily for me, McAuley's paranoia had seen to it that the door was solid, reinforced hardwood. It would hold for a while, but even that door couldn't indefinitely withstand the kind of punishment McAuley's thugs were dishing out. I reckoned I only had a couple of minutes before it gave way completely and then the door wouldn't be the only thing in trouble.

Could I do it? Could I really go through with this?

Hell, yes.

There was a time, less than six weeks and over a lifetime ago, when I'd thought a person could only sink so low. Sooner or later, you went down just as far as you could and after that, the only direction was up. But, just as loving Callie had shown me that Heaven had no roof, hating McAuley and the Dowds had taught me that Hell had no basement.

McAuley started to laugh. Even though his hands were cupped around his groin and he was still curled up, he found this funny. Creepy McAuley, the hard man. My finger stroked at the trigger. White fire blazed through my veins instead of blood, burning away all thought, all feeling. All fear. I had a gun in my hand, like a syringe pumping one hundred per cent pure, unadulterated adrenalin straight into my heart.

The frustrated hammering on the door was growing more insistent.

'You're dead, Durbridge,' McAuley said again, 'and there's nothing you can do about it.'

I pushed the gun barrel against the older man's head, drawing small circles around his temple. McAuley froze.

'Then that makes two of us, you bastard,' I stated softly. 'That makes two of us.'

SIX WEEKS EARLIER

The Rise . . .

One. Tobey

'Tobey, I was er . . . thinking that maybe you and me could . . . er . . . you know, go to the pictures or go for a . . . er . . . you know, a meal or something this weekend?'

Godsake! Couldn't she get through one sentence, just one sentence, without sticking umpteen 'er's and 'you know's in it first?

'I can't, Misty. I'm already going out.' I turned back to my graphic novel – a humorous fantasy that was better than I had thought it would be when I'd borrowed it from the library.

'Oh? Where're you going?'

'Out.' I frowned, not bothering to look up from my book.

'For the whole weekend?'

'Yes.'

'Out where?'

I turned in my chair to look at her. Misty tossed back her brunette hair with blonde highlights in a peculiarly unnatural move that had obviously been practised to death in front of her bedroom mirror.

'Out where?' Misty asked again.

This girl was stomping on my last nerve now. She'd been asking me out all term and I'd always found some reason to turn her down. Couldn't she take a hint? Miss I'm-too-sexy-for-myself leaned closer in to me, so close that I had to pull back or she'd've been kissing my neck.

'I'm going out with my family. We're visiting relatives,' I improvised.

I'm too nice, that's my trouble, I thought sourly. Why on earth didn't I just tell her that I wasn't interested in a date or anything else for that matter? For one thing, hugging her would be like trying to cuddle a chopstick. I liked curves. And even if I did fancy her – which I didn't – there was no way I'd ever get it on with an ex-girlfriend of my mate, Dan. That was a definite no.

'Maybe the er . . . erm. . . following Saturday, then? We could maybe . . . er . . . go out then if you'd like?' said Misty.

Rearrange this sentence: hell – freezes – over – when.

The classroom door swung open and Callie Rose strolled into the room. She stopped momentarily when she saw who was sitting in her chair. Scowling, she strode over to Misty.

'D'you mind?' Callie asked.

'I'm talking to Tobey.'

'Not from my chair, you're not,' Callie shot back.

'Er . . . can't you find somewhere else to sit until the lesson starts?' Misty wheedled.

Uh-oh! I held my breath. Callie let her rucksack slip from her hand to the floor as her eyes narrowed. She was one nanosecond away from moving up to Kick-arse Condition 1.

'Misty, you need to get up off my chair,' Callie said softly.

'I'd shift if I were you,' I advised Misty.

Much as I found the thought of a cat-fight over me appealing, I didn't fancy Callie getting into trouble and then giving me grief for what was left of the term.

Misty huffed and stood up. 'Callie, I'm going to remember this.'

'Remember it. Take a photo. Break out your camcorder. I don't give a rat's bum. Just move.' Callie stepped aside so that Misty could squeeze by, before flopping down into her now vacant seat.

'Damn cheek!' Callie carried on muttering under her breath as she dug into her bag for the history books required for our first lesson. She turned to look at Misty, who was now back in her own chair.

'If looks could kill, I'd be seriously ill,' Callie said as she turned to me, annoyance vying with amusement to colour her eyes more hazel than brown. Every time she was upset or angry, her eyes literally turned greener. It was one of the many things about her that got me going. She had the most expressive eyes I'd ever seen. Chameleon-like, they changed colour to reflect her every mood.

'Every time I want to sit down next to you or be within half a kilometre of you, I can't move without tripping over that girl first. What's up with that?'

I sucked in my cheeks in an effort not to chortle. One snicker and Callie would bite my head off. I tried for a nonchalant shrug.

'So what did Miss Foggy want this time?' Callie asked.

'Why d'you insist on calling her Miss Foggy?' I laughed. I know it was mean, but 'Miss Foggy' really suited Misty.

'That's her name, isn't it? Besides, I'm not the one who chose to name her after a type of weather, and if the shoe fits . . .' Callie said pointedly. 'And you haven't answered my question.'

'She was inviting me out this weekend,' I replied.

I watched keenly for her reaction.

She shook her head. 'Damn! Misty's got it bad.'

'Are you jealous?' I asked hopefully.

Callie's eyebrows shot up so far and so fast, she got an instant face-lift. 'Are you kidding? I just think it's pitiful. She's been chucking herself at you all term and you haven't exactly been rushing to catch her, have you? In fact, most of the time you just fold your arms and let her drop on her face over and over again. You'd think she'd have got the message by now.'

'So you are green-eyed.' I grinned.

'Tobey, I don't know what you're taking, but you need to get yourself to rehab – quick, fast and in a hurry.'

'My girl is jealous.' My grin broadened. 'It's OK, Callie Rose. There'll never be anyone for me but you.'

'Go dip your head,' Callie told me.

'I mean it.' I crossed both my hands over my heart and adopted a ridiculously soppy expression. 'I give my heart . . . to you.' I mimed placing it carefully on the table in front of her. Glowering, Callie picked up her pen and mimed stabbing my heart on the table over and over again.

I burst out laughing, but had to smother it as Mr Lancer, the history teacher, entered the room. Callie started muttering all kinds of dire threats and promises under her breath the way she always did when I got under her skin.

And I loved it. It was music to my ears.

Callie quickly suppressed a laugh as the buzzer sounded for the end of the lesson. I'd spent the last fifty minutes passing her silly notes and making sotto voce remarks about Mr Lancer's newly bald head with its deep groove down the middle. It now resembled a certain part of the male anatomy and there was no way I could let that pass without comment. Callie had been in smothered fits of the giggles throughout most of the lesson. I loved making Callie laugh. God knows, she'd done little enough of that since her nana died in the Isis Hotel bomb blast. Callie was reaching for her rucksack on the floor and I'd barely made it to my feet when we had company.

Lucas frickin' Cheshie.

Misty wasn't the only one who couldn't take a hint. OK, so I still wasn't quite sure what to call my friendship with Callie, but I knew what Lucas and Callie weren't – and that was an item. She wasn't Lucas's girlfriend any more, so why did he persist in sniffing around her? Being older than us, he wasn't even in our class. But he must've seen Callie through the classroom window – and now here he was, lingering like an eggy fart. Smarmy git.

Completely ignoring me, Lucas said softly, 'Hi, Callie Rose, how are you?'

Callie's smile faded. She was instantly wary. I was grateful for that, if nothing else.

'I'm fine, Lucas. How are you?'

'Missing you.' Lucas smiled.

Callie searched for something to say, but unable to find anything, she merely shrugged. I glared at Lucas, but he wasn't going to give me the satisfaction of acknowledging my presence.

'Ignore me all you want, but if you think I'm leaving you alone with Callie . . .' I projected my hostility towards him through narrowed eyes.

'I'm so glad to see you smiling again, Callie Rose. I'm glad you're getting over the bereavement in your family,' said Lucas.

The light in Callie's eyes vanished, as if a great, dark cloud had swept across the face of the sun. Callie's grandmother had died two months before, but Callie wasn't over it. Sometimes I wondered if she'd ever be truly over it.

'And you were so close to your nana Jasmine, weren't you?' Lucas continued.

I glanced at Callie before turning back to Lucas. A Cyclops with a pencil in his eye could see that Callie was getting upset. Lucas would have to be stupid not to see the effect his words were having. And Lucas was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them.

Callie said nothing.

'Callie Rose, if you ever need to talk about your grandmother and how she died or anything, then I'm here for you. OK?' Lucas smiled. 'I just want you to know that I'm your friend. I'll always be your friend. If you need anything from me you only have to ask.'

Dismayed, I turned to Callie again. With a few wellchosen words, Lucas had not only knocked Callie to the ground, but then danced all over her. Her face took on the haunted, hunted look she always wore when thinking about Nana Jasmine. Her eyes glistened green with the tears she desperately tried to hold back. Callie hated for anyone to see her cry. My hands clenched into fists at my side. I had to hold myself rigid to refrain from smacking Lucas a sizeable one.

Lucas put his hand under Callie's chin to slowly raise her head. He was still ignoring me. 'Just think about what I said. I mean every word.' He smiled again, then sauntered off to join the rest of his crew waiting in the doorway for him.

Callie and I were alone in the classroom. I chewed on the inside of my bottom lip. What to say? What to do? I was so useless at this kind of thing.

'Callie . . .' I turned to her in time to see the solitary tear balanced on her lower eyelashes splash onto her cheek.

'Callie, don't listen to him. He was being a git,' I began furiously.

Puzzled, Callie turned to me, her eyes still shimmering. 'He was just trying to be kind.'

'Kind, my arse. He did that deliberately . . .'

'Tobey, what's wrong with you?' Callie whispered. 'You know what, I can't cope with this now.'

'Callie, can't you see what Lucas was up to? He was . . .'

But I was talking to myself. Callie was out the door, leaving me in the classroom.

Alone.

THE DAILY SHOUTER Friday 19th May Page 3

BOMB BLAST VICTIM IDENTIFIED AS JASMINE HADLEY

Jasmine Hadley was yesterday finally identified as one of the victims of the bomb blast at the Isis Hotel. The former wife of Kamal Hadley, ex-MP, was killed five days ago, but it has taken this long to make a positive identification. A source working for the forensic science division of the police force stated, 'The damage to her body was so severe that a combination of dental records and DNA testing had to be used to conclusively identify the victim.' One other unidentified Nought male was also killed in the hotel explosion. The police are making strenuous efforts to establish the identity of this Nought in an effort to ascertain his connection, if any, to the blast. This latest outrage is suspected to be the work of the Liberation Militia, although as yet no one has claimed responsibility. Jasmine Hadley's ex-husband, Kamal Hadley, whose party crashed so ignominiously in the general election held last week, was unavailable for comment.

Two. Callie

Try as I might, I just couldn't let go of that newspaper clipping. It was either in my hand or in my head. And it never left my heart. Nana Jasmine's photo shone out alongside the article about her death. I recognized the photo. It was the one with Nana in the middle, my mum and me on her right and Aunt Minerva, Uncle Zuri and cousin Taj on her left. It was at least ten years old and in it Nana looked so happy, so proud. I'd asked Nana about the photo once. I'd only been five or six at the time, so to be honest, I couldn't remember that much about it. And what's more I didn't think the photo was all that, but Nana kept a framed copy on the night table beside her bed, a framed copy on her piano and a smaller version of the same photo in her purse. Taj looked like he'd just finished picking or was just about to pick his nose, Mum appeared a bit fed up and Aunt Minerva was looking at Uncle Zuri instead of straight at the camera. But Nana didn't care.

'I have my whole family beside me,' she told me when I asked her about it. 'That's what makes it so special.' Then she added wistfully, 'The only one missing was your dad, Callum.'

But for the article, they'd chopped off the rest of us, showing only Nana. The worn, folded seams of the newspaper clipping in my hand had made the paper as fragile as a cobweb, but that didn't stop me from re-reading it. Every day.

Every. Damn. Day.

I tried to imagine what had gone wrong. Had Nana Jasmine tried to return the bomb to Uncle Jude? Is that what happened? Did she go to his hotel to throw it in his face? Did it go off accidentally? Did Uncle Jude detonate it deliberately? Did Nana Jasmine try to run and hide? Was there a struggle? Did they fight over it? If so, then Nana Jasmine wouldn't have stood a chance. She took my bomb and, knowing her as I did, she would've relished handing it back to Uncle Jude. But there's no way she could have known just how dangerous Uncle Jude was. The bomb got him – but it got Nana Jasmine too. How did I even begin to forgive myself for that?

Uncle Jude and Nana Jasmine were dead because of me.

Because of my bomb.

I'd made the thing, put it together with rage and hatred in equal measure. I look back on my life of a few months ago and it's like being a voyeur in someone else's twisted mind. I look into my memories and see the thoughts and actions of a stranger, but a stranger with my face.

'Nana Jasmine, I'm so sorry . . .'

Sorry. Such a ridiculous, inadequate word.

Sorry.

I despised that word.

I buried my face in my hands. I didn't want to see or be seen. At times like this, I just wanted to crawl away and find a place to hide from the world. Hide from myself. Was there any such place? I would've given everything I owned to find it.

Little moments of forgetfulness. I guess that is all I can hope for now. Tiny fragments of moments when I can forget how my nana died. Sometimes I'll be cooking with Mum and she'll smile at me, or I'll be arguing with Nana Meggie and she'll huff at me, or I'll be doing my homework with Tobey and he'll deliberately wind me up, and in those wonderful, amazing moments, I forget. But such times are few and far apart.

I couldn't even blame Uncle Jude for what had happened. Not really. My uncle was a soldier. A terrorist. A sad, angry, bitter man. Since his death, I'd learned so much about him and the things he'd done. The Internet and my local library had provided all the details I could ever need. I wish I'd taken the time to find out more about him when he was alive. Tobey tried to warn me, so did Lucas, but I wouldn't listen. I thought that Uncle Jude was the only one who understood me, the only one who was honest with me. How could I have got everything so wrong? I'm obviously not very perceptive. And the pitiful thing is that, until Uncle Jude's death, I thought I could tell everything about a person within three glances. God, I was such a fool.

All those lies Uncle Jude told me. All that hatred filling him to overflowing. Hatred that he couldn't wait to pour into me. And I let him. And even though I'd made the bomb at his instigation, that still didn't help when I thought about the way he'd died. Him and my nana . . .

One of the first things this new government did when they came into power a couple of months ago was abolish capital punishment – for good this time, I think. It was abolished over sixty years ago, then brought back five years before I was born after a public referendum indicated that the majority of people in this country wanted Liberation Militia terrorists and those convicted of serious crimes to be executed. This current government claimed that extreme circumstances made for bad laws – like the reintroduction of capital punishment and imprisonment without trial. But part of me just wants to walk into the nearest police station, give myself up and take whatever is coming to me. And if this country still had capital punishment then even better.

'Nana, I wish you could hear me. D'you hate me? You can't hate me any more than I hate myself. I never meant for you to get hurt. I swear that was never my intention. My head was all over the place then. I didn't know who I was or where I belonged. I do now. But I never wanted that knowledge to come at the cost of your life. Mum keeps saying that I mustn't blame myself – it was all down to Jude. But I'm not stupid. Nana, I'm so sorry.'

'Callie Rose, didn't you hear me calling you for dinner?' Mum stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. 'We're all waiting for you downstairs.'

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 656