Double Cross

  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

  Set in Sabon

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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 . . .

  Wh
en 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.