Checkmate (2 page)

This book is dedicated to
Neil and Lizzy
As always.
I love you. As always.

And I'd like to say a big thank-you to the
following people, without whom the
Noughts &
Crosses
series would've taken at least twice as long!

Mum and Wendy
Hilary – my agent, for her never-failing
humour and patience
Sue Cook and Annie Eaton
Roma and Eddie
Sean and Gill
Lesley
Minerva
Hilary, Heather, Amrit, Merris, Roxanne, Nadine, Verna,
Catherine, Sandra, Millie, Via, Elizabeth, Jill and Mary –
friends who constantly inspire awe and admiration
And all the other people who sent me emails
and letters to wish me well and spur me on.

And last but not least, this book is also dedicated to my
mother-in-law, Molly, who never showed me anything but
great love and kindness.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all.

EMILY DICKINSON

A man's character is his fate.

HERACLITUS

The General watched as his Liberation Militia commanders took their places around the imposing mahogany dining table. He studied each of them in turn. Years of self-discipline honed from childhood made it easy for him to keep his expression neutral. Six men and three women finally settled and looked at him in respectful anticipation. Most of those around the table were older than the General who, though in his late thirties, was the youngest leader the
L.M.
had ever had.

'The room's clean?' the General turned to ask Morgan Green, his personal assistant and right-hand man, who sat, not at the table, but just behind him. Next to Morgan sat Tanya, Morgan's assistant. They were the General's retinue and he was hardly ever seen without one or both of them in tow.

'Yes, sir. I've had the place swept for bugs and other surveillance devices twice. We're clean.'

The General's searching gaze lasered slowly but steadily around the room. They were meeting in the country mansion of a Liberation Militia sympathizer who was also a prominent Nought businessman. There were one or two 'prominent' Noughts in most areas of society now. One or two. A promising Nought ballerina or successful Nought stockbroker or Nought assistant to the assistant of the Chief of Police was always trotted out and put on show for the nation's media. How clever of the dark-skinned Crosses to 'allow' the occasional pale-skinned Nought to 'make it'. Successful Noughts were a safety valve. A sop for the Crosses to point to and say, 'See! He's made it. And if he can and you can't, then that's your fault, not ours.'

Not only was the meeting top secret, it also required the highest level of discretion. The commanders had arrived at the house over the course of the previous few nights, each under cover of darkness, in blacked-out cars and only after the surrounding area had been scanned and checked to ensure they weren't being observed. It was late winter and the sky was hauntingly dark. The damask curtains with blackout lining had been firmly drawn since mid-afternoon. Two crystal chandeliers above the vast table twinkled and glittered around the candle-shaped electric bulbs, like fairy lights on a tree at Crossmas time. Each of the walls around them was decorated with oak-wood panelling. An ornate and understatedly expensive silk rug had been placed under the table, covering the hardwood floor. Portraits and landscape paintings reflecting the owner's very conservative tastes had been hung at regular intervals over the panelling.

'Brothers and sisters,' the General began in a practised tone. 'The General Election date has been set. In just over twelve weeks, the country will go to the polls. It's time for all of us Noughts in the Liberation Militia to make our voices heard like never before. Make no mistake, we are being watched. We're being watched by our
L.M.
brothers and sisters who have given up their freedom or, in too many cases, their lives, in the quest for true equality between Noughts and Crosses. Failure is not an option. In front of each of you is a folder containing your objectives. Each of you has a target which is to be eliminated before the forthcoming election. Some of the targets are strategic buildings, some are our enemies in prominent positions. As regional commanders, you will be in charge of the planning and details.' The General paused to give himself time to fix each commander with his piercing brown-eyed stare. 'I
know
you won't let me down. None of us in the
L.M.
can afford to give up this fight until we have social justice and political equality for all Noughts.'

Murmurs and nods of assent quickly stilled as the General tapped impatient fingers on the mahogany table.

'Failsafe rules apply. None of you will know about the work of the other commanders. You will each ensure that the assignments you give your lieutenants remain the province of those lieutenants and no one else. I hope that's understood.'

'Yes, General.'

'Of course, General.'

'I'm also personally taking charge of the planning of a major event which will act as a devastating blow to the so-called authorities. It will take place the day before the election. We are all going to play our part in ensuring that this government is toppled.'

'If I may ask, General, what is this major event?'

The General turned to look at the man who'd just spoken
–
Jonathan Kidd, the regional commander of the South-West. Jonathan, more than any other person at the table, loved to ask questions. Inappropriate questions. Why was that? Why more questions from him than all the others put together?

'Jon, it's not our place to question the General,' Anna Tenski, the regional commander from the Mid-West, reprimanded quietly.

'No, Anna,' said the General evenly. 'This isn't a dictatorship. If Jon or anyone else for that matter has something to say then I encourage them to say it. I hope each of you feels able to express your ideas and voice your concerns to me at any time. I value your input.' The General turned to face Jon directly. 'It's better that you don't know, Jon. You're a valued member of my council and I know you and everyone else here would rather die than betray your brothers and sisters in the
L.M.
, but what I have in mind will make every one of us fugitives for the rest of our lives. The Secret Service will leave no stone unturned in their efforts to hunt us down. Only two people will be involved in the job I have in mind, myself and one other. And it'll be carried out on that basis.'

'Of course, General,' said Jonathan, not once averting his eyes. 'I want you to know that you can count on me and all I have in any venture you propose.'

'Thank you, Jon,' said the General before turning back to face the other commanders. 'You have ten minutes to look through your folders, then I'll see each of you privately in the study to hear your initial thoughts. Analyse and memorize the contents of your folders – you will not be allowed to take them away with you.'

The General stood up. Behind him his P.A. did the same. As Tanya, the assistant P.A., made moves to follow them, the General looked at her and almost imperceptibly shook his head. The assistant P.A. remained in her seat.

Without a backwards glance, the General headed out of the room. He didn't need to look back to know that Morgan, his P.A., was following him or to know that all eyes in the room were upon him.

'What's wrong, General?' the P.A. asked once they were safely out in the hall, the dining-room doors shut firmly behind them.

'What makes you think something's wrong?' asked the General through narrowed eyes.

Morgan didn't reply. He didn't have to. He had known the General for many years now, had even served in the same
L.M.
resistance cell as the General's brother. And the last four years had been spent in the General's employ. Morgan knew just about every emotional nuance the man had. He could calculate from the way the General stiffened his shoulders or linked his fingers, or the way his face would suddenly become devoid of all expression, the very depth and breadth of his anger.

After all these years, Morgan reckoned he was perhaps the closest person the General had to a 'friend'. And that was saying something, by virtue of saying nothing at all. In spite of the ability to decipher his moods and looks, Morgan didn't really know what made the General tick. All he knew was the General, ate, slept and breathed the Liberation Militia. Maybe that was all the
raison d'être
the General needed.

'I want Jonathan Kidd put under twenty-four-hour surveillance. I want his phone tapped and a tail put on him around the clock,' said the General.

'Why, sir?' asked Morgan, surprised.

'You know me, Morgan. I don't trust anyone. And Jon worries me.'

'Yes, sir. I'll put our best people on it,' said Morgan evenly.

'Good. You do that – and I want regular reports, understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

'You've checked out the study? It's clean too?'

'Yes, sir. I've bug-swept the entire house.'

'Good. Give the commanders another five minutes, then send Anna to me first.' The General made his way into the study. Just as he was about to close the door, he turned to Morgan with a frown. 'You know what?' he began. 'I want
all
their phones tapped. Report anything suspicious to me.' And he quietly shut the door behind him.

Morgan watched the closed door with a frown.

The General was a brilliant man, dedicated and utterly ruthless
–
but Morgan was growing increasingly anxious about his behaviour. If he carried on like this, it would be the General and not the Cross authorities who would bring about the end of the Liberation Militia. This new offensive the General was planning was by far the most audacious, not to mention the most ruthless, in the Liberation Militia's history. They were going to hit targets up and down the country within the same seventy-two-hour time frame. And even Morgan didn't know the details of the General's personal project. He'd put good money on it being something spectacular though. Merciless and spectacular.

Morgan couldn't help thinking that if the objective was to swing Joe Public's sympathies round to the
L.M.
's way of thinking, then this was a bizarre way to go about it. But the General had moved on from trying to win public sympathy quite some time ago. His philosophy was strike, strike hard, and whilst your enemy was still reeling, strike again. Which of the General's life laws applied? Number seventeen:
The only good Cross is a dead Cross?
No, probably number eighteen was more apt.
Ask and don't get – but demand with menaces and receive with equanimity.
The General's life laws
–
a numbered series of rules that he lived by. He said they kept him alive.

It wasn't Morgan's place to challenge the General – he'd die before he did so.

But it didn't stop his misgivings. Morgan didn't have to wonder what had happened to make the General so single-mindedly focused on the
L.M.
He was one of the very few who knew. The General was without a doubt the most successful of all
L.M.
rulers in terms of making sure that the
L.M.
was never far from public consciousness. He was a brilliant tactician, that much had been proven time and time again. And he had the drive and determination to lead the
L.M.

But to lead it where?

Sometimes such single-mindedness could be as much of a curse as a blessing. Blinkers kept you focused, but they also stopped you seeing the broader picture. Morgan sighed. He had to hold onto the belief that the General knew what he was doing. Had he been in charge then he might've chosen a less rocky route but they all wanted to get to the same destination, didn't they?

When the General lay in bed night after night with just his thoughts for company, did doubts slink around him, whispering silkily in his ear
–
or was he too disciplined to let them anywhere near? Who did the General call on when he was troubled or needed somewhere to rest his head and lighten his load? The General was admired, respected, definitely feared – but he wasn't liked. Not a bit of it. Everyone called the man 'sir' or 'the General' and in spite of their shared years together, Morgan certainly wouldn't dream of calling him anything else – at least not in front of others. The General had a number of passports and papers, each with false names and varying identities. But Morgan was one of a very select few who knew the man's real name. How long had it been since the General had been called with affection by his birth name by anyone but his mother?

How long had it been since anyone had called him Jude?