Knife Edge (3 page)

My wig "was blond and long, down past my shoulders. Morgan had on glasses with black frames. I took the sunglasses and put them on, then pushed them up onto the top of my head until if and when needed. We changed out of our usual uniform of jeans and shirts and I now had on a cheap but effective dark-blue suit. Morgan wore dark grey trousers, a dark blue shirt and a long raincoat. Our old clothes were packed up in one of the medium-sized suitcases by the door. I didn't have time to check out the other suitcase.

'Tie your hair back in a pony-tail,' Dylan told me, handing me an elastic band.

Biting my tongue, I did as he said.

'I'd better take back the IDs,' said Dylan.

Morgan gave his back immediately. I was more reluctant.

'Each of you take a suitcase and walk behind me. Neither of you is to speak without looking at me for permission first. Is that clear?' asked Dylan.

Morgan nodded, already acquiescent. Subservience didn't come so easily to me. I was used to giving orders, not taking them. And as for doing what a dagger told me to, that stuck in my craw.

'You want to live, you'll do what 1 say,' Dylan said directly to me. 'You lose sight of the fact that I'm here to help you and we're all dead.'

'OK. Fine,' I spat out. 'Let's do this. But Dylan, you try to betray us, and you won't live to regret it.'

'Why would I betray you?' Dylan asked.

I didn't answer.

'Oh, I see. If I could work against my own kind then I can't be trusted by anyone – is that it?'

Jude's rule number two:
Never trust a Cross. Ever.

'I suppose it doesn't occur to you that I can think the system just as unjust as you do,' Dylan continued.

'Is the system a bit unfair?' I mocked. 'You see that then, do you? How's the view from your warm, comfortable position on the inside?'

'I hate to interrupt the philosophical debate, but can we get the hell out of here?' Morgan hissed.

Dylan and I glared at each other. But each of us backed off – for now. Dylan looked at each of us critically.

'Morgan, take that suitcase. Jude, take the other one. We've got one shot at this, so no foul-ups.'

Dylan went to the door first. He took a deep breath, then opened it. He sauntered out of the room and headed for the one lift in the middle of the corridor, with Morgan and me only a couple of steps behind him. As he pressed the button to call the lift, he began to whistle tunelessly to himself. I'll say one thing for him, he faked nonchalance really well. The lift arrived after a few seconds. We all stepped in. Dylan pressed the button for the basement, which led straight out to the small car park at the back of the hotel.

As the lift sped downwards, my heart began to beat a little louder, a little faster. My free hand snaked into my jacket pocket, reassured by the feel of my automatic gun inside. My gun had fourteen bullets in the magazine and one in the chamber and I had four loaded clips on me, one in each sock, one in my other jacket pocket and one tucked into my belt at the back. Meggie McGregor didn't raise any stupid children – just damned unlucky ones.

'Take your hands out of your pockets,' Dylan told me without turning his head.

I reluctantly did as I was told. The lift opened. We walked through the hotel delivery and storage area. On one side of us were metal and wooden crates and boxes, some stacked on top of each other. On the other side were laundry bins full of dirty sheets and towels and wooden boxes, some filled with eggs and others with row upon row of sausages, covered only with cellophane. A mixture of smells assaulted my nose, most of them unpleasant. We made our way across the room to the double doors on the other side. Dylan pushed against one of the doors which led out to the car park. We walked out after Dylan, with no idea what we were getting ourselves into. A familiar feeling crept over me. A sense of suppressed panic and misplaced excitement. My adrenaline was definitely pumping. I decided that now was a good time to don my sunglasses. I pushed them down from the top of my head to cover my eyes.

'Excuse me, sir.' An armed dagger cop immediately came running up to us. Another one stood his ground, just a few metres behind him, his gun already in his hand.

Only by a supreme act of will did I stop my hand from flying into my jacket pocket.

'Yes, officer?' Dylan stepped in front of me and Morgan. 'Can I help you?'

'We're looking for two nought terrorists who're believed to be staying at this hotel,' said the officer. 'Have you seen anyone suspicious in the hotel?'

'Good God – no!' Dylan replied, shocked.

What acting! Next stop – the Academy awards.

The officer side-stepped Dylan to look directly at Morgan and me, then down at the sheet he had in his hand. Even from where I was standing, I could see a photo of both Morgan and myself. Suddenly our disguises seemed anorexic to say the least. There was no doubt about it – Morgan and I had been set up. I'd thought we were being let back into the Liberation Militia. Big mistake. Andrew Dorn was just letting the Cross authorities do his dirty work for him.

Dylan looked around, alarmed. 'You don't think the terrorists are in this car park, do you?'

'No sir, at least. . .' The officer scrutinized us like we'd just run over his dog or something.

'And you are . . ?' he asked me directly.

I remembered my part and looked at Dylan as if for guidance.

'This is Ben, my chauffeur, and that's John Halliwell, my secretary,' Dylan said. 'These two I can vouch for.'

'I see,' said the officer. He turned back to me. 'Can I see your ID card please? Yours as well,' he said to Morgan.

'When they're with me, I keep their ID cards, officer,' said Dylan.

'Why?' the cop asked, with a curiosity that verged on suspicion.

I held my breath.

'It's been my experience that if you grab a blanker by his ID card, his heart and mind will surely follow,' smiled Dylan. 'I'm not taking any chances on my nought staff skipping out on me with my car or my important documents. You understand?'

'I see.' The officer returned the smile as Dylan dipped his hand into his jacket pocket for our cards.

He handed them over to the cop, who looked at them, then handed them back.

'OK, officer?' asked Dylan.

'Yes. One last question. Why d'you have two suitcases?'

Nosy bugger. This cop would find curiosity killed more than the cat if he didn't let up.

'I've been away on business – at least that's what my wife thinks,' winked Dylan.

'I see. And if I asked to look in your suitcases, you'd be fine with that?'

'Of course – if you're really that keen to see my dirty laundry. John, open my suitcase please.'

Morgan unzipped the suitcase and threw open the lid, all without saying a single word. It was full of socks, shirts, trousers and underpants. A couple of financial magazines sat in one corner and a fat crime thriller book sat in another.

'Ben, open the other case.'

I bent down and slowly began to unzip it. My suitcase contained Morgan's and my original clothes.

'That's OK, sir,' said the cop. 'You can go.'

I zipped up the case, just as slowly. No haste, no speed, no suspicion.

'So you're on your way home, sir?' asked the cop.

'Yes, officer. Arriving without my secretary and chauffeur might get me into trouble. And these blankers know how to keep their mouths shut.'

'That makes a change.'

Dylan laughed at the funny, funny joke and the dagger cop joined in.

'Thank you, officer,' Dylan smiled, one Cross to another. Perfect understanding and, of course, much too subtle for us lowly blankers.

Dylan made his unhurried way to the mid-sized, black luxury car closest to the road. He took out his car key and pressed the button on the key to open the doors. Then he threw the key at me and waited, looking pointedly at me.

What the hell is he looking at me like that for? I wondered.

And then it hit me. Biting down hard on the intense antagonism I felt, I opened the back door of the car for him. He slid in like it was only natural. Taking the suitcase from Morgan, I deposited the luggage in the boot. It took all my self-control not to turn round and look at the cops behind me. What were they doing? Watching me? Could they smell the adrenaline pumping through my body? Could they hear my heart thumping like a relentless boxer? Or had they already left to help their colleagues search the hotel? I got behind the wheel of the car. Morgan sat next to me. I started the engine and we were away.

'Drive like you haven't got a damned place to go,' Dylan hissed at me.

And that's what I did. I drove like I had nowhere else to go – which was easy, because it was true.

Dear Callie,

We've been together for a few hours now. I'm out of the labour room and back on the ward and it's just after dinner-time on the first day of the rest of your life. You're in a transparent, plastic cot at the bottom of my bed and I keep stealing glances at you 'cause I still can't quite believe you're mine. I'm writing this in between watching all the other mums on this ward welcome their loved ones – husbands, partners, other children, parents. Every bed has at least one visitor – except mine.

I can't stop thinking about Callum – your dad – and wishing he was here to see us, to be with us. But at least I've got you, Callie. You and me against the world, eh? How do I feel? I'm not even sure. It feels like my mind is still numb – or maybe just stuck in neutral.

But I take another glance at you and tell myself that we're still here. We're alive. We're together. Is this what Callum wanted? I think so. I hope so.

You and me against the world, my darling.

You and me against the world.

We drove past a number of police cars on either side of us. I kept my gaze on the road ahead. The last thing I wanted was to catch a dagger cop's eye. At the end of the road I turned left, heading into town. After I'd been driving for at least five minutes, Dylan piped up.

'Take the next left,' he ordered.

I turned into the indicated road and carried on driving at a steady speed, well within the limits.

Dylan now took over, telling me when and where to turn until after about fifteen minutes, we turned into the car park of a hypermarket. The car park was about half full. Most of the cars were parked as close to the hypermarket entrance as they could get. I cruised to the emptiest part of the car park, which was the area furthest away from the shop entrance. The odd trolley sat conspicuously in various bays where no one could be bothered to put them back where they belonged.

'This is where we part company,' said Dylan once I'd stopped the car.

'Thanks, Dylan,' Morgan said gratefully. 'I owe you one.'

'You owe me several,' Dylan told him. He turned to look at me. I kept my mouth tight shut.

'You can take the suitcase with your stuff in it out of the boot,' said Dylan. 'Could I have the wigs and glasses, though. I might need them again.'

'Are you telling me what to do?' I asked.

'No. Merely suggesting,' said Dylan.

We pulled off the disguises, then all got out of the car. The early evening sun shone warm and welcoming but I felt uncomfortably hot. I dismissed it as nerves. Being outside the
L.M.
fold had made me jumpy. Nervous. I looked around. I didn't fancy hidden police springing out from behind a load of cars and ambushing me. Morgan and Dylan shook hands.

'Till next time,' said Morgan.

'Till next time,' Dylan said seriously. He nodded in my direction. I ignored him. No way was I going to get chatty with a dagger. Dylan got back into the car, this time in the driver's seat, as I took out the suitcase which contained our luggage. I'd barely slammed the boot shut before he was off, the wheels slipping slightly on the gravel beneath them. I turned to Morgan.

'Since when have you been so matey with a Cross?' I said.

'Are you accusing me of something, Jude?' Morgan asked mildly.

'No. Should I be?'

Morgan shook his head. 'Dylan is a contact I made a few years ago, before you'd even joined the
L.M.
You left me in charge of contingency planning and that's what I did. I installed him or other Crosses who're on our side at all the dubious hotels we've stayed in over the last few months – just in case.'

'I see,' I replied.

And I did see. I'd left all our backup plans to Morgan, relying on him to make sure that we always had a way out in case the cops came knocking. And I'd never questioned him about his plans or procedures before now. What he did and how he did it was his business. And deep down, I had to admit that without the dagger, it would've been much harder to get away from the hotel. But that thought burned through my gut like excess acid.

'I don't like relying on daggers,' I admitted. 'There's not one of them that can be trusted.'

'Jude, sometimes we have to work with sympathetic Crosses,' said Morgan.

'"Sympathetic" and "Crosses" are two words that're mutually exclusive. They've been in power for centuries. They're not going to give it up now. Not to us – our skin is too light.'

'The Liberation Militia aren't asking Crosses to give up power. I don't know what you're fighting for, but I'm in the
L.M.
to fight for equality. All we want is a level playing field.'

'You need to wake up and smell the coffee,' I scoffed. 'Level playing field, my left ass cheek. I've got news for you. We're not on the playing field. We're not even in the game.'

'Yes, we are. Thanks to people like Dylan, we are,' Morgan told me. 'And your kind of negative thinking holds us back.'

At my snort of derision, Morgan continued, 'I've worked with Dylan and other Crosses before.'

'And you're OK with that?' I asked.

'I'm OK with whatever will further our cause.'

'And you don't care who we have to crawl into bed with to do that?'

'I'm not . . . blinkered enough to think that every Cross on the planet is against us – no,' said Morgan.

'Then more fool you,' I said with scorn.

Morgan regarded me steadily. 'You'd better be careful, Jude.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'I joined the
L.M.
to fight for equal rights for noughts,' said Morgan. 'What's your reason?'

'The same,' I shrugged.

'You sure? Or is the
L.M.
just a way for you to carry out your vendetta against every Cross who crosses your path. 'Cause that's how it looks from where I'm standing.'

'You need to look again then, or stand somewhere else,' I told him.

'Which is it, Jude? What d'you care about most? The cause or vengeance?' said Morgan.

How dare he ask me that? 'I'm not even going to bother answering that,' I said with all the disdain I could dredge up. 'We have more pressing matters to discuss – like who tipped off the cops that we'd be at the hotel.'

Pause. Then Morgan nodded, prepared to go along with my blatant change of subject.

'Yes, I've been thinking about that too. It has to be Andrew's handiwork. He must be getting desperate.'

'Which makes him even more dangerous,' I pointed out.

'Yes, I know.'

'The police know we're together, so we need to split up,' I said reluctantly. 'We'll use our mobile phones to stay in touch and meet at least once a month. That way we can co-ordinate our efforts to bring down Andrew Dorn.'

'I'm not going to rest until he's paid for what he did to us,' Morgan said stonily. 'What he did to all of us. Pete's dead, Leila's rotting in prison and your brother was hanged because of him . . .'

'Callum's death wasn't down to Dorn – or at least only in part. My brother died because of Persephone Hadley,' I said harshly.

'I'm not even going to go there,' said Morgan, refusing to discuss it. 'We both lost a lot – let's leave it at that.'

We stood in silence as we both thought about just that – what each of us had had taken away from us. Morgan had lost the stability and sense of belonging that came from being at the heart of the
L.M.
I'd lost all that and a lot more. Morgan didn't understand, but then how could he? No one could begin to guess at the depth of the hatred I held for Sephy Hadley and all daggers. But mainly Sephy Hadley. Everything began with her and my brother. And that's how it would end. Callum was gone. Sephy would pay. Destroying her would be my life's mission. My over-riding, overwhelming ambition.

'We're agreed then? We'll lay low until we can bring down Andrew Dorn?' said Morgan. I nodded. 'And we'll keep in contact?'

'Yes,' I said, my tone clipped. 'You'll be OK?'

Morgan nodded. 'So where should we meet?'

'The second of next month at Jo-Jo's in the Dundale Shopping Centre,' I decided. 'And we mustn't phone each other unless it's an emergency. If the police get hold of our phone IDs, they can trace and even listen in on every call we make.'

'Should we still change our phones regularly?'

'We'll play it by ear – OK? But whatever else happens, we mustn't lose touch.'

'OK,' Morgan agreed. 'Well, until we meet again, keep your head down.'

'You too.' And with that I turned and walked away, my footsteps crunching on the gravel beneath my feet.

And even though I wanted to, I didn't look back. I could sense that Morgan was still watching me but I didn't turn round. Jude's rule number five:
Never get so close to anyone or anything that you can't walk away at a moment's notice if you have to.

When
you have to.