The Hit List Read Free

to the
    %tograph of the two boys.
    'Are you ready?'
    Vlaxwell looked around him, at the walnut
    jXelling, the Louis Quinze escritoire, the luxurious
    fyures and fittings. He'd survived the war, he'd
    , *Vived the Nazis, he'd built and lost an empire.
    \w, naked, he stood before his killers.
    What a story, he thought. What a front page!
    He dictated his last headline.
    'I'm ready,' he said.
    10
    ONE
    The wind, a hard north-easterly from the Chilterns, picked up once again. It scoured the valley and whipped through the pines which stood guard over the 1st XV rugby pitch, flattening the players' shirts to their bodies. The light was fading; the towers and parapets of Bolingbroke's School were an indistinct grey on the skyline.
    Neil Slater glanced at his watch. Another ten minutes, then he'd send the boys in for showers and high tea. They'd done well, and he had a fair idea of whom he was going to choose for Saturday's match against Wellington.
    Bracing himself against the wind, Slater watched as a slight sixteen-year-old American named Reinhardt intercepted an opponent's pass, made as if to pass in his turn, dummied, wrong-footed his opposite number, and raced for the try-hne. A metre or two behind Reinhardt, a Saudi boy named al-Jubrin kept efFortless pace.
    The opposing full-back moved to block Reinhardt. His pile-driving tackle drove the breath from the American's body, but by then the ball was sailing
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    The Hit List
    He did as he was bid.
    'Thank you, Mr Maxwell. Now I'm going to ask you to take off your robe.'
    Slowly, Maxwell obeyed. He touched the appliqued blue 'Lady Ghislaine' on the breast pocket of the dressing gown, gave the ghost of a wink to the photograph of the two boys.
    'Are you ready?'
    Maxwell looked around him, at the walnut panelling, the Louis Quinze escritoire, the luxurious fixtures and fittings. He'd survived the war, he'd survived the Nazis, he'd built and lost an empire. Now, naked, he stood before his killers.
    What a story, he thought. What a front page!
    He dictated his last headline.
    'I'm ready,' he said.
    10
    ONE
    wind, a hard north-easterly from the Chilterns, ted up once again. It scoured the valley and pped through the pines which stood guard over st XV rugby pitch, flattening the players' shirts to bodies. The light was fading; the towers and of Bolingbroke's School were an indistinct 1 on the skyline.
    ?il Slater glanced at his watch. Another ten s, then he'd send the boys in for showers and |$ea. They'd done well, and he had a fair idea of he was going to choose for Saturday's match ; Wellington.
    ing himself against the wind, Slater watched as It sixteen-year-old American named Reinhardt sd an opponent's pass, made as if to pass in his ll^durnrnied, wrong-footed his opposite number, eed for the try-line. A metre or two behind It, a Saudi boy named al-Jubrin kept effortless
    : opposing full-back moved to block Reinhardt. iving tackle drove the breath from the I's body, but by then the ball was sailing
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    The Hit List
    towards al-Jubrin. That the athletic young Saudi would pluck the ball from the air without breaking step was a foregone conclusion, as was the subsequent try. Masoud al-Jubrin was born to play rugby.
    al-Jubrin dropped the pass. There was no try instead the ball spun away into touch.
    'Good, Paul!' Slater called out to Reinhardt as the boy picked himself up. 'Masoud, what happened? You don't usually drop those -- you'll have to do a sight better than that if we're going to beat Wellington on Saturday.'
    The Saudi pupil was silent. The wind plucked at his neatly cut hair and snatched away the pale vapour of his breath.
    'What's wrong, Masoud?' asked Slater.
    al-Jubrin shrugged. 'Nothing, sir.'
    Slater put his hand to the boy's forehead, noted the feverish brightness of his eyes. 'You're burning up. How long have you been feeling like this?'
    'Sorry, sir. Since this morning, sir.'
    'Why the hell didn't you tell me?'
    'Sorry, sir. Thought it would . . . go.'
    And worried