Free The Hit List by Chris Ryan Page B

From the security viewpoint the position was a sensible one.
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    'Jit occurred to me recently,' the novelist continued, at if people were to stop reading my books, I could into the body guarding business myself. I've ably as much experience as anyone.' i*I'm sorry it's been necessary,' said Slater. BLushdie nodded. The too. Me too. Now, how do
    take your coffee?' Slater had never guarded a celebrity before. With Regiment he'd been assigned occasional ction duties, but never of a recognisable figure. |!,Jie and Rushdie made their way through Harrods : minutes later he realised just how complex his task ', to be. A lot of people recognised the novelist, and of them stared. Some manoeuvred themselves positions from where they could take a second Whether any of this attention was hostile was st impossible to determine. Rushdie had insisted jceeding on foot -- he liked window-shopping, >ld Slater, and he liked to see the faces of strangers up -- and the best that Slater could do was to rose himself between Rushdie and anyone who conceivably be an Islamic militant, more than a decade the novelist had been the of a fatwa issued by Iran's supreme leader, the illah Khomeini. This edict urged that Rushdie be because of supposed blasphemy in one of his pis. A year ago, however, a less puritan Iranian iment had announced it intended no harm to ;, and for a time it had seemed as if he might le normal life. And then a report had appeared in
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    the Iranian newspaper Kayhan that over 500 Iranians had pledged to sell their kidneys to raise money for the writer's murder. According to intelligence sources the plan was devised by Islamic militia members in the Iranian holy city of Mashad.
    Slater, for whom anonymity was the very breath of life sympathised with Rushdie. He had seen photographs smuggled out of Iran of mass public hangings from the arms of cranes, and from Algeria of the mobile guillotines driven from village to village by Islamic fundamentalist death-squads. And in Iraq, of
    course ...
    'Do you mind', said Rushdie, 'if we just look in
    here?'
    It was the book department. Shoppers were browsing among the shelves and standing in line at the till, but no one made any sign of having registered Rushdie's entrance. In fact, Slater was certain, they had all noticed him. They just weren't so uncool as to stare. On a small, circular table close to the aisle was a display of a new John le Carre novel. On the far side of the table, facing the interior of the room rather than the aisle, was a similar display of Rushdie's new book. A visitor passing through the department would certainly see the Le Carre display, but probably not the Rushdie. Deftly, the author revolved the table through 180 degrees.
    'What's the book about?' asked Slater, amused. 'Rock 'n' roll,' Rushdie answered. 'Would you like a copy?'
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    'Very much,' said Slater. 'Help yourself, then. Steal one.' 'You're kidding!'
    .'I dare you,' said Rushdie, with the ghost of a smile. \ 'I'm not in the daring business any more,' said Slater, alone the getting-arrested business. Apart from ling else we're on closed circuit TV. And that guy there in the blazer is a store detective.' s'How can you tell?' Slater shrugged. 'The way he stands. The way he
    : actually looking at the books.' |l see what you mean. Do you think he knows what j're doing here?' feah, definitely he does.'
    assistant approached them.
    lave you got Geri Halliwell's autobiography?' idie asked.
    i minutes later they were in the Armani shop on the iipton Road.
    lat do you think?' asked Rushdie, holding up a l in heavy olive-green wool.
    . not a good person to ask about clothes,' replied f, his eyes scanning the store. 'But it looks OK to
    ashdie held up the same shirt in grey. 'And this
    lat looks OK too.'
    ich would you buy for yourself?' lie grey. I've spent half my life in dark green.'
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    As Rushdie signed the credit-card slip, Slater held out a copy of his