Blood Rules by John Trenhaile Read Free Book Online Page A

what to say to you. If you helped my sister, you helped me; if you helped me, you helped the Hanif family, which is in your debt forevermore. Sit down, tell me everything.”
    “There’s not much to tell.” Colin felt ill at ease. Halib spoke lightly accented English in a voice that, for all its softness, its almost poetic rhythms, troubled him. Perhaps it was too soft, too sibilant: the voice of a snake wrapped around a tree.
    “I was walking with a friend of mine, when—”
    Halib threw himself down on a sofa next to Leila, crossed his legs, and began a rapid speech in Arabic. Colin stopped speaking, his mouth open while he waited for the interruption to cease. But it looked as though his contribution to this party was over, for by now brother and sister were locked in an animated conversation he could not hope to follow.
    Colin looked around the suite’s living room. Halib was, it seemed, a rich man. His clothes, the leather valise just visible through the half-open door to the bedroom, and, beyond that, the matching two-suiter stretched open on the bed—all these things spoke in muted tones of wealth. But the object that really caught his eye was Halib Hanif’s briefcase.
    It lay on an occasional table by the window: black calf edged with maroon, gilt reinforcements on all eight corners. A gold American Express tag hung from its handle. Colin could almost smell it. One day he would own a briefcase like that, he promised himself. What was inside? Papers, millions of dollars in treasury bills, drugs?
    Why did Halib make him think of illicit gains? Ridiculous! The briefcase was the perfectly normal accoutrement of a successful businessman.
    “My dear Colin.”
    He came to himself with a guilty start, realizing that Halib must have seen the direction his eyes had taken.
    “My dear Colin, now that Leila has told me everything, I can say, sincerely, that we are more than ever in your debt.”
    He rose from the sofa and came over to clasp Colin’s hand. He shook it several times before resuming his seat. Something about this curiously formal ritual touched Colin. He began to feel rather better about Halib.
    “I cannot offer you a full explanation of what happened, because I do not know myself. But you are entitled to share in our … our theorizing.”
    He emphasized that last word with a show of good humor, and Colin found himself softening further. Halib had his sister’s deep-set eyes, hooded by fleshy brows; when they were wide open, as now, and his lips widened in a smile, he took on something of her physical attractiveness. There was a definite family resemblance, though his skin was a deep brown, much darker than Leila’s.
    “Our family is very mixed, Colin. European and Arab blood. We settled in Beirut three generations ago. Our grandfather was a banker, like our father, like me. Leila is studying for her PPE, here in Oxford; when she goes home, it will be to join the family business. The situation in our country is complicated. We are prominent in business and in politics. We think the men you saw may have wanted to kidnap Leila.”
    “Kidnap
her?”
    “And hold her for ransom. Something not unheard of in Lebanon.” “Will you tell the police?”
    “No.” Halib sat forward. “Now, Colin. I know you will find that strange. But the ramifications could be horrifying.” Seeing Colin about to protest, he held up a hand. “Please! This is England, yes, I know. But you see, Leila will one day come home to Beirut, marry her beloved fiancé Yusif, and believe me, life will be simpler for her there if we just forget all about today. Under the carpet, eh? Will you promise not to go to the police? Will you?”
    His mouth was full of almost blindingly white teeth. The smile on the face of the tiger? Colin didn’t know. All he knew was that Leila had a fiancé called Yusif, she was engaged, she’d been toying with him. Well, why not? Every queen needed a jester. He hated her—no, he didn’t. He hated