Blood Brothers

Les Cowan

Description

"Cowan spins an engrossing, suspenseful yarn in which spiritual themes are noticeably more prominent than in a regular thriller." The Herald Newly married, David Hidalgo is reconnecting with his friends and congregation but something's wrong. The sons of downstairs neighbours Ali and Ayeesha are missing, and it looks as though they're planning a terror act in Spain. To make matters worse, their daughter, Samira, has a Christian boyfriend and now wants to convert. Once again, David Hidalgo finds himself in the middle of an unexpected crisis. Can he help a confused girl, unsure of her identity? Can he find the boys and prevent a tragedy?

Informations

• Publié par: Lion Hudson
• Date de parution: 23 octobre 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781782643142
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Les Cowan is daring in engaging with controversial and complex themes that are patiently rooted in the familiar and recognizable. This makes his stories not just exciting but credible and engaging. The chaotic and problematic worlds that surround David Hidalgo, inevitably caused by his ridiculous insistence on doing the right thing, give us pause for thought, if not his accidental hero.
G.J. Martin, author of The Orcadian Trilogy
A powerful exploration of how ordinary people can get caught up in extremism. Blood Brothers is a truly thrilling novel with a profound insight into family love and religious hate.
Fiona Veitch Smith, author of the Poppy Denby Investigates series
Praise for the David Hidalgo series:
Exciting and thoughtful and also gentle probing of how faith and conscience work in the face of obsession. Runcie s Grantchester has a rival in Edinburgh with a hero unlike our friend Rebus.
Press and Journal Saturday magazine
Another cracker from Cowan pacey and relentless The author has found a rich seam of crime fiction.
Scots Magazine review of Sins of the Fathers
Cowan spins an engrossing, suspenseful yarn in which spiritual themes are noticeably more prominent than in a regular thriller.
The Herald
The David Hidalgo series:
Book 1: Benefit of the Doubt
Book 2: All that Glitters
Book 3: Sins of the Fathers
Book 4: Blood Brothers
Short stories:
David Hidalgo and the Badvent Calendar
David Hidalgo and a Case of Forgetfulness
Non-fiction titles:
Loose Talk Collected
Orkney by Bike

Text copyright 2020 Les Cowan
This edition copyright 2020 Lion Hudson IP Limited
The right of Les Cowan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Published by
Lion Hudson Limited
Wilkinson House, Jordan Hill Business Park
Banbury Road, Oxford OX2 8DR, England
www.lionhudson.com
ISBN 978 1 78264 313 5
e-ISBN 978 1 78264 314 2
First edition 2020
Image credits: background JoseIgnacioSoto/iStock; figures left and right FotoDuets/iStock
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
For Andrew and Donald
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue: La Mezquita
Chapter 1: Marchmont
Chapter 2: Hacienda
Chapter 3: C rdoba
Chapter 4: Firth of Forth
Chapter 5: Edinburgh Royal
Chapter 6: Pensi n El Moro
Chapter 7: Rinc n de Miguel
Chapter 8: South Queensferry
Chapter 9: Bruntsfield
Chapter 10: The Bridge
Chapter 11: A A MiniMart
Chapter 12: Potterrow
Chapter 13: Casa Maria
Chapter 14: Gonzalez Bravo: Jam n y Vino
Chapter 15: Bruntsfield
Chapter 16: Craigmillar
Chapter 17: Medina Azahara
Chapter 18: Madrid
Chapter 19: Silver Sands
Chapter 20: Craigmillar
Chapter 21: Edinburgh
Chapter 22: Airport
Chapter 23: Departures
Chapter 24: Aftermath
Acknowledgments
Grateful thanks once again to those who have helped in one way or another in the evolution of David Hidalgo, even just by reading a book and posting a review.
Specifically, I am grateful to those who took the time to read and comment on early drafts, and in particular, Fiona Cowan, Angus Mackay, and Mija Regoord.
Also Jessica Gladwell, Mike Belcher, Fiona Veitch Smith, Julie Frederick, and the team at Lion for continuing to support the Hidalgo series. I would also like to express particular appreciation to Phoebe Swinburn from Midas PR for the amazing feat of getting reviews and exposure where I thought none was possible. Also thanks to Ron Ferguson for continued encouragement and reassurance that David Hidalgo had indeed something worthwhile to say.
Finally, thanks to many wonderful friends in Madrid, Galicia, and all over Spain for their kindness and generosity in sharing their culture with me, which has enabled David to go where he goes and do what he does.
Prologue
La Mezquita
S o here we are, ladies and gentlemen. The guide gestured around, smiling with the air of someone who had just pulled a very large, impressive rabbit out of a deep top hat. A UNESCO World Heritage site, one of the most visited locations in Europe, and the jewel in the crown of Al-Andalus: the Great Mosque of C rdoba. La Mezquita.
She had probably delivered that opening speech several thousand times before but still tried to make it sound impressive, and mostly succeeded. However, the dozen or so Americans, Australians, and a few Brits gathered around weren t really listening. They knew what they had come to see and were ready to be overwhelmed, even without the hard sell. They slowly spread out like snooker balls given a gentle tap, passing awestruck through a forest of delicate rose marble pillars, which supported arches of alternating pink and white blocks, more like sugar icing than stone. Above the arches, a fairy woodland canopy of ancient beams completed the Hansel and Gretel effect. iPhones and selfie sticks were out in force but conversation was in whispers. They tiptoed up and down the avenues of pillars, craning to see the exquisite carving of the capitals, glancing into side chapels, and wondering about the mysterious, exotic Abd al-Rahman I, founder of the Umayyad dynasty and architectural mastermind.
Eventually, the guide called them together and began her description. In comparison with the visual - even spiritual - impact of the mosque, the facts seemed almost commonplace. Started by Abd al-Rahman I, Emir of the Caliphate of C rdoba in 784, the Mezquita had been variously enlarged by his successors until it was finally lost to the Christian Reconquista of 1236. Thereafter the central square was summarily flattened to make way for a cathedral. Holy Roman Emperor Carlos V, visiting years later, commented, They have taken something unique in all the world, and destroyed it for something commonplace.
The tour continued through the prayer hall towards the cathedral, the guide commenting on interesting features along the way.
Two young South Asian-looking men in their late teens or twenties brought up the rear. So what do you think? the taller, skinny one whispered, looking around.
It s incredible! the shorter, stocky one replied, looking back into the maze of pillars and arches.
Of course it s incredible. It s Islamic. That s not what I mean. You remember - what we spoke about. What do you think?
I don t know. It s been here so long. It s not doing anyone any harm. Can t we just leave it as it is?
His companion was dismissive. He gave a snort and shook his head.
You don t get it, Little Brother, do you? he said. It s perfect. Symbolic. It s an image. The heart of Islam defiled by the infidels. They knocked down the greatest art in the world to put an imposter in its place. Now it s time to reclaim it. To take back what s rightfully ours. It ll mark the beginning of the new age when everything is put right. Our turn to knock something down. The new empire from the ashes of the old. It s exactly what the Prophet told us to look for.
His younger brother kept looking around nervously and accidentally caught the eye of a security guard.
Keep your voice down, for goodness sake, he hissed. They can hear you in Edinburgh.
I don t care. The older brother laughed. Let them. We ll be unstoppable.
Then, abruptly, an idea occurred to him. We should pray, he said. Take your shoes off.
What?
You heard me. Take your shoes off. Down on your knees!
The guard was now watching them closely. As soon as the trainers came off he was on his radio mic. Burly uniforms rapidly appeared from all directions.
No es permitido, a swarthy man with the build of a boxer said in a tone that didn t invite negotiation. He grabbed the upper arm of the older boy and heaved him to his feet.
Not permitted, another repeated.
Get your hands off me! You ve no right.
The tour group twenty yards ahead looked around at the scuffle but a couple of teenage tourists were no match for a half-dozen excops and amateur weightlifters, so it didn t last long. Seconds later they were out on the street. The taller one tried a kick at one of the guards and ended up on his backside as a result.
You ll see! You don t know what s coming! he shouted at the retreating team, who were already back slapping and joking, enjoying a little action for a change.
You idiot, his brother muttered. It s you that doesn t know what s coming. You ll get us all killed.
Chapter 1
Marchmont
D r Gillian Lockhart yawned, stretched like a contented cat, smiled, and reached out towards the other side of the bed. Finding only a warm, empty space, she hooked a strand of dark hair behind one ear, pushed herself up on an elbow, and opened a sleepy eye.
David? Where are you?
Just coming! One toast or two?
She smiled again, luxuriously, arranged the pillows, and sat right up, the downie pulled tight around her.
Usually two. Depends what they re with.
Just then the door nudged open and a figure appeared. Sandy hair, a bit dishevelled, gold-rimmed glasses slightly squint, midfifties, a navy blue dressing gown barely holding together, and a tray.
Ta-da! he announced, placing the tray across her knees. She laughed.
Wow. To what do I owe the privilege?
Sunday morning. First Sunday back, Mrs Hidalgo. This is the new normal. Get used to it.
The tray held two plates, each with smoked salmon flutes stuffed with cream cheese next to piles of creamy, slightly runny scrambled eggs and two rashers of bacon. A wire rack held toast triangles. A jar of marmalade was fighting for space on the tray with a coffee pot, a small milk jug, one large mug, and a cu