Read Maloney's Law for Free Online Page B

office on the right. At once I get up, avoiding the coffee machine and the silent workers, and sit myself at one of the empty computer terminals furthest from the corridor. Nobody pays me any attention. The system I’m looking at is a simple one, just a Windows environment with the usual icons on the left. I speed through the more interesting-looking folders, but all that’s on there is some company background, at least twenty sparkling PR articles, and a resume of the Chief Executive that tells me nothing I don’t already—
    ‘Ah, Mr. Maloney.’ I glance up as my young escort — or should that be minder? — returns. His brow glistens with sweat even though the air conditioning is working.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘If you could...Mr. Kenzie can see you now.’
    ‘Good.’ I take my time bringing the computer back to its home page before standing. ‘Please, lead the way.’
    He does, still sweating. Five seconds later, I’m in the office of the Chief Executive of Delta Egypt, and the man himself is striding towards me, hand outstretched in greeting. The décor is stark white, softened only by angular black furniture and the cream-coloured orchids on his desk. Blake Kenzie is smaller than I am, clean-shaven, thick-set, and swarthy. All these facts I already know, but nothing I have seen has prepared me for his manner. Pale blue eyes look me up and down without expression, judge me, and then move on. I shiver and suppress the urge to run.
    ‘Mr. Maloney,’ he says, his accent revealing the mix of his American and Egyptian ancestry. As he speaks, he turns away, and I let go of the breath I didn’t realise I was holding. ‘It’s good of you to come and see us from such a distance. Tell me, can I offer you anything? Mint tea? Coffee?’
    ‘No. Thank you.’
    He pauses. ‘No doubt a wise choice. Here in Cairo our coffee is best served bitter and is not to the taste of our European friends. However, if I may be so intimate, I question the wisdom of some of your other choices. What can I do for you?’
    I don’t like his use of the word, intimate, or the way he says it to make it carry a multitude of meanings. Handing him another of my cards, I launch into my spiel, but I’ve barely reached my third sentence when he takes the card, holds it up in front of me, and tears it into two. I stop talking. With a brief shake of his head, he tosses the fragments into the bin without even looking.
    ‘Please, Paul,’ he says. ‘I may call you Paul, of course? I must say I’m disappointed in you.’
    ‘Oh. Why?’
    ‘Simple. When I see people in my office, I like them to tell the truth. I don’t like to see them lie. I don’t like that at all.’
    I try to understand what’s behind his gaze, but it’s impossible. ‘If you already know why I’m here, why ask me to explain myself?’
    ‘Because I like to listen to what people have to say. It’s always interesting. You can tell many things from the way they phrase their statements, even the tone of voice. Did you know that, Paul?’
    Yes, I do know that. And if I hadn’t before, then I’m certainly learning it now. But I say nothing, I just wait.
    After a fractional pause, he walks right up to me, so close I can smell the cigars on his breath and his herbal aftershave. He continues, ‘I am assuming, and I hope rightly, that this conversation is not being taped in any way. Because if it were, the consequences might be painful. Of course I wouldn’t want, even indirectly, to cause your parents any further grief, bearing in mind the unfortunate events involving your...what is that very English word you use? Sibling?’
    ‘No,’ I say, taking a step back. I try not to blink. Or sweat. Or swallow. ‘There’s no tape.’
    Another pause. ‘Good. Those are the first true words you’ve spoken since you entered the building. Our scanners would have shown if you were lying again, of course, but it pleases me to hear you say it. Now let me tell you the truth also. If I