Read Eagle Strike for Free Online Page A

had changed hands. And Alex had been prepared. It was insane – but the crowd would love him. Once he was inside the arena, nobody would know that he had never been trained. He would be a tiny figure in the middle of the floodlit ring. His clothes would disguise the truth. Nobody would see that he was only fourteen.
    There was an eruption of shouting and cheering inside the arena. Alex guessed that the matador had just killed the second bull.
    “Why are you doing this?” Alex asked.
    Yassen shrugged. “I’m doing you a favour, Alex.”
    “I don’t see it that way.”
    “Franco wanted to put a knife in you. It was hard to dissuade him. In the end I offered him a little entertainment. As it happens, he greatly admires this sport. This way he gets amused and you get a choice.”
    “A choice?”
    “You might say it is a choice between the bull and the bullet.”
    “Either way I get killed.”
    “Yes. That is the most likely outcome, I’m afraid. But at least you will have a heroic death. A thousand people will be watching you. Their voices will be the last thing you hear.”
    “Better than hearing yours,” Alex growled.
    And suddenly it was time.
    Two men in jeans and black shirts ran forward and opened a gate. It was like a wooden curtain being drawn across a stage and it revealed a fantastic scene behind. First there was the arena itself, an elongated circle of bright yellow sand. As Yassen had promised, it was surrounded by a thousand people, tightly packed in tiers. They were eating and drinking, many of them waving programmes in front of their faces, trying to shift the sluggish air, jostling and talking. Although all of them were seated, none of them were still. In the far corner a band played, five men in military uniforms, looking like antique toys. The glare from the spotlights was dazzling.
    Empty, the arena was modern, ugly and dead. But filled to the brim on this hot Mediterranean night, Alex could feel the energy buzzing through it, and he realized that all the cruelty of the Romans with their gladiators and wild animals had survived the centuries and was fully alive here.
    A tractor drove towards the gate where Alex was standing, dragging behind it a misshapen black lump that had until seconds ago been a proud and living thing. About a dozen brightly coloured spears dangled out of the creature’s back. As it drew nearer, Alex saw that it was leaving a comma of glistening red in the sand. He felt sick, and wondered if it was fear of what was to come or disgust and hatred of what had been. He and Sabina had agreed that they would never in a million years go to a bullfight. He certainly hadn’t expected to break that promise so soon.
    Yassen nodded at him. “Remember,” he said, “Raoul, Franco and I will be beside the barrera – that’s right at the side of the ring. If you fail to perform, if you try to run, we will gun you down and disappear into the night.” He raised his shirt to show Alex the Grach, tucked into his waistband. “But if you agree to fight, after ten minutes we will leave. If by some miracle you are still standing, you can do as you please. You see? I am giving you a chance.”
    The trumpets sounded again, announcing the next fight. Alex felt a hand press into the small of his back and he walked forward, giddy with disbelief. How had this been allowed to happen? Surely someone would see that underneath the fancy dress he was just an English schoolboy, not a matador or a novillero or whatever it was called. Someone would have to stop the fight.
    But the spectators were already shouting their approval. A few flowers rained down in his direction. Nobody could see the truth and Franco had paid enough money to make sure they didn’t find out until it was too late. He had to go through with this. His heart was thumping. The smell of blood and animal sweat rose in his nostrils. He was more afraid than he had ever been.
    A man in an elaborate black silk suit with mother-of-pearl