Eagle Strike by Anthony Horowitz Read Free Book Online

things. Matadors were braver than he thought – insanely brave to do this out of choice! And he also knew he was going to be very lucky to survive a second attack.
    The bull had stopped at the far end of the ring. It shook its head, and grey strings of saliva whipped from either side of its mouth. All around, the spectators were still clapping. Alex saw Yassen Gregorovich sitting among them. He alone was still, not joining in the applause. Grimly, Alex let the cape hang down a second time, wondering how many minutes had passed. He no longer had any sense of time.
    He actually felt the crowd catch its breath as the bull began its second attack. It was moving even faster this time, its hooves pounding on the sand. The horns were once again levelled at him. If they hit him, they would cut him in half.
    At the very last moment, Alex stepped aside, repeating the movement he had made before. But this time the bull had been expecting it. Although it was advancing too fast to change direction, it flicked its head and Alex felt a searing pain along the side of his stomach. He was thrown off his feet, cartwheeling backwards and crashing down onto the sand. A roar exploded from the crowd. Alex waited for the bull to turn round and lay into him. But he had been lucky. The animal hadn’t seen him go down. It had continued its run to the other side of the arena, leaving him alone.
    Alex got to his feet. He put a hand down to his stomach. The jacket had been ripped open and when he took his hand away there was bright red blood on his palm. He was winded and shaken, and the side of his body felt as if it were on fire. But the cut wasn’t too deep. In a way, Alex was disappointed. If he had been more badly hurt, they would have had to stop the fight.
    Out of the corner of his eye he saw a movement. Yassen had stood up and was walking out. Had the ten minutes passed or had the Russian decided that the entertainment was over and that there was no point staying to watch the bloody end? Alex checked around the arena. Raoul was leaving too. But Franco was staying in his seat. The man was in the front row, only about ten metres away. And he was smiling. Yassen had tricked him. Franco was going to stay there. Even if Alex did manage to escape the bull, Franco would take out his gun and finish it himself.
    Weakly Alex leant down and picked up the cape. The material had got torn in the last encounter and it gave Alex a sudden idea. Everything was in its right place: the cape, the bull, the single banderilla , Franco.
    Ignoring the pain in his side, he started to run. The audience muttered and then roared in disbelief. It was the bull’s job to attack the matador, but suddenly, in front of them, it seemed to be happening the other way round. Even the bull was taken unawares, regarding Alex as if he had forgotten the rules of the game or decided to cheat. Before it had a chance to move, Alex threw the cape. There was a short wooden handle sewn into the cloth and the weight of it carried the whole thing forward so that it landed perfectly – over the creature’s eyes. The bull tried to shake the cloth free, but one of its horns had passed through the hole. It snorted angrily and stamped at the ground. But the cape stayed in place.
    Everyone was shouting now. Half the spectators had risen to their feet and the president was looking around him helplessly. Alex ran and snatched up the banderilla , noticing the ugly hook, stained red with the blood of the last bull. In a single movement he swung it round and threw it.
    His target wasn’t the bull. Franco had started to rise out of his seat as soon as he’d realized what Alex was about to do; his hand was already scrabbling for his gun. But he was too late. Either Alex had been lucky or sheer desperation had perfected his aim. The banderilla turned once in the air, then buried itself in Franco’s shoulder. Franco screamed. The point wasn’t long enough to kill him, but the barbed hook kept the