“What is that?” Heidi asked.
Bond explained. “It’s like a graduation, when a novillero, or novice, bullfighter becomes a full-fledged matador. It occurs at a special corrida, and the novice is proposed and seconded by senior matadors. It’s almost like a christening.”
“Very good, James,” Javier said. “You remember!”
Bond shrugged. “Javier, I asked to see you because we need some information about Domingo Espada.”
Javier nodded. “I thought so. What do you want to know?”
“Tell us your impressions of him. How close are you to him?”
“Domingo is my manager,” Javier said. “He manages several matadors. In the beginning, he was like an uncle. He was a friend. He looked out for his matadors, and I was no exception. He took on my brother when he was a novice. He has a lot of power in the world of bullfighting. Alas, sometimes he misuses that power. I think he bribes bullring owners. I know he bribes the regulators and the presidents at bullfights. He can make sure that the bulls he breeds are sold for corridas. At the same time, as a manager, he can dictate which bulls his matadors will fight. He is a good manager, but I sometimes question his ethics. Lately, he has started demanding that his matadors publicly support his political causes. I don’t particularly like that.”
“Why can’t you just leave?” Bond asked.
“It’s dangerous to leave Domingo Espada. They call him El Padrino down here. I don’t mind telling you; he’s a crook. He has been linked with organized crime for many years. I never used to pay any attention to it. But now … I have reason to believe he’s a murderer. I think he may be responsible for Roberto’s death.”
“Why?” Heidi asked.
“Because Roberto crossed him. I’m still trying to piece together what happened. You see, I know that Domingo Espada also deals in prostitution. He finds young girls from poor families and literally buys them and trains them to be high-class whores. Sometimes special guests are allowed to ‘try them out’ before they go out to work for real. Espada keeps this all very quiet, of course, and he’s got judges and policemen on his payroll. Anyway, I think Roberto—he was, you know, a ladies’ man, as you say—I think he fell for one of Espada’s girls and helped her to escape from the ranch where they are kept as prisoners. They went to Ronda, where Roberto was supposed to fight in a corrida. Espada was there, doing one of his rallies to recruit volunteers for his army.”
“Excuse me,” Heidi said. “How come he’s allowed to do that?”
Javier shrugged. “Because he’s Espada. He runs the corridas. He can do what he pleases.”
“Go ahead,” Bond urged. “What happened to your brother?”
“He and the girl were found dead in his hotel, minutes before the corrida was supposed to have begun. His throat had been cut. No one knows how the killer got away. The hotel had only one entrance—the front.”
“When you say his throat was cut, do you mean ear to ear?” Bond asked.
Javier nodded, swallowing. “I swear, if I find out that Espada was responsible, I will kill him. I’m thinking of killing him tonight.”
“Javier, don’t do anything rash. Have you ever heard of the Union?” Bond asked.
“Which union?”
“Not a bullfighting union, but a criminal organization called ‘the Union’?”
“I don’t think so.”
“They’re like a mafia, only they operate worldwide. We think Domingo Espada may be associated with them. As you know, he’s stirring up trouble between my country and Spain over Gibraltar. If we can prove that the Union is backing Espada before Monday’s summit conference in Gibraltar, we may have a chance of bringing him down.”
“Being Spanish, I have mixed feelings about that situation,” Javier admitted. “Gibraltar is a part of Spain and always has been.”
“Not according to treaty, Javier,” Bond said. “Gibraltar rightfully belongs to Great Britain until we decide otherwise. You wouldn’t want a war to break out over it, would you?”
“Of course not.”
Heidi interrupted. “We think Espada and the Union might be planning something catastrophic for Monday. It could affect everyone in this region … Spain, Gibraltar, Britain, North Africa … the whole Mediterranean.”
“What’s he going to do?” Javier asked.
“We don’t know. We’d like you to find out, if you can.”
“Me? What can I do? I’m not that close to Domingo. I’m beginning to hate him. I can’t believe that I’ve treated him like family for years. I feel betrayed. The more I think about it, the more certain I am that he killed Roberto.”
A sharp pain shot though Bond’s chest. The look on his face must have given it away, for Heidi asked, “James? What’s wrong?”
It was the suffocating anxiety again. He suddenly felt disoriented and nauseated. He shut his eyes, willing away the uncomfortable, dreadful feeling.
“I’m all right,” he whispered. He rubbed his brow and lay back on the lounger.
“You don’t look so good,” Heidi said. “Maybe we ought to go back to the room?”
Bond shook his head. “It will pass. Keep talking, Javier. How about it? Will you help us?”
“James, I’m twenty-six years old. My entire career is ahead of me. I can’t afford to cross a man like Espada. I have a fiancée. We plan to get married next year. If Espada doesn’t kill me, he could make things very difficult for me. I might not get to fight at all, and that’s my livelihood. But … Domingo has given the art of bullfighting a bad name lately.”
“All we need is some kind of evidence that Espada is with the Union,” Heidi said. “We need it before Monday. Can you get to his ranch and snoop around?”
“Somehow that seems more risky than killing him,” Javier said. He was obviously frightened, but he took a deep breath and then said with resolve, “It was Pedro Romero, the father of modern bullfighting, who said, ‘El cobarde no es hombre y para el toreo se necesitan hombres.’ ‘A coward is not a man, and for bullfighting you need men.’ I’m certainly not a coward in the bullring, and I’ll be damned if I will be with this. He deserves to die!”
“We have to keep him alive for the time being, Javier,” Bond said, sitting up again and looking at him. “He’s part of some Union plot and I’m sure that it has to do with the summit meeting on Monday. Please … wait. Don’t do anything yet. If not for the sake of Spain, then for the sake of the future of bullfighting.”
Javier looked out to sea. He knew that his British friend was right and nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. Maybe I can go to the ranch tonight. I can’t promise anything, James. If I find out that he did kill my brother, I cannot say what I will do or not do.”
“I understand. Can we meet before the bullfight tomorrow?” Bond asked.
Javier shook his head. “Not before. After. There’s a café across the street from the bullring in Málaga. It’s called Bar Flor. I’ll try to sneak away from the crowds and meet you there immediately after the corrida. Again, I can’t promise anything.”
“That’s all right, Javier,” Bond said. “I have a ticket to the bullfight, by the way. Only twenty-six, and you’re already the senior bullfighter on the roster. Congratulations.”
“I still don’t see what the big deal is with this bullfighting,” Heidi said. “It’s not really fair to the bull, is it?”
Bond shot her a look, but Javier was used to such comments. “That is a common misconception among non-Spaniards. You see, the fighting bull is specially bred just to fight in the ring. It is a species that would otherwise be extinct if not for bullfighting. You must understand that the bulls live a glorious life on the ranches before their day of destiny in the bullring. They are treated as gods. The bull is a very special animal in Spain. We respect them because of their courage and their will to fight.”