Javier became even more introspective as he gazed out over the Mediterranean. “There is a kind of duality that occurs between the matador and the bull. The entire lidia is a dance in which both the matador and the bull size up each other. They look into each other’s eyes. The matador must know what the bull is thinking at all times, and this he must detect simply by watching the bull from the moment when he first enters the ring. The matador must become the bull, and in many ways, the bull does the same thing—he attempts to outthink the matador as the lidia progresses. With every pass of the capote, with every charge, the bull learns from his mistakes. If he misses the matador by two inches because the man performed a flawless veronica, the bull will remember it and charge a little closer next time. It is up to the matador to predict what the bull is going to do and then meet the mighty beast at the halfway mark. It is a dance. In the ring, the bull becomes the matador’s mirror image.”
Javier glanced at the wristwatch lying on the little table next to his lounger. “I must go now,” he said. “I will see you tomorrow.”
“Good luck,” Bond said, shaking his hand again. “It was great to see you.”
“You, too, James.” He stood up and shook hands with Heidi. “And, señorita, you are as beautiful as any woman on earth.” With that, he walked away toward the hotel grounds.
“Is it a requirement for all bullfighters to be gorgeous hunks, or is it just him?” Heidi asked.
Bond laughed. “Come on, let’s go back to the hotel.”
As they walked away from the beach, Jimmy Powers made a call on his mobile. He had been lying on a lounger some fifty feet away, his nose buried in a magazine. He was sure that Bond had not noticed him at any point over the last few days. Jimmy Powers learned his special ability while growing up first in the swamp country of Louisiana and later in the forests in Oregon. He wasn’t known as the Union’s best tracker and expert in shadowing a target for nothing.
When Nadir Yassasin heard what Powers had to say, the Moroccan made a quick decision. “Bond’s contact with the bullfighter is dangerous. It was unforeseen that he would be a friend of the young matador. I think we need to take care of this situation before something unexpected happens. We’re too close now, I don’t want anything to derail the plan. Do you know who the girl is yet?”
Powers answered, “Preliminary search reveals that she is a CIA agent. Name of Hillary Taunt.”
Yassasin smiled. “Good. She will have reported Bond’s whereabouts to SIS in London. They know he’s in Spain now. Things couldn’t be better. You ought to return to the ranch, Jimmy. I am confident that Bond will appear at the bullfight tomorrow, right on schedule. We need to talk about what we’re going to do about the matador, and then get you on your way to Gibraltar. I think there’s a way we can use Bond’s friendship with the matador to our advantage.”
NINETEEN
DEATH IN THE AFTERNOON
JAVIER ROJO ARRIVED AT THE ESPADA ESTATE AT 7:00 ON SUNDAY MORNING. He told the guard at the gate that he had been invited to breakfast on the morning of the corrida. Since Javier was a familiar face at the ranch, the guard let him in without verifying the appointment.
He drove the Porsche around the annex and parked at the back. He quietly entered the house from the back door, which he knew would be unlocked. Javier thought that if Espada were really involved in criminal activities, then he should have better security!
He heard people talking in a room beyond the kitchen. They were indeed having breakfast on the patio, located off the immense living room. If he could creep into the living room and hide behind some furniture, perhaps he could hear their conversation.
Javier started to sneak into the room, but the sound of footsteps in the corridor to his right stopped him. He quickly moved back and stood behind a tall cactus in a painted clay pot.
He couldn’t believe what he saw.
A man came out of the corridor and went into the living room, obviously headed for the patio.
It was James Bond! What the hell was he doing here?
In confusion, Javier stepped out from behind the cactus, hoping to get another look before the man disappeared outside.
“May I help you?”
It was the woman. Margareta Piel. She must have been just behind Bond.
“Hola,” Javier said. “I thought I saw someone I knew.…”
“Were you invited here this morning, Javier?” she asked.
“Well, no, but I thought that … considering that today … tonight …”
“Domingo isn’t here,” she said. “As much as I’d like to say I would love to have breakfast with you, Javier, it’s just not convenient this morning. I’m sorry. You’ll have to leave. Besides, Javier, you need to be ready for tonight! Go on! You know Domingo wouldn’t like it if he saw you here, anyway. You’re supposed to be preparing for the corrida! ”
“Fine,” Javier said. Now he wasn’t so sure that he had seen what he had thought. Perhaps his eyes had been playing tricks on him. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Señorita Piel.” He said it as if he were spitting on her.
She flared her eyes at him as he left the way he had come in.
Jimmy Powers stepped out of the corridor. He had been listening just a few feet away the entire time.
“I hate to say I told you so,” he said to Margareta. “He came looking for something, all right. What did he see?”
“I’m not sure, but I think he saw Peredur,” she replied.
“Well,” Powers said. “Please tell Nadir. Someone needs to keep an eye on the kid and make sure he doesn’t go near our friend in Marbella before tonight. I’m off to Gibraltar.”
Powers left the room. Margareta turned and went outside to the patio to find Yassasin.
“Nadir, I need to speak with you,” she said. She led him to a corner of the patio and whispered softly. Peredur Glyn watched her, totally absorbed by the gorgeous woman he had spent the night with. When they came back to the table, Margareta sat in the chair next to him and squeezed his thigh.
Margareta told the servant what she wanted, then turned to Peredur. He was one of the most handsome men she had ever met. Dark. Cold. She liked that.
When Peredur Glyn had arrived at the ranch yesterday, she knew she had to sleep with him. He was terribly good-looking. The fact that she knew he was going to die tomorrow excited her even more.
They killed time in Bar Flor, the sidewalk café directly across the street from Málaga’s Plaza de Toros La Malagueta. Bond sat with Heidi at one of the sidewalk tables, while Hedy, wearing the red wig, a scarf and sunglasses, sat inside the cafeteria, apart from them. She could hear their conversation by means of an earpiece and a small microphone attached to a button on Heidi’s blouse.
It was a busy little place, crowded with anxious spectators waiting for the doors of the bullring to open. The two slot machines made a tremendous racket, and the air was buzzing with patrons’ exuberance. These were people who loved bullfighting, and bullfighting is as widely discussed there as football is debated in Britain.