Agent Counter-Agent Read Online Free PDF

bullfight this afternoon," I said when he was gone.
    Hawk's eyebrows raised. "Really?"
    "She said she's an
aficionada."
    Hawk began chewing on the cigar, his lean face somber, his bony frame hunched over the table. "What did you tell her?"
    "I told her I'd get there if I could. But I have other things on my mind. I want to get back to the palace this afternoon to see what I can find out about my mystery man."
    "That's a refreshing attitude," he said, trying not to smile. "I sometimes get the impression that you have a difficult time squeezing work into your busy sex life."
    "Just stories circulated by bitter KGB men to discredit me," I smiled.
    He grunted. "Actually, when you get on a case you are very tenacious. But I want you to be especially careful on this case. It may be very dangerous for you."
    "Any theories?"
    He sat there pensively for a minute before he spoke. The warm afternoon sun glistened on his gray hair and touched his face with color. "Nothing special. But if that man who attacked you at the training center was KGB and if he should happen to be the fellow you've seen here twice, it could mean they're setting you up for something."
    "With a little luck they could have killed me at the training school."
    "Maybe that wouldn't have suited their purpose," he said slowly. He looked up at me. "What time does that bullfight start?"
    "At four. It's supposed to be the only event in Venezuela that starts on time."
    He glanced at his wristwatch. "You have plenty of time to make it."
    "You want me to meet the girl at the bullfight?"
    "Yes, I do. I think we'd better find out just what her interest in you amounts to. If it's strictly amorous — well, enjoy yourself, but be discreet. If it's not, we want to know about it."
    "All right," I said. "The
corrida
it is."
    "Report back to me tomorrow morning. I'll be viewing the Picassos at the Museo de Bellas Artes at ten a.m. tomorrow.
    "I'll be there," I said.
    If you've never been to the Nuevo Circo at three-thirty p.m. on a Sunday in festival time, you'll never know what complete chaos looks like. There are so many
aficionados
milling around that it's practically impossible to walk from one point to another without having to fight your way through them. There are scalpers everywhere, selling tickets at twice or three times the normal price. Vendors of all kinds clog the open area in front of the arena, and hundreds of pickpockets are hard at work. I had a hard time finding a scalper with a ticket for the shady
barrera
section where Ilse had said she would be sitting. Front-row tickets aren't easy to come by during festival time. But finally I got a ticket and went in.
    Inside the atmosphere was completely different. It was still noisy, but there was a land of hushed expectancy in the crowd, very unlike pregame time at American football games. I found my seat, which was right down by the ring, where you can see everything at close range. Just then a bugle sounded, and a man on a horse rode across the ring and doffed his hat toward the presidential box. He was the official in charge, and he was obtaining permission from the president of the bullring to proceed with the
corrida.
    I looked around for Ilse, and after a few minutes, I spotted her, sitting just two sections over. She hadn't seen me. A man renting cushions came down the aisle beside me, and I bought one. Without a cushion those stone bleachers can be pretty uncomfortable. For a few minutes the two seats beside me were empty, but then an English couple came down and took them. The parade of
toreros
was over, and the band had stopped playing. A silence had fallen over the bullring. I glanced over at Ilse again, and she seemed to be looking around for me.
    Then a gate opened, and a big black bull came thundering out of a chute. The bullfighters stood behind the barrier and watched somberly as the bull charged the
burladero
shield just in front of them, smashing into the wood and splintering it loudly. Ilse's favorite,