Eagle Strike Read Online Free PDF Page B

into real flesh and blood. I will feel nothing; I will be dead instantly. But you will live with what you have done for the rest of your life. You will never forget it.”
    He paused, letting his words hang in the air.
    “Do you really have it in you, Alex? Can you make your finger obey you? Can you kill me?”
    Alex was rigid, a statue. All his concentration was focused on the finger curled around the trigger. It was simple. There was a spring mechanism. The trigger would pull back the hammer and release it. The hammer would strike the bullet, a piece of death just nineteen millimetres long, sending it on its short, fast journey into this man’s head. He could do it.
    “Maybe you have forgotten what I once told you. This isn’t your life. This has nothing to do with you.”
    Yassen was totally relaxed. There was no emotion in his voice. He seemed to know Alex better than Alex knew himself. Alex tried to look away, to avoid the calm blue eyes that were watching him with something like pity.
    “Why did you do it?” Alex demanded. “You blew up the house. Why?”
    The eyes flickered briefly. “Because I was paid.”
    “Paid to kill me?”
    “No, Alex.” For a moment Yassen sounded almost amused. “It had nothing to do with you.”
    “Then who—”
    But it was too late.
    He saw it in Yassen’s eyes first, knew that the Russian had been keeping him distracted as the cabin door opened quietly behind him. A pair of hands seized him and he was swung violently away from the bed. He saw Yassen whip aside as fast as a snake – as fast as a fer de lance. The gun went off, but Alex hadn’t fired it intentionally and the bullet smashed into the floor. He hit a wall and felt the gun drop out of his hand. He could taste blood in his mouth. The yacht seemed to be swaying.
    In the far distance a fanfare sounded, followed by an echoing roar from the crowd. The bullfight had begun.

MATADOR
    A lex sat listening to the three men who would decide his fate, trying to understand what they were saying. They were speaking French, but with an almost impenetrable Marseilles accent – and they were using gutter language, not the sort he had learnt.
    He had been dragged up to the main saloon and was slumped in a wide leather armchair. By now Alex had managed to work out what had happened. The deckhand, Raoul, had come back from the town with supplies and found Franco lying unconscious on the jetty. He had hurried on board to alert Yassen and had overheard him talking to Alex. It had been Raoul, of course, who had crept into the cabin and grabbed Alex from behind.
    Franco was sitting in a corner, his face distorted with anger and hatred. There was a dark mauve bruise on his forehead where he had hit the ground. When he spoke, his words dripped poison.
    “Give me the little brat. I will kill him personally and then drop him over the side for the fish.”
    “How did he find us, Yassen?” This was Raoul speaking. “How did he know who we are?”
    “Why are we wasting our time with him? Let me finish him now.”
    Alex glanced at Yassen. So far the Russian had said nothing, although it was clear he was still in charge. There was something curious about the way he was looking at Alex. The empty blue eyes gave nothing away and yet Alex felt he was being appraised. It was as if Yassen had known him a long time and had expected to meet him again.
    Yassen lifted a hand for silence, then went over to Alex. “How did you know you would find us here?” he asked.
    Alex said nothing. A flicker of annoyance passed across the Russian’s face. “You are only alive because I permit it. Please don’t make me ask you a second time.”
    Alex shrugged. He had nothing to lose. They were probably going to kill him anyway. “I was on holiday,” he said. “I was on the beach. I saw you on the yacht when it came in.”
    “You are not with MI6?”
    “No.”
    “But you followed me to the restaurant.”
    “That’s right.” Alex nodded.
    Yassen half