Run With The Brave Read Free Page B

stepped forward from the pack in front of Yoman and barked in Farsi, “Which one of you is in charge?”
    â€œI am,” the captain answered.
    In one swift movement the Iranian rammed the butt of his rifle into Yoman’s stomach. “That is for my men you have just killed,” he snarled as Yoman collapsed, reeling with the pain; another blow, this time to the head, and the last thing he remembered were the cries of the others as they suffered the same fate.
    Bound hand and foot, the Israeli commandos were dragged unconscious to the nearest truck, thrown in and driven to an Iranian base. Operation Abyss had ended before it had really begun.

2
    Ryder’s heart missed a beat.
    Out in the centre of the ring the lithe figure of the young matador, resplendent in silver and blue, high cheekboned and displaying all the arrogance of his gypsy heritage, took up position, unfurled the small red cape and walked to within ten yards of where the powerful black bull stood. He stopped, raised the sword in his right hand and proffered the cape with his left.
    Under an autumn afternoon sun bathing Seville’s Plaza de Toros de la Maestranza the sound of a rousing pasodoble competed with a 12,000 noisy crowd chanting: “
Tor-re-ro! Tor-re-ro! Tor-re-ro!”
    â€œWhat’s he doing?” Ryder’s companion screamed above the clamour.
    Ryder couldn’t believe what he was seeing;
the boy has balls
. “Not now, Sarah. Not now.”
    But she persisted.
    In a taut voice he gave in, “He’s going to kill
recibiendo,
the oldest and most dangerous method of dispatch – unbelievable!”
    â€œFor Christ’s sake, Frank; what the hell does that mean?”
    â€œEnticing the bull to charge from a distance; when it reaches him he’ll hopefully guide it past with the cape, letting it run onto the sword high between the shoulders. If the bull raises its head at the very last moment, a horn will undoubtedly nail him in the chest.”
    â€œOh my God; that could kill him!” she shouted amidst the clamour, equally fascinated and repelled by this ballet of death.
    â€œHe knows what he’s doing, don’t worry.” But he couldn’t help thinking:
he could well do that!
The moment of truth had arrived.
    The music stopped. The crowd hushed. The bull pawed at the ground and snorted. The matador drew himself up, sighting along the sword then flicked the cape, “
Toro
,
ha
;
Toro, ha.
”
    The animal sprang forward. The man waited, feet firmly planted in the sand.
    Seconds later he and the bull merged as one; the sword flashed in the sunlight, entered the bloodied shoulders and sunk deep up to the hilt. The lowered head and massive body followed the red cloth out to the right, its momentum carrying it well beyond the man, staggering, coughing; blood gushing from an open mouth before plunging to its knees and rolling lifelessly on the sand.
    The plaza erupted.
    â€œ
Ole! Ole!
” Ryder shouted, jumping to his feet, caught up in the euphoria around him. For Sarah it was over all too quickly; the skill shown by the man had been but a blur. To Ryder, and to most of those packed in the arena, the animal had been dispatched with grace and with skill.
    â€œDid you see that? Did you see that?” Sarah gushed amidst all the applause, holding hand to her mouth, “So quick… so horrible; yet so beautiful.” The closeness of such a primitive, violent act gave her a vicarious thrill more than she cared to admit. Ryder ignored her, absorbed in his own emotions. He could not help feeling respect for this boy who had just stared death in the face. He did not consider himself an aficionado but he definitely related to the emotion it generated, understanding the technical and ritual aspects which led up to the death of the bull. Only in this life and death struggle could the most primitive and intense emotions be experienced both by the matador and by those