9:47 AM, Damascus, in front of the Presidential Palace
The first cannon salute sounded and Lieutenant Alvarez was standing at the edge of the crowd.
He hadn't shaved for three days, and had dark circles under his eyes. It took him a whole night to drive from the olive grove in Hamah to Damascus, smoking three packs of cigarettes and finishing the last drop of cold coffee from his thermos.
The square in front of the Presidential Palace was packed with people.
They were "attendees"—high-ranking military and political officials from Syria, diplomats from various countries, and foreign journalists with cameras. They stood behind the security line, their expressions varied: some were sad, some indifferent, and some showed nothing at all.
But Alvarez knew that those who showed nothing were the ones truly afraid.
As Rifat Assad's coffin was carried out from the Presidential Palace gates, the second cannon salute sounded.
