The phone hung up.
Alvarez sat there, holding the phone, listening to the busy signal. The wind over the lake stopped, the water was flat, like a mirror, reflecting the stars in the sky. The lights on the bridge came on, a string of small bulbs lined up along the bridge railing in two lines, like two golden ribbons in the night.
He put down the cup, leaned against the back of the chair, closed his eyes.
The wind blew over the lake, warm and humid, carrying the scent of blood. It drifted over from the direction of Damascus, where the tanks were headed.
He sat in the wind all night.
Damascus, Presidential Palace
Early morning.
Assad was awakened by the sound of gunfire.
The door was pushed open.
The Minister of Defense rushed in, not properly dressed, his face covered in sweat.
"Mr. President! The 4th Armored Division has rebelled! The division commander says you've gone soft, you're no longer capable, and he's going to clear out those terrorists for you!"
