He paused.
"When someone finally drinks Hassan's coffee."
The call ended.
Morales sat there, holding the receiver, listening to the busy tone. Outside the porthole, dawn was near. A pale fish-belly white was spreading along the eastern horizon, very faint, like a thin layer of ash.
He stood up and walked to the porthole.
"General, the Big Mao People have sent a signal."
Morales put on the headset. On the other end was Korosov's voice, raspier and more exhausted than yesterday.
"General Morales, Assad is not dead. His own people betrayed him, and then he pulled them back. He's still President. He's still alive. Alive, that's good. Alive, we can talk. Talk, we can stop. Stop, we can withdraw. Withdraw, we can go home."
Morales said nothing.
