Chapter 2196 - 881: Fire Ignites (Part 3)

He stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the people holding the photos were still there. But their faces had changed. They were not angry, not afraid, but calm. That kind of calm, like the winter waters of Lake Tiberias, frozen, with water beneath the ice, but the water no longer flowed. They stood there, holding their photos, looking at the windows of the Presidential Palace, not speaking, not shouting, not crying, not smiling. Just standing there, like a group of people who had stepped out of a photograph.

The Minister of Defense stood behind him, his voice already hoarse and barely audible. "Mr. President, the Republican Guard... the 4th Armored Division... the 6th Division... the 8th Brigade... they... they are not answering the phone."

Assad did not turn around. "And the Big Bear people?"

"They are still in Tartus. Korosov said... he said..."

"Said what?"

The Minister of Defense's voice lowered further. "He said, 'President Assad, you have to handle it yourself.'"

Assad turned around, looking at the Minister of Defense. "I will handle it myself. Fine. Then I will handle it myself."

He walked back to his desk, picked up the phone, and dialed a number. "Get me the Golan Heights. Find Lieutenant Alvarez."

The phone rang many times, then it was picked up. It was Alvarez's voice on the other end, hoarse, tired, but steady. "Mr. President."

"Lieutenant, I want to cross the bridge."

There was a five-second silence on the other end. "Mr. President, the bridge is for people to cross. Not for a president to cross. If a president crosses, the bridge will collapse."

Assad's hand tightened around the phone. "Lieutenant, I am no longer the president. I am Assad. Assad wants to survive. To survive, I need to cross the bridge. To cross the bridge, I need your help."

Alvarez was silent again. "Mr. President, how many people have you killed?"

Assad did not speak.

"You killed ninety-three yesterday. How many more did you kill today? I don't know. You don't say, but I know. You've killed many people. The families of those people are still holding their photos, standing in the streets, standing in front of the Presidential Palace, waiting for you to come out. If you come out, they will kill you. If you don't cross the bridge, they will kill you. If you cross the bridge, they will kill you too. You have killed people, and they want to kill you. This is cause and effect. Cause and effect cannot be escaped."

Assad's voice began to tremble. "Lieutenant, I—"

"Mr. President, bridges don't kill people. People kill people. You have killed people, and people want to kill you. If you don't want to die, don't cross the bridge. Bridges are for people to cross, not for murderers to cross. If a murderer crosses the bridge, the bridge will be tainted. If the bridge is tainted, the water will be tainted. If the water is tainted, people can't drink it. If people can't drink the water, they will die. You have killed so many people and still want more to die?"

Heavy breathing came through the phone. "Lieutenant, I—"

"Mr. President, you still have a chance. Not a chance to cross the bridge, but a chance to live. The chance to live is not on the bridge, it's in your hands. Put down your gun, walk out of the Presidential Palace, stand in front of those holding the photos, and say, 'I was wrong.' After you say it, they might still kill you. But when they kill you, they won't hate you. Without hate, there won't be more killing. Without killing, there won't be more deaths. Without deaths, Syria will live. If Syria lives, you will die. If you die, Syria lives. This is your only chance."

The call ended.

Assad sat there, holding the receiver, listening to the busy signal. Outside the window, the people holding the photos were still standing there. He looked at them, watched them for a long time.

Then he stood up and walked out of the office.

The corridor was empty, not a single person. The Minister of Defense was gone, the secretary was gone, the guards were gone. Alone, he walked down the long corridor, pushed open the doors of the Presidential Palace, and stood on the steps.

The sunlight was blinding. The people with the photos looked at him. Three hundred thousand people, three hundred thousand pairs of eyes, three hundred thousand photos. Some of the faces in the photos he recognized, some he didn't. Those he recognized, some died by his brother's hand, some by his hand. Those he didn't recognize, they were also Syrians, also people he killed.

He stood there, looking at those eyes, looking at those photos. Then he spoke, his voice very soft, but everyone heard him.

"I was wrong."

Silence. Three hundred thousand people, not a single person spoke.

He stood there, waiting. He waited for a long time. No one fired a gun, no one rushed towards him, no one cursed him. They just watched him, watched him stand on the steps, watched the sunlight on his face, watched his aged face, watched his expressionless eyes.

Then he turned around and walked back into the Presidential Palace. The doors closed behind him.

The Golan Heights, the floating bridge on Lake Tiberias. Evening.

Alvarez sat behind the folding table, the coffee in the thermos bottle had gone cold. The coffee cup on the table still sat opposite, left there since morning, untouched. The sun began to set, the golden surface of the lake slowly turning to silver, the outline of Tiberias City blurred in the distance.

A car appeared at the eastern end of the bridge. Not a bus, not an ambulance, not a jeep, but a black sedan. The car stopped behind the tent, the door opened, and out stepped a man in a black suit, no hat, no military insignia. He walked to the middle of the bridge, standing before Alvarez.

"Lieutenant Alvarez? I am from Damascus. The emissary of President Assad."

Alvarez stood up. "What is it?"

The emissary took out a letter from his briefcase and handed it over. "The President asked me to deliver this to Mr. Victor."

Alvarez took the envelope. White, no address, no signature, the seal was wax, imprinted with the eagle emblem of the Syrian President. The third letter. The first letter said, "Leave the bridge, let the water keep flowing, and stop killing." The second letter said, "The trees are dug up, the monument is erected, people remember." What does the third letter say?