Duarte studied the faces of the officials on the flag-decked rostrum. "Where's Gamburdo?" he said. "Has anyone seen him?"
"I saw his car parked outside when I came in," the Ambassador said.
"What's that? Do you hear it, Mateo?"
"Sounds like distant thunder, Felipe."
"It's not thunder. It's the crowd. What have they got to cheer about?"
"Gamburdo's cheer leaders must have gone to work."
"I don't like it," the Mexican Ambassador said. "I don't like it."
A gavel fell on a block. At a signal from the President of the Senate, a military band hidden in one of the caucus rooms began to play the national anthem. The music was piped in to the great hall over the public-address system.
The gavel called the Congress to order. A clerk called the roll, the Senate head started the parliamentary ritual. Then the band started to play the national anthem again, this time without a signal. A door behind the rostrum opened.
In the doorway, flanked by his two young sons, Anibal Tabio sat in a wheel chair. His closest friend, Esteban Lavandero, the Minister of Education, stood behind him. Slowly, the chair was wheeled to the rostrum.