"Don Anibal is not going to live," Gonzales said when the boy left. "Not even a miracle can save his life."
The doctor was tearing the stopper from a small vial of adrenalin. He held the open mouth of the vial to his nose and breathed deeply.
"Adrenalin?" Hall asked.
"It is nothing, compañero. Say nothing to Simon, please." A corner of his blue underlip was growing purple in tiny spots. "I hear him now, Mateo."
The boy carried his shoulders proudly when he returned to the library. "My father is sitting up in bed," he said. "He is preparing a radio speech to the entire Republic."
Dr. Gonzales was incredulous. "Are you sure, chico?"
Simon touched his right eye with his index finger. "I have seen it at this moment. My father is a great and a brave man. He says that we should bring Compañero Hall in at once."
The door leading to Tabio's room was opened by an armed army sergeant. "The President will see you now," he said.
Hall followed Simon and Gonzales through the small corridor which took them to the sick room. The shutters were opened, and the sun streamed into the chamber, bathing everyone and everything in its gentle light. Anibal Tabio was sitting up in bed, his hand raised in a familiar gesture as he dictated to a secretary who sat on a stool near his pillows.
"Neutrality," he was dictating, "neutrality is either abject surrender to Hitler or an open admission of complicity with the fascist Axis or a sinful combination of both..."