They arrive at the front gate.
The guard asks with whom she has an appointment.
She explains that she’s here to ask Ms. Cuevas, the Assistant Press Secretary, some questions and shows him her press pass.
And then, when the guard opens the metal gate and Víctor begins to inch the Volkswagen forward, she spots a flash of yellow out of the corner of her eye. She turns around and sees an old American car drive by the Presidential Palace gates.
She screams so loudly, so hysterically, that Víctor nearly loses control of the Volkswagen.
“Miss, what’s going on?” he manages to ask.
Her face is contorted with fear.
“The snakes!” she shouts. “They’re coming!”
She runs out of the car.
“The Chevrolet with the snakes is out there!” she yells as she runs towards the building, growing more and more panicked.
A couple of security guards manage to stop her.
Alarmed employees come closer. Most of them know she’s a reporter from Ocho Columnas.
They tell her to calm down, but Rita points to the front gate, still trembling.
“The car with the snakes just drove by! I saw it when we were coming inside! It’s gone now but it’s going to come back to attack us right here!”
Víctor, Ms. Cuevas, and the Chief of Security, Colonel Martínez, run over.
“I didn’t see anything,” Víctor says.
“Are you sure?” Colonel Martínez asks her, visibly alarmed.
“I’m covering the story for the newspaper,” she says vehemently. “It was an old American car! What more do you want? Do something! The snakes will be here any minute!”
A heavy silence falls on the employees; terror begins to spread on their faces.
Colonel Martínez grabs his radio and shouts, “We’ve got a twenty-seven-five! Red alert! Lock all the doors and windows!”
Panic spreads. Everyone is talking at once, hoping the snakes won’t make it inside. The worst thing right now would be an attack on the President. They ask God to protect them. Colonel Martínez orders them to stay calm, to go back to their work stations, and not to make any outside calls while they set up the defence mechanisms.
Ms. Cuevas takes Rita by the arm and walks her to her office.
“I never would have thought this could happen,” the elegant and well-mannered civil servant murmurs.
Rita continues to tremble.
The Assistant Press Secretary offers her a glass of water and tells her to stay calm; nothing can happen to her here, security is airtight. Those reptiles will be burned to a crisp if they even try to get close.
She needs to call the office and speak to her boss, Rita stammers, a little calmer now. She tries to turn on her walkie-talkie, but all the frequencies have been jammed because of the red alert. She’s in the Presidential Palace, the safest place in the country, Ms. Cuevas tells her. It’s better if she doesn’t try to use the telephone until this has all passed.
Colonel Martínez comes in looking for Rita.
“Come with me,” he says.
They climb the stairs to the President’s office.
And there they are, anxiously sitting around a rectangular table, their faces pale, as if the country were going through its worst disaster: the President, the Ministers of Defence and National Security, the Police Commissioner and the Chief of Intelligence.
“She’s the witness, Mr. President,” Colonel Martínez says.
The fat man’s jowls are quivering, his tie undone and his sleeves rolled up.
“You saw him?” he wheezes.
“Yes, Mr. President,” she mumbles. “I thought he was going to come up behind us while the gate was open like he did at Dr. Ferracuti’s house, but he drove by, thank God.”
The reference to Ferracuti impresses them.
General Morado, the Minister of Defence, says the helicopter is on its way to evacuate them from the area.
But the Presidential Palace is an old colonial mansion. The helicopter pad is on the lawn. The snakes could attack them while they’re getting ready to climb aboard, warns Colonel Martínez.
They should set up a perimeter, suggests the sour-faced cripple Rita hates so much.
“Minister, do you think we can stop them with guns?” asks Colonel Martínez.
He said it without a trace of sarcasm, trying to think straight in his bewildered state.
General Morado says he needs a commando unit armed with flamethrowers — it’s the only way to make sure the snakes are neutralized.
Colonel Martínez runs out, shouting the evacuation orders into his walkie-talkie.
Suddenly alone among the men who decide the country’s fate, Rita realizes that she’s right in the middle of the story, a privileged participant in the worst crisis the country has faced in years, the only witness. It’s an experience that will raise her above her peers, provided the snakes don’t kill her first.
The Police Commissioner informs them that his units are scouring the area and haven’t yet found the yellow Chevrolet.
They can hear the helicopter approaching.
The snakes might be in the garden next to the helicopter pad, waiting for them, and they’ll all go out only to get bitten, stammers the Chief of Intelligence, a chubby publicist who, according to Matías, got the job only because he manages the brothels owned by members of the top military brass.
Colonel Martínez bursts in to say the staff is hysterical. He asks for instructions.
Everyone is standing now, leaning out the window, watching the helicopter land.
General Morado tells Martínez to take the employees down to the basement where they’ll be safe until the commando unit arrives to search the gardens.
“Mr. President, does this mean there really is a conspiracy to destabilize the government?” Rita asks before they take her downstairs with the employees.
“Miss,” he says, rolling down his sleeves, “we’re not about to make any statements to the press.”
He makes a gesture to have her removed.
But when Colonel Martínez takes her by the arm to go down the stairs, they hear a burst of machine gun fire coming from the entrance of the building.
Dozens of employees race up the stairs. Several guards come up behind them walking backwards, their weapons pointed at the terrace.
“The snakes!” screams a panicked elderly secretary who’s standing in front of the presidential office.
“What’s happening?” asks Colonel Martínez.
“The troops are getting nervous, Colonel!” an official shouts from the ground floor. “A guard thought he saw a snake at the front gate and fired.”
The Colonel lets go of Rita and goes down the stairs with his pistol drawn.
Ms. Cuevas asks her if the President is still in his office with the ministers. She says yes, they’re waiting for a commando unit to escort them out.
“Oh God, I hope they haven’t got in,” says Víctor, who ran upstairs with the employees in all the confusion.
“Everyone go down to the basement!” the Colonel orders from the bottom of the staircase. “You’ll be safe there while they search the gardens and evacuate the President!”
The staff members look at one another, fearful and indecisive.
“None of the snakes has got in! It was a false alarm!” shouts the colonel, trying to calm them down.
The office door opens, the Commissioner comes out and hurries down the stairs. Rita runs after him as if she’s suddenly forgotten about the snakes.
“Who’s responsible for this attack?”
But the President’s entourage is following right behind them.
She moves to the side.
A Special Forces unit has split into two lines on the lawn for the President and his men to hurry between.