Chapter 1331
Duke's Cunning
Chapter 1331 Duke's Cunning
eight pm.
In a penthouse suite of a hotel in the Green District of Bakta, Song Heping stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, toying with an ancient Ottoman silver coin in his hand.
The coin flips between his fingers; it's something Yusuf gave himself.
Having a small gadget to play with while thinking about a problem can help sharpen your thinking.
The obverse of the coin features a monogrammed design in Arabic script, meaning Shah Ahmed (the Sultan at the time) who is forever victorious.
This is a relic of a vanished empire, and it seems particularly fitting on this land that has witnessed the rise and fall of countless empires.
Outside the window, the Tigris River meanders like a black ribbon in the night, with only a few scattered lights on the old town of Bakta on the opposite bank.
This city has never truly been peaceful. From the golden age of the Abbasid Caliphate to the Mongol hordes' massacres, from Ottoman rule to modern warfare, violence and prosperity have alternated here, like a cruel cycle.
The phone vibrated on the table, not as a ringtone, but as a vibration at a specific frequency.
This means that information has been transmitted into the encrypted channel.
Song Heping walked to the table and unlocked the screen.
The message was brief: Barzani had ordered the mobilization of 6,000 troops, to be assembled in three days and to attack on the fourth.
A barely perceptible smile curved his lips. He placed his phone back on the table, the silver coin tumbling between his fingers before being tightly held in his palm.
Everything is as planned.
A few minutes later, another cell phone on the table rang.
This phone number connects directly to the internal lines of the U.S. Embassy.
The caller ID read "Major General Duke's Office".
"Song, I'm sorry to bother you so late."
Duke's voice carried that feigned casualness typical of Americans.
"There are some things I'd like to discuss with you about Kirkuk. Would you mind coming to my office if it's convenient for you?"
"Of course, General. I'll be there in twenty minutes."
Duke's office is on the third floor of the embassy's main building, with windows facing the inner courtyard and not visible from the street outside.
This is for security reasons, and also a metaphor.
Americans here are both deeply involved and isolated.
"Song, please sit down."
Major General Duke stood up and made an inviting gesture.
Song Heping noticed the dark circles under his eyes, indicating that the situation in Kirkuk had kept the regional security coordinator up at night.
"Coffee?" Duke asked.
"Black coffee, no sugar, please."
The two sat down on the sofa in the reception area, separated by a copper coffee table in the traditional Iligo style.
Duke's orderly brought in coffee and quietly withdrew, the door closing gently behind him.
"Song, the situation in Kirkuk is worrying."
Duke got straight to the point, crossing his hands on his knees—a typical negotiating stance: "Abuyu's actions have disrupted the balance of the entire region. The counterterrorism cooperation mechanisms we've worked so hard to establish in the Northwest may be undermined as a result."
Song Heping picked up his coffee cup, but didn't drink it immediately. Instead, he let the warmth of the cup travel through the porcelain to his palm. He liked this tangible feeling, which reminded him that everything was real, beyond the virtual intelligence and abstract strategies.
"balance?"
Song Heping repeated the word, his tone carrying just the right amount of doubt.
"General Duke, please forgive my bluntness, but when has this region ever truly been balanced? We are all trying to create order from chaos, just in different ways. You Americans like to work from the top down, building institutions, training the military, and pushing elections. I prefer to work from the bottom up, first legitimizing those who have the ability to control the ground, and then talking about everything else."
Duke leaned forward slightly: "You supported the Abuyu Brigade, didn't you? This operation to seize the oil field wouldn't have happened without your approval. Those heavy equipment, like BMP armored vehicles and anti-tank missiles, weren't things Abuyu could have obtained on his own."
The question goes straight to the heart of the matter; it's an attempt to hold someone accountable.
But Song Heping was prepared.
"I support all forces that have performed well in the fight against 1515 militants."
He downplayed the seriousness of the matter, but every word was carefully chosen: "Since last year, the Abuyu Brigade has launched several major operations against the 1515 militants, killing at least 2,050 extremist commanders. Such a force deserves corresponding resources and status. But what did they get? The Koldeid Autonomous Council drove them away as traitors and even tried to frame them. If they hadn't joined me, Abuyu would probably be dead by now."
He put down his coffee cup, the porcelain clinking against the copper coffee table.
"General Duke, if you were treated like this, what would you do?"
Duke remained unfazed: “But you are now stirring up internal conflict among the Kurds. The United States has invested a lot of resources in the Kurdish region, and they are one of our most important allies in Iligo. Over the past decade, we have provided them with more than $2.5 billion in military aid and trained 40,000 soldiers. We cannot stand by and watch this ally crumble.”
“Allies?” Song Heping’s eyes sharpened. “If the Kolds are truly reliable allies, why did they oppose Samir’s incorporation plan in parliament? Why did they refuse to give the Abuyu Brigade the status it deserved? You Americans promised to support my plan to integrate Samir’s liberation forces into the government army and award him the rank of major general. But what happened in practice?”
He stood up, walked to the Middle East map on the wall, and pointed to the location of Kirkuk.
"In practice, you adopted the classic three no's principle: no responsibility, no opposition, and no effort. You offered verbal support but remained inactive. General Duke, I understand the complexities of diplomacy, but you can't demand that I maintain stability in the Northwest while withholding the necessary tools from me."
Duke's expression showed a slight embarrassment, an instinctive reaction when someone has hit the nail on the head.
But he quickly regained his composure: "Song, the Kolds are not only military allies, but also political symbols. We cannot openly pressure them to make concessions that could damage their image of autonomy."
"So you secretly allowed me to play the villain?"
Song Heping turned around, a cryptic smile on his face.
"Let me apply the pressure, then you mediate, and in the end, everyone owes you a favor? Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! General Duke. You've got a very good hand. But I must warn you, once the pressure is applied, it could get out of control."
He walked back to the sofa, but instead of sitting down, he looked down at Duke.
“I’m creating bargaining chips. If you Americans were willing to put pressure on Massoud yourself, I wouldn’t need these ‘chips.’ But you didn’t, did you? Because for the United States, maintaining the status quo is the safest option.”
The two stared at each other for a long ten seconds.
The air in the office seemed to freeze.
Finally, Duke sighed, a prelude to making concessions in the negotiations.
“I will convey your position to Washington, and convey it more strongly. But I can’t guarantee anything. At the same time, I hope you can control the situation and prevent it from escalating into a full-blown conflict. If the Kurds and the Abuyu Brigade really start fighting, the 1515 militants could very well take advantage of the situation, and all the progress we’ve made in the past three years of counterterrorism could be wiped out.”
“It depends on the choice of the Kolds.” Song Heping picked up his coat and walked outside, saying as he went, “By the way, I know that General Barzani has moved his troops toward Kirkuk. If you really care about regional stability, you should tell Chairman Massoud that it would be best to make a wise decision as soon as possible. Because if Barzani’s troops fire the first shot, my reaction will not be just defensive.”
As he reached the door, he stopped and turned back: "Tomorrow morning, I will have a second round of negotiations with Saif, the representative of the Kolde people. If you are interested in knowing the outcome, my assistant will inform you."
The door closed softly.
Major General Duke sat alone in his office, staring at the tiny dot of Kirkuk on the map, without making a move for a long time.
Then he picked up the encrypted phone and dialed a number in Washington.
Fourth update! 10,000 words complete. Please give me your support, I'll see how many days I can keep this up.
(End of this chapter)