Chapter 1334
Undercurrent
Chapter 1334 Undercurrent
Half an hour later.
Farouk returned to military command and, under the pretext of "responding to border tensions," signed a series of troop movement orders.
The 3rd Infantry Brigade, stationed in the suburbs of Erbil, was transferred to the Turkish border for "routine exercises"; half of the guard battalion responsible for the security of the government building was temporarily reassigned to participate in "counter-terrorism emergency training" to deal with internal instability issues caused by a possible war.
Finally, even several key officers in Massoud's private guard received notices of "emergency refresher courses."
These transfers were reasonable, followed procedures, and most even had paper documents on file.
But when viewed together, they paint a clear picture – Massoud’s core security forces are being systematically weakened.
Kadir's intelligence department was even busier.
They intercepted encrypted communications between Masood's office and Bakhtar, wiretapped the phones of key committee members, and even hacked into Saif's advisor's email account using technical means.
All information indicates that Massoud is indeed seriously considering Song Hoan's conditions and is prepared to present a "reconciliation roadmap" at tomorrow's committee meeting.
The core of the roadmap is—
Kadir reported to Barzani from inside the safe house.
"First, we agree in principle to Samir's incorporation plan, but require that the 'Liberation Forces' be reduced to 8,000 men instead of the initially requested 12,000. Second, we agree that the Abuyu Brigade will return to the Khord armed system, but Abuyu himself can only serve as an advisor to the military council and has no voting rights. His troops must be reorganized and redeployed."
Barzani sneered: "Masood thinks this is a concession? That Easterner won't accept it."
“Indeed.” Kadir pulled up another intelligence report. “According to our informant in Bakda, Advisor Saif and Song Heping had a secret meeting at Deputy Speaker Yusuf’s house. Song Heping’s position was very clear: if we don’t agree to his conditions, the war in Kirkuk will spread to Erbil. I think that’s a blatant threat.”
"Does Massoud still want to negotiate?" Barzani shook his head. "He's really getting old."
“But the Chairman has an advantage,” Kadir said cautiously. “The Americans. Major General Duke spoke with Masood for forty minutes this morning, promising that the United States would ‘guarantee any agreement reached’ and ‘ensure that the agreement is implemented.’”
Barzani's face darkened.
Americans are the biggest variable.
If Washington continues to support Massoud's line, the coup will become ten times more difficult.
“How much do Americans know?” he asked.
“Uncertain,” Kadir admitted honestly. “We can’t infiltrate the inner circle of the US embassy. But Colonel Anderson, Duke’s deputy, went to Massoud’s office this afternoon and stayed for an hour and a half. The content of the conversation is unknown, but judging from Anderson’s expression when he left, the atmosphere wasn’t bad.”
Barzani paced back and forth in the room.
The sky outside the window had darkened, and the lights in Erbil were gradually coming on.
The city where he had lived for more than 20 years now felt both familiar and strange to him.
“Continue monitoring,” he finally said. “Focus on two places: the U.S. Embassy and Massoud’s private residence. I need to know every meeting he has, every phone call he makes, and even every visitor he has.”
"Yes."
After Qadir left, Rashid arrived.
The special forces commander brought in a more specific operational plan.
"Masood's office agreed to go with you to the Kirkuk front at eight o'clock tomorrow morning for an inspection. This was his own suggestion, saying he wanted to 'see the situation for himself.' I think he just wants to give a speech there to stop our counterattack."
Rashid spread out a map on the table.
"The convoy departed from the government building, took Highway 1, and is expected to arrive at the front-line command post at 2 p.m. The entire journey is 150 kilometers, passing through three checkpoints along the way, all of which are under our control."
He marked the route on the map in red pen: "The best place to strike is here. Twenty kilometers from Kirkuk, there's a hilly area. The road is narrow, with high ground on both sides, perfect for an ambush. We can send a special forces team ahead, disguised as a reconnaissance unit of the Abuyu Brigade, to lie in ambush on the high ground. When the Chairman's convoy passes by, they open fire, and we 'counterattack' in the melee..."
He didn't finish his sentence, but his meaning was clear.
Barzani stared at the red dot on the map, remaining silent for a long time.
Kill Massoud!
The idea had been running through his mind many times, but when it came to actually putting it into practice, the heavy sense of guilt still made it hard for him to breathe.
Masoud was his uncle, his father's close friend, and an elder who watched him grow up.
After the failed uprising in 1991, it was Massoud who protected his family and prevented Saddam Hussein's secret police from arresting them.
In 2003, Masoud overruled opposition and promoted him, who was only thirty years old at the time, to be the commander of the main regiment.
But politics has no kinship, and power struggles have no gratitude.
"Are the ambush teams reliable?"
"Barzani asked, his voice a little hoarse."
“Absolutely reliable,” Rashid assured him. “It’s a team of twelve men that I transferred from Sinjar, all members of a secret operations unit composed of outstanding retired veterans. I promised them that after the job is done, each of them would receive $500,000 plus a new identity and a chance to live in Europe.”
"What if others discover that they are disguised Abuyu Brigade soldiers?" Barzani was still somewhat worried.
“Of course I believe you.” Rashid gave a sly smile. “We forged the fake orders issued by Abuyu. The signatures are real; they were processed using historical signatures of Abuyu found in old files. Even if an investigation is conducted afterward, all the evidence will point to Abuyu.”
A perfect frame-up.
Barzani thought.
It's so perfect it's chilling.
"What about Massoud's security?" he asked one last question. "His armored vehicle can withstand rocket-propelled grenades."
“So we can’t use the vehicle-mounted rocket launcher.” Rashid was prepared: “You’ll be in the same car as him. We’ve arranged the driver. Massoud only has one seat with a bodyguard. When you make your move, you take advantage of his inattention and—”
At this point, Rashid made a shooting gesture, the implication of which was self-evident.
Then, after a pause, he added:
"After that, all the bodyguards in the car will be taken out by our people. Then, we'll lock Massoud in the car and have the action team attack him with Russian-made Kornet anti-tank missiles. These missiles have a penetration depth of 1200 mm. Massoud's modified Mercedes SUV can only stop 7.62 mm bullets, not this one."
He became more and more smug as he spoke: "Moreover, the missiles were captured during the previous battle with the Abuyu Brigade. The American intelligence system can easily confirm that these are weapons of the Abuyu Brigade."
Barzani closed his eyes.
The image of Massoud appeared in my mind.
Kind, stern, weary, and finally, bloodied and mangled.
For Koldeststein.
he said to himself.
“Go ahead and do it,” he finally said, his voice as soft as a sigh. “Remember, be clean, be efficient, and leave no survivors. Afterward, get rid of everyone involved.”
"clear."
Rashid put away the map, saluted, and turned to leave.
Barzani was left alone in the room again.
He walked to the window and looked out at Erbil in the night.
In the distance, the lights on the top floor of the regional government building were still on; that was Masood's office.
That old man might still be working, reviewing documents, thinking about tomorrow's negotiations, trying to find a bloodless way out. But he doesn't know that death is already on its way to him.
My phone vibrated; it was an encrypted message from Torhan: "The troops are in position. Personnel have been deployed to the television station, radio station, and communications center. We can control all key points within three minutes of the coup's commencement."
“Stay in Erbil and maintain control of the situation,” Barzani replied. “Await my orders. Ideally… there should be no bloodshed…”
He knew very well that bleeding was inevitable.
From the moment the first gear of the coup began to turn, blood was destined to flow.
Masoud's, Abuyu's, and perhaps his own.
This is the price of gaining power.
He opened the liquor cabinet and poured himself another glass of whiskey.
This time he didn't drink it, but just looked at the amber liquid in the glass, watching his reflection distort and deform in the liquid.
“Father,” he said softly, “if you are watching from heaven, tell me, did I do the right thing?”
no answer.
Only the sound of the wind outside the window sounded like a distant sob.
At the same time, the light in Chairman Masood's office was indeed still on.
The old man wasn't looking at the documents; instead, he stood before the enormous map of Koldeststein, his fingers tracing over every river, every mountain, and every town.
This is the land he fought for his entire life, from a radical in his youth to an exiled leader in his middle age, and then to the chairman of the autonomous government in his old age.
"Father."
A sound came from the doorway.
Masoud turned around and saw his youngest son, Bahar, standing there.
This 30-year-old is a law professor at the University of Erbil. He should have stayed away from politics, but the situation is too dangerous, so Masoud had to call him to his side.
"Come in and close the door."
Bahar closed the door and went to his father's side.
He saw the weariness in his father's eyes, a weariness that went deep into his bones.
"Are you really going to the Kirkuk front?" Bahar asked worriedly. "It's too dangerous. The Abuyu people are a pack of mad dogs now; they're capable of anything."
“It is precisely because of the danger that I must go,” Massoud said. “If I were to hide in a safe office and issue orders, what would the soldiers think? They would think that the leader is sending us to shed blood, but he himself is too afraid to go to the front lines. I cannot give them that impression.”
He patted his son on the shoulder: "Moreover, I must see the situation with my own eyes and take control of the overall situation. The intelligence that Saif sent back, Barzani's report, the American analysis... everyone has a different story. I need to see with my own eyes and hear with my own ears."
Bahar was silent for a moment, then said in a low voice, "Father, I've heard some...rumors. About Uncle Barzani..."
Massoud's eyes sharpened: "What rumors?"
“His recent troop movements have been very unusual. The Third Brigade has been moved to the border, half of the guard battalion has been withdrawn, and... I have a student who works in the communications department, and he said that the amount of encrypted communications in the military command has surged in the past few days, and much of it is bypassing the regular channels.”
Masoud slowly walked back to his desk and sat down.
He actually knew this intelligence as well. Although Qadir appeared loyal, Massoud also had his own informants in the intelligence department.
He simply refused to believe that his nephew, whom he had watched grow up and whom he had personally promoted, would actually come to that point.
"He's a soldier..."
Masoud seemed to be convincing himself.
"Soldiers are used to solving problems with force. He was just too impulsive and stubborn, but not to that extent..."
"Father!"
Bahar interrupted him, his voice unusually stern.
“You can’t continue like this! Last year, he launched an unauthorized attack on the outskirts of Mosul, causing more than 300 casualties, and you only gave him a verbal warning! At the beginning of this year, he misappropriated equipment procurement funds for his cronies, and you only made him write a self-criticism! Now he’s mobilizing 6,000 troops to prepare for war, and you’re still making excuses for him!”
Looking at his excited son, Masoud suddenly felt a pang of sadness.
Bahar is right; he had indeed been too lenient with Salahuddin.
Because he was his brother's son, because he was the pride of the family, and because he was indeed a capable warrior.
But politics is not a family affair, and national interests cannot be sacrificed for kinship.
"A committee meeting will be held after I return from Kirkuk..."
Massoud finally said, "I will formally propose the establishment of an investigation committee at that time. If Barzani is willing to admit his mistakes, cooperate, have a good attitude, and voluntarily withdraw his troops, then the investigation can be limited to procedural issues. If he does not cooperate..."
He didn't finish his sentence, but his meaning was clear.
Bahar breathed a sigh of relief: "What about the trip to Kirkuk? Should we still go? If Uncle Barzani really... has ulterior motives, the front line is the most dangerous place."
Masoud thought for a moment, walked to the safe, entered the password, and took out a small satellite phone.
This is not government-issued equipment, but a completely independent encrypted communicator with only one line.
He dialed a number.
After three waiting rings, the other party answered, but did not speak.
“It’s me,” Massoud said. “Monitor Barzani and see what he’s doing.”
“It’s already under surveillance,” the other party said. “He met with four close associates this afternoon at the safe house on Soleimani Street. The content of the conversation is unknown, but the meeting lasted two hours and seventeen minutes. Should I take action?”
Masoud gripped the phone tightly.
Take action?
What do you mean?
Arrest Barzani?
That would directly trigger a military mutiny.
“Not for now,” he finally said, “but raise the alert level. I’ll be heading to Kirkuk tomorrow, and if anything unusual happens en route, you know what to do.”
"Understood. May God bless you, Leader."
May God also bless you.
The phone hangs up.
Masoud put the communicator back in the safe and locked it.
"Who is that?" Bahar asked curiously.
“A trustworthy old friend,” Masoud murmured to himself, staring blankly out the window.
(End of this chapter)