Chapter 1341
Reversal
Chapter 1341 Reversal
Early morning had arrived, but the sun was not in sight; the surrounding morning mist resembled a thick, milky-white curtain.
Foggy weather is rare in Iligo.
After leaving the city, Masoud's convoy plunged into the natural chaos.
Perhaps due to the fog, visibility was reduced to less than 100 meters, and the ancient olive trees on both sides of the road, weathered by time, looked unusually eerie in the swirling fog.
In the back seat of the car, Massoud, who had just heard his nephew Barzani roar, felt a strange palpitation.
He instinctively reached into the inner pocket of his traditional robe and touched his ever-present cell phone.
Upon taking it out, the fan-shaped icon representing the signal at the top of the screen was empty, with only a glaring little cross and the words "No Service" remaining.
He frowned, the deep lines on his forehead accumulating like tree rings.
No signal?
On this main road connecting Erbil and Kirkuk?
He then took out the encrypted satellite phone and pressed and held the power button.
The screen lit up with a pale blue light, and the self-test program ran, but it eventually stopped at the "Search for satellite signals" screen, with the progress bar refusing to move forward.
He restarted the device once, twice, but the result was the same.
Two devices, using two completely different communication standards, both failed simultaneously in an environment that was not remote or deep in the mountains.
Although the heavy Mercedes-Benz G-Class SUV is equipped with lightweight composite armor and bulletproof glass, which will cause some signal attenuation, it will not completely block the signal.
This is more like...
It was intentionally blocked.
"what happened?"
Masoud raised his head, his sharp gaze falling on his nephew beside him, his voice carrying a hint of vigilance beneath its usual composure.
"Why is there no signal? Something's been wrong ever since we left the city."
Barzani's gaze remained fixed ahead, not even glancing at his uncle sitting beside him; his expression was unusually stiff.
"To ensure absolute safety, Uncle, we have implemented some temporary signal jamming measures."
His tone was as if he were reporting on routine official business.
“Especially in this sensitive period, with the situation in Kirkuk unclear, I have to consider the worst-case scenario—such as someone using civilian communication networks to remotely detonate a pre-planted IED (improvised explosive device). A brief silence is a necessary price to pay for protection.”
"The cost of protection?"
Masoud repeated the word, his gaze never leaving his nephew's face.
The reason sounds logical: in Iraq, roadside bombs are a constant nightmare.
But his intuition, a near-instinctive sense of danger honed through decades of political and military experience, was sending him a sharp warning.
That's far too "thorough"!
His thoughtfulness was unlike that of his nephew, who was known for his bravery, decisiveness, and even somewhat rough-around-the-edges nature.
Moreover, the scope and timing of the signal blocking seemed deliberately deliberate.
He tried the phone a few more times, but the screen stubbornly displayed a "no service" status, like a silent and eerie eye.
The doubts in my heart spread rapidly and uncontrollably, like ink dripping onto paper.
The rumors he had vaguely heard, the unusual troop movements he had observed, and the almost stagnant, oppressive atmosphere inside the car all connected in his mind, outlining a fact he did not want to face.
No.
Perhaps there were signs even earlier, but he subconsciously ignored them.
It is an almost blind trust and protection that elders have for the children they have raised, a kind of emotion that blinds reason.
Only now, with the smell of danger so close, did I be forcibly dragged back to reality.
"parking."
Masoud's voice was not loud, but it carried the authority of a chairman.
This is not a request, it is a command.
However, the young soldier in the driver's seat seemed to have suddenly gone deaf. He gripped the steering wheel firmly with both hands, stared straight ahead at the thick fog, and did not respond to the instructions from the back seat. He didn't even twitch the muscles in his neck.
"I said, stop the car!"
Masoud raised his voice, his aged voice echoing in the car.
He stopped looking at the driver and fixed his gaze on Barzani's face.
"Ugh……"
A barely audible sigh escaped from Barzani's throat.
In that sigh, there was no panic, no explanation, but rather a strange mixture of a relieved weariness and a sense of liberation as if the pretense had finally been torn away.
"uncle……"
He spoke slowly, still without turning his head, his voice low and deep, "Things have come to this point, we've already come this far, so let's not..."
"You want to kill me, don't you?"
Masoud interrupted him abruptly, his voice trembling slightly.
That wasn't a fear of death.
For someone like him, life and death have long been indifferent.
The most heartbreaking thing is being betrayed by your closest loved ones.
He finally asked the question.
Why would you jam signals to defend against roadside bombs?
That was nothing but a clumsy and pathetic excuse to cut him off from all contact with the outside world and completely isolate him in this moving iron coffin!
Ironically, it took me until now to fully understand.
If it were someone else, with their political instincts, they would probably have become alert as soon as the first signal bar disappeared.
But it was Barzani, the orphan of his own brother, the nephew he had devoted half his life to raising, treating as his own son, and even secretly regarding him as his heir!
It was this deep-rooted family affection and trust that blinded his judgment, causing him to subconsciously seek reasonable explanations for all the abnormalities, until he was led step by step into this desperate situation.
"Today, thirty years after your father entrusted you to me."
Masoud's voice was filled with bitterness.
"You want to kill me with your own hands. Use the political savvy and wisdom I taught you, the power and status I gave you, and the unwavering trust I've placed in you for the past thirty years... to pave this road to the underworld for me?"
Barzani's facial muscles twitched violently.
He turned his head sharply, his eyes burning with an almost insane flame, all pretense and hesitation burned away in that instant.
"I have no other choice!"
He growled, “You forced me to this! Uncle! You’ve grown old! You’ve become indecisive, cowardly, and retreating! You want to hand over the little foothold and dignity that we Kurds have fought for over decades, with generations of bloodshed and sacrifice, to others! You’re begging and groveling before the Americans, bowing down to those Shiite politicians in Baghdad, and now you’re even going to make concessions, compromises, and negotiations to traitors like Abuyu!”
Koldstein doesn't need an old man who just sits behind the negotiating table wearing out his pen; we need a strong, resolute leader who can make all enemies tremble and all allies awe with iron and blood! An eagle that can lead us to true independence, not a dove begging for handouts!
"So this is your answer? A coup? Murder? Using such methods against your own blood uncle?" Masoud's old face was distorted with extreme anger.
He pointed at Barzani, his finger trembling.
"Do you even know what you're doing? You foolish, power-blinded madman! What you're doing won't bring strength, it will only bring destruction! The Kold will split, tribes will fight each other, brothers will turn on each other! We will be plunged into a deeper and longer abyss of civil war than when we faced Saddam or '1515'!"
"Decades of sacrifice, rivers of blood, the tears of countless mothers and wives—all will be rendered meaningless by your ambition! Barzani! Look at me, look at your uncle who is about to enter his grave! Your father is watching you from heaven, and he will be ashamed of you! You will become a sinner forever in the history of Kolde!"
"This is a necessary sacrifice!"
Barzani slammed his fist hard on the reinforced armor plate inside the car door, making a dull thud.
"For a truly powerful Koldeststein who no longer needs to be subservient to others! Uncle, wake up! Your pacifism, your fantasies of dialogue and understanding, are no longer viable in this world that only recognizes might and the law of the jungle! This world respects strength, fears force, and abides by the iron-fisted laws! You're old! Outdated! Do you understand!"
Suddenly, Masoud reached out and grabbed the electronic unlock switch on the inside of the car door, pressed it hard, but found that there was no response.
He tried to pull the mechanical door handle, but it wouldn't budge—the door had already been completely locked from the control system level.
He turned to the passenger seat, his piercing gaze fixed on the visibly uncomfortable Lieutenant Colonel Jalal, and with his last ounce of authority, commanded:
"Lieutenant Colonel Jalal Abdullah! As the Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces of the Kurdistan Autonomous Region, I order you to stop this vehicle immediately! Now! This is an order!"
Jalal's body trembled violently, as if struck by an invisible whip.
His hand had already unconsciously rested on the holster at his waist, his fingers still trembling slightly.
He glanced back in the rearview mirror, and there, in the mirror, were General Barzani's cold, inhuman eyes, fixed on him like a venomous snake.
There was no threat or urging in that gaze, only a chilling calm that was more oppressive than any roar.
Last night, the image of Rashid bursting into his home with that nauseating smile and fully armed soldiers flashed before his eyes once again with unparalleled clarity.
Rashid whispered in his ear, in a voice only the two of them could hear, each syllable like a red-hot nail driven into his eardrum:
"Dear Lieutenant Colonel, the choice is simple. Cooperate, and when the sun rises as usual tomorrow, your wife will be at home preparing breakfast for you, and your daughters will be chattering away about the fun things that happened at school. Don't cooperate, or if even the slightest mistake occurs..."
“I assure you, you will ‘see with your own eyes’ your wife being taken advantage of by my most lustful soldiers, and your two delicate daughters will be loaded onto trucks bound for Rika or Idlib and sold to those underground brothels that ‘serve’ VIPs. You know, there are always some scum there who have a particular fondness for young girls. So, Lieutenant Colonel, what is your choice?”
"I'm...I'm sorry...Chairman..."
Jalal was drenched in sweat.
He drew the Glock 19 pistol extremely slowly.
The gun barrel hung limply and tremblingly, pointing at the carriage floor, but this gesture itself was a silent declaration of betrayal.
Massoud looked at the lowered gun barrel, then raised his gaze to Jalal's deathly pale face.
There was no anger, only a profound sorrow.
In an instant, he understood everything.
Thoroughly and completely.
Not just this car, but also the driver and the bodyguard.
It's likely that the entire convoy, including the guards he knew in the two off-road vehicles at the front and rear, and even the soldiers in the pickup truck behind, had already been purged and replaced without his knowledge, becoming Salahuddin's private army under his absolute control.
He was now merely the nominal supreme leader of Koldestan, but in reality, he was nothing more than a prisoner meticulously plotted against by his own nephew.
In that suffocating moment when everyone's heart was about to stop, Rashid's voice suddenly came through the encrypted intercom on the vehicle's control panel:
"General, the convoy is three kilometers from the designated 'reception point.' All 'guests' are in position, in good condition, and eagerly awaiting your final instructions."
Barzani reached out and grabbed the walkie-talkie.
He took a deep breath, his chest heaving, like a diver making his final preparations before diving into the deep sea.
Then, in an almost eerily calm tone, he said:
"action."
The moment the words fell, time seemed to be split in two.
Behind them, the atmosphere in the two Mercedes-Benz G-Class SUVs following closely behind changed abruptly!
The "soldiers" sitting next to Massoud's loyal guards launched an attack almost simultaneously!
They were clearly well-prepared, and their actions were swift and ruthless.
At extremely close range, he suddenly pulled out a concealed pistol or a loaded compact submachine gun, aimed it at the real guard beside him who had not yet had time to react and whose face still showed some confusion, and pulled the trigger!
"Puff-puff-!"
The sound of the pistols, equipped with silencers, was muffled and dense, echoing in the enclosed carriage. However, it was mostly absorbed by the excellent sound insulation materials, and the sound reached the outside world almost inaudibly.
The firelight flickered briefly behind the dark tint of the car windows, illuminating the astonished faces of the guards.
Some guards tried to draw their guns to resist at the last moment, but the action was stopped halfway through; some let out short groans; many more did not even have time to react before they fell to the muzzle of the betrayer's gun.
Bulletproof car windows can stop bullets from a distance, but they cannot protect against murder from inside the car.
Within a few seconds, the slight struggles and noises inside the other two cars subsided, leaving only the scraping sound of the bodies sliding down and the heavy, lingering smell of blood.
The convoy didn't even stop for a moment, maintaining its original speed and formation, and continued driving towards the designated execution ground, known as "Vulture Canyon," three kilometers away.
The plan is clear: upon arrival at the canyon, a brief stop for inspection or rest will be created as a pretense.
At that time, Massoud will be contained in the middle vehicle, while the two off-road vehicles next to him, filled with corpses, will become perfect targets for the "Kornet" anti-tank missiles lying in ambush in the distance, along with Massoud's vehicle.
The scene of a "despicable ambush and assassination carried out by the Abuyu Brigade rebels" will be perfectly presented.
Inside the Mercedes in the middle, Masoud kept his eyes tightly shut.
He did not plead, he did not rant, and he did not even glance at Barzani again.
He simply leaned back in his chair, his lips moving silently as he softly recited an ancient prayer passed down from his ancestors in Kohl's German.
Interspersed between those rapidly recited words were also the deepest curses against this mad world where kinship has vanished.
Barzani turned his head and cast a complicated look at his uncle beside him.
The morning light struggled to penetrate the thick fog and the blood-stained bulletproof car windows, casting dappled shadows on the face etched with the lines of time.
He looked at the tightly closed eyelids, at Masoud's slightly trembling lips and wrinkled face, and a feeling of pity welled up in his heart for no reason.
But he forcefully suppressed the thought that had just surfaced.
Open the bow without turning back the arrow.
Compassion does not command troops!
In the world of male-dominated political maneuvering, mercy is the most useless dregs!
From the moment he uttered the word "action," from the moment he tacitly approved Rashid's use of Jalal's family as leverage, from the moment he gathered his confidants in the safe house to plot every detail of the coup...
No, perhaps even earlier.
Long before he first felt impatience and contempt for his uncle's moderate policies, long before he first stood outside the chairman's office window, imagining himself sitting in that large chair...
The path leading to the cliff in their destinies had already been paved long ago.
After the riots subsided, the convoy fell silent, proceeding resolutely like a funeral procession toward the gaping maw of death looming in the hilly terrain ahead.
Ahead lies the end of the plan.
Second update, 10,000 words complete!
(End of this chapter)