Chapter 1353
Live Broadcast
Chapter 1353 Live Broadcast
"What happens after Rashid is taken control?"
Masoud suddenly asked a question, his voice trembling slightly.
This guy was clearly a little nervous.
Anyone would have done the same.
After all, failure means certain death.
"When the time comes, you hold a gun to his waist and make him walk into the studio normally."
Song Heping zipped up his work clothes.
“Once we take the stage, we will control the scene. At that time, General Torhan will need to cut off all external live broadcast signals for thirty seconds, keeping only the internal recordings. After thirty seconds, when the signal is restored, it will be you, not Rashid, who will appear on camera.”
Masood took a deep breath and nodded.
“Time’s up.” Adil glanced at his watch and said, “Now, turn right after you leave, follow the green signs to the service elevator. Swipe your card to go up to the second floor. Good luck.”
Song Heping did a final check on the equipment and looked at his squad.
"Turn your headsets to encrypted channel four. Ivan and Miroslav, you two are responsible for dealing with the guards on both sides of the corridor. Jiang Feng, you and I are responsible for the bodyguards and Rashid. Little Masood, you stay behind us and move forward immediately once the situation is under control."
All four nodded in unison.
Cold, white mist slowly rose from the cold storage under the lights.
"action."
6:57 a.m., the corridor on the second floor of the TV station.
Four "repairmen" pushed a tool cart and walked slowly down the corridor.
The tool cart was piled with cables and testing equipment, and weapons were hidden underneath.
Adil's voice came through the earpiece: "Rashid has entered the dressing room. Guards in position in the corridor. The general is on his way to the control room. You have three minutes and twelve seconds."
Song Heping pushed the cart, his eyes under the brim of his hat quickly scanning the surroundings.
The corridor was wide, covered with a deep red carpet, and lined with walls adorned with abstract paintings.
The dressing room was about 30 meters ahead, with two burly bodyguards standing at the door, their hands on their waists.
Further along the corridor, a guard stood every five meters on either side, each with their hand on an assault rifle and their eyes alert.
"The fire cabinet is 12 meters ahead on the left."
Jiang Feng said in a low voice that he had taken a wrench from the tool cart and pretended to check the vent on the wall.
Song Heping nodded and continued pushing the cart forward.
The wheels of the utility cart made a soft rustling sound on the carpet.
There are still 20 meters to the dressing room.
Fifteen meters.
One of the guards glanced at them, his brow furrowing slightly.
Perhaps the sudden appearance of a repairman felt a bit strange, but they couldn't quite put their finger on what was wrong.
Song Heping stopped his work cart, picked up a testing instrument from it, gestured towards the socket on the wall, and mumbled in Arabic, "Third floor reports circuit fault, troubleshooting up to this section..."
The guard's doubts lessened, and he turned back.
"Do it."
Song Heping said in a low voice.
Almost at the same time——
Ivan and Miroslav dashed out from both sides of the utility vehicle like lightning!
The two men held pistols equipped with silencers, but the muzzles were pointing downwards; their real killing move was the dagger in their other hand.
Before the first guard on the left could react, Miroslav's dagger had already pierced his heart precisely between his third and fourth ribs.
The guy covered the other person's mouth with his thick arm and gently leaned the limp body against the wall. The whole process took less than three seconds.
On the right, Ivan's movements were equally clean and efficient.
His dagger plunged upwards into the guard's liver area, while his other hand tightly covered the guard's mouth.
His icy blue eyes held no emotion, only a cold, murderous intent.
These are all members of special forces from former Eastern European countries.
He then underwent six months of intensive training at a hunter school in Venezuela.
kill?
It's as simple as eating a green vegetable.
Song Heping and Jiang Feng ignored all of this and walked straight to the door of the dressing room.
The two bodyguards warily reached out to stop them: "What are you doing?"
"Technical Department, check the ventilation system in the dressing room."
Song Heping held up his work ID and flashed it at the two of them.
"We received a report that there was an unusual smell here, so our boss sent us to come and take a look."
"Not now, the commander is inside—"
Before he finished speaking, Jiang Feng's right hand had already gripped the throat of the bodyguard on his left like an iron clamp, his thumb precisely pressing on the carotid sinus, and then squeezing hard.
Jiang Feng can break a wooden stick as thick as a child's arm with his bare hands.
The force of that squeeze was intense.
The bodyguard's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed.
Song Heping dealt with the right-side bodyguard almost simultaneously.
A powerful palm strike to the throat.
The intense pain and suffocation immediately caused the other person to instinctively cover their throat.
Before he could react, Song Heping had already wrapped his arms around his neck and twisted it sharply!
Click!
After the cracking sound, the spine was broken.
The two men caught the guard's limp body and gently placed him on the ground.
The door to the dressing room opened at that moment.
Rashid was adjusting the sash on his uniform as he walked out, saying to his assistant behind him, "Check the speech again, highlighting the important pauses..."
He looked up and saw two unfamiliar men in work clothes standing at the door.
Looking down again, I saw the bodyguard lying on the ground.
Rashid's expression froze instantly.
Song Heping stepped forward, the muzzle of his silenced pistol already pressed against Rashid's waist, his other hand pressing down on his shoulder:
“Keep walking, Commander Rashid. Head towards the studio as if nothing happened. If you shout or do anything unusual, I guarantee you'll have a hole in your spine. Don't worry, even if I don't kill you, I'll make sure you're in a wheelchair for the rest of your life.”
Rashid's cheek muscles twitched.
For him, spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair is more terrifying than death.
But his years of military service allowed him to maintain a calm demeanor.
He gave Song Heping a deep look and nodded slowly.
"Whose people are you?"
He asked in a low voice, his steps already beginning to move forward.
"The person of the God of Wealth."
Song Heping said with a smile, applying a little force with the muzzle of the gun.
On either side of the corridor, Ivan and Miroslav had taken care of all six guards, and the bodies were dragged behind the fire cabinet and behind the decorative plants.
The entire process took only twelve seconds.
Little Masood emerged from behind the utility vehicle, his face pale but his eyes resolute.
He took a deep breath, followed behind Rashid, replaced Song Heping, and pressed the gun against Rashid's vital points.
Rashid didn't recognize him.
I just felt like I'd seen this person before.
The group walked quickly toward the studio entrance.
A cacophony of voices could be heard coming from inside the door.
Staff were making final adjustments, audience members were talking quietly, and security guards were maintaining order.
Song Heping leaned close to Rashid's ear, his voice icy:
"Go in, go up on stage, and begin your speech. But remember, if you mispronounce a single word or try to send any signal, you will never see the sun rise again tomorrow."
Rashid's Adam's apple bobbed, and he nodded.
The double doors of the studio were opened from the inside by security guards.
At 7:00 AM sharp, in Studio One.
The spotlights are dazzling, and the cameras are already in place.
The fifty "audience members" sat upright.
At least twenty of them were Rashid's undercover agents.
Two fully armed guards stood on each side of the podium.
In the control room, the director was doing the final countdown.
Rashid walked onto the podium with steady steps and a calm expression.
Song Heping and Jiang Feng mingled among the staff, standing in the shadows of the stage's side curtain.
Their guns were hidden behind tool bags, always pointed at the figure on the podium.
Little Masoud hid behind the audio equipment on the other side, tightly clutching the USB drive containing the evidence.
The director's voice came through the internal communication system: "Thirty-second countdown. Commander Rashid, please prepare."
Rashid adjusted the microphone and glanced across the room.
His gaze lingered for a moment in the shadows of the side curtain before returning to his own.
"Ten, nine, eight..."
Song Heping whispered into the headset, "General, are you ready?"
Thorhan's voice came through, trembling slightly: "The control room is under control. The signal can be cut off at any time."
"...Three, two, one. Live broadcast begins!"
All the cameras' red lights illuminated simultaneously.
Rashid took a deep breath, faced the camera, and a sorrowful expression appeared on his face:
"My fellow countrymen in Koldeststein, today I stand here with a heavy heart..."
At this moment——
Song Heping said into the microphone, "Cut the signal."
All the lights in the studio suddenly flickered at the same time!
It wasn't a power outage, but rather a regular flickering.
This is a signal sent by Torhan from the control room.
Rashid's speech came to an abrupt end.
He froze, instinctively looking towards the control room.
In that brief interval of less than two seconds—
Song Heping and Jiang Feng rushed out from the side curtain!
Move as fast as lightning!
Just as the guard on the left side of the podium was about to raise his gun, Jiang Feng's dagger had already slashed across his throat. The guard on the right side had his Adam's apple crushed by a powerful punch from Song Heping and collapsed to the ground.
The plainclothes agents in the audience realized what was happening and immediately stood up and drew their guns.
But Ivan and Miroslav had already entered from the rear, holding submachine guns they had taken from the utility vehicle.
"do not move!"
Miroslav roared in Arabic with an Eastern European accent, as his gun swept across the field.
"Whoever moves will die!"
The plainclothes agents froze.
Song Heping rushed onto the stage, pinned Rashid down on it, and pressed a pistol against the back of his head.
Jiang Feng quickly used plastic cable ties to bind Rashid's hands and feet. The whole process took only seven seconds.
The real citizen representatives in the audience began to let out horrified gasps.
Someone tried to stand up and run away.
"Sit down!" Song Heping roared into the microphone, his voice amplified through the sound system, deafeningly loud. "Anyone who doesn't want to die, sit down!"
The scene fell into a deathly silence.
In the control room, Torhan cut off all live broadcast signals.
The big screen turned into static.
The external signal was cut off, and the live broadcast was not sent out on time.
At this moment, all the television screens in every household were filled with static.
But he kept the internal recording.
All the cameras are still working, recording everything that is happening.
Song Heping grabbed Rashid by the hair and dragged him to the center of the stage.
Then he nodded toward the side of the curtain.
Little Masood, having shed his disguise, emerged.
He walked step by step toward the podium, his steps initially unsteady, but becoming more and more steady.
When he stood under the spotlight, facing those dark camera lenses, he straightened his back.
"My fellow countrymen."
Masood's voice, though still trembling slightly, was exceptionally clear throughout the studio through the microphone.
What you just saw was a lie told at the last moment before the truth was revealed.
He took a USB drive out of his pocket and held it high:
"Here lies evidence of a secret deal between Barzani and the Turkish government. They planned to betray our border security by allowing foreign troops into our territory to wipe out the PPK organization in exchange for recognition of the illegitimate regime."
He paused, then looked directly at the main camera:
"More importantly, the previous claims by Rashid and Barzani that my father was killed in an attack by the Abu Yuriyah Brigade special forces on his way to Kirkuk are false. My father, President Massoud, is still alive. He was rescued by his true friends in the Khord forces and has been taken to the Green Zone Hospital in Bakta for treatment. He is not in any danger!"
A collective gasp filled the studio.
"At this moment, I believe he has regained consciousness and will probably appear in front of everyone soon."
Little Masood seemed to have found his rhythm, and his voice grew stronger and stronger.
"My father's assassination was a blatant conspiracy, a shameless assassination orchestrated by Barzani and his cronies in an attempt to seize the country. But their plot failed."
He pointed to Rashid, who was being held down on the ground: "This man, and Barzani behind him, are the real traitors!"
At the same time, outside the television station.
The urgent alarm blared throughout the block.
A major named Qadir, one of Rashid's security forces commanders, frantically shouted into the walkie-talkie: "The studio is in trouble! All units, immediately storm the TV station! Repeat, immediately storm it!"
At the main entrance of the television station, four armored personnel carriers roared with engines, carrying at least eighty fully armed security forces soldiers.
The machine gunners were in position, their guns pointed at the television station building.
"Prepare for the assault!" Major Kadir drew his pistol. "First team, charge in from the front! Second team, flank—"
Just then, he stopped talking abruptly.
At the end of the street, the gun barrels of three main battle tanks slowly turned the corner.
Following closely behind were a dozen or so armored personnel carriers, their bodies painted with the insignia of the 3rd Infantry Brigade.
The tank turret hatch opened, and Colonel Muhammad, a close confidant of General Torhan, leaned out, holding a megaphone:
"Soldiers of the security forces! Lay down your weapons! Rashid and Barzani's conspiracy has been exposed! President Massoud is about to be reinstated! Stop shedding blood for traitors!"
Major Kadir's face was ashen: "Fire! Fire!"
The security forces' machine gunner pulled the trigger, and the bullets clanged against the tank's armor, sending sparks flying.
Colonel Muhammad retracted the turret and gave the order over the radio: "Counterattack."
The main gun of the foremost tank slightly adjusted its angle—
boom!
A high-explosive shell struck the armored personnel carrier at the forefront of the security forces.
Compared to tanks, light armored personnel carriers are simply paper toys.
The armored vehicle was blown into the air, then rolled and crashed onto the street, bursting into flames.
The second tank's coaxial machine gun began firing, bullets raining down on the security forces' positions.
Soldiers from the 3rd Infantry Brigade rushed out from behind the armored vehicles and opened fire from behind cover.
The streets instantly turned into a battlefield.
Bullets flew everywhere, and explosions continued.
The security forces soldiers were pinned down behind cover by the infantry brigade's overwhelming firepower, suffering heavy casualties immediately.
Major Kadir, hiding behind sandbags, roared into the walkie-talkie, "We need reinforcements! We need—"
A sniper bullet came from a distant building and struck him precisely between the eyebrows.
The major fell backward, the walkie-talkie slipped from his hand and fell to the ground with a thud.
Without command, the security forces' resistance quickly collapsed.
Some soldiers threw down their weapons and surrendered, while others tried to escape but were shot down by crossfire.
Within fifteen minutes, the battle outside the television station was basically over.
The 3rd Infantry Brigade took control of the entire block and began clearing the battlefield and taking prisoners.
Colonel Muhammad climbed out of the tank, looked at the devastated streets, and reported over the radio: "General, the perimeter is under control. The television station is safe."
In Studio One.
Masood Jr.'s speech was nearing its end.
The camera's red indicator lights, like pairs of unblinking eyes, indifferently recorded everything.
Fine beads of sweat appeared on Masood's forehead, his throat was a little dry, but he seemed to be getting more and more into the zone:
"...Therefore, I call upon all Kold's soldiers and all members of the security forces to immediately lay down their arms and cease resistance. The real enemy is not your compatriots, but those traitors who betrayed the country and assassinated the legitimate president! History will remember this day, remember who stood on the side of justice and who chose betrayal!"
Just then, the handle of the heavy soundproof door to the studio turned.
Everyone's attention was instantly drawn over.
Torhan Arslan stood at the door.
An eerie silence fell over the studio, so quiet that even breathing became clearly audible.
Tolkien ignored the astonished looks and walked straight to the podium.
Masood stopped his speech and watched Tor Khan approach.
Walking up to Masood, Thor Khan lowered his voice and said, "Your father has woken up."
Masood's body visibly trembled.
"He is at the Green Zone Hospital in Bakta and has just regained consciousness."
Tolhan continued, “The U.S. contacted us and said that President Massoud requested an immediate address to the nation. We can connect—right here now.”
"We have the technical team under control. They can restore the signal and bring in the ward footage. The question is: do you want to connect?"
Masood Jr. hardly hesitated.
He felt an electric current shoot from his spine straight to his brain, and a surge of wild joy welled up inside him.
He nodded, his voice trembling slightly with excitement:
"Connect. Connect now."
Torhan turned and gestured toward the control room.
Barzani's men in the studio began to stir with unease.
A middle-aged man in a suit stood up and tried to protest: "You can't change the broadcast content without permission! This violates—"
Tor Khan didn't even look at him, but merely tilted his head slightly towards the soldier beside him.
The soldier stepped forward, slightly raising the muzzle of his rifle.
The protester's words caught in his throat, and he sat back down, pale-faced.
"Signal restoration in progress," came the report from the control room. "We need thirty seconds to connect to the Green Zone Hospital's line."
That half minute might have been the longest thirty seconds of Masood's life.
The atmosphere in the studio was extremely tense, as if it might break at any moment.
Tor Khan's soldiers vigilantly monitored every corner, while Barzani's men were on tenterhooks.
They knew that once old Massoud actually appeared on national television, the coup would have completely failed.
"Signal connection successful!"
A report came from the control room.
The main screen in the studio, which was originally displaying the interior of the studio, suddenly switched.
Ward at Bakta Green Zone Hospital.
The image was initially blurry, but gradually became clearer.
The first thing that catches the eye is the pristine white walls and medical equipment.
Masoud leaned against the hospital bed, slowly raised his eyes, and looked directly at the camera.
"My fellow countrymen."
Just four words were enough to make the entire studio hold its breath.
Those genuine citizen representatives covered their mouths, tears welling up in their eyes.
“A day ago, someone tried to silence me with missiles and bullets.”
Massoud continued, "They thought that killing me would kill the hope of this country. They were wrong."
He paused, took a breath, and continued, "I saw how those traitors usurped power, how they tainted the ideals for which we shed our blood with lies. Barzani—"
His voice was filled with cold contempt when he uttered the name.
"You and your associates have betrayed every soul that fought for the freedom of Koldestan."
Inside the studio, Masoud's hands, gripping the edge of the podium tightly, were trembling.
"Now I will tell you the truth."
Old Masoud's voice suddenly rose.
"I am alive. The legitimate president of Koldestan is alive and fighting! Those usurpers are the ones who should be put on trial!"
"I declare in the name of the legitimate President of Koldestan—"
His voice suddenly became loud and authoritative, completely unlike that of a patient who had just woken up from serious injuries.
"Release Barzani from all posts! Relevant authorities have removed Rashid and his associates from all posts! All members of the security forces, I order you to lay down your arms immediately and surrender to the 3rd Infantry Brigade! Repeat, surrender immediately!"
The studio was completely silent.
Then, suppressed sobs came from the corner, followed by applause, which quickly spread.
The real citizens stood up, waved their arms, and shouted Masood's name.
"Masood!"
"Masood!"
"Masood!"
Barzani's men turned pale.
Some people tried to leave quietly, but were immediately stopped by Tor Khan's warriors.
Torhan walked over to Masood: "The signal has been fully restored. We've taken over all the broadcasting equipment for the national television station. Now the whole country can see your father's speech."
Masood nodded and turned to the camera: "You heard the president's voice! This is not a recording, not a fake, it's real! Now, every citizen of Koldistan knows the truth!"
He took a deep breath: "I call upon all members of the military and security forces who remain loyal to the Constitution to act immediately! Arrest the traitors among you! Take control of key facilities! Await further orders from the Presidential Palace!"
In different corners of Erbil, the same scene is playing on television screens in thousands of homes.
Second update, 6,000 words!
Asking for a monthly ticket! Asking for a monthly ticket! Asking for a monthly ticket!
(End of this chapter)