"Of course, I believe it." Rashid flashed a sly smile: "We forged fake directives signed by Abu You, and the signatures are genuine because we processed them using Abu You's historical signature found in previous archives. Even if investigated afterwards, all evidence will point to Abu You."

Perfect framing.

Barzani thought.

So perfect it chills the heart.

"What about Masoud's security?" He asked the final question, "His bulletproof car can withstand rockets."

"So we can't use car-mounted rocket launchers." Rashid was prepared: "You will sit in the same car with him, the driver is arranged by us, and Masoud has only one position with a bodyguard. When the time comes, you can directly—"

At this point, Rashid made a shooting gesture, the implication clear.

He paused for a moment and added:

"After that, all the personal guards in the following car will be eliminated by our inserted personnel. By then, trap Masoud in the car and let the action squad attack with Russian-made 'Kornet' anti-tank missiles. This missile can penetrate up to 1200mm armor, and Masoud's modified Mercedes SUV can stop 7.62mm bullets but not this."

He became more and more smug: "And the missiles were captured during the previous battle with the Abu You Brigade. When the Americans check their intelligence systems, they will confirm these are weapons of the Abu You Brigade."

Barzani closed his eyes.

His mind conjured the image of Masoud's face.

Kind, stern, weary, and finally bloodied and indistinct.

For Kurdistan.

He told himself.

"Go ahead." He finally said, his voice as light as a sigh: "Remember, be clean, be swift, leave no survivors. Afterwards, eliminate everyone involved."

"Understood."

Rashid folded up the map, saluted, and turned to leave.

In the room, only Barzani remained.

He walked to the window, gazing at the night-lit city of Elbil.

In the distance, the top floor of the Autonomous Region Government Building was still illuminated, that was Masoud's office.

The old man might still be working, reviewing documents, pondering tomorrow's negotiations, striving to find a bloodless solution.

But he doesn't know, death is already waiting for him on the road.

The phone vibrated, it was an encrypted message from Tor Khan: "Troops are in position. TV station, radio station, communication center have all been staffed. Within three minutes of the coup starting, all key points can be controlled."

"Stay in Elbil and maintain control of the situation." Barzani replied: "Await my command. Ideally… no bloodshed…"

He knew well, bloodshed was inevitable.

From the first gear of the coup turning, blood is destined to flow.

Masoud's, Abu You's, maybe even his own.

This is the price of gaining power.

He opened the liquor cabinet and poured another glass of Whiskey.

This time, he didn't drink; he just stared at the amber liquid in the glass, watching his distorted reflection in the booze.

"Father," he said softly, "if you have a soul in heaven, tell me, am I doing the right thing?"

No answer.

Only the wind outside the window, like a distant moan.

At the same time, the light in Chairman Masoud's office was indeed still on.

The old man wasn't viewing documents, but standing before the gigantic map of Kurdistan, his fingers caressing every river, every mountain, every town.

This is the land he has fought for all his life, from a radical youth, to an exiled leader in middle age, to the chairman of the autonomous government in old age.

"Father."

A voice came from the doorway.

Masoud turned around, seeing his youngest son Bahaar standing there.

This thirty-year-old young man is a law professor at Erbil University, should have been far from politics, but now the situation is too dangerous, Masoud had to summon him to his side.

"Come in, close the door."

Bahaar closed the door and walked to his father's side.

He saw the exhaustion in his father's eyes, that deep-set tiredness.

"Are you really going to the Kirkuk front line?" Bahaar asked worriedly, "It's too dangerous. Abu You's people are a bunch of Mad Dogs now, they'll do anything."

"Precisely because it's dangerous, I must go." Masoud said: "If I hide in a safe office giving orders, what will the soldiers think? They'll feel that the leader sends us to bleed while he doesn't dare go to the front line himself. I cannot give them such an impression."

He patted his son's shoulder: "Moreover, I must see the situation firsthand and control the big picture. Saeed's intelligence reports, Barzani's reports, American analyses… everyone says something different. I must see with my own eyes, hear with my own ears."

Bahaar was silent for a while, then said softly: "Father, I've heard some… rumors. About Uncle Barzani…"

Masoud's gaze sharpened: "What rumors?"

"He's recently been mobilizing troops in a very unusual way. The third brigade is sent to the border, half of the guard battalion has been removed, and… I have a student in the communications department, who said the volume of encrypted communications in the military command has surged these days, and many bypass regular channels."

Masoud slowly walked back behind his desk and sat down.

He actually knew all this intelligence, although Kadir outwardly appeared loyal, Masoud had his own eyes in the intelligence department.

He just couldn't bring himself to believe that the nephew he watched grow up, the General he personally cultivated, would truly go that far.

"He's a soldier…"

Masoud seemed to be persuading himself.

"Soldiers are accustomed to resolving issues through force. He's just too impulsive, too stubborn, not likely to…"

"Father!"

Bahaar interrupted him, with rare sternness in his voice.

"You can't go on like this! Last year, he unauthorizedly attacked the outskirts of Mosul, causing over 300 casualties, you only gave a verbal warning! Earlier this year, he embezzled equipment procurement funds for his confidants, you only made him write a check! Now he's mobilizing six thousand troops, preparing for war, and you're still making excuses for him!"

Masoud looked at his agitated son and suddenly felt a pang of heartache.

Bahaar was right, he indeed had been too indulgent with Salahuddin.

Because he was his brother's son, because he was the pride of the family, because he truly could fight.

But politics is not familial affairs, national interests cannot be compromised for kinship.

"When I return from Kirkuk, I will convene a committee meeting…"

Masoud finally said: "Then I will formally propose forming an investigative committee. If Barzani is willing to admit wrongdoing, willing to cooperate, has a good attitude, and voluntarily withdraws the troops, then the investigation can be limited to procedural issues. If he does not cooperate…"

He did not continue, but the meaning was clear.

Bahaar breathed a sigh of relief: "And the Kirkuk trip? Still going? If Uncle Barzani truly… harbors disloyalty, the front line would be the most dangerous place."

Masoud thought for a moment, walked to the safe, input the password, and took out a small satellite phone from it.

This wasn't a government-issued device, but an entirely independent encrypted communicator with only one line.

He dialed a number.

After three wait tones, the other side picked up, but didn't speak.

"It's me." Masoud said, "Monitor Barzani, see what he's up to."

"Already monitoring." The other side said, "He met four confidants this afternoon, at a safe house on Suleiman Street. Conversation content unknown, but the meeting lasted two hours and seventeen minutes. Do you need me to take action?"

Masoud gripped the phone tightly.

Take action?

What does it mean?

Arrest Barzani?

That would directly trigger a military mutiny.

"Not for now." He said eventually, "But increase the alert level. Tomorrow I will depart for Kirkuk, if any abnormal situation arises en route, you know what to do."

"Understood. May Allah bless you, Leader."

"And may Allah bless you too."

The phone hung up.

Masoud put the communicator back into the safe and locked it.

"Who was that?" Bahaar asked curiously.

"A trustworthy old friend." Masoud murmured, staring blankly out the window.