Eight o'clock in the evening.
Baghdad Green Zone, in the top floor suite of a certain hotel, Song Heping stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, playing with an ancient Ottoman Empire silver coin in his hand.
The coin flipped through his fingers, it was sothing Yusuf had given to him.
Having a trinket to play with while thinking helps keep the mind agile.
The front of the coin had a combination of Arabic letters in a calligraphic pattern, aning forever victorious Shah Ahd (the Sultan at the ti).
This was a relic of a vanished empire, particularly fitting on this land that has witnessed countless rises and falls of empires.
Outside the window, the Tigris River andered through the night like a black ribbon, and the old city of Baghdad across the river had only scattered lights.
This city has never been truly peaceful, from the golden age of the Abbasid Dynasty, to the Mongol invasion, from Ottoman rule, to modern warfare, violence and prosperity alternated here like a cruel cycle.
The phone on the table vibrated, not ringing, but with a specific frequency of vibration.
This ant incoming information on an encrypted channel.
Song Heping walked to the table and unlocked the screen.
The ssage was brief: Barzani has ordered troop mobilization, six thousand troops, assembled in three days, attack on the fourth day.
A barely noticeable curve appeared at the corner of his mouth. He put the phone back on the table, the coin stopping its flip and being grasped tightly in his palm.
Everything is according to plan.
A few minutes later, another phone on the table rang.
This phone had a direct line to the internal network of the US Embassy.
The caller ID showed "Major General Duke's Office".
"Song, sorry to disturb you so late."
Duke's voice carried the characteristic feigned casualness of the Aricans.
"There's sothing about Kirkuk I wanted to discuss with you. If you're available, could you co to my office?"
"Of course, General. I'll be there in twenty minutes."
Duke's office was on the third floor of the embassy's main building, with windows facing the inner courtyard, not visible to the outside street.
This was for safety reasons, also a taphor.
The Aricans were here, both deeply involved yet isolated.
"Song, please have a seat."
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 also deprived this regional security coordinator of sleep.
"Coffee?" Duke asked.
"Black coffee, no sugar, thank you."
The two seated themselves in the reception area on the sofa, separated by a copper-style traditional Illiguo tea table.
Duke's orderly brought in the coffee silently and then exited, closing the door softly.
"Song, the situation in Kirkuk is worrying."
Duke got straight to the point, with hands crossed on his knees, a typical negotiating posture, "Abu You's actions have disrupted the entire regional balance. The anti-terror cooperation chanism we painstakingly established in the northwest may be damaged because of this."
Song Heping picked up his coffee cup, but did not drink imdiately, allowing the cup's warmth to pass through the porcelain wall, reaching his palm.
He liked this real feeling, a reminder amid virtual intelligence and abstract strategy that everything is tangible.
"Balance?"
Song Heping repeated the word, with just the right amount of doubt in his tone.
"Duke, please forgive my directness, but when has this region ever been truly balanced? We are all striving to create order from chaos, just using different thods. You Aricans like doing it from top to bottom, establishing systems, training armies, pushing elections. I prefer from bottom to top, first allowing those capable of controlling the ground to gain legitimacy, then talking about other matters."
Duke's body leaned forward slightly: "Abu You Brigade is supported by you, right? This ti's occupation of the oil field would not be possible without your consent. Those heavy equipnt, like BMP armored vehicles and anti-tank missiles, Abu You alone couldn't get those."
The question targeted the core, clearly intending to condemn.
But Song Heping was prepared.
"I support all forces that perform well in combating the 1515 Ard."
He evaded the key points, but each word was carefully weighed, "Since last year, Abu You Brigade has initiated multiple major assaults against the 1515 Ard, killing at least two thousand fifty extremist commanders. Such troops deserve to receive corresponding resources and status. But what did they get? The Kurd committee treated them as traitors and drove them away, even slandering them. If not for seeking refuge with , the grass on Abu You's grave would be three feet tall by now."
He put down the coffee cup, the sound of porcelain and copper tea table clashing produced a crisp sound.
"General Duke, if you were treated as such, what would you do?"
Duke was not swayed from the topic: "But now you are instigating internal conflict among the Kurd people. The United States has invested a lot of resources in the Kurd Region, they are one of our most important allies in Illiguo. In the past decade, we have provided them with over 2.5 billion dollars in military aid, training forty thousand soldiers. We cannot let this ally fall apart internally."
"Ally?" Song Heping's gaze turned sharp: "If the Kurds are truly reliable allies, why do they oppose Samir's integration plan in parliant? Why refuse to give the Abu You Brigade deserved status? You Aricans promised to support my plan to incorporate Samir's Liberation Forces into the governnt army and grant him the rank of Lieutenant General. But what about the actual operation?"
He stood up, walked to the Middle East map on the wall, and pointed at Kirkuk's location with his finger.
"In practice, you adopted the classic three no's principle: no responsibility, no opposition, no effort. Verbally supporting, but hesitating in action. General Duke, I understand diplomatic complexity, but you can't ask to maintain northwest stability without giving the necessary tools."
Duke's expression showed subtle embarrassnt, an instinctive reaction when soone's truth hits ho.
But he quickly regained composure: "Song, Kurds are not only military allies but also political symbols. We cannot openly pressure them to make concessions that may harm their autonomous image."
"So you secretly allow to play the villain?"
Song Heping turned, with an elusive smile on his face.
"Let apply pressure, then you co out to diate, ultimately letting all parties owe you a favor? Marvelous! Absolutely marvelous! General Duke. You play this ga really well. But I must remind you, once pressure is applied, it may go out of control."
He moved back to the front of the sofa, but did not sit down, instead looking down at Duke.
"I am creating negotiating chips. If you Aricans are willing to pressure Masoud personally, my 'chips' naturally won't be needed. But you haven't done that, have you? Because, for the United States, maintaining the status quo is safest."
The two stared at each other for a long ten seconds.
The air in the office seed to solidify.
Finally, Duke sighed, a precursor to concession in negotiations.
"I will convey your stance to Washington, more forcefully convey. But I can't guarantee anything. anwhile, I hope you can control the situation and prevent it from turning into a full-scale conflict. If Kurds and Abu You Brigade really fight, the 1515 Ard is likely to exploit the vulnerability, potentially ruining three years of our anti-terror efforts."
"This depends on the Kurds' choice." Song Heping picked up his coat and headed out, speaking as he walked: "By the way, I know General Barzani has already mobilized troops to move towards Kirkuk. If you're truly concerned about regional stability, you should tell Chairman Masoud to make a wise decision sooner rather than later. Because if Barzani's troops fire the first shot, my reaction will not rely be defensive."
He paused at the door, turning his head: "Tomorrow morning, I'll be having the second round of talks with the Kurd representative Saeed. If you're interested in the results, my assistant will inform you."
The door closed gently.
Major General Duke sat alone in his office, staring at the small dot of Kirkuk on the map, motionless for a long ti.
Then he picked up the encrypted phone and dialed Washington's number.
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