Leaving the US Embassy, Song Heping's bulletproof car drove down the empty streets of the Green Zone.
Outside the car window, the scene looked like a carefully constructed movie set—clean roads, neatly trimd trees, brand-new buildings, starkly contrasting with the chaos and decay in the civilian areas of Baghdad just beyond the wall.
The eastern part of Illiguo was slowly recovering, but the northwest remained a festering wound.
The people living in Baghdad were constantly under the shadow of infiltration attacks from the remaining extremist forces in the direction of Ozham.
He checked the intelligence updates on his phone again.
There were two new ssages in the encrypted channel:
The first was from Abu You: "Barzani's vanguard has reached a point 50 kiloters north of Kirkuk, about 800 n, carrying light armor. The main force is still assembling."
The second was from Yusuf: "Saeed is at my house, anxious, constantly checking his watch. He insists on eting you tonight."
Song Heping sent a brief instruction: "Proceed as planned. Allow Barzani's vanguard to advance another 20 kiloters, but prepare to retaliate imdiately if the main force enters the 30-kiloter red line. Distinguish between warning shots and actual firefights, avoid giving a pretext for escalation."
The car left the Green Zone, passed through three checkpoints, and entered the Old Town of Baghdad.
The scenery here was completely different: narrow, crowded streets, neon signs flashing in Arabic, the sll of roasted lamb mingling with the stench of garbage in the suffocating air.
Motorcycles weaved dangerously through the traffic, and the faces of pedestrians blurred past the car window—tired, wary, numb, each one an annotation to the trauma this land had endured for years.
In the past two years, Yusuf had risen to the position of Deputy Speaker, and his status had also increased significantly.
Even his residence had been upgraded; it was no longer the old house.
The new ho was located in a relatively quiet, upscale neighborhood.
But "relatively quiet" was rely by Baghdad's standards.
The high walls were wrapped with barbed wire, embedded shards of glass on the concrete base, and the heavy steel gates required electric opening, guarded by ard security at the entrance.
The courtyard was planted with palm trees and jasmine, and a small fountain gurgled under the night sky.
This was a luxury of peace amidst the turmoil.
But Song Heping knew that such peace was bought at the price of hefty monthly security fees; the world outside those walls was never truly far away.
Samir was already waiting in the living room.
"Boss, what's the status?" Samir approached eagerly to ask.
"Proceeding as planned."
Song Heping sat down calmly, accepting the red tea offered by a servant.
"Barzani has moved his troops, Masood has sent people for negotiations, and the Aricans have expressed 'grave concern.' Everything is on track."
Samir was not reassured: "But the parliant will vote again next week, if the Kurds continue to oppose…"
"They won't oppose forever."
Song Heping interrupted him, his tone calm yet indisputable.
"The essence of politics is trading. The Kurds' weakness is their need for Kirkuk's oil revenue, which accounts for seventy percent of their budget. And now, this inco is under threat. We have leverage: control of the oilfields, stability in the northwest, and the avoidance of a civil war they can't afford. They have what we need: votes in the parliant, and recognition of Abu You's legitimate status. It's just a matter of price."
As the two spoke softly, Yusuf entered the living room.
He was followed by a man in his fifties, dressed in civilian clothes but standing upright, hinting at a military background.
"Mr. Song, allow to introduce Saif Abdullah, an adviser and special envoy from Chairman Masoud."
With that, Yusuf turned to Saeed to introduce him: "This is Mr. Song Heping, whom you wanted to et."
"A pleasure to et you, Mr. Song."
Saif greeted in fluent English, shaking hands firmly but briefly, his gaze filled with scrutiny and caution. "Chairman Masoud has entrusted to convey his deep concern for the current situation in Kirkuk and hopes for a peaceful resolution."
"I can speak Arabic." Song Heping motioned for his guest to sit, "Please sit, Adviser Saif. Let's get straight to the point without wasting each other's ti; the situation in Kirkuk needs to be resolved quickly, and every day of delay increases the risk of losing control."
Saif sat upright, placing his hands on his knees.
"That is indeed Chairman Masoud's wish. We hope to avoid fratricide through negotiations. The Kurdish people have already shed too much blood, and it cannot continue in internecine conflict."
"A peaceful resolution requires concessions from both sides." Song Heping looked directly at him, "I have two conditions, clear and non-negotiable."
He raised one finger: "First, you must support in parliant the formal integration of Samir's 'Liberation Forces' into the governnt army's Border Defense Tenth Division, and agree to grant Samir the rank of Major General. You Kurds have eighteen seats in parliant, and I need at least fifteen affirmative votes."
A second finger was raised: "Second, the Abu You Brigade is to be reintegrated into the Kurd Ard System, enjoying equal treatnt and funding as other regular troops. Abu You himself is to take a position in the regional Military Committee. He and his soldiers should be granted legitimate status, with past actions not to be pursued."
Saif's expression shifted from cautious to shock, then to a forced and stiff restraint.
This process took only three seconds, but Song Heping saw it clearly.
"This… this exceeds my authority!" Saif's voice quivered: "Abu You's previous actions have been categorized as rebellion! And the integration of Samir involves complex political balances, involving the governnt, other factions, and international perception…"
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