"On this day, thirty years after your father entrusted you to ."
Masood's voice was full of bitterness.
"You're going to kill with your own hands? Using the political cunning I taught you, the power and status I gave you, and the unreserved trust I've placed in you for the past thirty years... to pave this path to the Netherworld for ?"
Barzani's facial muscles twitched violently.
He suddenly turned his head, with a fire burning in his eyes, a fire that was almost mad. At that mont, all disguises, all hesitations were burned away.
"I have no other choice!"
He growled, "You forced to do it! Uncle! You've grown old! You've beco indecisive, cowardly, and retreating! You want to hand over the foothold and dignity that the Kurd people have fought for decades and generations of bloodshed to others for nothing! Begging the United States, bowing down to the Shiite politicians in Baghdad, and now, you even want to compromise with traitors like Abu You! Compromise! Negotiate!"
"Kurdistan needs not an old man who only knows how to sit behind a negotiating table wearing out pens, but a strong, determined leader who can make all enemies tremble and all allies revere with iron and blood! A leader who can truly lead us to independence, a real Eagle, not a pigeon begging for handouts!"
"So this is your answer? A coup? Murder? Using such ans on your own blood-related uncle?"
Masood's old face was distorted with extre anger.
He pointed at Barzani, his finger trembling.
"Do you know what you're doing? You fool, blinded by power! What you're doing will not bring strength, only destruction! The Kurd people will be divided, clans will fight each other, brother will raise guns against brother! We will plunge into an even deeper, longer civil war than when facing Sadam, facing '1515'!"
"Decades of sacrifice, rivers of blood, the tears of countless mothers and wives, all would be rendered aningless because of your ambition! Barzani! Look at , look at your uncle who is about to enter the grave! Your father is watching you from the sky, and he would be ashad of you! You will beco a permanent sinner in Kurd history!"
"This is a necessary sacrifice!"
Barzani slamd his fist hard against the reinforced armored panel on the inside of the car door, producing a dull "thud" sound.
"For a truly strong Kurdistan, which no longer needs to bow to others! Uncle, wake up! Your pacifism, your fantasy of dialogue and understanding, in this world that only recognizes strength, where the weak are preyed upon by the strong, has long been untenable! This world respects strength, fears power, and adheres to the law of iron and blood! You've grown old! You've fallen behind! Understand?"
Suddenly, Masood reached to grab the electronic unlock switch on the car door's inside and pressed it hard, only to find no response.
He then tried to manipulate the chanical door handle, but it didn't move—a sign that the car door had already been thoroughly locked at the control system level.
He turned to the co-pilot seat and shot a sharp gaze at Major Jalal Abdullah, who seed to be sitting on pins and needles, and with the last of his authority, he ordered:
"Major Jalal Abdullah! I, as the Supre Commander of the Kurdistan Autonomous Region Ard Forces, order you to stop this vehicle imdiately! Now! That's an order!"
Jalal's body trembled violently, as if struck by an invisible whip.
His hand instinctively reached for the gun holster at his waist, his fingers still trembling slightly.
He glanced in the rearview mirror, and in the mirror, the General Barzani's eyes, colder than anything human, locked onto him like a Poison Snake.
Those eyes carried no threat, no urgency, only a bone-chilling calmness, more oppressive than any roar.
The scene of Rashid entering his ho last night, with that nauseating smile and fully ard soldiers, replayed in his mind, crystal clear.
Rashid whispered in his ear, in a voice only the two could hear, speaking those words slowly, each syllable like a red-hot nail being driven into his eardrum:
"Dear Major, the choice is simple. Cooperate, and when the sun rises tomorrow, your wife will have breakfast ready for you at ho, and your daughters will be chatting about school stories. If not, or if there is any slight mistake..."
"I assure you, you will 'see with your own eyes' your wife being used in turn by my most depraved soldiers, and your two daughters, as delicate as flowers, will be loaded onto a truck heading for Liben, sold to the underground brothels in Raqqa or Idlib that 'entertain' distinguished guests. You know, there are always so scum with a special taste for tender chicks. So, Major, what's your choice?"
"I'm...I'm sorry... Chairman..."
Jalal was drenched in sweat.
He very slowly drew the Glock 19 handgun.
The muzzle hung limply and tremblingly, pointing to the car floor, but that stance itself was a silent declaration of betrayal.
Masood looked at the lowered muzzle, then lifted his eyes to Jalal's face, as pale as paper.
There was no anger, only a deep sorrow.
In an instant, he understood everything.
Completely and clearly.
Not just this car, this driver, this Guard Captain.
It's likely that the entire convoy, the guards he was familiar with in the two off-road vehicles at the front and the back, and even the soldiers in the pickup truck behind, had already been unknowingly purged and replaced, turning into Salahuddin's privately controlled soldiers.
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