"The General's convoy was ambushed. The Chairman was badly wounded, but a private military company pulled him out. Where he is now, whether he's alive or dead, nobody knows. Barzani might have… moved early, before the Chairman could recover or send out any ssage."
Adnan's mind raced.
If Masood was still alive, then this coup was a gamble built on sand.
If Masood was dead, Barzani was the sole heir to power.
But either way, they were already prisoners.
Either bargaining chips for the coup, or obstacles to a counter‑coup.
He thought of a brief eting with Chairman Masoud two weeks earlier.
The old man had looked exhausted, but when he talked about young people entering politics, his eyes lit up:
"Adnan, you're Western‑educated and you have ideals, that's good. But rember, politics isn't just about ideals; it's about responsibility. Responsibility to the people, to history, and to your own conscience."
Responsibility.
How was Adnan supposed to live up to that responsibility now?
Cooperate with the plotters and try to stay alive?
Or resist and beco a martyr?
The door opened again.
Two security officers stood at the doorway, their eyes sweeping over the people in the room.
"Adnan Jassim, step outside for a mont."
Every gaze swung to him.
Sadiq patted him on the shoulder, his expression complicated.
Maybe encouragent, maybe farewell, or… a warning?
Adnan stood up. His legs felt weak, but he forced himself to straighten his back.
As he walked out of the conference room, he took one last look at his colleagues.
Samir, the old adviser from the Ministry of Energy, gave him a slight nod, his lips silently forming the words: "Be careful."
In the corridor, the lead security officer was waiting for him.
"Mr. Adnan, Director Rashid wants to talk to you. About… how to make this transition a little less bloody."
"What do you an?"
"You're young, you have a Western education, you're not deeply entangled in factional struggles. The new governnt needs people like you. Of course, that requires you to show… a cooperative attitude."
Adnan stared at him. "Such as?"
"Such as persuading your colleagues to remain calm and cooperate. Such as, at the right mont, making a public statent in support of the Ergency Committee. Such as… providing so leads on the remaining elents of Masood's faction."
"And if I say no?"
The security officer smiled, but the smile never reached his eyes.
"You just heard, didn't you? Your wife is pregnant, three months, right? The checkup was at the hospital in the west of the city. Do you want your child to be born with his father by his side?"
A naked threat.
Adnan felt his blood turn to ice.
They even knew that.
That ant his family was already under surveillance, maybe already in their hands.
Anger and fear clashed in his veins.
He rembered sothing Chairman Masoud had said at a youth forum: "Sotis it takes more courage to stay alive than to die. Because the living have to keep fighting, and fighting isn't only about picking up a gun."
He unclenched his fists.
"I want to confirm my wife's safety first."
"That can be arranged. For now, please co with ."
Adnan was led toward the elevator.
As the doors slid shut, he caught his own reflection in the tal.
Twenty‑eight years old, from a prominent family in the Kurd Region, highly educated, a bright future ahead.
He had thought politics was a ga of docunts and debates. Only now did he understand it was about choices between life and death.
The elevator descended.
He didn't know where they were taking him, or what choices he would make.
But he knew that from this mont on, he was no longer that naïve young bureaucrat.
The elevator stopped at the second basent level.
The doors opened onto a parking garage, cleared out except for a few black SUVs.
Adnan was led toward one of them.
Before getting in, he took one last look at the entrance to the garage.
Natural light slanted in from there, cutting a bright strip across the concrete floor. Outside was the normal world—brilliant sunshine, heavy traffic.
Then the car door closed, and he was taken toward an unknown fate.
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