The only explanation is a coup.
Barzani has made his move.
His brain worked rapidly.
The pistol was at his back, but two ard guards were two ters away.
There's an ergency alert button under the desk, but it would require bending over to activate.
The window is made of bullet-proof glass, impossible to break.
Not much possibility.
"I need to contact my family."
Tariq said, trying to buy ti.
"Your family is already under our protection. Rest assured."
Already under control.
Tariq felt a pang in his stomach.
Laila, Kareem, Rami...
If they use the family as leverage...
"I'll go with you," he said, slowly raising both hands, "but let grab a coat. The air conditioning is too cold."
This was probing.
If they allowed him back to his desk, there might still be a chance to trigger the alert.
Faruk hesitated for a second, then nodded.
"Okay. Please be quick."
Tariq turned to walk to the coat rack.
His peripheral vision scanned the edge of the desk.
The alert button is at the lower left side of the desk, requiring crouching to reach.
Three ters away, with no obstructions, but maybe...
He reached the coat rack and took down a coat.
Turning around, he deliberately let the coat drop to the floor.
"Sorry," he said, bending down to pick it up.
At the mont he bent down, his left hand reached under the desk, fingers searching and finally finding the small button, then pressed it lightly.
No sound feedback, but he knew the signal had been sent.
The ergency team from the Ministry of Internal Affairs' security bureau should have received the alert.
If they haven't been controlled yet.
He straightened up and put on the coat.
Faruk seed unaware.
"Please hand over your sidearm, Mr. Minister."
Tariq retrieved the Glock 17 from his back and placed it on the desk.
Slow actions, yet without hesitation.
Now is not the ti to play the hero.
A woman stepped forward, putting handcuffs on him.
Not tal ones, but plastic ties, which would cut into the skin if struggled.
"Is this necessary?" Tariq asked.
"Procedure," the other side answered.
They took him out of the office.
In the corridor, employees from the Ministry of Internal Affairs were all gathered in the recreation area, watched by plainclothes ard guards.
So looked at him being led away in handcuffs with astonishnt, while others bowed their heads, not daring to look.
Tariq saw the young girl from the secretariat sobbing and the old director from the archives shaking his head.
He had worked at the Ministry of Internal Affairs for twelve years, from anti-terrorism director to minister, familiar with every face here.
Now, they've all beco witnesses to this coup.
The elevator directly reached the underground parking lot.
A black van without any insignia was waiting there.
Tariq was escorted onto the van, seated between two guards.
The vehicle exited the parking lot, into the glaring afternoon sun.
The traffic on the streets was as usual, pedestrians rushing by.
Tariq spotted the familiar café, where he would et informants every Friday afternoon; saw the bookstore, where his son Rami liked to buy comics; saw the mosque, where his wife Laila often went to worship.
The everyday world was still running, but his world had collapsed.
The vehicle proceeded west, out of the city.
Based on his experience, Tariq judged the direction, likely heading to a safe house outside the city, or a military base.
He attempted to morize the route, but the guards deliberately talked to him, diverting his attention.
"Mr. Minister, if you cooperate, your family will be safe, and you'll receive a suitable position in the new governnt."
"Cooperate how?" Tariq asked, his gaze still fixed outside the window.
"Support General Barzani in leading the transitional governnt. Your reputation is quite high; your stance is important."
"What if I don't?"
The guard remained silent for a few seconds.
"It won't be good for anyone. Your son Kareem... he's going to university next year, right? I heard he wants to study law? Great aspiration."
A brazen threat.
Tariq closed his eyes.
He could take risks for himself, but not gamble with his son's future.
"I need ti to consider."
"You have twenty-four hours. After that..." the guard didn't finish speaking, but the implication was clear.
The vehicle continued driving.
Through the city, leaving the urban area.
Forty minutes later, the car stopped.
A nondescript farmhouse was ahead, surrounded by high walls, with barbed wire and caras on it.
A disguised safe house.
Tariq was led off the car.
Heatwaves hit his face, the air filled with the sll of dust and animal manure.
"Welco to your new residence, Mr. Minister," Faruk said, "I hope you find it comfortable."
Tariq did not speak.
He was taken into the farmhouse, cooler inside than out but the air was stale.
He was locked in a room: a bed, a table, a chair, with no windows.
The door closed, the lock turned.
Tariq sat on the bed, his hands still cuffed behind him.
The room was silent, save for the low hum of the air conditioning and his breathing.
He began to think: Has Masood really died?
If dead, who killed him?
Barzani?
Or was it really, as they said, the Abu You Brigade?
If not dead, where is he?
Would he organize a counter-attack?
Also, the alert button he pressed.
Will the ergency team from the Ministry of Internal Affairs' security bureau co?
Or have they been controlled or eliminated?
Most importantly, his family.
Laila must be terrified right now.
Kareem would pretend to be calm and comfort his mother.
Rami...
Rami might act impulsively.
He has to stay alive.
For his family and to uncover the truth.
If Masood is truly dead, he needs to find the real murderer.
If Masood is alive, he must wait for the opportunity.
He laid down, watching the ceiling fan slowly rotate.
The strong afternoon sunlight pierced through the crack under the door, slicing a beam of light across the floor.
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