Chapter 1719 - 1349: The Ones That Got Away (Part 2)

"Listen to me," Duke interrupted him, speaking in a heavy tone: "The coup happened forty-five minutes ago. Rashid now controls the President's Mansion, the Ministry of Defense, and the communications hub. Your father was attacked on his way to Kirkuk, and now he's severely injured and unconscious."

Little Masoud felt the blood in his body freeze instantly.

"He..."

His voice caught in his throat.

"He's alive." Duke immediately continued, "But he's lost consciousness, though he still shows signs of life. Our people got him out at the last moment."

"Where is he now? Hospital? Which hospital?"

Little Masoud clutched the satellite phone tightly, his speech unconsciously quickening.

"Your father is on a helicopter now, nearing Baghdad." Duke paused, seemed to choose his words carefully, then said, "The head of the escort team is Song Heping."

The mention of this name slightly eased his tense nerves.

Song Heping.

He knew this guy.

A legendary figure in Northwest Illinois, some even compared him to the Northwest King.

Including Samir and Abu You, many tribal armed forces and militia organizations in the Northwest are supported and controlled by him behind the scenes.

Especially in the past half year, the 1515 Armed in the Northwest Region suffered heavy blows, all orchestrated by Song Heping.

If his father was in his hands, there was at least a glimmer of hope.

"Listen." Duke's tone grew heavier again: "Rashid will not let you go. You or your father being alive is very detrimental to their coup. If you're captured alive, he'll put you on trial publicly and pin treason on you; if you're killed on the spot, he'll say you were an extremist resisting arrest. We on the US side did not support this coup nor will we recognize Rashid's regime, but we can't directly interfere now because it would escalate the situation into an international conflict, giving Persia, Turkey, and Russia an excuse to step in."

"So you're just going to stand by and watch?!"

Little Masoud's repressed anger finally erupted, his voice rising involuntarily: "My father provided you with ten years of military cooperation! The Kurd people are your most stable allies in the Middle East! Now he's critically injured, and I'm being hunted, while you discuss 'escalation'?!

There was half a second of silence on the other end of the line.

Little Masoud could hear Duke take a deep breath.

"If you rush out now, you'll be shot to pieces, and your father's sacrifice will be meaningless."

Duke's voice was cold as ice.

"If you die, Rashid will purge everyone loyal to your father, then place himself as the highest leader. Is this the outcome you want?"

Footsteps in the stairwell stopped at the fourth-floor landing.

Little Masoud heard the sound of a doorknob turning.

They were checking if the door to the corridor was locked.

"What do you want me to do?" His voice was almost squeezed out through clenched teeth.

"Stay alive." Duke said, word by word, "Find a place to hide, keep yourself safe. We have your satellite signal location, but we need time to mobilize resources. Once Song Heping delivers your father to a safe place, he'll turn around to find you. He's the best at operating in such environments. But you must stay alive until Song Heping arrives."

"I need time..."

"Then buy time." Duke quickly said, "You've been operating in Elbil for so many years, you should have your own safehouses, people you trust. Find them, hide, and wait for us to contact you. Keep the phone silent, but don't turn it off, keep it on for thirty seconds every three hours so we can confirm you're alive and your general location. Now, hang up and move immediately."

"General Duke." Little Masoud asked at the last moment, "With your military honor, do you guarantee that my father is really still alive?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end.

"I swear on my twenty-three-year military career and the lives of my two sons that your father is alive and will soon receive the best possible medical treatment."

Duke emphasized again: "For the sake of your father, you must stay alive now."

The call was cut off.

Little Masoud switched the satellite phone to silent mode and tucked it back into the inner pocket of his backpack.

Duke's guarantee was like a strong sedative, finally calming him down.

His father was alive.

That meant there was still hope.

And what he had to do was stay alive until hope arrived.

The stairwell door was pushed open.

Little Masoud disengaged the safety of his mini Uzi and braced the butt against his shoulder.

But he didn't fire.

The sound of gunfire would reveal his exact location, drawing in an entire building's worth of pursuers.

He gently pushed open the door to the fourth-floor corridor, slipped through, and before the door closed completely, stuck a piece of chewing gum between the latch.

There were eight doors in the fourth-floor corridor, four on each side.

Most were tightly shut, only two were ajar, the doors to rooms 403 and 407 respectively.

He chose room 407 at the farthest end because it was opposite the fire escape, and through the peephole, he could see the entire corridor.

He turned the doorknob.

It wasn't locked.

Gently pushed open the door, locked it inside, and engaged the security chain.

It was an unfinished room, with bare cement floors, walls only primed, and the air filled with dust and paint fumes.

The room was empty, with only a few scattered newspapers and some empty water bottles.

But the windows were intact double panes, he quickly moved to the window, which faced a balcony of the adjacent building, about two meters away, with a drop of over a meter.

The sound of searches downstairs grew closer.

He heard instructions coming from a walkie-talkie: "Fourth floor, check the left and right sides in groups. Group A left, Group B right."

No time to hesitate.