14:07, Ministry of Internal Affairs Office.
Tariq Hussein used a red pen to draw a line on the map, pressing so hard that it nearly tore the paper.
"Here, border checkpoint No. 14, the amount of smuggled weapons seized last week tripled. I suspect internal personnel are facilitating this."
His finger moved along the border line.
"And here, checkpoint No. 22, there were two 'equipment malfunctions' last week that paused inspections for two hours. Too many coincidences aren't coincidences."
Sitting opposite was Mahmoud, the head of the Border Control Bureau, sweat appearing on his forehead.
"Minister, I have started an internal investigation..."
"A week of investigation, and what's the result?"
Tariq interrupted him: "Caught a few low-level officers; the real fish are still swimming. Mahmoud, I'm not blaming you, I'm telling you, if we don't clean house, the enemy will break us from within."
The phone on the desk rang.
Tariq glanced at the caller display—it was the Secretary-General's office.
He made an apologetic gesture and picked up the call.
"Minister Tariq, the 2:30 Security Committee meeting has been canceled."
The Secretary-General's voice sounded odd, more hurried than usual.
"Canceled? Why?"
"Last-minute notice, no explanation. Also... if you have time now, the Chairman wants to meet you."
"Is the Chairman in the office?"
"No, at... a secure location. I will arrange the vehicle to pick you up."
Tariq frowned.
This isn't protocol.
When Masoud wants to see him, he usually summons him directly, not through the Secretary-General in such a roundabout way.
Besides, wasn't Masoud headed to Kirkuk?
Why the sudden return?
"Secretary-General, what exactly happened?"
There was silence on the other end of the line for two seconds.
"Minister, please trust this is for your safety. Stay in the office, do not leave, and wait for extraction. This is a direct order from the Chairman."
The call was disconnected.
Tariq slowly put down the receiver, feeling a sense of foreboding wash over him.
He walked to the window and looked downstairs.
Everything seemed normal on the street, vehicles passing by, but at the entrance of the Autonomous Committee Building, there seemed to be extra figures whose postures didn't resemble ordinary security personnel.
"Minister?" Mahmoud asked tentatively.
Tariq raised his hand to signal him to be quiet.
He walked to the window to observe carefully.
Around the committee building, there were several cars with no license plates and windows tinted darkly.
Further away, at the corner of the street, stood two men in plain clothes, pretending to look at their phones, but their eyes intermittently scanned the building entrance.
Surveillance.
Or blockade.
His heart beat faster.
Years of training in the military and police had honed this instinct.
Danger was approaching.
He returned to his desk and opened the bottom drawer.
Inside, besides documents, lay a Glock 17 pistol and two spare magazines.
He checked the firearm's condition: bullet chambered, safety off.
"Mahmoud, listen to me."
Tariq's voice had become low and urgent: "Leave now, go straight home, don't go back to your office. If anything... unusual happens this afternoon, take your family out of the city, go to your relatives in the countryside, and wait for my instructions."
"Minister, what exactly..."
"There's no time to explain. Go now."
Mahmoud looked pale but nodded and hurriedly left the office.
Tariq locked the door behind him.
He went to the internal phone to try contacting the Guard Bureau.