138: Chapter 135 Faris

September 11, 1981, Baghdad, Faisal Street.

Faris Daoud was a man who had a habit of going out to buy cigarettes at three in the afternoon.

Hassan's men had followed him for three weeks, confirming this habit down to the minute—every day between 2:50 and 3:00 PM, he would come out of the military guesthouse's side door, walk to a grocery store on the street corner, buy a pack of local Sumaya cigarettes, smoke one while standing at the shop entrance, and then return.

The entire process took about eighteen minutes.

Hassan's men chose the fourth day of the third week to make contact. The reason: the first two weeks were for observation, and the first three days of the third week were to let him get used to a common stranger on that street—a vendor who sold magazines at the corner every day, wearing a blue shirt with slightly messy hair.

On the fourth day, when Faris finished buying his cigarettes and lit the first one, the vendor handed him a folded piece of paper.

Faris froze for a moment and glanced at the man.

The vendor whispered something in Arabic, then lowered his head to continue organizing his magazines, not looking at him again.

The sentence was: "Your brother's name is Salim, Fao, April 3, 1981."

Faris's fingers paused on the cigarette for two seconds. He didn't speak, tucked the paper into his pocket, and walked back.

The paper had only one line of text:

"We know what happened that night. You do too. If you want an explanation for this matter, same time tomorrow, same place."

There was no signature, no contact information, and no threatening tone.

When Hassan reported this method of contact to Reza, Reza stared at the sentence for a long time and said one word: "Good."

The next day, Faris appeared at the street corner on time.

He bought his cigarettes and, without waiting for the vendor to speak, said a sentence himself in a very low voice: "Who are you people?"

The vendor did not answer the question and handed him another piece of paper: "Look at this before you decide."

That paper was an excerpt of a document—it was the retreat order Nasser issued to all companies of the Fifth Corps on the afternoon of April 3—the timestamp was 3:17 PM, a full four hours before the company where Faris's brother, Salim, was stationed received the retreat notice.

Four hours was enough to get a whole company out.

Nasser didn't notify that company, not because he forgot, but because their position was used by him as a buffer to buy retreat time for the entire right flank.

By the time Salim died, Nasser's command vehicle had already withdrawn twenty kilometers.

Faris finished reading the paper and didn't return it immediately; instead, he stood on the street side for nearly a minute, not even feeling it when the cigarette burned down to his fingers.

Finally, he returned the paper to the vendor and said: "I need to think about it."

"Three days," the vendor said. "Same time in three days."

Hassan recorded the entire process and sent the recording and the transcript to Reza that same night.

Reza listened to the recording in Ahvaz and wrote a judgment in his notebook: "He will come."

The reason was simple—Faris did not leave on the spot, did not pretend not to know the vendor, and did not report to Nasser after returning that someone had contacted him.

Someone intending to report it would not have stood on the street for a minute before leaving.

Three days later, Faris appeared on time; this time he was five minutes early.

The first sentence he spoke was: "What do you want me to do?"

The vendor said: "We don't need you to do anything dangerous, nor do you need to betray any secrets. We only need you to tell us whether General Nasser, during his meetings in Baghdad, had any private contact with other corps commanders outside of the meetings, and whether the content of that contact involved military plans after the ceasefire."

"That's all?"

"That's all. If there was, tell us—you decide the method. If not, tell us there wasn't, it still counts."

Faris put his hands in his pockets and looked down at the ground for a while.

"He had a meal with Mahmoud Shahwan in Baghdad last month," he said. "Not at the guesthouse, but at a private restaurant in the Old City. Just the two of them, plus their respective entourages, six people in total. I was there; I was the one who arranged the private room."

The vendor didn't ask what they talked about, only asked: "Do you have any written record of that dinner, even your own diary?"

"It's in my diary," Faris said. "The schedule for that day says: '18:00, Salih Restaurant, internal coordination meeting'."

"Where is that diary now?"

"In my room at the guesthouse."

"If possible," the vendor said, "we need a copy of that page, or a handwritten backup from you. The content must be exactly the same as in your diary; you don't need to add anything."

Faris was silent for a long time.

Finally, he said: "I need to know where this goes."

"Into the hands of those who should know about this," the vendor said. "You will see the results."

Faris didn't ask again and turned to leave.

The next afternoon, when he appeared at the street corner again, he tucked a folded piece of paper into the pile of magazines, didn't stop, and kept walking.

On that paper were four lines of handwriting:

"August 14, 1981, 18:00, Salih Restaurant, internal coordination meeting. Attendees: General Nasser, General Shahwan, and their entourages, four people in total. Topic: Joint assessment of the aftermath of the ceasefire agreement."

There was nothing at the signature line, but it was Faris's handwriting.

Hassan got the paper to Reza by passing it through three channels, which took two days.

Reza read the paper twice, then asked: "On Saddam Hussein's side, have you found someone we can use?"

"Found one," Hassan said. "Inside the Mukhabarat, mid-level. I won't say the name, codename is 'Coppersmith'. He had an indirect information exchange with Karimi's system, credibility confirmed, willing to pass materials driven by money."

"Price?"

"Thirty thousand dollars, one-time payment."

Reza thought for a moment: "Give it to him, but not in cash. Use an account in Cairo. Don't give him the password until he confirms the materials have been delivered."

"Will he accept this condition?"

"If he is professional, he will accept, because this is the safest structure for both parties," Reza said. "The money is there, but he can't get it unless he completes the task; he completes the task, but we can only give the password, we cannot cancel the account—both sides have checks."

Hassan wrote down this plan, then glanced at the paper handwritten by Faris: "Is just this one piece of paper enough?"

"Enough," Reza said. "Nasser and Shahwan meeting privately with the topic of 'Joint assessment of the aftermath of the ceasefire agreement'—in Saddam Hussein's eyes, this is enough to make him start doubting. After he starts doubting, he will think in the worst possible direction himself. For a man like Saddam Hussein, the suspicion itself is the result; there is no need to wait for hard evidence."

He put the paper back into the envelope, sealed it, and pushed it to Hassan.

"Send it out," he said. "Use the 'Coppersmith' line."

Hassan picked up the envelope and was just about to leave when Reza said: "Regarding Faris, tell the vendor the mission is complete, he doesn't need to go to that street corner anymore."

"Not planning to continue using him?"

"He is not an informant; he just did something he wanted to do," Reza said. "Pushing someone away after using them keeps them safe. If we need him later, we can contact him again."

Hassan went out the door.

Reza wrote the last line in his notebook:

"Nasser, wait and see how Saddam Hussein deals with you."