At the same time that the Tenth Division's station was tensely preparing for battle, the virus of intelligence was crazily spreading in Northwest Illinois.
Anbar Province, Dulaim tribe camp.
Mahir Duraim sat cross-legged on a wool carpet, with a laptop computer on the low table in front of him.
The screen showed the interface of an encrypted email, displaying a newly received file.
The tent was crowded with the tribe's leaders and elders, each face filled with greed and anxiety.
The air was thick with the smell of tobacco and sweat, and there was a faint hint of gunpowder—the sound of youths outside cleaning weapons, the clinking of metal coming through the tent cloth.
"The information is confirmed."
Mahir stayed up all night, his eyes bloodshot.
