"My name is Hamzah Al Qadir. I am a General of Iraq… and your commander."
His voice echoed through the vast hall of the Iraq Police Headquarters, where a hundred of the bravest military officers stood in disciplined silence before him.
"I know that planting trees across empty lands throughout the world is not a task without danger," he continued, his eyes scanning every face in the room. "That is exactly why I chose all of you."
He paused for a moment.
"I have read every one of your records… and I am impressed."
A quiet intensity settled over the hall.
Then Hamzah stepped forward.
"We will divide into four units," he said. "Each unit will move in a different direction."
His voice grew sharper—more commanding.
"We are one hundred in total. Divided equally, that makes twenty-five in each group."
He raised his hand slightly, as if mapping the world in the air.
"North. South. East. West."
"We move in all directions."
A brief silence followed.
Then his tone dropped—lower, heavier.
"Remember one thing clearly."
His gaze hardened.
"You will be stopped."
"People will try to block you. Governments may resist you. Power will stand against you."
He let the words sink in.
"But when someone tries to stop you… wherever you are, whoever stands in your way—"
His voice became calm again, yet far more dangerous.
"Just tell them one thing."
A faint, cold smile touched his face.
"This is Hamzah's order."
After the speech ended, the hall slowly emptied.
The echoes of boots and voices faded, leaving behind a heavy silence.
Hamzah Al Qadir sat alone on his chair, unmoving. His eyes were fixed somewhere distant, lost in thoughts no one else could see. For a moment, the commander of a global mission looked like a man carrying something far heavier than war.
Then someone approached.
Bilal Al Harb quietly took the seat beside him.
"I hope everything is moving as planned," the President of Iraq said calmly. "I have very high expectations from you, Hamzah."
He turned slightly toward him.
"Tell me… what do you need now?"
Hearing this, Hamzah straightened his posture. No matter who he was, he knew how to sit before a president—with respect, without a trace of arrogance.
Then he answered,
"Right now… I need only one person."
Bilal raised an eyebrow.
"Who?"
Hamzah's voice remained steady.
"Mohammad Faisal. He was once a general secretary of Iraq's Citizen Party."
Bilal paused for a moment before replying,
"But he's in prison. In fact… his verdict is scheduled for today at the Supreme Court."
Hamzah nodded slightly.
"I know."
There was no hesitation in his eyes.
"And I also know that Faisal is innocent."
A brief silence passed.
"I will take responsibility for getting him out today," Hamzah continued. "I need him for this mission."
Bilal looked at him carefully.
"So… you're going to the court now?"
A faint smile appeared on Hamzah's face.
"No."
He leaned back slightly.
"Rayyan is going to the court… to bring him out."
Then his voice softened—just a little.
"I'm going home."
For a moment, the weight of command disappeared from his expression.
"My mother… and my daughter are waiting for me."
After Hamzah Al Qadir left, the room grew quieter.
For a moment, Bilal Al Harb remained seated, deep in thought.
Then his younger brother, Khairul Al Harb, stepped closer and spoke with confusion in his voice.
"Brother… as far as I know, Rayyan is just a paper merchant. How is he going to free a man from prison—someone the court is about to judge as a criminal—just because Hamzah claims he's innocent?"
Bilal looked at him… and then slowly smiled.
"Never call Rayyan Al-Harith ordinary," he said calmly.
He leaned back slightly, his eyes carrying a quiet certainty.
"Rayyan chose the paper business himself. That was his decision—not his limitation."
Khairul stayed silent.
"Do you know," Bilal continued, "Rayyan and Hamzah were classmates once. They studied law together."
There was a pause.
"But Rayyan…" Bilal's smile deepened, "…was always sharper."
"Smarter. Faster. More cunning."
His voice lowered slightly.
"He has a way with words. He can trap anyone in logic… in law… in their own statements. When he speaks, the person standing against him doesn't even realize when they've started revealing the truth themselves."
Khairul listened, now completely focused.
Bilal looked straight ahead.
"Escaping from Hamzah might be possible," he said quietly. "But escaping from Rayyan Al-Harith…"
He shook his head slightly.
"…that's not easy."
A brief silence followed.
Then Bilal added, almost to himself,
"Hamzah is intelligent… because he chose to send Rayyan to the court."
"I was at Foodrait Park at the time. Then I called Hamim—you've already checked my call records. I don't think it's reasonable to keep dragging me into court again and again. It's one hundred percent proven that Faisal is guilty."
The words echoed through the courtroom as Yasin spoke with forced confidence to the judge and the opposing counsel.
The atmosphere was tense—
Until suddenly, the courtroom doors opened.
Rayyan Al-Harith walked in.
His presence alone shifted the air.
Without rushing, without hesitation, Rayyan moved straight toward the witness stand where Yasin was standing. He stopped directly in front of him.
Silence fell.
Every eye in the courtroom turned toward him—even the judge.
A wave of surprise spread across the room.
Rayyan said nothing at first.
He looked at Yasin.
Then, slowly, his gaze shifted toward Faisal.
And finally, he looked at the judge.
Then he spoke—
"Faisal is innocent."
His voice carried absolute confidence.
Not loud. Not aggressive.
Just certain.
No one interrupted him.
No one questioned him.
Because every lawyer present in that courtroom knew exactly who Rayyan Al-Harith was.
Still, after a moment, the lawyer representing Yasin—Mr. Faruq—stood up and objected.
"You cannot walk into a courtroom and declare someone guilty or innocent just by looking at their face," he said firmly.
Rayyan turned his head slightly toward him.
Then, with calm simplicity, he replied—
"Which law says that I cannot?"
Rayyan didn't even look at Faruq again.
He stepped forward and addressed the judge directly.
"Your Honor," Rayyan Al-Harith said calmly,
"I have personally reviewed Yasin's call records… along with his complete details. And from a single glance, I can tell—he is lying."
The courtroom grew still.
The judge leaned forward slightly.
"I need proof, Mr. Rayyan."
Even the judge spoke to him with respect.
Because everyone in that room knew—if Rayyan had stepped in for Faisal, then there was something deeper beneath the surface.
Rayyan nodded once.
Without another word, he placed a file on the desk.
"Here are the call records."
Then he turned and walked straight toward Yasin.
Standing just inches away, he spoke again—this time slower, sharper.
"You said you were at Foodrait Park. Fine."
"You also said you called Hamim from there. That's fine too."
A brief pause.
Then his tone shifted.
"But… according to your call records—"
He tapped the file lightly.
"Ten minutes later, you called Hamim again… and this time you claimed you were at CityKone Campus."
A murmur spread through the courtroom.
Rayyan's eyes locked onto Yasin.
"The distance between Foodrait Park and CityKone Campus is 302 kilometers."
He took another step closer.
"You own an 'Ababeel' brand bike. Its top speed is 550 kilometers per hour."
Another pause.
"But according to your timeline… you covered 302 kilometers in just 10 minutes."
His voice dropped.
"That means you were traveling at approximately 1800 kilometers per hour."
The silence became suffocating.
"Scientifically… logically… practically… theoretically—"
He leaned slightly forward.
"that is impossible."
The judge quickly reviewed the file.
Everything matched.
Every number.
Every calculation.
Perfectly.
Rayyan then turned toward Faruq.
"Let me remind you of something," he said calmly.
"Institution of Law, Section 101, Page 45."
His voice carried quiet authority.
"If you attempt to turn lies into truth… and truth into lies… in order to prove your client innocent—your punishment will be more severe than your client's."
A pause.
Then he continued—
"And in Criminal Law, Volume 8… it clearly states that if a lawyer, for money, manipulates truth and presents falsehood as fact—"
His eyes sharpened.
"the punishment is 12 years of imprisonment and a fine of fifty thousand US dollars."
The courtroom was completely silent.
Rayyan looked straight at Faruq.
"Did you know that?"
After a few more moments of intense arguments and counterarguments, the courtroom finally reached its conclusion.
The tension that had been suffocating the room slowly broke—
And the verdict was declared.
Faisal was innocent.
A wave of shock and relief spread across the court.
The chains of accusation that had been tightening around him for so long… were finally gone.
As the courtroom began to settle, the judge himself stepped down from his seat and approached Rayyan Al-Harith.
There was curiosity in his eyes.
"Tell me," the judge asked, "how did you do it?"
Rayyan paused for a second.
Then a soft smile appeared on his face.
"I'm just a very good paper merchant," he replied lightly. "You should buy papers from me sometime."
For a moment, the judge simply stared at him—
Then he couldn't help but smile.
They shook hands.
And without looking back, Rayyan turned, gestured to Faisal and walked out of the courtroom with him.