Underneath the robe, he wore an inconspicuous gray soft bulletproof vest.
This was his habit; when traveling in public, he always took some low-key protective measures.
His complexion wasn't good, and he had heavy bags under his eyes.
Clearly, he didn't sleep well last night.
However, decades of political career and guerrilla warfare experience had already etched a commanding posture into his bones.
His back was straight, his head slightly raised, and as his gaze swept over the convoy and the people present, he still carried that habitual authority.
"Is everything ready?"
Masood asked as he let his gaze fall on his own nephew.
In those slightly clouded eyes due to age, there was a flash of complex and indescribable emotion.
There was concern, scrutiny, and a barely detectable hint of regret.
"Everything is ready, Chairman."
Barzani fluidly opened the rear door of the Mercedes in the middle, bowing slightly, his posture impeccably respectful.
