The rumour that the cigar-smoking, phlegm-spitting Tariq Aziz had fled Baghdad and "defected" to northern Iraq - which, of course, he had not - only added to the tension that hung over Irbil like a dark cloud yesterday.
Offices, schools and universities have been closed since the weekend, and most shops are now tightly shuttered as residents grab what they can from the quickly emptying shelves of the few stores still in business.
At the Majestic supermarket in the centre of town, Sarkamt Abdullah Mohammed filled a plastic shopping bag with cans of corned beef and said he'd been stocking up on food and water for the past few days.
"I'm buying more than usual because the prices are just going up and up," he said. "I won't be leaving because I have four small children and think it is better for them, not so frightening, if we stay."
Stock at the Majestic, which just two weeks ago was packed like any Western supermarket with everything from hair colour and moisturiser to Kit Kat bars and bottles of iced tea, was almost gone.
Proprietor Ahmad Maky said trucks that brought goods from Turkey and Dubai had stopped two days ago. Now his empty shelves are stacked at the back of the shop, "just in case of looters", he said.
As he spoke, Mrs Nazdar picked up seven rolls of insulation tape, known here as "Saddam bati" or Saddam tape, to seal her windows against any attack with chemical or biological weapons.
"I buy this for my children," she said in English. "I feel I have a responsibility to them, even though I don't think there will be a chemical attack."
On all roads out of the city, cars piled high with blankets, furniture and food, and packed with men, women, old people and children, streamed out of the range of Saddam's artillery position just 20km outside the city.
Many are moving to villages between Irbil and the nearby border of Iran, where they rent houses, stay with relatives or erect their own tiny plastic tents to wait out the war.
In the frontline village of Kalak, the family of patriarch Ahmad Salar Aska was among the last to leave. His two sons, Mohammed and Abdul, both petrol-sellers, were preparing to take their mother, wives and 12 children to friends in Korgorjik, half an hour's drive away.
"It's not far, but it's out of range of Saddam's artillery," said Mr Aska. He would stay behind to defend the family home and the village, he said.
Along the empty streets of Kalak, windows have been bricked up against war and looters, though like the Askers, most families have left one of their number behind, armed with a Kalashnikov.
Prices of petrol, plastic sheeting and masking tape have soared in recent days, and gas masks and chemical weapons protection suits have disappeared from markets.
Petrol, sold by the roadside in yellow cans that each hold five gallons, is now 45 dinars a can, up from 30 dinars two days ago, said Abdul Jabar Mohammed, a petrol-seller in Irbil.
Mr Mohammed said he would be closing his business from today as petrol, usually smuggled from the Saddam-controlled city of Mosul 50km away, was no longer crossing into Kurdish territory.
Bridges linking the northern Kurdish area of Iraq with Saddam's territory had been rigged with dynamite on Tuesday night, KDP Peshmerga militiamen at a nearby checkpoint said.
Commander Salar, wearing military fatigues over a chequered shirt and white "Persian" brand sneakers, said border traffic had dwindled to a trickle.
He said the "poor, pathetic" Ba'athist soldiers at the frontline could be expected to give themselves up to the Peshmerga as soon as fighting began.
"I'm 90 per cent sure they will surrender and come here. It is what they did last time, so it is what they will do this time. And when they do, we will treat them with kindness and take them to our leaders," Commander Salar said.
"They have nothing, that's why they surrender. We should be kind to such people."