It is the most dangerous city in the world's most dangerous country, a sad, half-empty relic whose rich and middle classes have long since fled. To reach it, one has to travel incognito in convoys of rundown small cars whose drivers conceal their walkie-talkies and weapons under the seats. Their bodyguards sometimes switch to dented taxis with shattered windshields as an extra disguise.
Mosul - the de facto capital of northern Iraq - should have been as safe as Basra and Baghdad if a massive military offensive by Iraqi and US forces, which was launched in May, had succeeded. But most al-Qaida insurgents slipped away before it began - and they are now slipping back. "They use car bombs and roadside bombs, and target areas which used to be very safe. Now they are assassinating people with pistols that have silencers. The offensive was not as successful as expected," said Doraid Kashmoula, the provincial governor.
In June, the Americans trumpeted the killing of Abu Khalaf, who they described as al-Qaida's local kingpin, and the "emir of Mosul". "Killing this man didn't help. When the security forces kill one emir, they have 10 others to replace him," the governor added.
Mosul's offensive, known as Operation Mother of Two Springs, began well, cutting insurgent attacks by 80% in the first few days. It didn't last. In the past month, dozens of people have been killed in violence ranging from roadside bombs to random shootings, car bombs and attacks targeted at specific individuals. On Saturday, four employees of a Dubai-based television station, including the head of its office in Mosul, were abducted and killed.
But if the statistics only tell half the story, the other half is apparent from the city centre, a virtual ghost town.
"For eight months I've not seen my parents, because their neighbourhood is in part of the city centre that is too dangerous," said Yahya Abed Mahjoub, an official of the Islamic party which represents urban Sunni businessmen and professionals.
That contrasts with Basra, where security is better than at any time since 2005, and Baghdad where, for the first time in three years, sunset brings families to parks along the Tigris as the 44C heat slowly subsides.
In Mosul, the same river flows by, unwatched. On the east bank where cafes and restaurants once thrived, hardly a pedestrian or a car can be seen. People flee three hours before the 10pm curfew. By day, traffic is light and the Iraqis buying fruit at roadside stalls look anxious and under pressure.
Al-Qaida's strength in Mosul has risen on the see-saw which has made it weak in Anbar, Iraq's largest Sunni province. Driven out of there, al-Qaida moved many supporters to Diyala, north of Baghdad, and to Mosul. Some Iraqi officials, including Mosul's governor, blame logistics, in particular al-Qaida's easy access from Mosul to northern Syria to bring in weaponry. He says Operation Mother of Two Springs needs "more equipment, troops, and weapons to counter them".
Al-Qaida also benefits from the absence in Mosul of al-Sahwa, the so-called Awakening movement of Sunni tribal leaders, who successfully confronted al-Qaida in Anbar and western suburbs of Baghdad. They oppose al-Qaida's targeting of Shias and the importing of a conservative Salafi ideology which was never strong in Iraq.
Al-Qaida is also exploiting one of the central struggles in Mosul, a tussle for influence between Arabs and Kurds, claiming to be at the forefront of resistance to what many Arabs say are Kurdish efforts to take over the city.
Mahjoub's Islamic party is targeted for "collaborating" with the government in Baghdad, but also with the Kurds on the provincial council. "Six of our party's leaders here have been assassinated since the May offensive started," Mahjoub said. The Communist party, whose Arab support comes from the secular middle-class, has gone virtually underground in Mosul after several leaders were killed.
The saddest part of Mosul's fate is that no one in the rest of Iraq, apart from the Kurds, seems to care. Unlike Basra, on the border with Iran and at the mouth of the Shatt al-Arab waterway to the Gulf, Mosul has little strategic value. Unlike Baghdad, it has no Sunni-Shia tension because there are few Shias.
Mosul's few optimists are in the Iraqi army. Colonel Rebwar Yunis Abdullah, chief of staff of the 2nd Division's 1st Infantry Brigade, says most of the east bank of the Tigris is safe. He shows photos of huge arms caches his men have found and produces statistics showing a 7O% decrease in insurgent attacks since May. But he admits his area does not cover the city centre.
He sees another good sign in the fact that Sunni Arab officers from the old army are coming back to duty, including in the 2nd Division, which started as a grouping of peshmergas - the Kurdish guerrillas. "Thirty per cent of this brigade's 220 officers are Arabs, and many in top positions," he says. The lieutenant colonel, who serves as the brigade's operations officer is Fouad Mohammed Ali, an Arab from Baghdad.
The colonel admits there is still a long way to go. His wife and children live in Erbil. When he gets leave, he never goes to the centre of Mosul. He escapes to Kurdistan.