Free Web Novel“When did he say that?”
“When you were talking with Bae Hoon in the room earlier. He approached me at the door and made the request.”
“Hmm...” freeweɓnovel.cѳm
“What should we do? He said he’ll wait in the restroom. Will you meet him?”
Just then, the man stood up and said to the one next to him,
“I’ll just step out to the restroom.”
The man about to lift his spoon frowned.
“Go quickly. And watch your manners at the table, tsk.”
“Haha, I’ll be right back.”
The man walked into the inner restroom. A moment later, I followed him in.
He was washing his hands. Seeing me in the mirror, he turned.
“Hello, President Kim. My name is Moon Sejun.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
Though he greeted me, Moon Sejun kept glancing nervously at the door. I gave a small laugh and waved my hand.
“Don’t worry. No one will come in.”
Manager Ma was standing guard outside. If anyone tried to approach, he’d block them.
“Why did you want to meet me?”
Moon Sejun spoke quickly.
“There isn’t much time, so I’ll be brief. Deputy Director Jang Songthaek is currently exiled to a collective farm in Jagang Province. Most of his aides have been executed.”
“...So he is alive?”
At last, confirmation of Jang Songthaek’s survival.
Moon Sejun nodded and continued.
“Right now, Pyongyang is like thin ice. They’re dragging people out and executing them just for having ties to the coup faction. Most of the once-powerful have been stripped of posts and confined at home, trembling, never knowing if tomorrow they’ll be killed. The General could change his mind any day.”
“What’s your relationship with Deputy Director Jang?”
“I share his dream.”
Share his dream... I studied him closely.
“As long as Deputy Director Jang lives, there is hope. Please, save him.”
“Telling me that won’t...”
Before I could finish, he cut me off desperately.
“You’re one of the few who can meet the General privately, aren’t you?”
“...To be honest, my relationship with Chairman Kim Jongil has soured. If I step in to save Jang Songthaek, it may backfire.”
“Ah...”
Moon Sejun sighed heavily, as if the sky had collapsed.
“What about getting help from the Chinese government?”
“The General trusts no one. It’s already proven Russia’s intelligence agency was involved in the coup.”
His constant glances at the door made me feel it was pointless to continue.
“All right, I understand. I’ll see what I can do. More importantly—what kind of man is this Bae Hoon?”
“He was pulled in suddenly, since most of the top ranks have been purged. He surrounds himself with people from Office 38, the only ones still trusted. He only handled money—what could he possibly know of politics?”
His bitter expression told me enough.
“Excuse me, I must go.”
Still anxious, Moon Sejun bowed quickly and rushed out of the restroom.
I watched the back of his head until the door fully closed, then fell into thought.
‘So Jang Songthaek is alive.’
I followed out shortly after, left the funeral hall with Manager Ma, and headed for Pyeongchang-dong.
On the way, I organized ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ the information I had gathered today.
“Boss.”
We had already arrived home, but I hadn’t noticed, lost in thought.
“Ah, we’re here. Manager, come with me to the study. I need your opinion.”
In the study, I took off my jacket, handed it to him, and loosened my tie.
“Let’s have a coffee first.”
“Yes, Boss.”
He handed my jacket and tie to the housemaid, asking for coffee.
I sat and got straight to the point.
“They say Jang Songthaek is safe. Though ‘safe’ might not be the right word... At least, he’s alive.”
I pieced together the fragments and explained everything to Manager Ma.
“...Office 38, isn’t that where Kim Jongil’s slush funds are managed?”
“They handle his private funds, yes. Trusted people, no doubt. With no one else to rely on, he put them in high positions.”
Office 38 and Office 39: both managed Kim Jongil’s funds.
Office 38 controlled his private accounts and bought luxury goods.
Office 39 handled state operating funds.
Office 39 was somewhat known because of its foreign currency dealings. Office 38 remained shrouded in secrecy.
Now, after sweeping purges, a man from Office 38—Bae Hoon—had entered the center of power.
“No wonder he’s so interested in Jang’s funds. A man used to handling money would know the flows.”
In North Korea, as in other communist states, the Party was the greatest organ of power.
And when the famine shattered the economy, clandestine financial operations became all the more vital. With no funds for the military, this was survival.
“Given their system, the Party, the military, and the intelligence branch all conduct their own economic activities. Add to that, Jang handled much of the China trade. Of course there were slush funds.”
“If he kept pressing you about it, then he likely wanted to pocket it himself.”
“That’s my thought too. But he said Jang couldn’t be asked. Why? What do you think?”
Manager Ma considered a moment, then answered.
“However powerful he is now, he can’t interrogate or torture Kim Jongil’s in-law. Not unless Kim gives the order.”
That matched my own thoughts.
“If they wanted him eliminated completely, maybe. But surely Kim Jongil wouldn’t go that far?”
“He’s capable of it. You know that. He’s a man ruled by his emotions. Jang isn’t blood—only his sister’s husband.”
“True. I saw with my own eyes in Africa how dictators commit acts unthinkable for any human.”
If Kim intended to kill Jang, he’d have forced a divorce and then had him executed.
But since he was only exiled, he must have no such intention—yet.
“Your leg all right, Manager?”
I noticed his hand resting on his thigh where he’d been shot.
“I’m fine. No aftereffects.”
“Even if we move forward with Kim Jongil again?”
“No problem. What you want to do is what I want to do.”
His firm answer made me smile faintly and nod.
“I’ll try contacting him later. Then decide. But it looks like North Korea’s situation is even worse than we thought.”
He must have been truly desperate to entrust a money-keeper with a key role.
Such men were never exposed to the world, for if traced, they could reveal all the dictator’s slush funds.
“And about burying Chairman Song in his homeland...”
“It was his last wish. Seems Kim Jongil granted it. Isn’t that good?”
“If only the world were that simple.”
If Song’s remains were buried in the North, Daehyeon would forever be tied to Kim Jongil.
Whether it was the right choice remained to be seen.
‘Chairman Song, is this what you want?’
I wanted to ask him in heaven.
* * *
“A personal letter from the Great Leader.”
In the Blue House, Bae Hoon handed Kim Hakgwon an envelope.
“Thank you.”
Taking it with a smile, Kim Hakgwon didn’t jump to the point. After brief formalities, he began.
“How is the atmosphere in Pyongyang? Is it time to reopen dialogue between North and South?”
“That is for the Great Leader to decide. I only came to offer condolences for Chairman Song Youngjoo. My authority extends only to bringing his remains to the Republic.”
“Hmm...”
“The President’s grand decision is awaited.”
Even Bae Hoon didn’t act arrogantly toward President Kim Hakgwon.
“May I ask one thing?”
“Of course.”
“Why allow Chairman Song’s grave in the Republic? I can’t understand.”
Bae Hoon replied blandly.
“What other reason could there be? It is the Beloved Leader’s decision—a reward for Song Youngjoo’s many contributions to the Republic.”
“Isn’t it unprecedented? I must be sure of Chairman Kim Jongil’s true intention. Did he say nothing more?”
“The Great Leader said nothing else.”
His stonewalling frustrated Kim Hakgwon. With no one to confide in, the burden pressed harder.
Should he accept, or reject? He couldn’t decide.
If he knew more of North Korea’s internal situation, he could set a direction. Without it, he was stuck.
“Isn’t it a good thing? A South Korean businessman, buried in his homeland. With such precedents, maybe someday the two Koreas will move freely.”
“I see. If there’s nothing more, return to your hotel. After discussions, I’ll give you the decision tomorrow.”
After Bae Hoon left, President Kim Hakgwon sighed deeply and summoned all ministers and senior aides.
Opinions split evenly. In the end, a decision had to be made.
* * *
“The press caught wind of it.”
I put down the newspaper I’d been reading and lifted my coffee.
“The Blue House doesn’t control the press like before. Not quite a lame duck, but...”
Not long ago, when the Blue House requested an embargo, papers and broadcasters obeyed.
But today, every front page carried the story. Clearly, the pressure had faded.
“I wonder what decision the Blue House made.”
Knowing Kim Hakgwon, he wouldn’t reject an opportunity that fit perfectly with his political philosophy.
Just then, the study door opened and Manager Ma entered.
“The Blue House is on the line.”
“Really? Patch it through.”
He handed me the receiver.
“Yes, this is Kim Muhyuk.”
— Mr. Kim.
It wasn’t the secretary, but President Kim Hakgwon’s own voice.
“Yes, Mr. President. What’s the matter so early?”
— It’s about Chairman Song Youngjoo’s remains being buried in the North.
As expected. What else would prompt a morning call?
“Have you decided?”
— Yes. But I need your help.
“Help, sir?”
His voice was as hard as steel. Why ask for help now?
As he made that request, my mind began racing.
