Free Web NovelAt my sudden question, the commander looked momentarily at a loss for words. That hesitation didn’t last long. He stared at me as if I were absurd.
“You look Arab to me. Was my guess wrong?”
“Ha...... Do you have no sense of decorum?”
The commander let out a hollow laugh, making no effort to hide his displeasure.
“I was simply trying to make conversation on the way. I didn’t ask out of prejudice, so I hope you won’t misunderstand.”
“I am an American. Born in America, raised in America, and I chose to serve as an American soldier. Do you now understand just how rude that question was?”
His reaction was sharp—almost cutting. It seemed like this wasn’t the first time he’d been asked something like that.
“I’m also a Catholic. So don’t try to judge me with such shallow assumptions. I am unmistakably an American.”
Sensing the tension, Jessica edged closer to me, covered her mouth with her hand, and whispered,
“Charlie, that was an impolite question. General John Abizaid is American. His grandfather was from Lebanon. It’s understandable he’d react sharply. There was already a lot of controversy in Washington when he was first appointed commander in Iraq.”
I nodded at her explanation. If he’d lived his entire life being misunderstood like that, it made sense he’d take even a neutral question as an insult.
“General. I made a serious mistake.”
I bowed my head slightly in apology. Unexpectedly, he accepted it without much resistance.
“That’s enough. Don’t make that mistake with others.”
He spoke curtly, then turned forward again.
A heavy silence filled the vehicle once more.
It felt like a waste to travel the rest of the way without a single word.
“When do you think this war will end, General? When power is handed over to a new government? Or only after every insurgent group is completely eliminated?”
At my question, the commander turned back.
No—this time, he twisted his entire body toward me and glared.
“Who exactly are you?”
Instead of answering my question, he threw one back at me.
“None of this makes sense. Hussein is under U.S. custody. Security is so tight that only a handful of people in America even know where he’s being held. And yet I’m ordered to take you to see him—without asking questions. Who are you?”
“My identity... is exactly what you were told at the Pentagon.”
I answered calmly. The commander snorted, distrust written all over his face.
“Don’t play word games. A mere Wall Street investor gets to meet Hussein? You think Washington and the Pentagon would issue orders over something like that?”
“I’m also the owner of Black Bear. I control mercenaries who play a significant role in the Iraq War. I’d say that qualifies me well enough.”
The Iraq War was a conflict led by the U.S. military, but it also showcased the power of private military companies.
Just look at how governments around the world, after witnessing Black Bear’s performance in various conflict zones, had begun supporting PMCs.
Hiring mercenaries with money drastically reduced political burden. That was the calculation.
Because of that, Black Bear’s influence in the Iraq War was far from negligible.
They weren’t bound by political or administrative constraints like regular armies, and they succeeded at difficult operations with alarming consistency.
On top of that, Black Bear wasn’t just providing manpower—they were also handling U.S. military logistics.
“I know you don’t like me. But don’t tell me I’m unqualified to be here as the owner of Black Bear. That would be an insult, General.”
It wasn’t the commander’s place to say that—especially when he was benefiting so much from Black Bear’s support.
Reading the implication behind my words, General Abizaid’s eyes narrowed.
Sensing the atmosphere turning hostile, Jessica quickly stepped in.
“General. Charlie has done a great deal for U.S. national interests. I can’t disclose everything, but he played a major role in stabilizing Afghanistan faster than expected. He’ll also be a key figure in Iraq’s reconstruction. Right now, within Iraq, Charlie’s influence is second only to yours. That’s why Washington and the Pentagon gave you those orders.”
“Afghanistan?”
At the mention of Afghanistan, the commander’s interest was piqued.
Jessica seized the opening immediately.
“Charlie is the patron of Ahmad Shah Massoud—the current Afghan president and leader of the Northern Alliance now in power. His influence in the Middle East is considerable.”
The commander looked at me again, as if seeing me anew. Hostility shifted to interest in an instant.
As he stroked his chin, Jessica spoke firmly,
“I know yesterday’s battle has put you in a bad mood. But following orders from above is a soldier’s duty. Please set aside your personal feelings, General.”
“Khmm.”
Confronted with her blunt logic, the commander cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Charlie. You went too far as well. From now on, say nothing and just sit quietly.”
“When else would I ever get the chance to meet a commander like you? And who knows how long you’ll even remain in command. You’ll retire someday. I thought I’d at least make your acquaintance while I had the chance.”
At my excuse, Jessica shot me a sharp glare that said, Nice try.
“Alright. I’ll keep my mouth shut. So stop glaring at me.”
Thankfully, the uncomfortable journey didn’t last much longer.
Soon, we arrived at a U.S. military base inside Baghdad.
General Abizaid stepped out first, and Jessica and I followed. Ma was already waiting outside.
“Follow me.”
The commander led us toward his office.
“General, aren’t we going to see Hussein? Why your office—”
Before Jessica could finish, he opened what looked like a wall panel.
“This is the only way in.”
No wonder no one knew.
The only route to Hussein ran through the office of the unified commander of U.S. forces in Iraq.
Which meant the only way to reach Hussein was to completely destroy the U.S. military.
As long as America didn’t lose the war, there was no safer place.
We descended underground through the opened passage. It didn’t look like a hastily built facility.
“Was this already here?”
Without turning around, he answered,
“One of Hussein’s secret bunkers.”
A dictator imprisoned inside a bunker he himself had built.
“Very few U.S. soldiers must know Hussein is held here.”
He didn’t answer, but the silence was answer enough.
After descending for quite some time, we finally arrived.
Yet there wasn’t a single guard in sight.
“No one guarding this place?”
At my question, the commander clicked his tongue in irritation.
“Orders ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) from Washington. Aside from Miss Jessica, no one else is to be nearby when you meet Hussein.”
It seemed Washington wanted to keep any attempt to persuade Hussein completely hidden.
Especially from the soldiers stationed in Iraq. freewebnovёl.ƈom
The bunker’s steel doors were extravagantly ornate—very much Hussein’s style.
We headed toward the innermost room.
“This is where Hussein stays. Go in. And......”
The commander pulled a pager from his pocket and handed it to Jessica.
“When you’re finished, press this. I’ll come down.”
With that, he shut his mouth tightly.
He entered the code on the keypad beside the steel door.
A soft electronic beep sounded, and the door opened. As we stepped inside, the commander glanced at us once, then closed it.
The heavy steel door shut with a dull thud, the sound quickly fading away.
I looked once at the closed door, then surveyed the room.
“I thought it’d be a prison. This is basically a hotel.”
The words slipped out of me, and Jessica nodded in agreement.
“Seriously. I didn’t expect it to be this nice.”
For a so-called secret bunker, every corner was meticulously furnished.
Excessively luxurious—clearly reflecting Hussein’s taste.
On an ornate sofa in the center of the room, someone sat with a book covering his face.
“Hmm?”
Hearing our voices, he lowered the book and looked at us.
“What the hell. I thought it was John. Who are you?”
The dictator of Iraq.
The butcher of the Middle East.
Once the hope of Iraq, now the devil who had dragged it into hell—Hussein.
The stylish mustache seen on television was gone, replaced by an unkempt beard stretching from nose to chin.
He looked shabby, but his eyes were very much alive.
Instead of answering, I sat down across from him. Jessica followed and sat beside me, while Ma stood behind us.
“I asked who you are.”
He examined Jessica and me with curious eyes.
Then his gaze shifted to Ma behind us.
“From his eyes, he’s killed plenty. Looks like you’ve come to kill me. Did you find the weapons of mass destruction? Or is this about silencing me?”
Beneath his cynical tone lay unmistakable accusation.
I smiled and replied,
“Greetings. My name is Kim Muhyuk.”
“Kim Muhyuk?”
“You can call me Charlie. Your English is quite fluent, President Hussein.”
“Charlie? Ah. So you’re that crazy businessman?”
Crazy businessman? What now? Before I could even question it, Hussein burst into loud laughter.
“Well then. Today won’t be boring.”
“How much do you know about me?”
“Owner of Black Bear. Friend of the Russian Tsar, and friend of America. I’ve never seen a businessman who walks the tightrope as well as you do.”
He had once ruled Iraq. I couldn’t dismiss his intelligence network lightly.
“You could call it tightrope-walking. But as you said, I’m a businessman. A businessman shakes hands even with enemies if there’s profit. There’s a reason Wall Street capitalists are so despised.”
“Nice words. But what kind of businessman commands armed force? The power you wield is beyond imagination. Impossible without American acquiescence.”
It sounded like Black Bear had given him a thorough beating—his words were sharp with resentment.
“Mercenary work has existed in both East and West for thousands of years. Why would now be any different?”
Hussein didn’t answer. He simply shrugged.
Then he closed his book and placed it on the table.
“Fine. Businessman. Why are you here? To persuade me? If you’re about to spew some nonsense about calling for a ceasefire from the resistance, I won’t say another word.”
“Well, I was asked to make that request. But I know it would feel insulting to you. So I won’t.”
“Charlie.”
Jessica called my name quietly from beside me.
I ignored her and continued,
“The person next to me is an employee of the U.S. Department of Homeland Security. She’s here to listen to the conversation between you and me.”
Only then did Hussein turn his gaze to Jessica.
He stared at her for a long moment, then let out a short laugh.
“Ambition’s pouring out of your eyes. I see hunger for power, hunger for advancement... not sure about your ability, though.”
He wasn’t bad at reading people.
To rule as a dictator, one had to constantly judge who was useful and who was dangerous.
Naturally, his eye for people would sharpen.
Losing interest in Jessica, he turned back to me.
“So, I understand America has turned a blind eye to you. Now tell me why you’ve come. I’m just an old man who’s lost power. Why seek me out?”
“I came to ask you for a favor.”
“You look at me and still say that? I’m a man trapped here, waiting to die. Do you really think I can grant your request?”
“It’s a small favor. Not a difficult one.”
Hussein stroked his tangled beard, studying me.
At some point, interest had crept into his eyes.
“Go on. Let’s hear it.”
“Civilians are currently being held hostage in Iraq. The condition for their release is the withdrawal of Korean troops stationed here. But that’s an unacceptable demand.”
I explained the situation at length.
“And why are you telling me this?”
“Because you can persuade them.”
Hussein suddenly laughed.
He laughed for a long time, then mocked me with a smile.
“Listen, businessman. Let’s say I can. Why should I? Korea invaded Iraq just the same as the others.”
To Hussein, America, Britain, and Korea were all invaders.
“So that your daughter can live. I know she’s hiding with help from the Jordanian royal family. Your two sons are already dead. Are you planning to let your only remaining daughter die as well?”
The smile vanished from Hussein’s face in an instant.
The bargaining chip I had brought to the table was his daughter’s life—Raghad Hussein.
