Free Web NovelHussein glared at me with a sinister look, yet his voice remained eerily calm.
“You...... Do you really think you can threaten me using my daughter? You think I’m the kind of man who clings to blood ties? You must be mistaken, thinking I’m a good person.”
The more power someone held—especially dictators—the stronger their attachment to bloodlines tended to be.
Whether it was a means of passing everything on, or simply human instinct, it didn’t really matter. Either way, blood was the one true weakness of dictators.
You could see it just by looking at Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il of North Korea.
Closer to home, Chairman Cheon Taesan—my grandfather—had never been able to let go of his obsession with blood ties until the day he died.
“Mistaken? Then I’ll take that to mean you don’t mind if your daughter dies.”
“Killing an innocent child simply because she’s my daughter? How do you plan to bear the condemnation of the entire world? No matter how much of a gangster nation America is, do you really think they could shoulder that?”
He wasn’t wrong. I nodded, showing that I agreed.
Right. America absolutely couldn’t do that.
“America can’t. But I can. As you yourself said earlier, I have more than enough force. Just look at the man standing behind me—doesn’t that give you an idea?”
Hussein had called Ma a human butcher.
Ma had lived the life of a mercenary for a long time.
Since meeting me, it had lessened, but whether by choice or necessity, there were still many days when his hands were stained with blood.
Hussein couldn’t possibly know that. He’d judged purely from Ma’s eyes and movements. His eye for people really was sharp.
“In normal countries, punishment requires the power of law. But I’m not like that. If persuasion works, I persuade. If it doesn’t, I use force to make my will prevail. That’s how I climbed to where I am today.”
Hussein continued to stare at me without saying a word.
“If you were still ruling Iraq as a dictator, I wouldn’t even consider using force. But now you’ve lost all power. You’re just a war criminal awaiting trial. You know it, I know it, everyone here knows it. Even if I killed your daughter, there’s nothing you could do to me.”
The moment war broke out, Hussein’s first wife, his eldest daughter, and his second daughter had applied for asylum with the Jordanian royal family.
The Jordanians had accepted, and the women were now hiding in a safehouse they provided.
Their location was kept strictly secret—but the U.S. government and I already knew where they were.
“Oh, and speaking of which, I heard your third daughter entered Qatar. Were you aware of that?”
Hussein’s face stiffened even further. He’d tried to hide his family, but everything was exposed—it was only natural he’d react like that.
“America already knows everything. They’re just letting it slide because they can’t prove any crimes.”
Whether my threat would work was uncertain. Even if it didn’t, I had no intention of actually killing them.
But right now, I had to make him believe I was the kind of man who would.
And Jessica’s reaction would sell that belief.
“Charlie! Are you really planning to kill Hussein’s daughters? I mean...... how are you going to handle that?”
I raised one corner of my lips as I looked at her.
“Do you think anyone could find proof that I did it? President Hussein has plenty of enemies. It could’ve been any one of them.”
“......You’re insane. You’re really insane.”
As Hussein listened to our exchange, he studied Jessica’s reactions carefully, as if probing.
“I can’t just pretend I didn’t see this.” freēwēbηovel.c૦m
“Do as you like. Report it, do whatever. I’ve already secured a guarantee that I won’t be held responsible.”
“That guarantee only covers what happens during the hostage rescue.”
“This is part of the hostage rescue. So just listen. Decide afterward whether you want to report it.”
I brushed off Jessica’s protest and turned back to Hussein.
“When I make the call, your eldest daughter will be dead within twenty-four hours. No matter where she is, no matter who’s protecting her. If you still refuse to act, your second daughter will die too. Remember—I’m the owner of Black Bear.”
Hussein ground his teeth audibly.
I smiled calmly and leaned slightly toward him.
“If even one hostage dies, I’ll kill your entire family. Every last one. No matter how long it takes.”
“You really are insane. Completely out of your mind. You’re crazier than I ever was.”
At his words, my smile only widened. Being told that by the devil of the Middle East—what an honor.
“Maybe so.”
For a long while, Hussein and I stared at each other in silence.
But the winner had already been decided.
Back when he wielded absolute power, it might’ve been different. But now, it was Hussein, trapped in a bunker he’d built himself, versus me, holding Black Bear’s force in my hands.
No one understood who held the upper hand better than # Nоvеlight # Hussein himself.
Finally, he let out a sigh and asked,
“The group that kidnapped the Koreans—One God and Holy War?”
“Yes. That’s what we’ve been told. The original kidnappers were former Iraqi military insurgents, but apparently they sold them for money.”
Hearing that, Hussein frowned.
“I don’t know them.”
“You’re telling me there’s a faction in Iraq you don’t know?”
“More accurately, I’ve heard of them—but they have no connection to me. Even if I spoke, they wouldn’t listen.”
I studied him silently, gauging the truth of his words. Hussein spoke firmly,
“My daughter’s life and those bastards’ lives don’t weigh the same. I’m serious. I have nothing to do with them.”
His daughter’s life versus terrorists’ lives—the answer was obvious without asking.
I hadn’t come here with high expectations, just a sliver of hope. Still, it was a bit disappointing.
Well. Maybe meeting Hussein at all would have to be enough.
Hiding my thoughts, I continued,
“Hard to believe.”
“Believe it or not, that’s your choice. But even if I told them to release the hostages, they wouldn’t listen. In fact, they might kill them immediately just to spite me for being threatened.”
“Isn’t there any way? I’m not saying this just to threaten you. I’m serious. If the hostages die, your daughter dies. Isn’t that what you call blood vengeance? I hear it’s so widespread in Islamic culture that it’s even codified into law.”
“.......”
“So I intend to trade the hostages’ lives for your daughter’s.”
Hussein inhaled sharply, then let out a hollow laugh.
“Well, I’ll be damned...... Never thought I’d live to see Islamic law lectured to me by an Asian. Why go this far? Aren’t most countries—including America—firm on the principle of never negotiating or yielding to terrorists? That’s what I know.”
He was right. The principle was no concessions, no negotiations.
No ransom. No meeting demands.
The country that upheld this most fiercely was the United States.
The U.S. government even blocked families from paying ransoms themselves.
To prevent violence from becoming a viable means of coercion, most nations followed this line.
“I’m an individual, not a country.”
“But the person next to you is from the U.S. government. Don’t you see how contradictory this is?”
“That’s exactly why I’m stepping in. America has no authority to stop me.”
At my answer, Hussein seemed to sink into thought.
He closed his eyes briefly, then tapped the book on the table.
Something about him felt desperate.
Watching him, I gestured to Ma.
Ma leaned in as if he’d been waiting.
“Manager, bring the gift.”
Ma pulled out a cigar box and a cigar lighter from his coat and handed them over.
It was a Cuban brand Hussein used to favor.
When I opened the box, Hussein’s eyes snapped open.
“That...... is that a cigar?”
“Yes. I heard you like cigars. I prepared it as a gift.”
“Oh? The bastards here keep giving me cheap junk. I hated that.”
A single cigar was enough to make Hussein grin like a child.
I took one out and offered it to him.
He accepted it and immediately brought it to his nose.
“Hmmm......”
As he savored the scent, there wasn’t a trace of worry on his face.
Looking at him now, he didn’t seem like a heartless dictator after all.
“Good. Very good.”
He opened the drawer of a side table and took out a cigar cutter.
Then, instead of cutting, he grumbled while staring at the cap.
“These are best cut with a knife. Cigar cutters have no style. I asked for a knife once—do you know how much trouble that caused?”
He muttered in annoyance. I turned to Ma.
“Give him a knife.”
“Boss, a knife—”
Ma looked worried, but I shook my head slightly and held out my hand.
“Give it to me.”
Ma handed over the knife from inside his coat.
“Use this.”
I planted the knife upright on the table.
Jessica stared at me in horror, but I ignored her.
Hussein set the cutter aside and pulled the knife from the table.
“Oh...... a fine knife. Sharp. Properly honed.”
The blade gleamed menacingly under the chandelier’s light.
“Thanks. But tell me—are you sure it’s okay to hand me a knife so easily? What if I kill myself with it?”
Trying to rattle me with words he didn’t mean. I chuckled and met his eyes.
“Don’t say things you don’t mean, Mr. President. Even if you die, wouldn’t you want to say everything you need to first?”
Hussein stared straight into my eyes, then curled his lips into a smile.
He was too greedy a man to ever commit suicide.
Without replying, he toyed with the knife and roughly sliced off the cigar cap.
Then he took out a box of cigar matches.
“Cigars should be lit with matches. Torch lighters, Zippos—those are disrespectful to cigars.”
Cigars were full of etiquette, especially among the elite. Tedious enough to bore onlookers.
He lit it, slowly rotated it until the foot burned evenly, removed the band—
And finally took a deep draw.
He exhaled thick smoke and nodded in satisfaction.
The sight of a shabby-looking man talking about etiquette while smoking a cigar felt like a scene from a play.
“Do you like the gift?”
“Like it? If the Americans had tried to sway me by holding cigars hostage, I might’ve considered it. They don’t know me at all.”
Despite his words, everyone in the room knew that would never happen.
“I’m glad you’re satisfied.”
I slid the cigar box toward him.
“Keep it. I wanted to bring more, but I didn’t have much time to prepare.”
Hussein nodded and continued smoking in silence.
After burning through about half, he set it in the ashtray and spoke.
“Thanks to you, I finally got to enjoy a proper cigar after a long time.”
He looked genuinely pleased.
Both of us knew the cigars were just an excuse.
By accepting the gift, he wasn’t yielding to threats—he was helping me in return for a courtesy.
“Give me a pen and paper.”
At that, Ma took out a notebook and a fountain pen and placed them on the table.
Hussein opened the notebook and began writing.
After a moment, he closed it firmly, placed the pen on top, and slid it toward me.
“Contact that man and ask him to arrange a meeting.”
“Who is he?”
“A man named Khamis. Officially, he works for the Red Crescent. Behind the scenes, he acts as a liaison for terrorist groups. He might at least be able to open a line of communication.”
At last, I had a way to contact the terrorists.
As I put the notebook away, Hussein added sharply,
“One last warning. Never touch my family. Two of my sons are already dead. There must be no more deaths in my family. Remember that.”
I told you—family was always a dictator’s greatest weakness.
I looked at his hands, clenched and unclenched, trembling slightly.
“If the man you mentioned plays a significant role in these negotiations, I’ll guarantee your family’s safety. I’ll even hire Black Bear mercenaries to protect them.”
