Free Web NovelI will send Black Bear mercenaries to protect your family.
There could be nothing more absurd than Black Bear—who played a key role in the invasion of Iraq—guarding the families of the very man whose country they invaded.
Hussein narrowed his eyes, clearly finding my words ridiculous.
“So you understand how contradictory that sounds, don’t you? Entrusting my family’s safety to Black Bear, who invaded my country?”
After handing the notebook to Manager Ma, I answered him.
“Black Bear are mercenaries. If they’re paid, they protect anyone. Whether a contract will actually be signed is another matter.”
“Even if that means fighting the United States?”
“If the client who hired Black Bear is an enemy of the United States, then that’s what they would have to do.”
“Charlie.”
Jessica urgently tried to stop me, but I glanced at her and continued speaking.
“Well, realistically, they’ll avoid fighting the United States if at all possible. Protecting the President’s family isn’t a reason to go to war with America. There’s no need, and no reason, for the United States to kill your family. But other countries are a different matter. You have far too many enemies. Isn’t there a high chance they’ll target your family? That’s why we shouldn’t be thinking about America—but about other nations.”
As Hussein’s trial continues, the lawyers defending him will die one by one. There will be multiple assassination attempts against Hussein himself.
For now, he is under U.S. military protection. But once the military administration ends and power transfers to a transitional government, the real problems will begin.
Hussein will have to be imprisoned after a formal trial conducted under proper legal procedures, in a prison built by the new government.
“Hm.”
Hussein stroked his beard and looked toward Jessica.
“Can you have the American friend step out so we can speak privately?”
“No. My presence is the reason this meeting between Charlie and you was possible in the first place. Even if I were to leave, the U.S. military would come down here immediately.”
Before I could respond, Jessica answered firmly.
With no choice, I shrugged and looked back at Hussein.
“How much do you trust her?”
“Trust? I don’t trust anyone but myself. Ah—except the man standing behind me.”
“Then I suppose today’s conversation ends here. I have nothing more to say with an American present.”
Hussein crossed his arms and leaned back into the sofa, utterly uncompromising.
“I didn’t expect our views to align, Mr. President.”
But in truth, I felt the same way. I discreetly signaled to Manager Ma.
What we were about to discuss was something Jessica absolutely could not hear.
With practiced ease, Manager Ma struck the back of Jessica’s neck, knocking her unconscious.
As she collapsed, she shot me a resentful look. Sorry—but I wasn’t scared in the slightest.
“Oh? Is that all right?”
Hussein’s eyes widened as he exclaimed in admiration at the sudden action.
Only for a moment. Uncrossing his arms, he leaned toward the table. I leaned in as well.
“It can’t be helped. What comes next is the most important part. Now it’s time for me to tell you why I came to see you.”
“So everything you said before was just misdirection?”
“No. The hostage incident truly is important. If you hadn’t helped, and if the hostages had died, I would not have withdrawn the threat against your family.”
Receiving Hussein’s gaze—as if he were calling me a vicious bastard—I let out a small chuckle.
The real reason I came to see Hussein was......
“They call it the Hussein Collection, don’t they? Those countless artworks and artifacts you own—where are they now?”
Iraq is an archaeologically vital country.
A land filled with relics of Mesopotamian civilization, the very first human civilization.
There was no way a man who ruled Iraq with an iron fist for decades hadn’t collected such artifacts.
And even after his execution, countless artworks and relics gathered from around the world were never found.
“They were in the presidential palace. But the Americans fired missiles and burned everything to ashes. So why look for them now?”
“Because if left alone, they’ll never be found. Do you think your family can get them? No. Absolutely not. They won’t even be able to enter Iraq. And if they do, you know exactly what could happen to them, don’t you?”
Unable to refute my words, Hussein glared at me with visible displeasure.
“And you can take them? Their provenance will be questioned.”
“They don’t have to be sold in the light. In fact, demand in the shadows will be enormous. Especially among Middle Eastern nations. The Saudi royal family and the Emirati royal family would pounce on them with burning eyes. Even now, Iraqi artifacts are being smuggled into the United States, Japan, and many other countries.”
War always comes with looting. Even when the war is started by America, playing the role of the world’s police.
After the war, thousands of Iraqi artifacts are funneled into the United States.
Not only Americans, but artifact hunters and grave robbers from all over the world are pouring into Iraq.
If they could find genuine pieces, there was no way they’d pass up the chance to become rich.
Once stabilization begins, archaeologists from around the world will enter Iraq to protect the relics.
For a time, both academia and the black market will be in an uproar.
But the real prize was the collection amassed by Iraq’s dictator, Hussein.
“Let’s say it exists. Why should I hand it over to you?”
“I’ll liquidate it and share the profits with your family. If left alone, the artifacts will disappear. But through me, they can be sold for their proper value. Or I’ll buy the entire collection outright.”
The price didn’t matter.
What mattered was that the artifacts and artworks could be used in countless ways.
The Hussein Collection—items of value that money alone could never buy.
Handled correctly, they could even serve as connections to multiple Middle Eastern nations.
“You’re an interesting man. You really are.”
“I hear that a lot.”
After a brief pause, Hussein spoke.
“I want my family to live without hardship. I won’t ask you to protect them. I just want them to live comfortably.”
“How much do you want, in exchange for the collection?”
Hussein let out a deep sigh and leaned back into the sofa.
After a long moment, he met my gaze directly.
“If you take everything, can you distribute the money equally among my wives [N O V E L I G H T] and daughters?”
“So you want to hand it over to me and have me give the money to your family. Is that why you asked her to leave?”
Hussein nodded.
If a dictator’s family received vast sums of money, America would clearly dislike the possibility of their political or social resurgence.
He continued.
“I have no reason to survive anymore. Did you know this? The Americans even offered to let me go. Exile to a third country, living together with my family. They said they’d guarantee our safety.”
I knew America had tried to sway Hussein, but not the specifics.
There were only rumors—claims that they’d spare him from execution if he urged the resistance to stand down.
But to think they’d go as far as offering full release, asylum in a third country, and even personal security.
“All my power is already gone. What’s the point of living? I only want to say what must be said before I die. But my surviving family must go on living, mustn’t they? That regret lingered in my heart—and then you came to see me like this.”
What a coincidence. My coming to Iraq was the result of events overlapping in ways no one could have predicted.
“Once I learned who you really are, I saw an opportunity. I don’t know you well, but even from fragmentary information, I knew you were someone who would work with anyone if it benefited you.”
“That’s right. I don’t know the details of your collection, but if it exists, I judged it worth the risk to obtain.”
Naturally, most of what was in Hussein’s collection would be impossible to acquire with money alone.
“Fine. Then will you make a contract with me?”
“Of course. State your price.”
“Two hundred million dollars. Can you prepare two hundred million dollars in untraceable cash?”
Two hundred million dollars. More than I expected.
“Are you saying the collection is worth even more than that?”
“The one who decides value isn’t me—it’s you. The value of art is always subjective.”
“Then could you at least name a few representative pieces I might recognize?”
Hussein nodded and described several works.
“......Those were in your possession, Mr. President?”
I couldn’t help but be shocked.
To think the owner of long-lost artworks—whose current whereabouts were unknown—was Hussein himself.
They had changed hands so long ago that their current market value was impossible to estimate, but once released, their price would be whatever the market demanded.
“So? Worth two hundred million?”
“More than enough.”
“Then give me the notebook and pen again.”
I took back the notebook and pen I’d handed to Manager Ma.
Hussein tore out a sheet, held it against his palm, and began writing—careful not to leave marks on the notebook or the table.
“Can I trust you?”
“Do you have any other option? If you hand it to America, will they give the proceeds to your family? Or will they hand it to whoever takes power next?”
Both Hussein’s known and hidden assets would be seized by the new government the moment they were found.
Fully aware of this, Hussein smiled bitterly.
“I have never cheated in a deal—not once in my life.”
“Good. I’ll trust my eyes.”
He moved the pen again. When he finished, he handed me the torn paper and the notebook.
“It’s about fifty kilometers north of Tikrit. That should be enough to find it, shouldn’t it?”
The paper contained numbers—likely the latitude and longitude of where the collection was hidden.
Tikrit was Hussein’s birthplace and political stronghold.
Since he himself had been captured hiding there, it made sense.
“If you find the exact location I gave you, it won’t be hard to discover.”
I carefully folded the paper and slipped it into my jacket, bowing my head lightly.
“Thank you.”
As he said, once you knew the location, finding it wouldn’t be difficult.
“How do you plan to deliver the two hundred million dollars to my family? Explain it to me.”
“I’ll distribute it across multiple accounts. Completely untraceable. Please don’t worry.”
“Good. I’ll trust you. Oh—and when you contact that man from earlier, make sure to mention my name. He’ll negotiate with you the way you want.”
He seemed to be referring to a contact working with the Red Crescent.
“Will he know their location as well?”
“No. The only reason he’s alive is because he’s faithful to his role as a contact. That’s precisely why he’s trusted.”
“I understand. Thank you for your help. The money will be delivered to your family after I recover the collection.”
Hussein nodded, pulled out another cigar, and lit it.
Silence settled over the room.
A ragged dictator, smoking a cigar in an extravagantly opulent room.
Suddenly, I felt an urge to tell him the truth.
“Do you know why the United States decided to overthrow you?”
Hussein exhaled smoke as he replied.
“Because I mocked the terrorist attacks in America? And because they wanted our oil?”
“No.” freёweɓnovel.com
At my firm answer, Hussein raised an eyebrow. freēwēbηovel.c૦m
“Then why?”
“Because you challenged the dollar’s hegemony.”
“......What?”
“If oil were the real reason, they would have removed you in the 1990s during the Gulf War.”
The Gulf War, with its clear justification, had been the perfect opportunity to depose him.
But the United States didn’t. Keeping Hussein in power was more beneficial at the time.
“You persistently tried to switch oil transactions from dollars to euros. In fact, you did accept euro payments.”
Petrodollars.
A term referring to dollars earned from oil sales, and also to the system that mandates oil be traded in dollars.
Through the petrodollar system, the United States maintains the dollar’s status as the world’s reserve currency.
Even after the gold standard was abolished, this system is what preserved the dollar’s dominance.
“That’s why the United States decided to remove you from Iraq. Using nonexistent weapons of mass destruction as an excuse.”
Hussein said nothing. Ash fell from the cigar between his fingers.
I offered my farewell to the man frozen in disbelief.
“I’ll be going now. It was a pleasure meeting you, President Hussein.”
