Chapter 344
Translator: crow
Chapter Title: The Last Staircase
Chapter 344
In January 1980, a sudden oil shock slammed into the world.
The epicenter was the Middle Eastern oil-producing nations.
“Hey, you guys really pulled a fast one with that hydraulic fracturing scam, huh?”
The Middle Eastern countries had long known shale oil wasn’t economically viable, but they’d been psychologically cowed by the hype around fracking tech and couldn’t push back for a while.
That issue didn’t last long, though.
It was because oil demand exploded alongside the economic recoveries in the West and Korea.
As every country ramped up its oil imports, the Middle Eastern nations swiftly jacked up prices.
“Huh? Aren’t you guys messing around with oil prices a bit too much?”
“Hey, if you don’t like it, go frack your fancy shale.”
The skyrocketing oil prices dumped mud into the recovering global economies.
Overheated markets froze solid in the face of that monstrous oil shock.
Cars vanished from the roads, and factory smokestacks belched far less smoke.
Korea didn’t escape the shock, either.
“Fellow citizens, Korea’s still in better shape than most.”
The Korean government manipulated the press to tout how Pyongyang was at least holding up decently in this downturn.
‘It’s true, though.’
But the public couldn’t have cared less.
Wages were getting slashed right away, jobs were drying up, and prices were soaring.
When your throat was being squeezed, what comfort was it to hear you were being strangled less than others?
“We can’t live like this!”
Anti-government protests erupted everywhere, led by labor unions.
With full-scale resistance breaking out like this, the regime was once again put to the test.
I’d seen it coming.
‘Duh, right?’
The oil producers had no choice but to trigger a shock just to recoup their low-price losses.
Truth be told, Korea wasn’t totally unprepared for an oil shock.
Pyongyang had massive strategic reserves and newly developed oil fields.
Even so, the reason they couldn’t stave it off was clear.
The EA and the Third World.
As a regional hegemon, Korea had a duty to look after its allies to some extent.
Shouldering that burden meant even the best preparations could fall short in a crisis.
I toured protest sites myself and felt how badly public sentiment was shaking.
‘This isn’t ideological. It’s economic.’
When it wasn’t politics but survival triggering the unrest, no way the people would stay quiet.
The protests swelled to a million strong in no time.
Faced with nationwide demonstrations, the Korean government rolled out harsh countermeasures again.
The military was deployed, and after tear gas came rubber bullets in real action.
Casualties topped a hundred in a flash.
With things this dire, orders came down to the Agency to handle the protests.
Kim Daegyu had just inspected the Southeast region—hit hardest by the oil shock—and came back to tell me:
“This mess won’t wrap up easily.”
“Not until the oil shock ends, right?”
“The problem’s His Excellency. When things get this bad, he needs to know when to pivot, but all he does is demand a hardline response.”
“If you speak up, Director, His Excellency will understand.”
“I wish.”
Kim Daegyu headed to President Yongseong’s residence for a report.
Four hours later, he returned pale as a ghost and grabbed for water.
“Director, what happened at Yongseong?”
“They’ve all lost their minds.”
“Pardon?”
“They’re saying roll tanks over the protesters if needed. Does that even make sense?”
That was straight out of the Chinese Communist playbook at Tiananmen.
I was shocked that the Republic had sunk that low.
“They really said to deploy tanks?”
“You think I’d joke about something like that?”
No, he wouldn’t.
Kim Daegyu slumped into his office chair and lit a cigarette.
I suddenly grasped the full gravity.
Push tanks into protesters, and thousands dead like Tiananmen wouldn’t be surprising.
Kim Daegyu puffed out gray smoke and said to me:
“Bae, Deputy Director.”
“Yes, Director.”
“This country’s heading down the wrong path.”
That was rhetoric tantamount to treason against the regime.
Thinking about it, Kim Daegyu had a temperament that didn’t fit an intelligence outfit.
Yet somehow he’d endured under the Yushin regime.
Did that mean he was contemplating a coup, too?
Kim Daegyu exhaled another plume of smoke, then pulled a white envelope from his drawer.
Resignation letter was written on the front.
“I’m submitting this to protest what’s happening.”
Resignation.
Yeah, short of a coup, quitting was the surest way to make his stance clear.
“They won’t change course just because they accept your resignation, Director.”
Kim Daegyu gave a bitter smile.
“I know. But I can’t just do nothing.”
The last shred of conscience among Yushin regime officials.
His words carried heavy weight.
“If you step down, Director, the Agency will go even harder line.”
With Senior Deputy Director Kwon Younghoon’s temperament as second-in-command, that was obvious.
Kwon would bat an eye at self-propelled guns shelling downtown, let alone tanks.
“Director, you need to hold your post now more than ever.”
My urging was pure lip service, of course.
No one that spineless—declaring resignation in front of a subordinate only to backpedal—would’ve risen to Agency Director.
“I appreciate the thought, Deputy Director Bae. But my mind’s made up.”
I stared at him for a long moment, then bowed at the waist.
“It’s been an honor serving under you, Director.”
“It’s been a pleasure working with you, too, Deputy Director Bae.”
The farewell was brief.
I left him alone to spend his final hours as Director.
On the surface.
In my head, the calculator was already spinning on how to exploit this new development.
‘The Director’s seat will be vacant soon. Just sideline Kwon Younghoon, and the path to the top opens up.’
I finished my math and summoned Section Chief Oh.
An orchestra blared from the record player in my office.
We whispered our plot in the shadow of that deafening music.
“You want Kwon Younghoon taken out?”
“Yes.”
“The 1st Deputy Director’s a minister-level official. Physically eliminating him carries massive risk.”
“We have to do it anyway.”
Take out Kwon, and the final staircase to power unlocks.
Section Chief Oh eyed me gravely.
“Deputy Director, if this goes wrong, we’re all dead.”
“I know. That’s why we use Daemyeong Distribution for this and cut the tail clean.”
“Understood.”
No need for extra digging on Senior Deputy Director Kwon.
We’d already scoured his life when investigating dangerous figures.
His routines, family—all in our sights.
And one weakness we’d uncovered.
His mistress.
Kwon had a young college girl as a concubine.
He went straight to her apartment in Pyongyang’s Wonam-dong after work every day.
Sure, womanizing wasn’t some huge flaw.
It might’ve been under Yi Seongjun’s era, but under Jang Dongyun, it wasn’t an issue.
The top dog Jang showed “leniency” on mistresses to win over power players emasculated under Yi.
The backlash against Yi’s long mistress ban meant some saw it as immoral, so they didn’t flaunt it, but among elites, keeping a concubine was no shame.
Kwon Younghoon was the same.
He didn’t go to great lengths to hide her.
Made the job easy.
Section Chief Oh’s hit squad went to the Wonam-dong apartment, snatched Kwon while he lounged with the girl.
“Target?”
“Loaded onto a boat.”
Section Chief Oh said he’d wrap up Daemyeong Distribution and head over.
“Good work.”
Kwon had personal security, but not when visiting his mistress.
Even if he did, it wouldn’t stand against a squad of killers primed for murder.
Guards not ready to shoot versus killers who were—mental prep alone was worlds apart.
The goal wasn’t just kidnap and kill Kwon.
Key was no traces left.
That’s why Section Chief Oh had “cleaners” lined up.
The cleanup crew he hired hosed down the scene and erased any remnants.
“Not a single hair left—what’re they gonna do?”
I burned through packs of smokes waiting for Section Chief Oh to finish.
By the time I’d gone through two, he walked into the office.
“Deputy Director, operation complete.”
Aside from some sweat, Section Chief Oh looked utterly calm.
Didn’t seem like a guy who’d just ordered a hit.
“Traces?”
“We cleaned as spotless as possible, but nothing’s perfect with people.”
That was the problem.
And the target was a minister-rank official.
It wouldn’t stay buried easily.
Time to kick off the presidential residence terror.
“The residence, now?”
“Muddy the waters, and everything blurs.”
I’d bury all suspicion and doubt in the chaos.