Chapter 45
Chapter 45
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Translator : M.N 1391
Chapter: 45
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With two sturdy men on either side and both wrists covered with a handkerchief, Gaengwan’s appearance was anything but normal, yet people passed by without much thought. Maybe it would’ve been different if he hadn’t been wearing a mask and a cap.
“Don’t you want to eat a hamburger?”
When Gaengwan pointed at the famous fast-food place over there, Kim Jun brushed his bangs up once and answered.
“If your face is exposed, it’ll cause a commotion.”
“We’re not eating inside, but somewhere tucked away in a corner, eating pathetically. Wouldn’t that work?”
“Wouldn’t that stand out even more?”
“Then we can eat confidently out in the open.”
Determined to eat that hamburger no matter what, Gaengwan looked stubborn enough that Kim Jun exhaled a deep sigh.
“I’ll go buy it, so don’t take off your mask and just wait.”
“Okay.”
If told not to take off his mask, then not taking it off was an easy act of consideration for Gaengwan.
If their positions were reversed and Gaengwan took off his mask as he pleased, he could make sure Kim Jun would never need a mask again. Whether by sealing his breathing or poking a hole in his lungs so he couldn’t inhale through his nose or mouth, there were many methods.
What? Wouldn’t that mean he can’t breathe forever? Don’t underestimate modern medical technology. Even chaebol chairmen who should’ve already crossed the River of Three Crossings could be forcibly kept breathing due to inheritance issues, stock price concerns, and various people’s interests, that was the marvel of modern medicine.
After waiting a bit, Kim Jun returned with three hamburgers. The three of them sat in the airport waiting area, filled their stomachs with hamburgers, and entered the departure gate.
Because of his identity, Gaengwan’s departure screening was unlike a normal case. The airport staff checking departures made several calls, or received several calls, before finally stamping his passport.
And that passport didn’t go into his pocket, but into Kim Jun’s pocket. It was another measure to prevent Gaengwan from attempting an escape.
Gaengwan wasn’t offended. For someone who had no intention of chasing some foolish American Dream and running away, the passport was more like a burden, something he worried might get pickpocketed.
Fortunately, unlike his concern, Tom’s build was not so large that it made business class uncomfortable. Thanks to that, Gaengwan flew the 14 hours to Washington, DC, without much dissatisfaction.
When they arrived, it was broad daylight.
“Welcome! America!”
At the exclamation bursting out of Gaengwan as he stepped off the plane, Kim Jun and Tom gave awkward smiles. A human being who can sleep for 12 out of 14 hours on a flight from Seoul to Washington, DC, what kind of creature was that?
Their plan to take turns sleeping while watching Gaengwan was rendered pointless, replaced only with a feeling of futility.
Watching Gaengwan sleep the entire time except for when eating the in-flight meals was so boring it made the watchers drowsy. Doing something, anything, makes it easier to stay tense.
“How can you sleep so much?”
Tom asked, and Kim Jun interpreted it. Gaengwan answered.
“When you wake up during sleep, just don’t open your eyes and keep them tightly shut.”
With that, he added that this prevents the brain from sending waking brainwaves and instead keeps the brain locked in sleep mode.
“How is that possible?”
“It’s just a trick, a trick.”
Gaengwan waved his hand dismissively.
He said it’s something anyone can learn, if they ever grow tired of opening their eyes and breathing, if reality starts feeling more exhausting than dreams.
Giving up on understanding Gaengwan where sleep was concerned, Kim Jun simply took him into the FBI headquarters in Washington, DC.
Once they arrived at the imposing building full of rigid right angles, Tom took over.
As Tom handled discussions with the clerks and FBI staff responsible for entry procedures, Kim Jun served as Gaengwan’s interpreter.
Tom spoke to Gaengwan, and Kim Jun interpreted:
“Can you show your abilities today?”
“I slept well, so I think I can.”
When Gaengwan nodded, they immediately took him to the interrogation room, a movie-like room with a one-way mirror on one wall.
Once inside, Gaengwan suddenly asked Kim Jun to brief him on the interrogator.
“Is that really necessary?”
“I know best how to use my own ability, right? So if I know who’s being interrogated, and what you want from him, I can get results faster.”
He had a point. Kim Jun conveyed this to Tom, who then talked with someone else before returning with a sealed envelope marked Secret.
“Mr. Lee. The material inside is classified. You must not tell anyone.”
Gaengwan was dumbfounded.
“I don’t speak English, what am I supposed to do with this? Crumple it up and wipe my shit with it?”
“.. Ah..”
Yeah, fuck.
Gaengwan told Kim Jun to summarize the material as much as possible, and learned what the agency sought to obtain from the interrogation subject.
In summary: the interrogation subject was an informant working inside a terrorist organization operating within the U.S. The FBI’s goal was to identify who his superior was. Any secondary information would also be welcome.
Gaengwan nodded, then requested preparations needed for a fast interrogation, similar to how Detective Jang had prepared a list of acquaintances before interrogating a kidnapper to quickly locate an accomplice.
Once everything was ready, Kim Jun unlocked Gaengwan’s handcuffs. Gaengwan looked impressed by this boldness.
“Are you sure this is okay?”
“This is the FBI.”
Kim Jun spoke with confidence. As if to say: go ahead and try escaping. Gaengwan let out a small laugh and shrugged. If he escaped? Then he’d be stuck in a grueling chase, absolutely no merit for him.
“And we need to disguise you as one of our agents.”
“Fine with me.”
He nodded. He didn’t think acting was necessary anyway, he would just ask mechanical questions and check body reactions.
Soon, an Arab-looking, pale, worn-out man in prison garb was brought in. Once seated, Tom questioned him, but the man kept his mouth shut.
Tom shook his head slightly and looked at Kim Jun. Kim Jun looked at Gaengwan.
“Let’s begin.”
“Okay. Your name is Abdul Jahad, right?”
Kim Jun translated. Abdul’s answer didn’t need translating, he said nothing. And even without speaking, Gaengwan knew what his answer was.
“You have parents and a sister in your family, correct?”
“Have you ever been in contact with a terrorist group like IS?”
“If you have, was it someone unfamiliar who approached you?”
“Are you sure it was someone familiar?”
“Was this familiar person this person?”
“Or this person?”
“This person?”
One by one, he showed Abdul photos the FBI had prepared, identifying who contacted him, who gave orders to him, and whom he passed orders to.
As the questions continued, Abdul’s expression hardened. Inside, he repeated only no way, unaware that his body, touched lightly on the shoulder, was already answering the questions. His mouth was silent; his body was honest.
Once the dazed Abdul was taken away, all that remained was to verify whether Gaengwan’s twenty-questions method actually worked.
It didn’t take long.
“Amazing.”
“Was that a test?”
When Gaengwan asked, Kim Jun nodded.
“Yes. Some people were skeptical, thinking media exaggerated your abilities.”
But the answers Gaengwan extracted through physical reactions matched nearly 90% of the FBI’s own findings. Enough to prove bringing him wasn’t a waste. The remaining 10% even prompted a suggestion for reinvestigation, his performance was overwhelming.
“So when’s the real operation?”
“It’s scheduled for tomorrow, but we can do it today.”
“If it’s not urgent, let’s do it tomorrow.”
If there was honey to suck, he preferred sucking it before someone else did.
At this reaction, Kim Jun smirked knowingly and nodded.
= = = = =
Gaengwan’s lodging was a hotel nearby. Not an expensive one, but far better than a prison cell, so he was satisfied.
But he couldn’t leave the room freely. Electronic devices and agents were placed to prevent escape. Although he had no intention of running, he understood that a government agency couldn’t afford to be careless.
The next morning, after eating breakfast at the hotel, Gaengwan was escorted not by Kim Jun and Tom but by another agent back to FBI headquarters.
This time, the man whose shoulder he touched was an Arab man named Muhammad Eston.
“Your name is Muhammad Eston, right?”
The early questions were trivial, name, gender, age, things harmless to answer.
But it was important. These answers established a baseline, whether his physical reactions represented truth or lies. Like zeroing a gun before shooting.
The questions continued. Starting from trivial personal details and gradually moving into sensitive areas.
Like Abdul earlier, Muhammad stayed silent, but his expression slowly stiffened.
He closed his eyes when Gaengwan asked:
“The base in New York, this is it, right?”
Gaengwan’s fingertip pointed at a spot on the map. Kim Jun placed a photo of the location next to it.
A pounding heart. But Muhammad trusted his faith, believing even a lie detector couldn’t break it.
“The owner of this property is closely connected to you, correct? Perhaps receiving financial support from a terrorist organization?”
Kim Jun interpreted for Muhammad.
But Muhammad, eyes closed, lips sealed, ignored the question entirely.
Gaengwan tilted his head slightly and spoke.
“May I see your hand?”
Kim Jun translated, but there was no reaction. So Gaengwan simply grabbed Muhammad’s arm and placed his hand on the table.
Kim Jun felt a sudden unease. Something felt wrong about how the interrogation was going.
“You’re Muslim, right? Do you believe in God?”
Still no response.
Gaengwan tilted his head the other way. Then whispered into Muhammad’s ear:
“Allahu akbar?”
Crack!
“Aaaargh!”
It happened all at once. Gaengwan grabbed Muhammad’s pinky and bent it upward, breaking it.
As Muhammad screamed, Kim Jun instinctively reached toward the holster at his waist and shouted:
“What do you think you’re doing?!”