Amigo
From early morning, Yeon-woo and Dong-ha moved out for their local schedule, heading to one of São Paulo's massive mixed-use shopping malls.
"Hyung, I'm a little nervous."
"Hmm? You performed in a World Cup stadium that size and this is what makes you nervous?"
"I've never done an event at a shopping mall before."
Listening in from the side, Kim Min-su chimed in.
"I thought it was weird too when I first got the schedule briefing, but apparently in Brazil they usually hold showcases and things like that at big malls."
Yeon-woo nodded at Min-su's explanation.
It wasn't just South America — Europe was often the same. When the goal was promotion, you held the event wherever the most people gathered. Korea was the odd one out. Domestically, an event like this would be held at a flagship store, with a small invite-only crowd of tech YouTubers and interested early adopters — something only possible because that early-adopter culture had put down deep roots in Korea. What mattered wasn't the physical headcount of visitors, but the quality of the reviews that would spread across YouTube and user forums.
But in South America, where interest in SL Electronics' new product launch was lukewarm at best, running an event that way would produce almost no promotional effect at all.
Meanwhile, at the same hour Yeon-woo and Dong-ha were en route to the venue, Santos and his crew — the ones who'd gotten tangled up the night before by forcibly snatching a bag from an unidentified Chinese-American — were meeting a man.
Santos, who firmly believed the mysterious green circuit board Han Hae-un had assembled from ECUs of scrapped cars back in Korea was a missile component, had barely managed to arrange a meeting with a mid-level manager of an illegal arms dealer through his great-uncle, who mainly dealt in human trafficking.
"Hmm. So where exactly did you get this?"
"Smuggled it through a reliable broker."
Santos lied. Admitting he'd swiped it from a bag while roaming around like a street thug would make him look like a nobody.
The man looked back and forth between Santos and the green board, then ordered a subordinate behind him.
"Get the Professor."
"Yes, sir."
A short while later the door opened and a thin man in glasses entered.
"Ah, Professor. This guy — this friend here — claims this is something smuggled out of the U.S. Air Force…"
"Hmm. Looking at it will tell us."
The man called Professor sat across from them, connected several wires to the green board, and plugged each into a laptop and specialized equipment he'd brought along.
Wheeeing—
Current flowed at once, and the sound of the board powering up filled the room. For a moment it seemed to run — then white smoke rose from the wire junctions and sparks flew.
Pababbat—
The instant current connected, two programs embedded in the board activated.
The first was a protection program. Exactly as Han Hae-un had preconfigured it, a powerful resistance value kicked in and forced the current outside its intended path. Overload shorted the entire circuit, destroying the board.
The second program, drawing every last bit of that current to power itself, was a GPS beacon.
If the previous letter had carried the scent of Minsk, Belarus, this green board was Made in Korea with the fragrance of the American Air Force. In the final instant before it died, the board poured everything it had into one last powerful GPS signal — and transmitted a set of coordinates to Han Hae-un's monitor.
Confirming the coordinates, Hae-un issued orders to the agents.
"We've confirmed the location of their base. We should be able to open negotiations soon. All agents, move to those coordinates — fast and quiet."
"Roger."
Meanwhile, Santos — who still had no idea what he'd actually delivered — stared with wide eyes. The thought that the man had just destroyed a missile component that might have changed his entire life made him forget, for a moment, that he was dealing with a member of a terrifying organization. He raised his voice.
"Hey! What the hell did you just do to my merchandise!?"
But the Professor who'd wired up the board was just as rattled. He hadn't done anything wrong — the moment power connected, sparks had simply erupted. He immediately lifted the board and examined it carefully, determined to prove the failure wasn't his fault.
"I definitely connected it at the rated voltage listed…"
After studying it for a long while, the Professor's head tilted sideways.
"…But looking at this — I didn't notice at first because so many of them are wired in parallel, but the markings hidden under the joints… these are car parts."
"…What? Car parts?"
The arms dealer's lieutenant, who'd been watching with his arms crossed, turned to look at Santos. A storm of expressions crossed Santos's face — shock, anxiety, rage.
"Oho. Looking at this bastard's face, I know exactly what he was trying to pull. You dare play games with us? Did we look like a joke to you?"
"What? No, what are you talking about…"
"You brought this crude fake, figured we'd wreck it, and then you'd demand compensation — thought I'd hand over some pocket change, didn't you? Did you really think I wouldn't know you're just some thug who causes trouble in Cracolândia?"
The lieutenant grinned. The men in black suits standing behind Santos seized both his shoulders so he couldn't run.
"No, th-that's not it! Last night some American guy—"
"Well now. Let's take our time hearing your story. You'll find out when a day stopped being twenty-four hours and became two hundred and forty. Today is probably going to feel like the slowest day of your entire life."
That afternoon, after finishing his schedule and returning to the hotel, Yeon-woo locked his door and opened the comms line at the same time.
"Hae-un. Did you get a location?"
"Ah, yes. We've identified the location, but we still haven't determined who the head of the group we're trying to deal with actually is. Whoever he is, he seems extremely cautious."
But they had to return to Korea the next day. If they were going to make a deal, today was the only window. The transaction had to happen before nightfall. Extending the Brazil schedule was technically possible, but there was no good justification for it — and with film and drama shoots waiting back home, they couldn't afford any more delays.
"Even if we don't know who they are right now, we know where they are. We can at least attempt a deal."
"Yes. All agents are standing by near the target area. Proceed as planned?"
"Do it."
On receiving the order, Lee Gyu-jin and Park Jung-hyeon headed for the enemy base. Since a body search was inevitable, every camera and listening device on the agents had been removed. The only eyes that could still watch over the two of them belonged to Kim Su-hyeok, monitoring from long range through his scope.
Hmm. Honestly, even so, there's nothing particularly dangerous about this. Worst case, they refuse the deal because they can't verify our identities.
There were two common misconceptions people held about illegal arms dealers.
The first was that they were dangerous and vicious. Whether you sold illegal weapons or yogurt, it was still a service industry. If a dealer decided not to do business because a visitor's identity was unclear, the idea that they'd pull a gun and make threats, or quietly "dispose" of someone the way movies portrayed it, was absurd.
If they've already decided not to deal, that means they're being careful precisely because a transaction might leave a trail of illegal activity. Committing a major crime like kidnapping or murder would be completely counterproductive.
The second misconception was that they placed enormous weight on trust. Business was business. In fact, the shadows valued credit more highly than the light. In underground deals where neither buyer nor seller had any legal protection to fall back on, reputation and trust were the only things you could rely on.
An operation of this scale would never double-cross a client after a deal was struck.
On the feed Kim Su-hyeok was transmitting, Lee Gyu-jin and Park Jung-hyeon appeared at the building entrance, exchanging words with an organization member before heading inside.
"Moving to a position with maximum interior visibility."
The first thing Kim Su-hyeok had done upon arriving in São Paulo was identify optimal sniper positions for every location under suspicion. In a city center like this, a sniper point was, put another way, the spot with the clearest view through the windows.
While Su-hyeok relocated, a call from Lee Gyu-jin — now inside — connected to the comms channel.
"Told them at the entrance we were here for a 'big deal,' and made contact with the man in charge right away. Not sure if this guy is the boss. Face isn't on the prep list."
Before going in for the deal, the agents had memorized the faces and names of multiple arms dealers operating in South America. An unfamiliar face meant either someone outside their expected list, or more likely a proxy rather than the dealer himself.
Yeon-woo nodded at Gyu-jin's report and spoke to Hae-un.
"Patch me through."
"Understood."
Hae-un connected Gyu-jin's smartphone on the channel to Yeon-woo.
"This is Omega. I'll handle the negotiation myself."
"Ah — yes, sir. Handing the phone to the man in charge."
Gyu-jin passed the smartphone he'd been holding to the arms dealer's lieutenant. A heavily South American-accented English came through the receiver.
Playing dumb, just in case it was a trap.
"Hmm. I'm not particularly fond of going around in circles. Let's cut to the chase. Amigo."
Hearing the man deliberately call him "Mister" instead of "Amigo" — drawing a clear line — Yeon-woo's eyes moved rapidly. Kim Su-hyeok's electronic scope feed played across the screen in real time, sweeping window after window of the building. Yeon-woo's eyes hunted for traces at full speed, but his mouth wore a mask of ease.
"Does money have borders? Whether I'm from the South or the North depends entirely on you."
At the same moment the man spoke, Yeon-woo's gaze locked onto one corner of the screen. He fired a rapid message to Hae-un over the secure channel.
Building, 4th floor, second window — zoom. Arm tattoo on the big guy guarding the corridor. Eastern European PMC. Run Interpol.
Reading Yeon-woo's message, Hae-un issued the order at once. The electronic scope on the feed zoomed in. From the other end of the line, the arms dealer's voice came again.
Hearing the man probe lightly, as if talking to himself, Yeon-woo's mind raced.
Gye-sik. Kim Gye-sik. Baeksol's Kim Gye-sik.
They've done business with Baeksol before. And he said things had gone quiet for years, so the deal must have dried up. The weapons Baeksol needs have to be sourced illegally one way or another — whether through these people or someone else — so their supplier probably just changed.
The thought was long, but the time that passed was an instant. The moment the other man finished speaking, Yeon-woo answered.
"Kim Gye-sik is no longer in charge of Latin America. From now on, you deal with me."
At the same moment the man spoke, a secure message arrived for Hae-un as well.
Found him in the Interpol database. The arms dealer you're negotiating with is Urbano Silva.
Got him.
"How about we drop the pointless probing and get to business? As you know, we don't skimp on money. And I've got more people to deal with than expected, so my schedule's tight. If you miss this chance, I'll just move on to the next shop — not much choice there. I'm not empty-handed like Kim Gye-sik. Are you Urbano Silva? Or his proxy?"
His name had been the keyword after all. Only then did the other man seem to lower his guard. A hearty laugh came through, followed by his voice.
For the first time, the other man called Yeon-woo not "Mister" but "Amigo."
Identity confirmed. The signal to finally do business had been given.