Master Plan – Sunset
Director Park Chan-hong wrapped the first round of shooting on the ship, arrived at the container, and began looking it over.
"Hmm. This should do. Tech team ready?"
"Yes, sir. All set."
"Then we'll start with the deal scene."
At Director Park Chan-hong's word, the staff and extras took their positions.
"Ready?"
"Yes, Director."
Jeong Ha-gyun and Ryu Yeon-woo answered, and Park Chan-hong raised his hand.
"Ready... action."
Park Kang-woo had scraped the money together by any means necessary—putting the company up as collateral, even dipping into loan sharks. He hadn't bitten the bait just because he'd nearly died once and decided to trust some nameless man's word. Through the information broker he normally used, he had obtained details on the Italian mafia who had attended the meeting and become certain. Of course, that "information" was false—fed to him after the route had been mapped in advance and the signal hijacked mid-transmission via a SIM card. Park Kang-woo was already dancing like a puppet on the board Pierre Choi had laid out.
Pierre Choi sat in the seat of honor, one leg crossed over the other.
"It is an honor for our family to meet the ruler of Sicily once again."
Park Kang-woo approached Pierre and bowed his head as respectfully as he could. The sheer presence of the ship he had seen upon arriving at the harbor under escort had already overwhelmed him.
Pierre Choi gave a short snort of laughter at Park Kang-woo's words and opened his mouth.
"I don't know where you picked that up, but we do not call ourselves the rulers of Sicily."
He stroked his chin, staring steadily at Park Kang-woo, then spoke again.
"We are the protectors of Sicily. Would it be right to torment the weak?"
Unlike the past, when he had been pulled from a wooden crate and forced to his knees, Pierre Choi was using honorifics with Park Kang-woo. Looking into those bottomless eyes that spoke of the weak, Park Kang-woo felt fear—but at the same time, being addressed with respect made him feel recognized as a trading partner, and his mood lifted.
"I misspoke."
"Please, sit."
Pierre Choi gestured toward the chair in front of him. Park Kang-woo and the subordinate in charge of the transfer sat down, setting a laptop on the table. Pierre Choi glanced back and flicked his fingers; a white man with a rifle slung over his shoulder handed over a slip of paper with a Swiss bank account number written on it.
"Deposit it there. Of course... you managed to raise it?"
Park Kang-woo could not meet Pierre Choi's eyes—those of a snake eyeing its prey—and spoke with a slight tremor.
"O-of course. But... might I see the goods first?"
"Hahaha."
Pierre Choi laughed at Park Kang-woo's words.
"Of course. Between us, there still isn't..."
Pierre's fingers kept tapping the table in an uneasy, irregular rhythm.
"...any trust yet."
Finished speaking, Pierre jerked his chin. The subordinate standing at attention behind him strode over and pulled back the waterproof tarp in the corner of the hold. Park Kang-woo approached as if entranced by the stacks of pure white powder sacks. When he lifted one, a crate of anti-tank rockets lay underneath with no lid. In a country where even firearms were restricted, Park Kang-woo had never seen an anti-tank weapon like an RPG-7. Startled, he hastily covered it again with the sack of white powder and glanced at Pierre for a reaction.
"You're not the only one I deal with. I'm busy internationally, you know."
The honorifics had vanished from Pierre's speech again. Park Kang-woo hurried back to his seat and urged the subordinate beside him.
"Hurry up and transfer it."
"Yes, hyung-nim."
Park Kang-woo glared and hissed under his breath.
"Hey. Not hyung-nim."
"Ah—yes. Representative."
The subordinate tapping at the laptop spoke up.
"It's done, Representative."
"Ahaha. Please confirm."
At his subordinate's words, Park Kang-woo rubbed his hands together and spoke to Pierre Choi. Pierre gestured to the white man standing behind him. The man extended the antenna of a satellite phone and dialed somewhere. After a moment he confirmed and hung up.
"Ne è sicura?"
The subordinate quietly nodded at Pierre's question.
Creak—
Pierre pushed his chair back and rose.
"Haha. Let's work well together from now on. Once the brothers of Sicily form a bond of trust, we never betray first."
"Of course. I look forward to working with you."
Park Kang-woo sprang up, bowed, and clasped Pierre's hand with both of his.
"Okay. Cut!"
At Director Park Chan-hong's call, the actors and stunt performers loosened up.
"Now for the big one."
At the director's words, tension settled over the set.
"As you all know, the set is tight, and given the nature of this scene it's hard to break it into multiple cuts."
Park Chan-hong continued, looking at the staff, actors, and stunt team.
"Cameras are all set up everywhere, so mind your frames according to the blocking and we'll go for it in one take."
"Let's do this!"
"Ooooh!"
Jeong Ha-gyun, as Park Kang-woo, led the cheer, and the actors and stunt performers pumped themselves up. Because the final scene required full 360-degree coverage, every staff member except the actors stepped outside. Director Park Chan-hong watched the field monitors set up outside the container and gave instructions over the radio.
"All right, stand by—scene number 90, ready... action!"
Park Kang-woo was clasping Pierre's hand with both of his and bowing politely. When Pierre patted his shoulder, Park Kang-woo straightened. At that moment, urgent radio chatter burst from the white subordinate's walkie-talkie.
Beep—
"Run! We've been made!"
Park Kang-woo stood there looking bewildered, unable to make sense of the frantic foreign language crackling over the radio. Pierre Choi's face twisted. He drew a pistol from the waistband of his suit and leveled it at Park Kang-woo.
"What is this? Was it you?"
"Y-yes? What do you mean?"
Brows furrowed, Pierre Choi swung the muzzle toward the white man behind him who was still receiving the transmission.
"Then was it you?!"
Just then the hold door burst open and special agents in black tactical gear poured in.
"Interpol! You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."
As the agents aimed their weapons, the white men behind Pierre raised theirs as well. Startled by the sudden turn, Park Kang-woo and his subordinate could only glance around wildly.
"I—I have nothing to do with this."
Park Kang-woo threw both hands up and tried to back away.
"Stop! Don't move!"
Until now Park Kang-woo had understood nothing of the shouting except the word "Interpol," but he understood this. Frozen solid, he and his subordinate stopped where they stood. Then a shout echoed from the inner passageway connected to the hold.
"Dai ragazzi! Muoviti! Forza!"
Men in black suits and masks stormed in with guns drawn. Completely surrounded, Pierre Choi swung his pistol from one direction to another and shouted.
"What the hell is this?! Which one of you bastards is it?!"
One of the black-suited men—noticeably larger than the rest—pulled off his mask and aimed at Pierre Choi.
"It's me, you son of a bitch."
Kwak Ji-chul's face was revealed as the mask came off. Confirming it, Pierre Choi threw his head back and laughed like a madman.
"Khahahaha. This is too much fun. Life really is this entertaining, isn't it?"
As if the laughter had never happened, Pierre Choi's expression turned ice-cold as he looked at Kwak Ji-chul. He stared for a long moment with those bottomless black eyes that held no attachment to life, then leveled the pistol at Kwak Ji-chul and pulled the trigger.
Bang—
The spray of red blood from Kwak Ji-chul's chest was the signal. Interpol, the men in black suits, and Pierre's white subordinates all opened fire in every direction.
"Aaaagh!"
Clutching their heads, Park Kang-woo and his subordinate bolted madly for the hold entrance. On trembling legs they tore out of the ship. The men inside the hold never even glanced at the fleeing Park Kang-woo; they simply kept shooting one another. The interior of the hold turned into pure chaos—sparks flying, machinery shattering, ceiling lights exploding. They fired until every last one of them went down, and then the hold was silent, filled only with corpses. The space that had been roaring with gunfire fell, within seconds, into a silence so complete it felt eerie by contrast.
More than ten seconds passed with only a fluorescent tube dangling from the ceiling flickering forlornly. Then Pierre suddenly sat up.
"Khuh. Still too much fun."
Pierre Choi clamped a hand over his mouth and began laughing silently. One by one, the men who had been lying in pools of blood inside the hold scrambled to their feet. Soon the hold was filled with their suppressed laughter.
"Hey, Kwak Ji-chul. What was that—‘It's me, you son of a bitch'? Sounded like you put some real feeling into it. There was no swearing in rehearsal."
Kwak Ji-chul set down the prop gun and rose amid the machinery designed to shatter on cue.
"Ahem. Damn, that was realistic. The ‘junk shop' old man really outdid himself. Everybody up, quick."
Scratching his head and changing the subject, Kwak Ji-chul gave a random shove to the back of a man who still hadn't gotten up. Then Director Park Chan-hong's voice came over the radio.
"Okay, cut! You are the finest actors in this country."
"Waaaaah!"
The actors who had successfully wrapped the most important scene of the film—the crowning moment—celebrated. Not only the actors but the staff as well hugged one another, offering congratulations and encouragement for all the hard work. When the actors and crew stepped out of the container set, a beautiful sunset was settling over the sea.
Maseok Do came over and slung an arm around Yeon-woo's shoulders.
"Man, the timing couldn't have been more perfect."
"That scene just now was incredible. It's really going to look amazing on screen."
Han So-hyun, who had been watching the whole time beside the director at the field monitors, approached as well. While the actors admired the sunset and talked about the scene they had just shot, Jeong Ha-gyun was filming his final take. Park Kang-woo came scrambling off the ship, constantly glancing behind him, legs still shaking. At the assistant director's cue—
"Boom!"
—the AD gave the vocal signal for the spot where the CG explosion would be added, and Park Kang-woo and his subordinate collapsed in unison.
"Uuuugh."
Terror still on their faces, they scrambled up again and fled. Park Kang-woo had, out of nowhere, found himself in the middle of a firefight between Italian mafia, Interpol, and a crew of large men he had known only as Chairman No's drivers—while trying to complete a drug deal with the mafia. He was certain that a bullet must have struck one of the anti-tank warheads under the drugs, that the bridge had exploded with a roar and killed everyone. Now there was nowhere left to turn—not the police, not the underworld, neither the light nor the dark. All that remained after dancing so merrily on the board Pierre Choi had designed was three hundred billion won in debt.
"Okay! Cut."