Chapter 203
Chapter 203
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 203
Chapter Title: In Israel (4)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Yesterday's phone call had left Crown Prince Bin Salman's reaction to Israel far from favorable.
Even now, aboard the Ammunition Group's private jet, he couldn't hide his agitation.
"Hoo, headaches everywhere. I never expected even Bin Salman to be this uncooperative."
Inside the private jet en route to Washington D.C., I tossed back a glass of whiskey to calm my tangled thoughts and muttered to myself.
"Saudi Arabia, Israel, and now the U.S. on top. This is like solving a nasty higher-order equation."
The Israel situation, led by Mossad, already had two massive complications attached: the U.S. and Saudi Arabia.
Staring out the window at a cloud that looked just like a bump, I recalled my conversation with Crown Prince Bin Salman from yesterday.
'Those Jews have been acting like rabid dogs lately. Way more than usual.'
'Yes...?'
The moment I hinted that things were getting complicated, Crown Prince Bin Salman abruptly changed his tone.
Whatever pent-up grievances he had against Israel came flooding out over the phone like water bursting through a breached dam.
'They don't dare confront Saudi Arabia, the heart of Islam, head-on, so they're supporting the rebels right in our faces!'
'Uh... Your Highness, please calm down first.'
With their usefulness waning, Israel had been abandoned by the U.S. and cornered like a rat.
The radicals, led by Mossad, had chosen to check the surrounding Middle Eastern countries as much as possible—including aid to Saudi rebels.
In their haste, Israel had raised a sharp thorn on our backs. It was only natural that Saudi Arabia would fly into a rage after pricking its toe on it.
'I can't calm down. My head's already pounding from that shale oil mess, and now these heathens are stirring up trouble. How could I not be on edge?'
And sometimes, you break your nose even when falling on your back.
That sharp thorn from a distant foreign land had pierced through my shoe sole and reached my toe.
'Your Highness. In that case, what about Ammunition Group's plan to acquire the Israeli tech firm...?'
'What use is asking? We can't shove the kingdom's gold bars into the mouths of those heathens with impure intentions!'
Bin Salman, an inexhaustible spring.
But the moment you shut off that golden faucet, no amount of water helps if you can't draw it out.
As soon as the Motors Eyes acquisition came up, Crown Prince Bin Salman rejected it outright, without even hearing details.
'I hope you don't think I'm being unreasonable. Our contract explicitly includes a clause on this.'
He even brought up the contractual clause that had been mere window dressing but was now taking real shape.
-In cases where investments by Ammunition Group, entrusted with fund management, contravene Saudi Arabia's diplomatic or security interests, they may be terminated unilaterally at any time.
That boilerplate phrase I'd vaguely anticipated was suddenly closing in like a noose around my neck. One wrong move, and it might choke me.
The call with Crown Prince Bin Salman had been particularly grueling. As I ruminated on yesterday's memory, I let out a sigh and grumbled.
"Hoo, it's thoroughly tangled. Every country is a minefield."
"You're tellin' me. This feels historic-level messed up."
Kim Won-cheol, who'd gone to the bathroom claiming an upset stomach, had snuck up beside me and was opening a new bottle of whiskey.
Normally, I'd avoid heavy drinking on a plane, but this was an exception.
The scary Mossad guys. The raging Crown Prince Bin Salman. And Ammunition Group caught in between like a shrimp—perfect drinking bait.
As I clinked glasses with Mr. Kim Won-cheol, I tossed out a question with a sliver of hope.
"What if we push the Motors Eyes investment on our own, without them? Is that impossible?"
"Like I said before... We've spread ourselves so thin."
Mr. Kim Won-cheol looked troubled. Soon, he started listing off the major ventures I'd spearheaded.
"The 90-trillion-won long-term defense deal with Saudi. Acquisitions of Cheolhwa Semiconductors and SA Precision Instruments. U.S. J-Coco tech partnership, Japan nuclear safety management..."
"It's a lot... Yeah."
"Base capital's in the trillions per deal. Even if the president's backing us big-time, policy bank loans aren't unlimited."
Each project was so massive that scraping together more funds was becoming impossible.
On top of that, excessive debt ratios were a growing concern.
"Well, it's about time to watch fiscal health too. That's why we're on another plane right now."
The jet was descending slightly—we were almost there.
Washington D.C.'s low-rise buildings and neatly planned urban landscape came into view.
The U.S.—the trickiest player surrounding the chaos-filled Middle East.
"A knotted mess. Hearing from the one who tied it might reveal the loose end."
Fortunately, the U.S. player in question was someone I knew well.
Well enough that walking into his office for a friendly handshake wouldn't feel awkward.
"Long time no see, Secretary. You were Secretary back then too, but now you're even more impressive."
"Likewise. Chairman Han Seo-jun."
Was it about a year ago?
During the J-Coco deal, we'd proven mutually beneficial.
On the desk of the man seated before me sat a nameplate engraved in black ebony.
-U.S. Secretary of State. Yang Wenli.
It was mealtime, apparently. Secretary Yang Wenli was eating a steak with blood dripping steadily.
This East Asian American man, looking utterly cold, swallowed a chunk of barely chewed meat and cut straight to the chase.
"You coming to me means you've got a deal that's plenty profitable for both sides, right? No time-wasters."
His words could be seen as rude, but they were utterly concise, without a speck of fluff.
Twirling his fork, he was urging me to get to the point.
Not quite my style, of course.
"You liked your steak rare back then, and still do, I see."
"Yeah. Lets you taste it most alive."
On the white porcelain plate, red blood pooled thickly. As he wiped his mouth with a napkin, I continued.
"The steak I'm offering this time is well-done. Might take longer and be tough... but leaves a deep meaty aftertaste."
* * * *
"Nice phrasing. Guard dog protecting the Middle East."
Secretary Yang Wenli had heard everything about Israel, Mossad's interference, and the Motors Eyes acquisition.
He seemed to find my rundown of the Middle East situation plausible—specifically, the "guard dog for Israel" line.
"And that dumb guard dog's just scarfing food without earning its keep. Spot on."
"It's not entirely useless, though? Deterring Islamist extremist terrorists..."
"Ha! Deterring? If it weren't egging them on, maybe."
His tough recent U.S. foreign policy surely stemmed partly from this man's style.
As Islamist terrorists came up, he slammed his fork onto the tableware.
"I'm sick of those fanatic terrorists too! We put up with them for their oil before. But the equation's changed now."
"Shale oil... right?"
"As expected of Chairman Han Seo-jun—sharp as ever. So, you've said your piece?"
Finishing his meal, Secretary Yang Wenli leaned back deeply in his chair and wagged a finger.
"Perfect time for a clean cut. No more need for oil-peddling fanatics or the Jewish guard dog we raised to bark at them."
"Hmm..."
More resolute and blunt than I'd anticipated.
But he wasn't giving me time to be rattled. His next words turned to warning.
"Guess no well-done steak for me. Even great chefs' dishes don't always suit tastes, so I'll let it slide with a smile this time."
Followed by an eviction notice.
"Hope the next steak you bring drips bright red blood."
* * * *
"Ugh, talk about deflating. Nothing like an Ammunition burger. Beef juices dripping—coats the stomach just right."
Now, kicked out of Yang Wenli's office, Mr. Kim Won-cheol and I had ducked into a nearby burger joint.
Trying to lighten the downer mood, he chomped a big bite with exaggerated gusto.
"Meat's gotta be charred like this. Rare nonsense—what's that? Unless you're eating tartare. Secretary badge or not, tastes are tastes."
"Yang Wenli's got character, that's for sure."
Secretary Yang Wenli.
Definitely not easy. Barely any sentimentality—just pure interests.
"East Asian on the outside... but thinks like the ultimate American elite white guy. Purely calculating."
"He was like that during J-Coco too. Zero warmth like with others. That's the problem."
Presidents or Japanese PMs were better—boss vibes with room in negotiations, seeing the forest.
Unlike Yang Wenli, fixated on trees for immediate results.
"Bottom line, we've gotta make the U.S., Israel, and Saudi all buddy-buddy... Nobel Peace Prize territory."
Sucking the last of his cola through the straw with a weird fizz, Mr. Kim Won-cheol muttered.
Nobel Peace Prize. Ironic phrasing. Coordinating those three was one thing, but a defense contractor chairman winning it...
Hold on.
"A way to make those three countries get along. Maybe..."
In that instant, an idea flashed in my mind.
Pre-regression knowledge pieces clicked unexpectedly, forming a pretty solid plan before my eyes.
Maybe even Nobel Peace Prize-worthy—utterly unfitting for me.
"There might be a way."
"Huh?"
"Let's snag a Nobel Peace Prize. Old man Nobel was a weapons dealer living off war, just like me."