Chapter 206
Chapter 206
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 206
Chapter Title: Roman Holiday (3)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
No sooner had we returned from the Vatican to Korea—no, to be precise, before we had even entered Korean airspace—than the news from around the world reached us.
Inside the private jet connected via satellite communications, the TV screen showed the nine o'clock news calmly reporting on the peaceful state of the world, as always.
-Next up, global news. A suicide bombing using large tanker trucks has occurred in the Saudi-Yemen border area in southern Saudi Arabia.
-Over 30 tanker trucks loaded with oil and explosives charged toward a Saudi border guard outpost. We'll connect to reporter Kim Min-ji.
“Damn it, seriously.”
As if my mutter had turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy, the screen switched right away.
The scene shifted from the calm broadcast studio to a desert city shrouded in billowing clouds of dust, and suddenly, an explosion boomed out of nowhere.
A red fireball flashed, followed by thick, horrific black smoke filling the once-clear blue sky.
-The suicide bombing that occurred a few hours ago. Due to this horrific incident, the Saudi government has gone on high alert.
A large-scale attack on the Saudi border guards, who were practically a paramilitary force.
It was obvious at a glance—this wasn't the work of ordinary terrorists but something reeking of a professional special forces unit. Saudi Arabia wasn't about to sit idly by.
Sure enough, the TV screen showed Crown Prince Bin Salman's face flushed red with rage.
-We will never forgive this act that defies heaven and earth! You accursed wretches!
Truly, the Middle Eastern peace process was heading straight off a cliff. I, with a few more white hairs sprouting in the meantime, crumpled a cola can in one hand as I took in reporter Kim Min-ji's closing remarks on screen.
-Saudi Arabia vows a strong crackdown on the rebels. Meanwhile, suspicions are growing that Israel's intelligence agency is behind the rebels, dragging the Middle East deeper into turmoil...
Beep! The screen went dark with a mechanical tone.
The culprit fiddling with the remote was none other than Uncle Kim Won-cheol.
“Ah, why'd you turn it off? She's one of my favorite reporters personally.”
“You always have such eclectic tastes. Staring at her like she's some idol group member. Anyway.”
This time, Uncle Kim Won-cheol wore a serious expression. It wasn't just playful mischief; he clearly wanted a real conversation.
He even turned the table toward me, facing me directly.
“About the Middle East situation—it feels a bit too late, doesn't it?”
“The situation's pretty bad. Once it's tangled, it's hard to unravel, and now they're just tying more knots haphazardly, especially from the Israeli side.”
Israel, striking so blatantly with that massive incident.
It had to be deliberate. If they wanted to mess with us cornered rats even a little, this was a warning of the ugly fate awaiting them.
Truth be told, it all stemmed from changes in U.S. Middle East policy. More precisely... from the newly appointed Secretary of State, Yang Wenli.
Uncle Kim Won-cheol clearly agreed, jumping straight to the topic of that Mr. Yang.
“Secretary Yang Wenli. Word from U.S. intel circles is he's notorious for something in diplomatic society.”
“Notorious for lacking what? The guy's coming out swinging as a hardliner just to make his presence felt.”
“Ah, not presence— he's just an asshole with no manners.”
No manners... yeah, that fit.
This guy was meticulous with cost-benefit analyses, perfect for Commerce Secretary, but he'd somehow ended up as State Secretary, making life hell for everyone.
“Remember that Israeli envoy? That Mossad guy. Rumor has it Yang gave him a real dressing-down. Right in front of his steak, no less.”
If steak came up, it meant the envoy had received the worst possible treatment as a diplomatic guest.
A raw steak dripping blood on a pristine white porcelain plate.
He probably didn't even look the guy in the face—just delivered his message and sent him packing. That's how he was.
“After dealing with him once, I got a clear read on Secretary Yang's style. You have to spoon-feed him something. He won't touch it otherwise.”
“Exactly. Might as well slap some well-grilled Spam and salted kimchi on a spoon and airplane it into his mouth. Whoosh.”
And it wasn't just airplanes. You'd need a bib to keep him from spilling while hand-feeding the guy.
But controlling a superpower's Secretary of State, whose political star was skyrocketing? I didn't have that power yet.
So the moves I could make were complex, tedious, and roundabout by nature.
On the portable whiteboard, I drew a bold red X next to the "U.S.A." letters.
“So... with the cards I have now, moving the U.S.—or specifically Secretary Yang Wenli—is off the table.”
“Yep. Can't waste the intel we gathered dodging those scary NIS spooks. Not for nothing.”
“Exactly. Alright, then... our remaining options are down to two.”
On the small whiteboard, the symbols of two countries below the U.S.A.
The Star of David, formed by two overlapping triangles. And a slender, gracefully curving crescent moon.
“Israel and Saudi Arabia.”
“Heh heh, we gotta start this right. Whichever one's shitting bricks harder is the key.”
Iran, the common enemy holding North Korea's nuclear materials.
With that bargaining chip... Saudi Arabia and Israel, who had just been at each other's throats, would have no choice but to join hands, like it or not.
The issue was timing.
“For now, I'll have to mull it over.”
Disarming a bomb this big meant cutting the wires one by one, in the right order at the right time.
Touch the detonator wrong, and it'd blow beyond what I could handle.
And surprisingly, that tricky disarming sequence was decided more simply than expected.
Right after landing in Korea, at my next stop: the National Intelligence Service.
* * * *
Seoul, Gangnam-gu. The NIS headquarters nestled at the foot of Daemosan Mountain.
Even with the President's permission from the Vatican, the NIS wasn't as cooperative as I'd hoped.
The white-haired Director of the NIS, his hair slicked back like fresh snow, put it to me bluntly.
“Even with a VIP order, our displeasure is something Chairman Han surely understands.”
A 35-year veteran of the NIS.
The President wasn't even in lame duck mode yet, but he openly voiced his dissatisfaction without hesitation.
“I fully understand. Not just you, Director, but every agent under you.”
“Hmm... words alone don't convince me.”
Then, the Director led me to a corner of the lobby.
Clasping his hands in front, he let out a shallow sigh and posed a question.
“Do you see them? The stars engraved on that black stone slab over there.”
The so-called [Nameless Stars].
Those whose identities were state secrets, not even allowed to leave their names after dying in the line of duty.
“Our family members who passed away painfully in some foreign land, without even a last word.”
The Director's eyes reddened.
Likely, some of his colleagues, seniors, or juniors had become one of those stars.
Swallowing tears he couldn't shed, he began explaining his resentment.
“The blood price of those who became stars—wasn't paid just to line the pockets of some private corporation, was it?”
This was one of the scenarios I'd feared the Director might raise.
It was a relief it stopped at the NIS level, without igniting bigger fires.
Suspicions that Ammunition Group was just cozying up to power for personal gain. So, I had to dispel those legitimate doubts personally.
Not with lip service, but with persuasion anyone could buy into.
“I completely understand your concerns.”
I met the Director's eyes directly. His stern, rugged face might intimidate some, but I didn't avert my gaze.
If anything, I took a step closer to him.
“That's why... I promise you this much, unequivocally.”
“……?”
I pulled a pair of white gloves from my jacket pocket.
Gently caressing the black stone slab with gloved hands, I said,
“Eighteen nameless stars. And... the intel on the North Korea-Iran nuclear materials deal you handed me, Director.”
The eighteen stars, engraved like sunken cheeks.
As I touched each one, my hand finally reached the smooth, unetched black surface beside them.
With a wish that no more would ever be carved.
“Ammunition Group will be the catalyst. We'll do everything to delay the day the nineteenth nameless star is added.”
“Catalyst... What makes you so confident about what you're planning?”
Did my sincerity get through?
Before buying it, at least he'd hear me out—the Director's attitude shifted.
With a slightly sad smile, I replied,
“Someone else thinks like you do, Director. From a country called Israel.”
Similar thoughts, similar... feelings.
He must feel the same as the Director here. A lifer in intelligence work.
Thinking of the Israeli envoy who mirrored the Director like a reflection, I made an earnest plea to the white-haired man before me.
“The benefits we gain through them won't just be monopolized by Ammunition Group. Those working in the shadows will have plenty to be proud of too.”
* * * *
“I'm not sure if this is... the right choice, Envoy.”
“It is the right thing. No—it must be, Prime Minister.”
In a private meeting with Israeli Prime Minister Isaiah, the Special Envoy with Full Powers sat across from him.
In a room hazy with cigar smoke, Prime Minister Isaiah sighed, voicing his unease.
“Hoo... I know if America abandons us, Israel will be isolated. But look at this.”
Images of the devastated Saudi border guard outpost in the south.
And satellite photos of Saudi troops mobilizing southward.
“If Saudi rallies the entire Arab world against Israel... what the hell can we even do?”
“It’s only a matter of time anyway. Those infidels will press a crescent-shaped blade to Jerusalem here.”
The Special Envoy shook his head.
He continued with a resolute expression.
“Before that blade reaches our throats, we must show them claws as sharp as possible. To protect the lives of all Israeli citizens and this land reclaimed after 3,000 years.”
“Envoy...”
Prime Minister Isaiah, with his gentle demeanor.
He longed for peace, yet the international situation dragged him into deepening quagmires.
What saved him from this uncontrollable hell was a single piece of news from the Envoy's secretary.
“Um... Mr. Special Envoy?”
“What is it?”
“An urgent contact from an unexpected source. Ammunition Group's Chairman Han Seo-jun—the one you met once before.”
The Envoy paused, rummaging through memories, then his eyes widened as if struck.
Clicking his tongue, he waved dismissively.
“Tsk tsk, looks like that merchant still hasn't given up. Tell him the [Motors Eyes] deal is done.”
“Ah, it's not about that. It's a bigger picture, so to speak...”
The secretary's follow-up words rounded the Envoy's eyes.
Prime Minister Isaiah and the Special Envoy locked eyes simultaneously, without a word.
“He claims to have a solution to Israel's survival, like a candle in the wind.”
In the Middle Eastern quagmire where foes gripped each other tight, a massive boulder had just dropped in to fill the swamp.