“This is a wonderful present, Mr. Park,” said Yeop Hu, studying the jeweled hilt. “I am quite honored to receive it.”
“It’s a small token of friendship.” Park nodded to the president.
“We’ve never been very good friends,” admitted South Korea’s president. He smiled at his staff members.
“This is true,” said Park, “but there is the future, and perhaps we will find our way then.”
“Certainly.”
The president placed the knife back in its scabbard and returned it to the wooden box Park had presented it in.
“I have something else for you,” the billionaire told the politician. “Given the present crisis, it may be of use.”
“It’s just another bluff by the dictator to show that he is alive,” said Yeop. “In a few days, it will blow over.”
“Perhaps.” Park reached inside his jacket and took out two large envelopes. “A friend asked me to deliver these personally. I do not know what they contain.”
“A friend?”
“An important man in the North. General Namgung.”
At the mention of the North Korean general, the president reached for one of the ceremonial letter openers on his desk. This disappointed Park; he had hoped the president would use the knife.
One of the envelopes contained detailed orders similar to those that had been carried by the “defector” who’d been shot at the DMZ a few days before. The second was a brief, handwritten letter. The letter stated that the author would do whatever he could to preserve peace between the people of Korea.
“It’s not signed,” said the president, holding it up for Park to see.
“As I said, I haven’t looked at the letters. They were not addressed to me.” Park nodded again. “But perhaps the general thought it unwise to put his signature to anything.”
The president handed both documents to his chief of staff, directing that they be sent to the National Security Council immediately.
“You know Namgung well?”
“Our families were in business together many years in the past,” said Park. “Before the barbarians raped our people in the world war.”
The president’s mood had deepened considerably. “Let us have lunch,” he said. “We can discuss this further.”
Park bowed. As they left the room, he shot a glance back toward the ancient knife he had brought as a present. How long would it take the president, he wondered, to learn that the man for whom it had been made, a thirteenth-century traitor to one of the great lords of Korea, had used it to commit suicide after his crime was discovered?