Pyongyang, North Korea
Pak paused outside the doors of Kim Jong-un’s office. He drew a deep, calming breath. Face-to-face meetings with the Supreme Leader were always touch-and-go affairs, completely at the whim of the great man. What sort of mood would he be in today?
The heavy gold-inlaid double doors swung open and Pak was announced. Smiling, he strode into the room, trying to exude more confidence than he felt.
Kim Jong-un’s office was styled in lots of gold, mirrors, the obligatory enormous self-portrait, and a desk piled with stacks of important-looking—and never read—papers.
The Supreme Leader rose and waited for Pak to approach. Pak halted a few feet away and bowed formally.
“You are back from Russia, yes?” the great man said, striding around the massive desk. He seated himself in a gaudy golden chair with golden pillows, waving Pak to a similar seat opposite. This was the Supreme Leader’s informal “talking circle”—a welcome sign that his mood was positive today.
“I’ve just returned, Excellency, my third trip,” Pak said. “The Russians wish you well in the new year.”
The other man’s substantial jowls shook as he laughed. “I doubt that, Pak. Tell me: Did you get paid?”
Pak answered in a cautious tone. It was unlike the Supreme Leader to ask about money so soon in the conversation. For one moment of blinding terror, he wondered if his boss knew how much Pak was skimming off the transaction. It was more than usual, since he had to account for Rafiq’s cut as well, but he had taken extra precautions.
“Yes, Excellency, the Russians paid promptly. Thirty million US dollars.” He coughed into his fist. “I’ve already routed it through the normal process. The treasury will have access to the funds in another twenty-four hours.”
Kim pouted.
“Is there a problem, Excellency?”
“We should have charged them more. We’re taking all the risk so they can make billions in profits.”
Pak smiled, back on firm ground. “This is just the beginning. Once we’ve established ourselves with the Bratva, we can charge more.”
Kim plucked a grape from the lavish golden bowl on the coffee table between them and popped it into his mouth. “Try a red one. They’re from California.”
Pak detached a grape. The flesh of the fruit was firm between his fingers and glistened with moisture. He knew that each individual grape had been inspected for flaws and hand-washed before it ended up on the Supreme Leader’s plate. He placed it on his tongue and bit down. Sweetness exploded in his mouth.
“It’s magnificent,” he said.
Kim chuckled. “Yes, they are. Tell me about Jung Chul, my secret weapon.”
That was how the Supreme Leader referred to Rafiq—his secret weapon. Indeed, he was not far off the mark. In the years since Pak had brought Rafiq to the DPRK, the man had performed some valuable services for the regime. The assassination of an unfriendly European bureaucrat, blackmailing of a nuclear inspector, no fewer than four arms deals with various Middle East factions, hacking the US power grid, and Pak’s personal favorite: the elimination of his half brother, Kim Jong-nam.
It turned out hacking the US power grid had been a step too far. It had taken all of Pak’s influence to convince the Supreme Leader not to take credit for the attack. While Kim was delighted with his cyber prowess and wanted to show off his abilities to the world, Pak assured him the Americans would consider the hack an act of war—a prophecy that was borne out by their response when Rafiq convinced ISIS to claim responsibility.
“Roshed continues to carry on his good work for your regime, Excellency. His methods are unorthodox and bold, but he gets results. He is almost ready to begin this endeavor supporting the Russians. Do we have your permission to begin?”
Kim clapped his hands together. “Well done. I want to move forward immediately. I want you to give the order today.”
Pak cleared his throat.
Kim narrowed his eyes. “What is it, Pak?”
“Rafiq has taken some time off.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He was in Australia two days ago and now he’s disappeared.”
Kim’s brow wrinkled, and a shadow of fear flickered across his features. “Is he compromised? Have the Americans found out about our plan?”
He leaped to his feet, pacing the room. For all the regime’s media bluster about attacking America, the Supreme Leader feared the Americans more than any other country, including the Chinese. The omnipresent threat of US forces only a few miles beyond the DMZ was a constant reminder of his tenuous grasp on power.
Pak rose immediately, following his leader. “No, Excellency, I don’t believe so. I spoke to Rafiq before he disappeared. He said he had to take care of a family matter.”
Kim stopped pacing. “What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure, sir. His wife is dead, that’s all I know.”
“And you’re sure he’ll be back?” The Supreme Leader’s dark eyes pinned Pak in place.
Pak swallowed. “Absolutely, Excellency. I’d stake my life on it.”