Point of Contact

Changing policy course was vital but difficult. Undermining his cousin’s failed initiative potentially delegitimized his own position. Choi Ha-guk was careful to preserve the hagiographies of his violent predecessors — a cousin, his father, his uncle, and his grandfather. North Korea was the inheritance of the Choi family, and he would do nothing to risk that inheritance for himself or his own children, who stood in the line of succession now that his uncle and cousin were dead.

But Choi Ha-guk also had a vision. He knew he was destined to play a decisive role on the world stage and finally elevate North Korea to its rightful place among the nations. Kant and Hegel were essentially right. All of History was marching toward an Idea. What neither philosopher realized was that he, Choi Ha-guk, was that Idea — at least in Asia.

But all of that was at risk now. His next decision would determine the fate of the country, he was certain.

Sitting at the head of the table, Chairman Choi Ha-guk surveyed the row of grim military officers on his left, each stern face directed toward him, their spines stiff, hands neatly folded in their laps. Their hair was cropped uniformly short in the regulation military style and their broad caps stood in a perfect row in front of them down the table — with the exception of the missing officer and his empty chair. A man who had recently disappointed the chairman.

Each military uniform was resplendent with hard-won badges, medals, and ribbons from the shoulder tabs to the hems of the coats — enough “fruit salad” for a dozen wars and a hundred battles. But not one of them had served in the great Fatherland Liberation War or in sustained combat of any kind.

But the chairman knew these were hard men, highly trained and motivated — one of the great legacies bestowed upon him by his uncle and grandfather. Each of these admirals and generals had been vetted and monitored for their ideological fervor and political reliability, both of which were reinforced by the privileges and perks of their positions, and the extensive kinship networks that linked them by blood to the dominant Choi family.

But even more important, these flag officers were part of North Korea’s great warrior class, the sons and grandsons of DPRK troops who fought and sacrificed valiantly, fanatically, and skillfully against the South Korean bandits and later against more heavily armed American and UN invaders. Family honor and patriotic pride drove these men seated at the table like Harpies’ whips. They were the Spartans of Asia.

On Choi’s right sat his equally focused civilian advisers, each wearing identical Mao-styled black jackets buttoned to the top of their throats and short-cropped hair like the military men. It would be easy for outsiders to dismiss the civilians as bureaucratic sycophants, but they were each as talented, driven, and proven in state security matters as their military counterparts were. Two of the seven chairs on the civilian side were empty. Failure came at a high price.

What each man in the room knew was that, unlike his predecessors, the chairman eschewed fawning subservience. Instead, he demanded flawless performance from his subordinates, a far more difficult and dangerous proposition than effusive boot-licking.

In the back left corner of the room was a secretary who was seated at a small desk, recording the proceedings on a shorthand machine. In the back right corner of the room opposite the secretary sat a young man in a single chair. His face and body screamed military, but he wore civilian clothes. The anonymous man was unknown to everyone but the chairman. He sat in a silent, disquieting strength.

Choi Ha-guk turned toward one of his key spymasters, the new head of the RGB — Reconnaissance General Bureau. “When was this confirmed?”

“My South Korean informant confirmed it yesterday.”

“And he is reliable?”

The RGB minister resented the question. The clandestine bureau had spent decades successfully cultivating a vast network of highly placed and reliable South Korean agents. “Perfectly reliable, sir. She is a secretary in the president’s travel office.”

“How can we be certain she isn’t a double agent?”

“She is a loyal daughter of our glorious revolution, working tirelessly for our imminent reunification with the bandit South. But it is also true that her great-uncle is a pensioner in one of our senior public housing units, where he is well cared for by our benevolent government. She has expressed her undying gratitude for his continued well-being.”

The chairman nodded. “Very good.”

The RGB minister continued. “She forwarded this by courier.” The minister passed the single-page document to the man on his left, who in turn passed it along, one after another, until it was carefully placed in front of Choi Ha-guk. He left it on the table in front of him, unread.