Kim hated him.
While his own mother—kind and well bred—had been his father’s lawful wife, his half brother sprang from a long-standing affair with a national opera star. Both his father and grandfather had kept many mistresses. The practice seemed perfectly acceptable, except that his mother hated infidelity and became clinically depressed at her husband’s callousness. She eventually fled the country and settled in Moscow, dying a few years back. He’d been there with her at the end, holding her hand, listening to her laments of how life had treated her so cruelly.
Which it had.
He could say the same.
He’d been educated at private international schools in Switzerland and Moscow, first earning the respected title of Small General, then Great Successor. From living overseas he acquired a taste for Western luxury, particularly designer clothes and expensive cars, again not unlike his father. Eventually he’d returned home and worked in the Department of Agitation and Propaganda, then was assigned to head the nation’s Computer Center, where North Korea waged a covert cyber-war on the world. Next he would have garnered high military appointments, moving closer and closer to the center of power. But the incident in Japan cost him everything. Now, at fifty-eight years old, he was all but nonexistent. What had been the harm? He’d just wanted to take two children to Disneyland.
“We cannot rule without the army,” his father said. “It is the foundation of the Kim family’s hold on national power. My father acquired their loyalty and I have maintained that. But after your antics, they have no confidence in you.”
He felt an illogical mixture of shame at his error and pride in his stubbornness, so he truly wanted to know, “For what reason?”
“You are irresponsible. You always have been. Life to you is what you read in those adventure novels. What you write about in those wild stories of yours. The plays and shows you watch, they are all nonsense. None of it is real, except in your mind.”
He hadn’t realized his father knew of his private passions.
“You do not possess what is required to lead this nation. You are an incessant dreamer, and there is no place for those here.”
To him generals were like schools of fish, each floating in tune with the other, none ever wanting to risk swimming alone. What one did, all did. They were useless, except in times of war. But war was the last thing on his mind.
Lost confidence in him?
That was about to change.
His father had been a mercilessly practical man, depressing in appearance. He’d cut his hair in a short military style and, in public, wore drab Mao suits that looked ridiculous. His half brother emulated that style, another inept fool, thirty-nine years old, homeschooled by his whore mother and shielded from the world. But that had proven an unexpected advantage. While Kim had been sent abroad for an education, his father’s two other sons, both illegitimate, had been able to grow closer to him. The adoration that had once been his alone became spread among his siblings. And when he’d embarrassed his country on the world stage, those pretenders became players.
He glossed his throat with more of the whiskey.
One bright side, though, had emerged from tonight. No $20 million U.S. would be making its way to Pyongyang for any birthday. His half brother had ruled long enough to have amassed his share of enemies. Thank goodness loyalties ran shallow in North Korea. Some of his half brother’s enemies had become his friends and quietly reported the details of this year’s tribute. He’d intended on stealing the money and depriving his half brother of the funds, hiring a criminal group from Macao to handle the task. Now that money was gone. But for him, its destruction served the same purpose. Thankfully, personal finances were not an issue. He had more than enough monetary resources. On that score his father had not failed him.
He refilled his glass with more whiskey.
He’d actually never met his half brother. Custom required that a leader’s male children be raised independently of one another, the oldest son always favored. He’d heard that his half brother openly thought of his older sibling as an overweight, careless playboy, incapable of any serious responsibility, no danger to him at all. But underestimating him would be his half brother’s undoing. He’d gone to great lengths to create that carefree public image. He’d found that being considered an unimportant, embarrassing disgrace—a drunkard—brought with it freedom of movement. It also helped that he lived in Macao, out of the limelight, and never openly interfered in North Korean politics. From time to time the press would seek him out, but his comments were always silly and nonsensical. He was, for all intents and purposes, dead.
He smiled.
What a glorious resurrection he was about to experience.
The look on his half brother’s face would be worth the indignities he’d been forced to endure.
And all thanks to Anan Wayne Howell’s The Patriot Threat.
Law and finance had always interested him. He liked how they were so intricately related, especially within the United States. Americans prided themselves on a strict adherence to law. Stare decisis, they called it. To stand by that which is decided. Most legal systems around the world rejected the concept, and with good reason since it came with a flaw. What if adherence to “that decided” meant disaster? Did you follow the law then? Not in North Korea. But the Americans? They would be a different story.
He emptied his glass with one long swallow.