Fic: Sins of the Past

[rodo]

Title: Sins of the Past
Fandom: Tempest
Author: rodo
Length: 13,583 words
Rating: 12+
Genre: action
Pairing: Paik San-ho/Seo Mun-ju
Disclaimer: everything obviously belongs to Disney
Beta: Acorn_Squash
A/N: written for ardentaislinn for 2025’s yuletide

Summary: Seo Mun-ju achieves what she dreamed of as a young girl: she becomes the President of the Republic of Korea. But there's more than one thorny issue from the past left unresolved – not least of all the fate of Paik San-ho.


Sins of the Past



The office felt like an old friend. How many times had Seo Mun-ju stood there, in front of the desk, and admired the golden phoenixes and the rose of Sharon on the wall? Too many to count. She’d been nervous the first time, she remembered. She’d been a cocky young woman when first she’d been appointed as a diplomat working under future president Chae by the then-president. Cocky enough that she hadn’t let it show, but she had been nervous standing in front of the man who was placing his trust in her, however unwarranted that trust had seemed to his advisors. Mun-ju distinctly remembered wiping the sweat off her palms before anybody noticed. She hadn’t been nervous on any of her visits after. In fact, it had become routine at some point, and the phoenixes had lost their charm.

Until now. Here she stood again, admiring the empty office with its newly empty desk, and she was nervous like a green diplomat fresh out of university. Carefully she let her fingertips run over the smooth, dark wood for a moment and indulged in her musings. She had fought for this. She wanted this – had wanted this for a very long time. Still, there was a hidden part of her that wondered whether or not she’d made the right decision, even as all those around her assured her that there was no one better suited for this job. President of the Republic of Korea. There had once been a girl who had dreamed of this day. And a woman who had given up on it.

“Admiring your new office?”

Mun-ju turned to see Chae Kyung-sin standing behind her, a discreet bodyguard lurking at the door, whispering into his microphone. The now-former president was smiling, as if she was truly happy. When Mun-ju didn’t answer, she stepped up to stand beside her to get a good look at the president’s desk as well.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve taken a good look at this room in the last five years. Strange, how the extraordinary becomes ordinary, the more time you spend in its presence.”

Mun-ju had to smile when she heard that. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Hah!” President Chae said, her smile deepening into dimples. After a small pause, she let her fingers run over the desk as well. “I thought I would be sad to see this place go,” she told Mun-ju, “but strangely, I’m not. I know I’m leaving it in good hands – the best ones.”

“Many would disagree.” Hwang Man-gi, for one, the runner-up in the presidential election who had thrown her out of a party she hadn’t felt particularly attached to in the first place. Winning against him had made her victory all the sweeter.

“Not nearly as many as voted for you or you wouldn’t be here,” President Chae reminded her. “And never forget: if it wasn’t for you, this country would have been torn apart months ago. No, I have faith in you. And even if you doubt yourself sometimes, I know that when it counts, you will have faith in yourself and your decisions. You are stronger than most – you never strayed from the righteous path, even when it would have been expedient.”

Mun-ju looked at her face for a moment. They’d been through so much together, side by side. Late nights, long, tedious negotiations over the meaning of a comma, and the most serious threat to the country’s security since the end of the Korean War.

“You got there in the end,” Mun-ju told her. “That’s what counts.”

President – or rather, Former President – Chae fished a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of her blazer and took one out. She let it twirl around her fingers as if she couldn’t wait to smoke. It was a habit of hers; something to do with her fingers when she finally relaxed. Mun-ju had watched her do this countless times.

“Now I’m feeling like an elementary school child that gets a participation trophy,” she mumbled.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“You don’t be either,” Former President Chae reminded her. “Sometimes, you’re going to wish you hadn’t gotten elected. And sometimes, you’re going to have to make a tough choice on too little information and make the wrong one. But who am I telling this? You know how this game is played far better than I did when I first stood here.”

“Still, it’s good to be reminded sometimes,” Mun-ju replied with a dry smile. For a moment, they stood there and looked at each other. Mun-ju doubted that this would be the last time they saw each other, but it might be the last time they stood together in this office.

“Good luck, President Seo,” Chae Kyung-sin told her, holding out her hand.

“And good luck to you as well, President Chae.” Mun-ju took the offered hand and shook it. Somewhere, the flash of a camera captured this moment for eternity, and later, that picture would make the rounds on the internet and newspapers, but none of that mattered. Right then, they were just two women, just shy of being friends, appreciating each other’s company, as well as an ending and a beginning rolled into one.



*



Seo Mun-ju resisted the urge to massage her forehead. At the base of her neck, a tension headache was beginning to form, and she knew she’d be sore in the morning. Age waited for no woman, and she was no exception, even if she did her best to keep in shape. Of course, some things had the tendency to aggravate these ailments. Hwang Man-gi, for one. If he were five decades younger, one might describe the face he was currently making as a pout. As he was very much no longer young enough to be endearing, he just looked like a constipated, middle-aged man. Mun-ju exchanged a glance with Minister Uhm, who seemed just as exasperated as Mun-ju felt.

“Look, Representative Hwang. It is not the policies themselves that are under discussion here. The gender pay gap disclosure already passed under President Chae—”

“And I opposed it then too,” he pointed out. “It puts an undue burden on companies to collect and collate data, which ends up costing money and man-hours, with very little to show for it. Prove to me that the policy does no harm and actually achieves its goal, and I’ll help you.”

Which was impossible, of course. Just ten minutes ago, he’d had the gall to argue that paying female employees more would hurt Korea’s ability to compete in a global market, so any economic downturn or reduction in exports would be considered a mark against the law in his book, never mind that there were more pertinent geopolitical considerations…

“Surely expanding the policies to cover companies of a hundred employees or more wouldn’t hurt that much – after all, a smaller workforce means the data collection would go over much faster,” Minister Uhm tried to argue.

“No. If you want to get this amendment passed, you’ll have to do it without me.” And with that, he made his curt goodbyes. Mun-ju finally gave in to temptation and massaged her neck. All of a sudden, Mi-ji appeared at her right side and handed her a steaming cup of tea, as if she’d sensed that it would be needed.

“Thank you,” Mun-ju told her.

“I really wish we could have convinced him,” Minister Uhm said. She looked disappointed, and Mun-ju had to smile at her. She was young – thirty-five – with two children. And very driven. Mun-ju had picked her for the position of Minister of Gender Equality and Family for a reason. It was the kind of ministry that needed someone willing to fight for their ideals more than most, and Minister Uhm was such a fighter. Others would never have tried to talk to the opposition, much less been disappointed by such a predictable result.

“That’s just how these things go sometimes,” Mun-ju told her. Not all negotiations could lead to success. “You’ve still got a chance with Representative Kim Myung-gil.”

Minister Uhm smiled at her, but it seemed as if she was doubting herself a little. “I’ll keep that in mind, Madam President.”

“Don’t give up yet,” Mun-ju told her. “I didn’t make you a minister only for you to give up before you’ve even tried.”

Minister Uhm nodded and bowed, then followed Representative Hwang out of the office. Mun-ju let her head fall back. Finally, she was done for the day. No more appointments were lurking in her calendar, and so far, no emergencies had reared their unexpected heads. Maybe this was one of the quiet evenings. She didn’t have that many in the Blue House.

“Don’t you think you were a bit harsh?” Mi-ji asked. “She’s not used to all this yet. It wasn’t like she was a lawyer or policy maker before.”

No, Minister Uhm had been something even more tenacious: the spokesperson of an NGO dedicated to gender equality. “I think she’s the type who thrives when faced with a bit of adversity, don’t you?” Mun-ju countered. “She won’t give up, trust me, and by next month, she’ll have the votes, even if it’s just a small margin. If only to prove that she can do it. She’s like that.”

“Like you, you mean,” Mi-ji teased.

Mun-ju finally took a sip of the tea. “Or like you.”

They both shared a smile. It was good, having her by her side after everything. They were a good team, and they’d only become better now that Mun-ju was President. It was as if Mi-ji had found a hitherto hidden source of energy. Or something to fight for.

“Madam President?”

It was Park Chang-hee, looking like he was running from something, with a folder under his arm. It seemed she wouldn’t get a quiet evening after all. Out of the corner of her eye, Mun-ju saw Mi-ji square her shoulders, ready to throw herself into the fray.

“What is it?” Mun-ju asked.

“A message from Ambassador Hwang. It’s… not urgent, precisely, but I think you should look at it right now. It seems President Chen wants to revive the quadripartite negotiations after last year’s… everything. He’s already sent out feelers to Pyongyang and Washington.”

“And we’re last…” Mun-ju sighed, taking the papers from him. Of course, it wasn’t as if they would say no, and Beijing knew that. Inviting the South Korean president to send a representative was a mere formality. As her eyes flew over the ambassador’s notes, she found that he’d only found out about it because one of his aides had happened to run into someone he knew who worked at the North Korean embassy. Washington seemed to be on the fence still, but Kim Han-sang seemed to be open to it. Since it was usually Pyongyang that made these things harder than they needed to be, she assumed that President Chen would get his wish. It wasn’t as if there was nothing to talk about either – back before her election, the negotiations between Washington, Kirus, and Pyongyang that had seemed so promising in the beginning had petered out. The submarine was still out there somewhere.

“Switzerland again?” Mi-ji asked.

“No,” Mun-ju replied when she reached the last page. “Ulaanbaatar.”



*



If she had to name the one thing she disliked about being president the most, Seo Mun-ju would say the lack of freedom. She was a woman who was used to going her own way, forging them where they didn’t exist, even. But as president, she was caught in a cage of security requirements. Wherever she was, there was a camera, and if not, there was at least one presidential bodyguard within screaming distance – currently that was Agent Kim, in the front seat beside the driver. Even on her beloved runs, she was tailed by two men to keep her safe. If only Jun-ik’s death and what came after hadn’t taught her the necessity of it all – then she could at least righteously grumble about it instead of feeling like a petulant child offended by a sensible bedtime. She should have made her peace with it by now, but something kept her from it.

But even if she did make peace with it one day, she would still miss her freedom, especially in moments like these: she was in a new country, in a new city, and painfully curious to take it all in. When she’d been ambassador at the UN, she’d been able to take a cab from the airport to the embassy, allowing for a good look at the busy streets of New York. The limousine that the Mongolian government had so graciously lent to her delegation did not allow for the same view of Ulaanbaatar. On the flight, Mun-ju had looked at pictures of gleaming glass facades, socialist concrete blocks, and modern apartment complexes painted a warm, pastel yellow, interrupted by older buildings that looked slightly out of place in a modern metropolis that was growing like a mushroom. The colors had been vibrant. Now, all she could see were muted shadows. The tinted, bullet-proof windows wouldn’t allow for more.

In an effort to keep the lack of a view from depressing her, Mun-ju turned towards Mi-ji. Her secretary was looking at the tablet in her hands, flipping through spreadsheets and emails with deft hands. She was frowning and in her element. Mun-ju was about to turn back towards the non-existent view and leave her to her task when Mi-ji suddenly seemed to notice the eyes on her.

“Oh, pardon,” she excused herself. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Not quite, except provide a distraction. “Are there any news?”

“Nothing big,” Mi-ji assured her. “Except there seems to be some shuffling around at the hotel. I don’t know why yet, but apparently we’re being delegated to the third floor rather than the second. Chang-hee has already been notified, and Security is adjusting their plans accordingly.”

“A floor up?” Mun-ju mused. “I hope that means a better view of the mountains.”

“Oh, to be sure. It’s not every day a president stays at your hotel. They no doubt want to impress you.”

Mun-ju smiled but said nothing. Of course, she was the only president who was attending the negotiations. Usually, these things were handled by a minister of foreign affairs or a career diplomat. China would be sending former UN ambassador Zhou, an elder statesman in semi-retirement. North Korea was expected to send Minister of Foreign Affairs Ri, and Washington had settled on a face that Mun-ju would be glad to see: Deputy Secretary of State Anderson Miller, who would be accompanying the Secretary of State, considering his expertise in the area. She should have sent someone to match this crowd, maybe the former president, but this was an issue dear to her heart, and an arena she was very familiar with. Making the second quadripartite negotiations her first trip abroad since her investiture and thus her presidential debut on the world state would be a bold statement, and one she hoped would set the tone for what was to come.

“We’re here,” Mi-ji announced, just as the car was slowing down. One more moment of blessed silence and a darkness that she suddenly appreciated, then one of the security agents opened the door while a storm of flashes went off. Mun-ju put on a smile and stepped out of the limousine and onto the stage, greeting the reporters with a nod of her head.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell the public before the summit starts?” a voice somewhere in the crowd asked in English.

“Only that I hope that negotiations will go well and that we’ll all be able to find common ground,” she answered, then Chang-hee arrived and mercifully cleared a way into the lobby of the aptly named Mountain View Resort, a gleaming heap of glass, fresh concrete, modern steel beams, and high ceilings. Usually, it was a popular location for conventions and conferences, a little out of the way of the hustle and bustle of the city, at the foot of the verdant slopes of Bogd Khan Mountain. Now, the eyes of the world would be on it, along with the eyes of approximately two hundred journalists.

Mun-ju walked inside with measured steps, ready to meet her destiny.



*



“Well, look what the cat dragged in!”

Mun-ju looked up from her dinner at the hotel restaurant, which she suspected was emptier than usual. The only people present were from the other delegations, including the security personnel that had long since given up on being inconspicuous.

Anderson Miller was smiling at her from a couple of meters away, closing in fast. The guards let him pass. He moved like the cat that had dragged her in, and smiled like it too. He looked good. Tan and well-rested. Very unlike the ragged man she’d met over video calls the year before.

“Anderson,” she greeted him, “you look well. Has Secretary Rivera arrived yet? I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

“Oh, since I’m not the Secretary of State, I’m no longer worth your time, Madam President?” he joked, then shook his head. “No, he’ll be arriving tomorrow. So we’ve got plenty of time to catch up. Unless you’ve got anything else planned for the evening?”

Mun-ju shook her head and gestured towards one of the empty chairs around the table. “Have a seat. Have you eaten yet?”

Anderson hadn’t, and it didn’t take long for one of the waiters to arrive to take his order. While they waited, they chatted about this and that – how Anderson’s husband was doing, how Mun-ju adjusted to her new job, and how the fallout from the Aseom Affair still affected both of their work.

“Eagleton managed to weasel his way out of any consequences, of course. I mean, a blind man can see that he’s guilty as hell, but he had the dubious fortune of being judged by a jury of his own peers that was willfully blind to the evidence, if you ask me. Still, he’s lost all credibility he ever had in Washington. Hopefully that’ll put an end to his influence on politics.”

“That’s something, at least,” Mun-ju told him. Eagleton wasn’t the only one who had managed to avoid getting punished for treason; the majority of Aseom Shipping’s executives had been acquitted, as well as a lot of the people who’d worked closely with her mother-in-law. It seemed people had just been blindly following orders while closing their eyes to the consequences. It frustrated Mun-ju to no end, but there was little even a president could do. Korea was governed by rules and laws, and one of those laws stated that people were presumed innocent unless convicted of a crime.

“Yeah, but that’s not the end of it. He’s gone off grid. The President is worried about it and I can’t blame him. Now it’s my job to figure out where he’s gone – or it will be, once I’m back. The CIA is looking for him, but so far, nothing. I doubt he’s up to anything good.”

“Maybe he’s gone fishing? It’s a popular thing for retired old men to do, is it not?” It was a joke, of course. Mun-ju knew that Eagleton was trouble. She just hoped he wouldn’t be her trouble. She had enough on her plate already.

“I wish,” Anderson mumbled, then his food arrived. He dug in, pausing between bites to tell her about how he’d been setting up the summit on his end. And about Ulaanbaatar. He’d arrived a couple of days earlier, and he’d had just enough free time to visit the statue of Genghis Khan a couple of kilometers outside the city. Mun-ju envied his freedom, even if she wasn’t particularly interested in giant equestrian statues.

“Madam President, Deputy Secretary.” It was Mi-ji who had interrupted them, and with good reason, judging by her ashen face, which looked like she was about to tell them that President Hauser had just been assassinated.

“What is it?” Mun-ju asked. Anderson put down his knife and fork and frowned at her.

“I’ve found out why we were moved to the third floor,” she told them, first in Korean, then she switched to English to make sure Anderson had an easier time following the conversation. “The North Korean attaché just told me: Kim Han-sang has decided to attend the summit. In person. He’ll be arriving some time tomorrow, and he will be attending the opening ceremony at two o’clock.”

That was either very good news or the worst news, depending on Kim Han-sang’s mercurial moods.

“Fuck me,” Anderson whispered, the rest of his meal forgotten. “I’ve got to call the Secretary.”

Mun-ju exchanged a glance with Mi-ji that said it all: they were both in for a long night of adjusting their negotiation strategy.



*



Kim Han-sang arrived the next morning, surrounded by enough soldiers and guards for a small parade, compared to who Mun-ju had brought along, followed by the gaggle of journalists that had welcomed Mun-ju as well, only now they seemed whipped up to a frenzy. This stately, potentially boring diplomatic affair had suddenly become entirely unpredictable, and for them, that might mean the story of a lifetime. Mun-ju felt more trepidatious as she watched the procession. He had a reputation, and it wasn’t a good one. He was a dictator, after all. She had talked to the man just once: when she’d desperately tried to save both their countries. He’d been reasonable then – who knew which version of him she’d have to deal with that afternoon?

She’d meet him before then. He’d barely arrived when someone knocked on her door to deliver an invitation to have lunch together, just the two of them. The envelope – he’d actually sent an envelope – lay on the coffee table in her suite while Mun-ju, Mi-ji, and Chang-hee stared at it as if it was poisoned.

“Tell President Kim I gladly accept the invitation,” Mun-ju told the woman in a smart suit and a scarf tie and watched her nod with military precision before turning on her heel and marching out.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Chang-hee asked. “Secretary Rivera and Ambassador Zhou might feel left out.”

“And Kim Han-sang might feel insulted if she declines,” Mi-ji argued.

“Either way, I think it’s best to hear what he has to say,” Mun-ju concluded. “At least that way, I can try to figure out what his stance is before we sit down this afternoon.”

And so Mun-ju walked one floor down at one o’clock, past a lot of guards that made Chang-hee and Agent Kim squirm. They had insisted on accompanying her, at least as far as the North Koreans would let them. Chang-hee might not be her head of security officially, but that didn’t make him any less protective. In the end, he and Agent Kim had to wait at the door, leaving Mun-ju to face the boogeyman on her own.

The dining room of the suite looked much like her own. No wonder, considering they were working off the same floor plan. It was empty, apart from the tall figure staring out of the windows. Kim Han-sang was clasping his hands behind his painfully straight back. As far as Mun-ju knew, this was him when he was relaxed.

“Secretary Rivera just arrived,” he told her. “It seems we are all here.”

Then he turned to face her. It occurred to Mun-ju – not for the first time – that he was far more handsome than a dictator had any right to be. He looked like a statue, or a painting. You had to be careful not to forget what he was hiding behind that beautiful face.

“President Seo,” he said. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

He didn’t smile, but Mun-ju didn’t let that irritate her. “So have I,” she replied, stepping up to his side. Outside, she could see the crowd settling in for the long wait until they all emerged from the hotel, hopefully with good news.

“I suppose you can guess what I want to talk to you about.”

“The submarine,” Mun-ju replied. It was still in the Pacific Ocean somewhere, still manned by North Koreans, still nominally his, despite her best efforts during her last trip to Washington. Anshar Nabu had paid most of the installments, with the last one being frozen during the investigation against Lim Ok-seon. Now, the king of Idisha wanted his money back – or the submarine he’d been paying for, as if it was a somewhat expensive car he was leasing. He no longer had any military use for it, but it made for a powerful bargaining chip during peace negotiations with the US. Of course Kim Han-sang would be loath to let it go as well, even if Mun-ju had little doubt that his engineers had learned quite a bit from the ones her mother-in-law had brought in to build her crowning glory. He didn’t need the sub, but maybe he wanted it. Maybe that was why negotiations had failed before.

“The submarine,” he agreed. “It always comes back to it, it seems.”

Mun-ju certainly felt like they’d all been circling the topic ever since the US had received that fateful bit of intelligence that had cost her husband his life.

“I hope that means that you’re willing to talk,” she told him. A bold presumption, but he had come all the way to Mongolia, after years of self-imposed isolation. Maybe she was being an optimist, but if he hadn’t wanted to talk, he wouldn’t have come in the first place.

“That entirely depends.”

“On what?”

“On what you and the US have to offer,” he countered, raising an eyebrow.

And therein lay the rub. It all hinged on what President Hauser was willing to offer. Anderson had been tight-lipped about the topic the evening before, but that was to be expected. The US wanted to get the most out of the negotiations as well – and possibly a nuclear submarine. It all came back to that.

“We will find out soon enough,” Mun-ju promised him. “But first, you promised lunch?”



*



“That would be a no.”

Kim Han-sang was raising an eyebrow, while Ambassador Zhou looked as if he was on the verge of developing a migraine. Mun-ju could relate. They’d been talking in circles for two hours now, more or less since they’d greeted each other. Secretary Rivera didn’t want to give an inch, Ambassador Zhou was so caught up in the minutiae of a potential agreement that he kept trying to distract them all from finding common footing first, and Kim Han-sang only wanted to talk about what was in it for him. Mun-ju was quite aware that one needed to take a clear stance before negotiations whittled it down to a compromise, but this was getting ridiculous. Rivera and Kim Han-sang weren’t making their positions clear, they were digging trenches in anticipation of a long, drawn-out battle.

“Gentlemen,” she said. “I think it might be time for a break.” It was the first thing she’d said in about fifteen minutes, and the surprising sound of her voice was enough to stop their argument. Anderson was looking at her with relief in his eyes, while the North Korean delegation’s faces were as stony as ever.

“It is time for dinner,” Ambassador Zhou agreed. His eyes told her he was hoping for a moment alone, to come up with a strategy to get these two to talk with instead of past one another. Mun-ju thought she might try to coax the Americans into some concessions, while Zhou got Kim Han-sang to lower his expectations. She still had hope for something more substantial than a single, well placed word in an otherwise lukewarm declaration.

“There’s always tomorrow,” Anderson told Secretary Rivera under his breath. Or rather: they would all be busy with exploratory talks until late at night, and they’d need the fuel to keep powering through them.

Mun-ju stood up first, but the others weren’t far behind. They all filed out of the conference room together into the hotel lobby, where some hand-picked journalists were already waiting. The moment the doors opened, Mun-ju had a smile plastered on her face, and Zhou and Rivera weren’t far behind. Even Kim Han-sang seemed a little more friendly in the limelight.

“Any comment?” one of the journalists asked.

“Come on now, we’ve only just started,” Rivera answered, suddenly jarringly cordial. “We’ve got two more days yet to sort this out.”

A microphone appeared under Mun-ju’s nose. “I think we’ve managed to figure out a basis for a productive discussion,” she added.

“What about the submarine?” yet another man asked. “Is North Korea willing to negotiate a peaceful handover?”

There were so many, Mun-ju didn’t know who had asked the question. She looked around in an effort to look the man in the eye while answering, but before she could, she was sidetracked by something catching her eye. Something that was flying through the air, towards the reception desk.

The reception desk exploded, and the world seemed to stand still for an endless second. Everyone was staring, shell-shocked. Mun-ju found herself kneeling awkwardly in her high heels and didn’t know how she’d ended up on the floor. Then a rumbling sound rose all around her – people were screaming, crying, calling out for help, but a ringing in her ears muffled the sound. Finally, something jerked her out of her frozen state and she forced herself to her feet like a newborn foal to get a better look at the damage. At least three people were bleeding out on the marble floor. There were flashes of cameras going off, and guards running towards them.

A dull bang, and Ambassador Zhou fell to the ground like a puppet whose strings were cut. Mun-ju watched in horror as he gasped for air, reaching out for something, someone, before turning very, very still. She was standing in that church again, with Jun-ik dying right beside her. A distant part of her was aching for the comforting feeling of a gun in her hands, and for San-ho by her side. She’d avoided thinking about him ever since she’d decided to run for president after all. Now, the memory of everything was overwhelming.

“Madam President!” A hand gripped her arm. It was Agent Kim, and he started dragging her along before she could so much as say his name. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw countless dark figures approach like cockroaches. More shots fell, and Agent Kim didn’t have to tell her to run. She just did. Where was Mi-ji? Anderson? Everywhere, people were running. In front of them, a woman from the Chinese delegation tumbled to the ground. Whether she’d stumbled or been shot Mun-ju didn’t know. She simply kept running, down one of the service corridors, then another, wherever Agent Kim was dragging her. He probably knew what he was doing better than Mun-ju.

In front of them, a door flew open, revealing a figure clad in combat gear, his face hidden by a black mask, like a terrorist out of a low budget American movie. There were tattoos on his arm, and a semiautomatic rifle in his hands. Agent Kim ground to a halt in front of her and shoved Mun-ju down against the wall, shielding her with his body as bullets began to rain down on them. She clung to him with an undignified whine and felt the life drain from him as his body slumped against hers. Her leg was stinging, but she pushed it aside. Her mind was focused on the steps walking her way.

Mun-ju considered her options: she couldn’t run, not in her heels, not with what might be a bullet wound in her leg, not with a long corridor making her an easy target.

She heard the man reload. Fifteen more steps, she estimated. If he bothered. He could just as well unload another barrage of bullets and be rid of her. Another person’s body wasn’t that much of a shield.

She could play dead. If she was lucky, he had a different target and would continue on his way. It was unlikely, though. She was one of three high-ranking targets left.

Nine… eight… She could fight. She would fight. The moment he made the fatal mistake to get too close, she could get within range of his rifle. And even if she didn’t have strength or training on him, if she managed to surprise him, she might just get lucky.

Four… three… Mun-ju rolled out from the shelter of poor Agent Kim’s body, ready to charge. She saw the man’s eyes widen at the surprise, his rifle slack in his grip and readied herself for a pounce when the man’s eyes were distracted by something behind her. Someone was running towards them at full speed. They were close now, where before, the sound of their steps must have been swallowed by the cacophony of chaos all around. And whoever it was, they were too fast for the masked man to take aim in time.

Mun-ju ducked to the side just in time and watched the two men collide. It was a short and brutal struggle. The new man grabbed the gun and held it out of the way while a shot went off, then twisted around his opponent, hooking his leg behind a knee. While the masked man lost his balance, the newcomer wrestled the gun away from him and shot, as if he’d been doing this kind of thing his whole life.

He had, Mun-ju realized when he turned. She recognized him. He wore a baseball cap, like he often did, hiding his face under the visor. It was no use when someone looked up at you from the floor though, as Mun-ju did just then. She could see his wide, worried eyes clearly, the only thing about him that betrayed his emotions. Above her stood none other than Paik San-ho. He should be dead, she thought.

“San-ho—”

“Later,” he huffed, and held out a hand.

Mun-ju locked eyes with him and took it. He helped her to her feet and led her along the corridor, in the direction Agent Kim had wanted to take her, shielding her with his body the way he used to. Mun-ju felt numb, despite the adrenaline and distant sounds of shouting and fighting. There was a part of her that had kept hoping, even when her brain insisted that it was pointless. Now, that part was rejoicing, while the rest of her couldn’t believe that he was really there. Had she simply hallucinated him in a situation that reminded her so much of their past? Was she bleeding out on the floor next to Agent Kim; was this just some elaborate illusion concocted by her dying brain?

All of a sudden they stopped, almost at the point where this corridor met another, and San-ho tightened his grip on her to keep her still. When Mun-ju turned to look at him, she saw his head was cocked, listening to something. It didn’t take long for her to hear it too: steps, in the direction they were going. They didn’t seem hurried or careful. Rather, there was something workmanlike to the gait.

“Wait here,” he told her, then hoisted up the gun he’d taken off the man who’d tried to kill her.

He waited a second, then he jumped around the corner. Half a second later, Mun-ju could hear gunfire from his rifle, while one lone bullet embedded itself in the wall opposite her.

“You can come now,” San-ho said.

When she turned around the corner, she could see that he was kneeling on the floor, while another masked man bled out halfway to a heavy steel door. The bullet must have missed him by a wide margin. When San-ho saw her, Mun-ju noticed that he gave her a quick once-over before scanning the hallways for more threats. There were none. The sounds of fighting were distant now, and growing more subdued by the minute. She supposed people who had fought were either dead or fled, and hoped the people she cared about were among the latter.

This time, it was Mun-ju who offered her hand. San-ho looked at it in bemusement for a second, but then he took it and let her help him up.

“Just a couple of meters now,” he promised, dragging her along towards the door. The pictogram of a man fleeing through a door marked it as an emergency exit, one which hopefully led outside, away from the trap that the Mountain View Resort had turned out to be. The winding service hallways were confusing, to say the least, if one wasn’t familiar with them.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite that easy. The emergency exit was blocked, defeating its purpose. San-ho let go of her hand and tried to open it with all his strength, leaning against the bar and putting his weight against it, and the door budged a little, but not enough to let either of them through. He grit his teeth and tried again while Mun-ju kept watch of the hallway, in case someone came for them.

Finally, on the fifth try, Mun-ju could hear something topple on the other side of the door and San-ho took a deep breath of relief. On his sixth attempt, the door finally opened wide enough to let them pass, and the hallway behind them was still blessedly empty.

When Mun-ju attempted to go first, San-ho held up a hand and shook his head slightly. He slung the rifle over his back and produced a handgun from his waistband, then carefully inched through the door that was awkwardly hanging ajar, gun first. Nothing happened for a few moments, so Mun-ju followed. She couldn’t get away from this death trap fast enough.

Outside, a beautiful day awaited her. Warm sunlight touched the green flanks of the mountain, and flowers bloomed in the grass. A steady wind painted waves onto the field. It was as if she’d stepped into a different world. Then there was another distant shot and the spell broke.

“It was blocked on purpose,” San-ho told her with a nod to the rubble, concrete blocks and dumpster that cozied up to the emergency exit. “Somebody didn’t want anyone to escape.”

Clearly. The question was who – but she would worry about that when she was safe and had time to process everything that had happened. How long had it been since the grenade and Ambassador Zhou’s death? It felt like an hour, but it couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen minutes, surely. Or a lifetime.

“Come,” San-ho told her. “I know a place where you’ll be safe. We can talk there.”

Mun-ju hummed and studied his face. He was busy scanning their surroundings for any trace of a threat – or maybe he would rather avoid the conversation that was to come. Then she remembered that she was the president now, that people would be looking for her. She searched her pockets for her phone before remembering that she’d left it in her suite to avoid any distractions during the negotiations. One last time, she turned back towards the hotel and saw smoke pillowing up from the other side. It would be alright, she promised herself. She’d get word to Mi-ji and Chang-hee somehow – if they lived. For now, she needed to get to safety. And she needed answers.



*



The building San-ho led her to could best be described as nondescript. It was one of those places people walked past without ever paying attention to it. A little, rundown building with white walls and peeling paint on the window frames. The lock on the door looked as if it had been forced at least once, or as if the place had been owned by a drunkard who hadn’t been able to hit the mark with his key. At first glance, it looked empty. Just one of those places that would be torn down soon, and in the meantime it hosted whatever transient was willing to pay the (cheap) rent. San-ho opened the door without using a key, reinforcing Mun-ju’s suspicion that the lock’s existence was perfunctory at best.

The room San-ho occupied was at the end of the hallway. The other doors were either closed or partially open, revealing empty offices. She wondered what this place had been before being abandoned. There were no traces of the previous occupants: no flyers, posters, company signs… just empty off-white surfaces, with the odd bright spot on the wall marking the location of a filing cabinet or desk. Once, she spotted a sign, but the Cyrillic letters could have meant anything.

“You can rest here,” San-ho told her when they reached the former office he had turned into a temporary shelter.

It took Mun-ju a moment to spot the rickety field cot in one corner that was half buried under a mess of folders, small pillows, and a blanket. It was the only thing providing a human touch to the room. The rest… well, there was a white board with information pinned to it, a desk, a dented filing cabinet that might date from the time the building had seen regular use, a large locker, and a rack of guns. There were a lot of those. She was not sure she wanted to know where he’d got them.

“So, I suppose it’s time we talked,” San-ho said. He leaned back against the desk and crossed his arms.

“Yes,” Mun-ju replied. Although where to start, that was another question. “What happened? How are you here?” she finally asked, stepping up to him and reaching out to touch his arm. It felt as if life suddenly flooded back into her, after all these months alone. She’d done her best to banish him from her mind, but her body remembered everything.

San-ho looked at her, almost pleadingly, then away. “It’s not important,” he told her. “What’s important is that I would have held you back.”

Mun-ju stared at him. “What?” It didn’t make any sense, especially when he knew how much she cared for him, relied on him. Paik San-ho had had her back, always, even when she’d turned it on him. His quiet, reassuring presence gave her courage when she couldn’t find it herself. That was the fundamental difference between him and Jun-ik – bright, popular Jun-ik had never tried to keep her from her ambitions, but in her marriage, Mun-ju had relied on herself for everything. She had accepted his help, of course, but she’d never truly relied on him. Self-sufficient, he’d called her once, half criticism, half compliment, during one of their rare arguments. She might have only had San-ho for a very short while, but she had relied on him from the beginning, from that moment when he’d saved her on the train.

San-ho sighed and still wouldn’t look at her, like a schoolboy who knew he would get scolded for a bad excuse. “I’m a liability to you,” he explained. “After what I did to Yoo Un-hak, especially. If I had come back, I would have had to pay for that, and I wouldn’t have minded. But you would have paid for it too, and I didn’t want that for you. I wanted to see you become who you were meant to be.”

Meant to be? “I wasn’t meant to be anything,” Mun-ju murmured. “And what I wanted was to be by your side. You shouldn’t have made that decision for me.”

San-ho didn’t say anything to that. His head merely jerked in a way that might be interpreted as a nod – or not. He unfolded his arms and stood up straight, then put his hands on her shoulders.

“I’ll see if I can find out what’s happened. Those guys were professionals, and that attack was well organized. They’re probably still out there. You’ll be safe here. You should rest. I’ll attract less attention. But first, your leg.”

Mun-ju blinked. She’d all but forgotten about her leg. She’d barely even thought about Agent Kim since leaving the hotel, and felt a pang of guilt when she realized. That man had died for her, and she’d been too distracted by her feelings to wonder whether he had a family that would mourn him.

“It’s just a scratch, I think,” she told him.

“Still, sit on the bed. I’ll take care of it,” San-ho said. He walked to the locker and fetched a first aid kit while Mun-ju sat down gingerly, trying not to disturb his collection of folders and documents. Then she watched as he rolled up the leg of her pants. There was a bloody tear in it, and underneath he revealed what looked like a cut that was already scabbing over. Blood had run down to her shoes, leaving red stains on the white leather. She’d chosen white deliberately – the color of peace negotiations.

“You’re right, it’s just a scratch,” San-ho pronounced, then he disinfected the wound and applied a bandage to it. His hands were so gentle, just like she remembered. When he was done, he looked up to her with a small smile on his lips that made his whole face light up. She wanted to do nothing but fall into his arms and forget about the world and his stupid decision. “You should try to get some sleep,” he suggested. “Tomorrow will be busy, no doubt, and knowing you, you’ve been up since dawn.”

“Be careful,” she told him. It was the only thing she could do, even if it wasn’t what her heart wanted. When he was gone to figure out the situation, Mun-ju nibbled on an energy bar she found on his desk and freed the cot from its burden. There were familiar names on the files San-ho had accumulated. Coldrain, Apex Starlight, Sinclair, and Eagleton – no doubt he knew more than he’d let on.

But that was a problem for later. She had been up since dawn, and her eyelids were beginning to yearn for sleep. Outside, the sun was setting, so she promised herself she’d close her eyes for just a little while. The moment her head hit the lumpy pillows, she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.



*



When Mun-ju woke, she heard murmuring voices, and when she opened her eyes, she could see sunlight filter through the white curtains in front of the room’s only window. There were dust motes dancing in the air, while beyond them she could see three familiar figures in the opposite corner of the room, bent over to watch something on a laptop screen. It seemed San-ho had found something else, even if he hadn’t managed to figure out what had happened: Mi-ji and Chang-hee.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Chang-hee whispered.

“What isn’t?” Mun-ju asked. All three pairs of eyes turned towards her while she gingerly sat up on the cot and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. Her bare feet on the cold floor reminded her of her wound, but she felt only a small twinge.

“Madam President!” Mi-ji cried. “We were so worried until Paik San-ho told us you were alright. That was a surprise, let me tell you. I didn’t expect to ever see him again and there he was, standing before me as if nothing happened while I was talking to the commander to find out—”

Mun-ju looked at her. She’d only just woken up and Mi-ji was talking a mile a minute.

“—you don’t really need to hear all of that. Anyway. We were so worried, what with those terrorists still out there, and we’re so glad to see you’re alright. When you had vanished, we worried that you might have been abducted.”

“Why would you worry about that?” Mun-ju asked.

Chang-hee and Mi-ji exchange a look.

“Well,” Chang-hee explained, “Kim Han-sang has vanished, for one. And some people from the American and Chinese delegations, although nobody’s as worried about them as they are about the leader of North Korea. The Internal Troops are looking for them, of course, but it’s been fifteen hours already…”

“Anderson is fine,” Mi-ji added. “He’s in charge of what’s left of the American delegation right now, what with Secretary Rivera having been flown back to the US to get medical treatment. He was shot three times, last I heard. And Zhou…”

“I know what happened to Zhou,” Mun-ju told her. She’d been standing a few meters away from him at the time, after all. His shocked face as he gasped for air would be with her until the day she died.

“So, everything hinges on Kim Han-sang,” Chang-hee summarized. “God knows what’ll happen if he’s dead. War, a collapse of the North, a power struggle that kills thousands…”

“Whatever it’ll be, it won’t be good,” Mi-ji agreed. “Let’s hope he’s still alive, and that the security forces here manage to find him quickly, before things get any worse. We still don’t know who’s behind everything – officially.”

“And unofficially?” Mun-ju asked.

“Eagleton.” It was the first thing San-ho had said since she woke up. It was one quiet word, but it still managed to cut deeper than anything Mi-ji or Chang-hee had said. “And what’s left of his Coldrain contacts. A lot of people wanted that war to happen. They still do, and this was their next best chance.”

He proceeded to tell them what he knew, which was a lot more than he’d let Mun-ju believe last night. It seemed he hadn’t been idle while playing dead. Instead, he’d somehow managed to uncover parts of a conspiracy that the intelligence services of three governments seemed to have been blind to, maybe willfully so. Granted, he told them, he never had any concrete proof, or he would have said something. But he did have a lot of contacts from his days at Valkyrie, and he knew a great many mercenaries in need of work now that the war with Idisha had wound down. And when some of his former colleagues had come to Mongolia in time for the summit, he’d gotten suspicious and followed along, setting up shop in one of his old haunts. Mun-ju briefly wondered how many small nooks like this he had the world over. He’d told her once before that the first thing he did in an unfamiliar place was to find escape routes and shelter. But this one seemed more permanent than the tunnels underneath the church.

“I don’t have any proof that Eagleton is involved, but the people I talked to mentioned being hired by someone who knew someone, and in the end, it all points back to him, even if his name isn’t mentioned even once,” he concluded. “He has the money, or at least a cousin who does. And he has a grudge, against you and Anderson.”

“And he wants war,” Mun-ju said. “Anderson told me when we met in Washington. He’s an ideological hardliner who has campaigned for a war against North Korea for decades, even before they were anywhere close to being a nuclear power. Maybe it isn’t revenge. Maybe it’s something else.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Chang-hee argued. “What matters is that he doesn’t kill Kim Han-sang.”

“I don’t think he has him,” San-ho argued.

“Then why—”

“Security, I told you.”

“If that was the case, wouldn’t he have tried to contact anyone by now?” Chang-hee replied.

Mun-ju got the feeling that she’d slept through the first time they had this conversation, and Mi-ji seemed just as exasperated as her.

“Maybe you should explain to the President?” she suggested. Both men looked slightly sheepish.

“I think it’s more likely that Kim Han-sang retreated to a safe sanctuary maintained by the Reconnaissance General Bureau. Taking him hostage wouldn’t serve anyone – I think Eagleton would have just killed him, if he had him,” San-ho explained.

“I don’t disagree with that,” Chang-hee told her. “I just think he would have done something by now: leave the country, try to contact someone, anything, really. Plus, those mercenaries he hired might want insurance to get out of this mess – what better way than to keep a head of state hostage?”

“Not if he’s worried about his safety. As far as we know, there’s still people out there trying to kill him. The fewer people know about his location, the lower the chance someone will try to kill him again,” San-ho replied. “And with the attackers still unaccounted for, I can’t blame him.”

Mun-ju wondered if he’d like to lock her away somewhere safe any out of the way until everything was over. His eyes seemed to say so.

“And what if he’s hurt?” Mi-ji speculated. “Maybe that’s why the North Koreans have gone completely silent.”

“Speculation won’t get us anywhere,” Mun-ju told them, even though she shared Mi-ji’s worries. “We need facts. Is there any way we can find out where he might hide?”

Mi-ji and Chang-hee shared a look. They’d evidently talked about it before.

“I might have an idea,” San-ho confessed. “There’s a small hotel near the station that’s owned by a shell company that’s owned by another, and ultimately it belongs to the Reconnaissance General Bureau. They use it to funnel spies and migrant workers out of the country. If I were him, that’s where I’d go.”

Mun-ju thought over her options for a moment, then she nodded. “Mi-ji, I want you to go to Anderson to find out what the Americans know. Chang-hee, you’ll liaise with Minister Yang and the NIS, tell them I’m still alive and relatively unharmed before they try to take over the government.”

“And what about you?” Mi-ji asked.

Mun-ju gave her a steely look – neither she nor Chang-hee would like what she was about to say. “I’ll go to the hotel with San-ho,” she told them. “And before you try to argue: if he’s really there, me showing up in person will be more help than me sitting in a nice, secure room at the embassy. He knows me, and he likely knows that I had nothing to do with anything.”

“Ma’am, with all due respect, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Chang-hee said.

“Noted, but I’m still going. If Eagleton wants these negotiations to fail, we need Kim Han-sang’s help to make sure he doesn’t get what he wants. Without it, Eagleton wins.”

They didn’t argue any more then. Instead, both Chang-hee and Mi-ji said their goodbyes and went to work. Meanwhile, San-ho looked at her with something peculiar in his eyes that she couldn’t quite decipher. Pride? Admiration? Worry? Maybe all of them. For the moment, she was grateful that he didn’t try to argue her out of her plan – he might be the only one alive who could once her mind was made up.



*



“You know, when I arrived, I was sad that I couldn’t take a look at the city. I guess I never imagined what it would take for me to do so,” Mun-ju told San-ho while she was getting ready to leave his hideout. He’d gotten her new shoes: sensible flats that you could actually run in. They fit rather well as she tried them out. He’d also gotten her a sandwich with meatballs. By the look of it, he’d bought it at a deli rather than in a supermarket.

“I know you prefer your food uncomplicated,” he said when he handed it to her.

Mun-ju looked at the sandwich, then at San-ho. She didn’t quite have an appetite, but started eating anyway. Who knew when she’d get the next chance? It wouldn’t bother her, if it wasn’t for the fact that even she would collapse sooner or later without fuel. However, as soon as she took the first bite, she felt ravenous. San-ho smiled at her when she devoured the food in record time. It was as if they were back in that cabin, when the world was about to end. Then Mun-ju remembered that he had all but abandoned her – even if he had good intentions.

“You do realize that you shouldn’t have left without a word, don’t you? That I should have had a say in that decision as well?”

He gave her a long, steady look. “Yes,” he admitted, “but I don’t regret it and still think it was the right decision.”

“Nonsense! We would have figured something out. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world, even if you’d gone to prison for threatening Yoo Un-hak. Although quite frankly, that man deserved what he got and any judge who has any sense would agree with me. And most importantly, I wouldn’t have had to mourn you. Do you have any idea what that did to me? The uncertainty, the lack of closure… while there was a glimmer of hope left in me, I couldn’t make my peace with your death. That’s worse than simply losing someone.”

San-ho sighed and walked over to her, until he was close enough to take her face into his hands and tilt it towards him. Mun-ju was blinking away tears – she hadn’t cried about him in a while, but for some reason, all the emotions she’d ignored for so long had returned with a vengeance. They had more important things to do than deal with their own problems, insignificant as they were compared to the rest of the world.

“You are the strongest person I know,” San-ho told her, with a conviction that bordered on religious. “I knew you would survive, and I knew you would thrive, even without me by your side. You don’t need me, Mun-ju. Look how far you’ve come.”

“I do need you,” she confessed, her words almost swallowed by tears. “Maybe not in the way you imagine, but I do need you. You are my north star. You’ve given my life purpose, even though we’ve only known each other for a few weeks. When I stumbled, you were there to catch me. That’s what I need you for. You’re the only man who has ever managed to make me happy. For someone as deprived of that feeling as me, that means the world.”

San-ho’s eyes were smiling, and even the corners of his lips were curling up a little. Was it her blurred vision, or was he tearing up as well?

“You cannot imagine how much I love you,” he whispered. “You make me feel alive. Ever since the ship, I’ve felt like a ghost of a man. But now that you’re close to me…” he leaned his forehead against hers and Mun-ju’s eyes fell closed. “I tried to forget you, but it didn’t work.”

“Of course not,” Mun-ju whispered. She heard a huff that was probably a suppressed laugh.

“I still can’t go back to Korea with you,” he said. “I don’t think your presidency would survive the scandal. And you’ve got so much more to do.”

“Are you breaking up with me, Paik San-ho?” she said. Their foreheads were still touching. His hands were cupping her face. Then his lips were touching hers as well, a feverish dream that made her forget everything around her. She kissed back, grabbed his shirt and suddenly wanted nothing more than to tear it off him. It had been so long— but then he broke away from her with a regretful sigh.

“No,” he answered. “We will be together one day. Just not today. And not tomorrow.”

San-ho leaned his forehead back against hers and Mun-ju wanted to crawl into his arms and never leave. But she had responsibilities now – more than a widow who wanted to find out what had killed her husband. She couldn’t afford to lose her mind over a man, not even one as tempting as Paik San-ho. It pained her to admit it, but happiness would have to wait. For now, the man she should focus on was Kim Han-sang.



*



The hotel San-ho led her to looked unassuming, hidden between an equally unassuming hotel and an office building with a respectable but not too trendy cafe on the ground floor. The street wasn’t deserted, but also not all that busy, with a few passersby hurrying past them on what Mun-ju assumed was their way to work. It was quite early, after all.

“This is it?” she asked.

San-ho nodded and frowned at the glass windows and the decor of the lobby that seemed to be heavily inspired by the late communist period. Only the shine to the surfaces betrayed their actual age as somewhat younger.

Mun-ju and San-ho exchanged a glance, then she walked inside, with San-ho following right behind her. Oh, how she had missed his reassuring presence at her back. The lobby was empty apart from a tired concierge manning the reception desk and a cleaning lady polishing the floor. Both of them visibly tensed when Mun-ju strode through the doors, although whether it was recognition or surprise or San-ho’s maybe somewhat menacing aura she couldn’t tell for sure.

The concierge stood very still when Mun-ju stepped up to the reception desk and smiled at him. One of his hands was under the desk, and out of the corner of her eye. She could see San-ho circle to the side to keep an eye on him.

“I assume you can guess why I’m here?” she asked the concierge.

The man nodded.

“Then you should ask him if he will see me, don’t you think?”

The man didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. After a couple of seconds of being frozen in time, Mun-ju fixed him with an expectant stare and a raised brow, and that seemed to wake him up. The concierge excused himself for a moment and left them alone. Mun-ju watched as San-ho turned his attention to the cleaning lady. He didn’t seem to relax at all. Was she another agent? Likely, if Kim Han-sang was really holed up upstairs…

“I will take you up,” a voice announced. The concierge had returned, silent as a mouse, and San-ho’s hand had twitched to his gun. The concierge was not impressed. “Alone.”

San-ho looked at her and seemed like he might protest, but retreated once Mun-ju shook her head almost imperceptibly. He knew the North Korean mind better than her, and she supposed he was well aware that there was little chance Kim Han-sang would let anyone close to him with a gun on them, not after what had happened at the Mountain View Resort. Mun-ju was someone he’d met, and she was someone famous for solving her problems by talking them to death. Nobody knew about the man she’d shot on the ship.

“I’ll be right back,” she promised, then she followed the concierge-agent to the elevator. She got one last look at a tense San-ho, then the doors fell close with a ding and the man hit the button with the number three. He kept an eye on her the whole way up, and Mun-ju wondered where he was hiding his gun. Or maybe he preferred one of those sleek stiletto knives, like the poisoned one that had killed Father Yang. While they passed the second floor, Mun-ju noticed a small, blinking red dot in the upper left corner of the elevator and she wondered who was watching.

A great many people, as she found out when the door opened on the third floor and what seemed like a dozen people in everything from black suits to tracksuits glared at her like angry cats. She tried to ignore them as the concierge led her past them, to a door at the end of the hall. When it opened and she stepped into the room, it almost was as if she was being swallowed by an ominous black void. The curtains were drawn shut, and the lights were out. There was only one source of illumination: a small, dim lamp on a bedside table in the corner. Beside it, Kim Han-sang was lounging in an armchair. His shirt was undone, and there were bandages wrapped around his abdomen. Next to the lamp, she spotted a gun, just within his reach. An injured tiger was at its most dangerous. She needed to tread carefully.

“I see you’re quite hale, Madam President. Unfortunately, I was not so lucky.”

“Neither was my bodyguard,” Mun-ju told him. “All I got was a scratch, but that’s all thanks to him.”

Kim Han-sang glared at her. Or maybe it was the pain.

“Is that why you came? To compare war wounds? I think not.”

“No,” Mun-ju admitted, trying to run through the calculations of whether he’d prefer a slow approach or a fast one. In general, the intelligence briefing about him recommended slow and steady, but that was when he was safe and secure in Pyongyang. Pain had a habit of making you impatient. “I have come to try to convince you to return to the table. I know the situation is less than ideal right now, and I don’t mean leave the hotel immediately, but once the terrorists have been caught. What they want is to destroy any chance at peace.”

“Right now, I care very little about peace.”

“But you do care about winning, don’t you? The best way to do that is to spit in their faces and fight for peace.”

Kim Han-sang’s eyes narrowed. “You speak as if you know who’s responsible.”

“I have a fairly good idea,” she said, then proceeded to tell him what San-ho had put together: of the money flowing from former Coldrain slush funds. Of whispers among the mercenaries regarding their purpose, and of Anderson worrying about a vanished Eagleton. “It’s not certain yet, of course, but you know as well as I do that only a fanatic has anything to gain in this situation.”

He didn’t answer, he simply stared. He barely even blinked, and Mun-ju held his gaze, determined not to lose this battle of wills. She needed him, and she needed this summit to be a success. People had died for it, not least of all Agent Kim. Mun-ju owed it to them to not let their sacrifice be in vain. Finally, Kim Han-sang sighed and closed his eyes, and Mun-ju felt the muscles in her shoulders relax.

The window shattered, the curtain tore and a man fell into the room. On instinct, Mun-ju shielded her eyes and ducked behind the bed while the man rolled into his feet. A gunshot, and the attacker ducked out of the way of a bullet that missed him. Kim Han-sang, at least when injured, was not a good shot. His men were another matter. The door flew open and bullets rained down on their attacker, felling him before he had the chance to so much as raise his own rifle.

“You led them here!” Kim Han-sang shouted.

“I didn’t!” Mun-ju protested while the muzzles of two guns were trained on her. “But if I can find out where you are, so can other people.”

Kim Han-sang seemed like he was about to order his men to shoot her then and there, but whatever he’d done in the seconds during which she’d taken cover, it had aggravated his wound. He dropped the gun on the bed between them and gripped his side while he grimaced in pain.

Another crash. The next wave of the attack broke on them like a force of nature. One of the men who stood in the doorway dropped to the ground, his throat torn to pieces, and the others jumped out of view of the window while Mun-ju cowered down again. She heard a groaning Kim Han-sang do the same. Below, from the first floor, she heard distant crashes, and even more windows seemed to shatter as a well-trained force assaulted the hotel. Somewhere, she heard an alarm go off, but she didn’t know if it was a bystander’s car, a fire alarm, or a siren. There was no time to worry about it anyway.

The guards turned their attention backward, towards the hallway Mun-ju had walked down just minutes before, leaving her and Kim Han-sang alone. She looked over to him – he was clutching the bed sheet with one hand from his hiding spot wedged between the bed and the bedside table. Apart from that, all she could see on him was his messy hair – so very out of character for him. Then her eyes fell on the gun. After a second of hesitation, she took it. She had a better chance of using it right now. It felt heavy in her hand, heavier than she remembered, but she gripped it just like San-ho had taught her, pointing the muzzle towards the floor, the safety off. If anyone—

—someone did. A shadow shoved itself through the window, gripping the frame with two gloved hands. Mun-ju didn’t hesitate: she shot. And missed, but it bought her precious seconds. She shot again, missed again, and the assailant ducked behind the wardrobe near the window. She could only see a black-clad leg and arm from her position at the opposite corner of the room.

Unfortunately, he had ended up in the perfect position to shoot Kim Han-sang in his small corner. Mun-ju realized as much at the same time as him, and they both raised their guns. Mun-ju breathed and shot, and this time she hit her target, even if it was just an arm. She pulled the trigger again, aiming for the leg this time, but missed. Her hands were sweating and she felt every part of herself except her hands begin to shake as the mercenary turned his full attention to her.

She ducked and the bullet hit the bed in a dull thud. White fluff floated through the air like snow. Five meters. He couldn’t be farther away from her, she reckoned. And if she poked her head out again, there was little hope that he’d miss her. Her opponent was a trained soldier. So Mun-ju did the only thing she could: get on her stomach and crawl towards the foot of the bed, hoping he wouldn’t expect that. Her right hand was cramping around the grip of the gun. Those couple of seconds felt like a lifetime until she could finally jump forward and roll onto her side, trying to figure out his location—

Mun-ju had only ever shot a gun from a steady position before, bracing herself and reducing her own movement. San-ho might have pulled off this maneuver easily, but she hit the ceiling, and the recoil seemed to punch her shoulder into the carpet. Maybe she imagined it, but she thought she saw triumph glimmer in the would-be killer’s eyes. The last thing she would see—

Someone shot, from the hallway, and the glimmer turned into shock. The mercenary tried to do what San-ho had told her to do – shot the man who shot you with what little time you had left – but it was no use. One bullet after another penetrated his torso, and in the end, he fell to the ground without firing another bullet.
Mun-ju rolled over to see her rescuer, and she was not surprised to find San-ho looming over her. There was a large scratch on his cheek and his eyes were so impossibly warm and worried, she wanted to sink into him.

“Is it over?” she asked.

A resounding silence settled over them.

“I think so,” he told her. “For the moment, at least.”

San-ho helped her up and she could tell he was tempted to hug her by the unnatural stillness in his arms. However, Kim Han-sang was slowly hauling himself onto the bed behind her, the smell of blood and gunpowder was hanging in the air, and she heard pained moans in the hallway and sirens approaching from all directions.

In the end, San-ho’s assessment of the situation was proven right. The Mongolian special forces swooped in, guns blazing and eyes burning, and they whisked her and Kim Han-sang away to safety and a hospital, despite her protests. All she could do was watch San-ho vanish again without a word, and no idea when – or if – she would ever see him again.



*



Mun-ju smiled her best smile while two dozen flashes went off. Kim Han-sang was holding her hand, and even he managed to smile for the camera like a wounded hero. Chang-hee and Mi-ji predicted that the injury would do wonders for his reputation, and based on the fact that the journalists acted like they had smelled blood when they spotted them leave the conference room, they were right. Back home, he’d position himself as a brave fighter against terrorist forces who’d managed to get trade and aid concessions out of a meeting that was doomed to fail, while the American capitalist system was so rotten to the core that even government officials could resort to buying themselves a small army to start a war.

“Let him have his victory,” Anderson told her. “The president wants the sub dismantled for parts, and he wants Eagleton tarred and feathered. He doesn’t care if South Korea agrees to supply medical equipment or if China increases its exports.”

And then there was the money, paid in installments over two years, as well as a myriad of other small concessions. It would have been a win all around, if it wasn’t for all the death it took to get there. With Rivera recuperating in Washington and Kim Han-sang humbled by his near death experience, Mun-ju and Zhou’s replacement had had to deal with a lot less ego than on that first day. In the end, they all got what they wanted, even if it wasn’t promises of eternal peace and reunification, but rather CT scanners and poultry and one less nuclear submarine to worry about. One day, Mun-ju hoped, she’d get Kim Han-sang to agree to an IAEA inspection. This was just a first step in establishing a relationship and trust.

“These were very productive talks,” she told him when they said their goodbyes, out of sight of the crowd. After everything was signed and the photos were taken and everyone’s bags were packed. “Thank you for agreeing to come back to the table after everything.”

Kim Han-sang seemed to ponder her for a moment. “I owe you my life,” he said. He didn’t sound pleased, and he shouldn’t be. Mun-ju would milk that fact for all it was worth.

“Yes,” she told him. “Don’t worry, I will not hold it against you.”

He frowned and said nothing. In the end, he left after wishing her safe travels, and Mun-ju watched him with a crooked smile. This was something she could leverage, she thought as she watched his back. He was a cruel man who had condemned countless people to death. It was easy to forget sometimes. Maybe the world would have been a better place without him.

“Or maybe someone worse would have ended up taking over,” Anderson told her over drinks that evening before they both boarded their respective planes. The VIP room at the business lounge was quite comfortable, and the wine was good. The only thing reminding her of who she was was the foreboding presence of men in suits, scanning the crowd for threats. The Mongolian president did not want a repeat of the Mountain View Resort incident and wouldn’t permit another international summit on his watch.

“Maybe,” she agreed with a sigh. “If I’m being honest, I didn’t actually think about what I was doing at all. There was a dangerous man with a gun, and I just…” She shrugged and took a sip of her Chianti.

“Isn’t that what makes a hero a hero?” Anderson asked her with a teasing grin. “You do the right thing without thinking about what’s in it for you?”

Mun-ju raised her eyebrows at him.

“Hey, I just ran when the shooting started. I know I’m no hero.”

“Neither am I,” Mun-ju told him. Heroes didn’t save dictators, she supposed. And heroes didn’t have to be saved themselves because they can’t hit a target standing half a room away.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

They smiled at each other, like old friends. Maybe they were old friends now, even though they barely knew each other. During her brief stay in Washington before her campaign started, they’d gotten to know each other a bit, and it turned out they got along well. Once, Anderson even told her he liked her better than her husband. She still remembered the tinge of guilt in his tone. That was the last time they spoke of Jun-ik, now that she thought about it. That probably made him more her friend than her husband’s even if they’d known each other for longer.

“You do have to visit me some time,” she told him.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But you know how work is. Plus, you and I both know that you want someone else to pay you a visit much more than little old me.”

“That’s no excuse.” Even if it was the truth. They hugged one last time, then Anderson walked towards his plane and Mun-ju walked towards hers. She couldn’t help but wonder about San-ho as she said goodbye to Mongolia. Where had he vanished to? That dingy little former office with the creaky cot? Or maybe he’d decided to vanish in the Gobi Desert, once and for all. At the gate, she turned around, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but all she could see were normal people, going about their business. With a sigh, she turned back towards duty.



*



At some point early in her presidency, a lengthy morning run had become a luxury to Seo Mun-ju. She was usually busy from dawn to midnight, and security was also a concern. She still went for a run every morning like clockwork, but now she tended to confine herself to running laps around the gardens. That way, the guards didn’t have to get up early just for her pleasure. It was only on special days, when she had the time and really needed it, that she ventured outside of the secure bounds of the presidential residence to treat herself. She was followed by a full detail of guards, of course, even if she still didn’t like it. After everything she’d been through in Ulaanbaatar, she’d finally made her peace with the constant presence at her back. Or maybe it had been San-ho who she’d been missing while others were guarding her, and now that she knew he was out there somewhere, it no longer bothered her. She would see him again. She was sure of it.

It happened on one such morning. It was a Sunday. She had the morning off, so she’d decided to enjoy the sunrise and crisp air that made her breath fog up in front of her with every step. The rhythm of her feet on the ground lifted her spirits while the cold made her feel alive. She realized she was smiling absentmindedly at some point.

And then she saw him. He was standing at a bus stop again, leaning against the plastic wall and hiding his face beneath the shadow of a baseball cap. He was just a shadow at first, but she recognized the shape of him immediately. Mun-ju’s steps slowed without her noticing at first, until they settled into a slow walk. He looked up when he heard her approach, and smiled. Somewhere in the background, her security detail was lurking.
“Paik San-ho,” she greeted him.

“Madam President,” he replied with a nod, hands still buried in the pockets of his cargo pants. She saw his eyes move past her face, presumably clocking her bodyguards and assessing the risk for himself.

“Are you going to stay?” she asked. She felt the sudden urge to cling to him and to never let him go. There was so much they didn’t know about each other… what was his favorite food? His hobbies? What games were his favorite as a child? A thousand questions, and no chance to ask them.

“No,” San-ho admitted. “But I’ll be back. And once your term is done…”

Mun-ju put a hand on his chest, and he folded his own around it. Four more years… right then, the prospect felt like torture, but with time and distance, the longing would numb a little. And it was enough time to sort out his legal troubles and make sure they’d get to be together permanently. She wanted a small house somewhere, with a kitchen where he could cook while she worked. Something with a swing in a yard, and a nice tree that offered shade in the summer. It was time to make her dream a reality. She’d managed to become president – this should be a piece of cake.

“Did you just come for a visit?”

“Not quite.” He took her hand and kissed it, making her skin feel like it was burning despite the cold. “But that can wait. Right now, I just want to look at you and enjoy this moment.”

Mun-ju smiled and couldn’t agree more. After all, what was life but a collection of moments? The good ones were so rare, you had to cherish each and every one of them. Not caring about the guards who were watching, she leaned in for a kiss.



Fin