Senator Catherine Tisch’s voice over the phone was urgent.
-Dr. Kang. Can you come to Gambia right now?
“Gambia? You mean Gambia in West Africa?”
-Yes, that’s right. There’s something only you can do, Dr. Kang. No—something that cannot be done unless it’s you.
“Catherine, please explain the situation first. I don’t understand why I have to go all the way to Africa.”
Catherine let out a deep sigh.
-It’s classified right now, so I can’t tell you much. But this is about saving countless people.
“Countless people means…”
-At least over two hundred thousand.
“What?!”
Taeho’s eyebrows shot up.
Catherine spoke earnestly.
-I know how unreasonable it is to make such a sudden request. But this matter is truly important. I’m certain that the person who can accomplish it is you, Dr. Kang. For the sake of our friendship, please clear just a few days for me.
The Tisch family lacked for nothing in money or power.
If Catherine, a central figure of that very Tisch family, was pleading this desperately, it was certainly no ordinary matter.
At last, Taeho made up his mind.
“Understood. I’ll go.”
-Oh, God! Thank you so much.
Catherine spoke in relief.
-A private jet will be waiting at Gangneung Airport in three hours.
“A private jet?”
-It’s a matter of time. Please.
Taeho called Park Geumja to adjust the patient appointments at Geumsan Clinic, then returned home and hurriedly packed his things. Medical supplies, Rema, and a few changes of clothes were all he brought.
***
Three hours later, Gangneung Airport terminal.
A man in a black suit approached Taeho.
“Dr. Kang, I’m John Walker from the Diplomatic Security Service of the U.S. Department of State. We’d like to request your cooperation in an international public health crisis response mission.”
“The U.S. Department of State…?”
Walker quietly took out a U.S. State Department ID from his inner jacket pocket and showed it to him. Then he held out a document.
“What is this?”
“A confidentiality agreement. There is only so much I can explain to you here. You must sign this document before we can provide more specific information.”
Taeho hesitated for a moment, but signed the document.
Walker took the document and opened his hand in invitation.
“Thank you. We’ll give you the full briefing on the plane.”
The interior of the aircraft was completely different from an ordinary business-class cabin. There was a large conference table in the center, surrounded by advanced communications equipment and satellite-linked screens. An indicator light blinked, showing that electronic interference shielding was in operation.
Twenty minutes after takeoff, Walker stood in front of the screen.
“I will now share the main details. The information protection level is ‘Top Secret (SCI).’”
When Taeho nodded, a Black man in his mid-sixties appeared on the screen. He had an intelligent, gentle-looking face, yet there was a certain charisma about him.
“This is President Ibrahim Sanyang of Gambia. He is currently in critical condition.”
“What illness does he have?”
“I cannot tell you that. You’ll have to confirm it once you arrive on site.”
Taeho tapped Rema.
-Analyzing…
-I’m sorry. Your rank is still low, so you cannot access the relevant medical records.
-Accessible rank: Silver or higher.
I only have 470 coins left now…
He had not expected to regret lacking Silver rank this much.
Taeho drew in a deep breath.
“I understand there are already more doctors with top-tier skills in the United States. Even at Mount Sinai alone…”
“Medical teams dispatched from Mount Sinai, Johns Hopkins, and Harvard are already active on site, as is a WHO medical team. They have also failed to achieve any clear results, which is why you were urgently recommended as an additional option.”
“I’m not sure whether I can solve a problem they couldn’t.”
“I know. But this reflects the treatment papers you’ve published so far, your practical cases at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York, and Senator Tisch’s strong recommendation. Of course, she made that recommendation while accepting a political burden as well.”
Taeho felt the weight on his shoulders grow even heavier.
Whether Walker knew Taeho’s feelings or not, he continued.
“This matter is extremely important. If President Sanyang dies, all of West Africa may become a battlefield, and two hundred thousand people could die.”
It must have been the two hundred thousand Catherine had mentioned.
“For the past fifteen years, President Sanyang has been a symbol of peace who mediated every conflict in West Africa. The moment he dies, five neighboring countries will enter into territorial disputes. Troops are already gathering at the borders.”
“If he’s that important, why not transport him to the United States? He could be treated with far better equipment.”
“The local medical team has judged it impossible. They say President Sanyang is currently in no condition to endure a long flight.”
Taeho’s brow furrowed. It seemed the patient’s condition was far worse than he had thought.
Walker displayed a map of West Africa on the screen.
“I’ll explain the international situation. Five countries centered around Gambia are entangled in complicated territorial disputes. Until now, peace has been maintained through President Sanyang’s mediation, but…”
“If he dies, the balance collapses.”
“Exactly. Mali, Burkina Faso, Guinea-Bissau, Senegal, and Guinea. It is expected that these countries will immediately enter into armed conflict.”
Walker handed him a file as he spoke.
“This is detailed information on President Sanyang.”
Taeho opened the file and began to read.
Gambia was a nation made up of several tribes. Among them, the largest were the Mandinka, Fula, and Wolof.
Fifty years ago, a pasture dispute between the Mandinka and Fula led to bloodshed in a village. At the time, a thirteen-year-old Mandinka boy named Ibrahim astonishingly mediated between the two tribes and brought the situation under control. It was the incident that first made the name of Ibrahim Sanyang, the son of a poor farmer, known in Gambia.
The famous words he left behind then—“We are all brothers who drink from the same river”—best revealed his character.
He grew up and graduated from the Department of Political Science at the University of Dakar in Senegal, then earned a master’s degree in International Relations from Oxford University in Britain. His tuition was raised by his entire village.
After returning to his hometown, Ibrahim actively threw himself into maintaining peace between tribes. He contributed greatly to resolving the Gambia-Senegal border dispute, mediating the Sierra Leone civil war, and concluding the Liberia peace agreement.
Then, twenty years ago, he lost his wife and his eight-year-old young son in Sierra Leone. It was due to a rebel attack. After spending three months in deep despair, he chose peace between tribes instead of revenge. Thanks to that, the bloodshed could be calmed, and countless lives were saved.
Afterward, he resolved a military coup crisis without bloodshed and was elected president with the support of the vast majority of the people. Even after his election, he built achievements such as resolving the Guinea-Bissau conflict and successfully mediating the Mali peace agreement between the Tuareg and government forces, and was unanimously elected chairman of the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) conflict mediation committee.
His entire life had been a struggle for peace.
“I can see why he’s called the ‘Gandhi of West Africa.’”
“President Ibrahim is loved and respected not only by the people of Gambia, but also by the people of neighboring countries. That is why the military regimes of Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger see him as a thorn in their side. If the military regimes start a war for territorial expansion, all the surrounding countries will be dragged into an unwanted conflict.”
Taeho looked out at the clouds beyond the window and fell into thought.
One person’s life holds sway over the life and death of two hundred thousand people.
What kind of help can I possibly give?
Taeho inhaled deeply.
It was a moment when fear and responsibility crossed.
Taeho tried to think only of the patient.
The private jet was cutting through the night sky, crossing the Eurasian continent. Its destination was West Africa, Gambia.
***
The plane landed at Banjul International Airport.
It was 8 a.m. local time.
Heat haze was still rising from the asphalt of the airport runway, and the palm trees visible in the distance shimmered in the hot air.
As soon as the plane door opened, the suffocating heat of the African continent surged in.
Taeho instinctively held his breath. The apparent temperature hovered above forty degrees Celsius, and the air that touched his skin was like flame.
“Hoo…”
Letting out a short sigh, he descended the airport stairs. It had been a seventeen-hour long-haul flight, but he had barely been able to sleep.
The airport lobby was quieter than expected. There were a few locals and Western tourists, but perhaps because of the tense political situation, it was far more subdued than he had imagined.
Taeho pulled his suitcase and walked quickly, hurrying through immigration.
Then,
“Director Kang?”
A familiar voice came from behind him.
Taeho could not help doubting his eyes.
“Mr. Kim Jeonghun?”
Kim Jeonghun was standing there with a travel backpack on his shoulders, sweating profusely.
He, too, looked flustered, as if he had seen a ghost.
“To think I’d meet you here… At first I wondered if I’d finally gone insane.”
“It’s good to see you. Oh, I read the article you wrote. Thank you.”
As soon as O Jiwon saw the article Kim Jeonghun had written in the Taeyeong Ilbo, she had made a fuss and sent him the link. Honestly, Taeho had known Kim Jeonghun was a reporter, but he had never expected him to write such a favorable article, so he was quite surprised. He had thought about contacting him to say thank you, but had felt too embarrassed to do it, and it had been weighing on his mind.
Kim Jeonghun smiled with an expression that looked almost like he was crying.
“Haa, so you saw it. You probably can’t imagine how enormous the price of that article was.”
“What? What do you mean by that…”
“Nothing. I’m just talking nonsense because of the heat. Hahaha. It’s seriously too hot here.”
“Did you come for an investigation?”
Taeho asked. Kim Jeonghun hesitated briefly, then nodded.
“Yes, something like that. I had a source for a story, so I came to check it out. But what brings you here, Director Kang?”
Taeho hesitated for a moment before answering.
“I came because there’s an emergency patient.”
“Ah, I see.”
Kim Jeonghun nodded. Perhaps his instincts as a reporter had kicked in, because his gaze sharpened for an instant.
“I wonder who the patient is, to bring you all the way here, Director Kang.”
“I can’t disclose a patient’s personal information.”
“Hahaha, you’re completely uncompromising. In any case, I never thought I’d meet you in a place like this. I came alone, but you, Director Kang…”
Before Kim Jeonghun could finish speaking, someone could be seen waving from afar.
“Dr. Kang! Over here!”
A familiar English accent.
Dr. Chen had come to meet him.
“Dr. Chen!”
Taeho greeted him gladly.
Dr. Chen approached at a brisk pace and clasped Taeho’s hand tightly. His face looked much more haggard than when Taeho had last seen him at Mount Sinai.
“You’ve had a long trip. The situation is very serious.”
“Has the patient’s condition worsened?”
“That too, but…”
Only then did Dr. Chen notice Kim Jeonghun standing beside him.
“And this gentleman is?”
“Ah, he’s a reporter from Korea. We happened to meet.”
“Hello. I’m reporter Kim Jeonghun from the Taeyeong Ilbo.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Richard Chen.”
Dr. Chen’s expression was stiff. At the word reporter, a sense of wariness showed on his face.
“If you’re a reporter… do you happen to know about this situation?”
“No, I’m here separately for a story.”
Kim Jeonghun waved his hands. At those words, Dr. Chen’s expression eased slightly.
“Ah, Director Kang. If you need to contact me… here is my number.”
Taeho and Kim Jeonghun exchanged contact information.
“Dr. Kang, then let’s get going.”
Dr. Chen urged him on. Taeho said goodbye to Kim Jeonghun and followed him out.
***
The Gambian presidential palace was a massive building that still retained the architectural style of the British colonial era.
Armed guards stood in strict security around the palace.
“That is the temporary medical center.”
The place Dr. Chen pointed to was the eastern annex of the presidential palace. It had originally been accommodations for distinguished guests, hastily converted for this purpose.
In front of it stood more than a dozen Western medical personnel.
Among them, one person was especially conspicuous. He was a middle-aged man who appeared to be well over 185 centimeters tall, wearing a perfectly pressed white shirt and khaki pants. With his gray hair neatly swept back, he looked like a typical Western elite.
He was seriously discussing something with the local medical staff. His gestures brimmed with confidence, and the people around him were focused on his words.
“Dr. Whitman.”
When Dr. Chen raised his voice, the middle-aged man turned his head.
“Ah, Dr. Chen. The man from Korea has finally arrived.”
A bright smile spread across Dr. Whitman’s face. He approached with long strides and held out his hand to Taeho with a smooth smile.
“You must be Dr. Kang. You’ve come a long way. I’m Dr. Marcus Whitman, the chief medical officer here.”
“Hello. I’m Kang Taeho.”
Taeho took Dr. Whitman’s hand.
At that moment,
What is this?
Taeho was swept up in an inexplicable sense of displeasure.