The very thing I'd prayed wouldn't happen, happened.
A fighter jet had actually flown in loaded with bombs.
I'd told myself no way, no way.
Sin Jung-gi had barely managed to stop it, but it had been really dangerous.
If we hadn't prepared in advance, we would have suffered heavy losses.
This wasn't an operation to suppress rebels.
It was an operation to massacre people.
It was an operation to harm innocent civilians.
I couldn't just sit still.
I had to decide on a direction for what to do next.
Taking a beating and staying down wasn't my style.
I asked Sin Jung-gi.
“What do you think Melchor will do? You think he'll attack again? Then we need to prepare, too.”
“No. I think he'll wait and see for now.”
“Why? He failed. He's reckless enough to send fighter jets; would he just sit tight?”
“Even so, he'll wait for the time being.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because he's scared.”
“Scared?”
“Yes. Aren't we completely in the dark right now? They haven't even figured out what happened to the ship and the fighter jet they sent. They need to know that to bring weapons that can neutralize that attack, but they have no intel whatsoever.”
“No intel?”
“Take the warship, for example—they don't know if the vessel was hit by a torpedo or a mine. In reality, it was taken out by mortars and suicide boats, but since they don't know that, they can't just blindly send another warship. If they send another and it gets hit again, the blow will be severe this time. Same with the fighter jets. From their perspective, with no information, they'll think we have some incredible anti-aircraft weapon. Honestly, if that weren't the case, taking down a fighter jet would be absolutely impossible. I only caught it because it's me. So until they have solid intel, they'll refrain from military action.”
Does a madman recognize another madman?
How does he talk like he's been inside Melchor's head and come back out?
It was such a perfect analysis that I began to suspect this bastard might actually be the real thing.
“And there's another reason it's hard for them to attack.”
“Another?”
“From the perspective of us Koreans, that level of force is nothing, but from the Philippines' perspective, it's a considerable loss. They lost two out of only eleven fighter jets. It's similar with their warship, too. So they have no choice but to be even more cautious about attacking. Every time they lose one, their national defense takes a massive hit.”
“Still, we should prepare, right?”
“No? This time, it's our turn to go. Isn't it polite to return a gift when you've received one?”
Sin Jung-gi glared at me and smiled coldly.
Don't smile.
It's scary.
Where does this psychopathic bastard get off talking about manners?
Still, I like him just this once.
“Yeah. Returning what you receive is only proper.”
******
Melchor had been sitting in the command center since early dawn.
Military officials were seated, including the former Chief of the General Staff and current Minister of National Defense.
On the large screen at the front of the command center, a map of the Philippines was displayed,
with the location of Bagwis, currently engaged in operations, blinking.
Melchor intended to direct the operation in real-time from the field to avoid making the same mistake as last time.
He couldn't trust leaving it to others.
“Pagasa, this is Bagwis. Ten minutes to target zone.”
“Bagwis, position confirmed. Maintain status.”
The pilot's radio transmission came through, saying he was flying normally.
Bagwis's position was being displayed steadily on the map.
He felt relieved.
“Three minutes to target zone.”
“Two minutes to target zone.”
“Pagasa, Pagasa. Requesting permission to drop bombs.”
With one minute left to the strike point, the pilot requested permission to drop the bombs.
The Minister of National Defense looked at Melchor.
Melchor nodded slowly.
“Bagwis, you are cleared to drop bombs. I say again, cleared to drop bombs.”
Melchor couldn't see the scene, but just from the radio transmission, he could vividly picture it.
They only had to press the fire button.
Then twelve MK-82 bombs, each packing 500 pounds of destructive power, would fall and pulverize the area.
They would turn several hundred meters in every direction into a wasteland.
The rebel stronghold would disappear without a trace.
Naturally, the rebels would disappear along with it.
It felt like a rotten tooth being pulled.
It felt like setting down a heavy stone.
A smile came to his face at the tremendous political gain he would reap from it.
Later, when it became known, some media outlets would write articles asking if the suppression hadn't been too excessive.
He could just bring up the ruins the rebels had caused and say it had been unavoidable.
Whether it had been Damaya, Abu Sayyaf, or the BLF didn't matter.
Rebels were all the same.
He could even attach the fleet losses from this battle to it and say the rebel resistance had been too fierce to help.
Perfect.
And he could just have the writers arrested.
Then things would quiet down.
Melchor waited anxiously for news of the launch.
He wanted to hear the transmission saying the strike was complete.
But there was no word at all.
Hadn't the time for the radio call already passed?
One second felt like ten minutes.
Then, a voice suddenly came through.
“Huh? Huh? Huh?! Evasive maneuvers!”
Evasive maneuvers?
Evasive maneuvers?
Wasn't that when a fighter jet made a sharp turn to avoid an attack after being engaged?
Why evasive maneuvers at the moment they should be pressing the fire button?
Were they under attack?
No way?
Melchor's forehead was covered in sweat.
His hands and feet were drenched.
He was so tense.
And then,
“Eject! Eject!”
That was the last transmission.
He waited a long time, but there was no further transmission after that.
.
.
.
Only deep silence existed in the conference room.
No one dared say it out loud, but judging by the lack of radio contact, the fighter jet had likely been shot down.
A fighter jet without a pilot wouldn't fly around on its own.
Melchor agonized.
Momentum was very important in battle.
But the losses were too severe to push through with momentum alone.
The loss of fighter jets in particular was devastating.
There were only eleven fighter jets.
They were precious.
The Philippines and China had a territorial dispute.
The sovereignty dispute over Scarborough Shoal in the South China Sea had continued.
But unlike China, the Philippines, which had no proper jet fighters, had difficulty responding to the Chinese Air Force.
They had begged and pleaded with the Republic of Korea to purchase FA-50s.
They were fighter jets that should have been delivered elsewhere, but they had been procured so desperately, urgently, and preciously that the delivery order had even been changed to get them.
They had lost two such fighter jets.
He couldn't send such precious fighter jets again based on momentum alone.
He couldn't lose any more fighter jets.
Fighter jets were expensive, and it took a long time to receive delivery.
Losing more fighter jets now would be a fatal blow.
At the very least, he needed to know what the rebels had.
Only then could he send fighter jets.
But first, he needed to avoid some responsibility.
“Minister of National Defense, what are you going to do about this?”
“Yes?”
“The operation failed. What do you intend to do when an operation like this fails?”
“Yes?”
“I said from the start it was excessive. Fighter jets to catch rebels? And to proceed with an operation without proper intelligence—I'm very disappointed.”
“That is...”
“Enough. As of this moment, you are relieved of your position. Get out.”
The Minister of National Defense felt it was unjust, but he couldn't make excuses.
No, it was better not to.
He would only be dismissed now, but if he made excuses, he could end up in prison.
For a president, sending one person to prison was nothing.
It was better to be branded incompetent and thrown out.
.
.
.
President Melchor finished his schedule and returned to his residence.
He was tired.
There were too many things to worry about.
To be exact, it wasn't that there was a lot of work, but rather the rebel issue weighed on him so much he couldn't concentrate on anything else.
It wasn't the Bermuda Triangle; he couldn't understand how they could just disappear like that in the 21st century.
Without understanding the situation, he couldn't establish countermeasures.
How could there be so little information?
The cost of sending them blindly was too great.
The losses were already too great.
The damage to both military strength and personnel was enormous.
They were currently assessing the damage.
They had assessed the damage based on the worst-case assumption that everyone aboard the ship had been wiped out.
The results were horrific.
He couldn't bear it.
The personnel issue in particular was serious.
They needed to process the deaths of over 1,000 soldiers who had been aboard the landing ship as deaths in the line of duty.
Since they had died during operations, compensation, family support, pensions, and other benefits had to be paid.
But if they processed them this way, the defense budget wouldn't be able to handle it.
It was a huge risk financially and politically.
So they were holding out.
They had not died.
They were on a secret operation.
They were holding on by saying it was a secret operation and they couldn't talk about it.
Only one thought filled Melchor's head.
The method of processing the dead as missing and saying they would return someday.
That was the only way.
Until a body appeared, it wasn't death.
But how long could they hold out like that?
That method was literally an improvised response.
It wasn't a proper solution.
Complicated thoughts filled his head.
Melchor slowly moved toward the study.
It was Melchor's long-standing habit to organize his day in the study before sleeping.
When he went to the study, there was a cell phone on the desk that he had never seen before.
It definitely wasn't his.
Had someone left it there?
But this study was Melchor's private space that not even his wife or children entered.
There was no way anyone would leave a cell phone here.
The thought that someone had come in and left it sent shivers down his spine.
There wasn't even CCTV here.
An enemy who could come and go freely from the presidential residence?
That was the same as saying they could kill him at any time.
It had to be due to some kind of misunderstanding, error, confusion, or delusion.
But the phone rang.
Instinctively, he felt he shouldn't answer.
He just hung up.
Then a message came immediately.
- Answer.
And the phone started ringing again.
His hand trembled.
“H-Hello?”
- "You finally answer. You wouldn't connect when we tried so hard to contact you for a meeting."
“W-Who is this!!”
- "Isn't it more amazing that you don't know who I am? Do you usually have a lot of enemies? Enemies who would come all the way to your residence?"
“You... I...”
- "I know exactly who you are, that's why I called. You can tell just from seeing that we bothered to bring a phone to a place that's hard to get into. We went through a lot of effort, too. I called when you were looking at the phone. We know everything you're doing."
Melchor felt fear.
It wasn't a coincidence that they happened to call repeatedly and reach him.
The call had come precisely when Melchor picked up the phone,
and when he didn't answer, they sent a message telling him to answer.
It meant they knew what Melchor was doing.
He looked around.
Was there a camera?
- "There's no camera. Don't worry too much."
It was certain that this man was watching Melchor.
He was so shocked he couldn't even speak.
This was the presidential residence.
It wasn't a place one could enter and leave freely.
Yet they knew exactly what Melchor was doing.
“What do you want?”
- "I don't want anything. Let's just see each other's faces. Don't we have things to talk about?"
“If that's it... fine. Come to Malacañang Palace.”
- "Hahaha. There? Me? Why don't you come to our place instead? I'll order chicken."
After almost dying at Zhongnanhai last time, I'd decided not to do anything crazy like walking into the enemy's stronghold.
That bastard Melchor is crazy, too.
A crazy bastard who ordered a bombing on his own people.
Who knew what he'd do if we went.
He was the type to blow up Malacañang Palace just to kill us.
There was no way I'd walk into a place like that willingly.
- "First, I'll send you a gift tomorrow. Receive it. After you receive it, we'll decide the location."
The call ended.
.
.
.
A church across from Malacañang Palace.
Allen had been watching Melchor through his sniper rifle.
As soon as Melchor finished the call, Allen packed up his sniper rifle and left the spot.
The spot where Allen had been was clean, as if no one had ever been there.
Not a single trace remained.
******
Raksa, the president's long-time friend and hidden secretary, had come early in the morning.
Raksa handled all of Melchor's dirty work.
“What is it?”
Melchor, who hadn't slept properly due to last night's events, asked somewhat nervously.
Raksa looked around, confirmed no one was there, and spoke quietly.
“The casinos we run were attacked yesterday. All three of them.”
“What?”
“And there was a fire at the farm.”
After checking their surroundings once more, Raksa spoke even more cautiously.
“It looks like the rebels have figured out what we own.”
“Son of a…”
He had already been annoyed by the strange phone call he’d received last night, and this news made him furious.
They were assets Melchor had painstakingly seized.
The cream of the crop.
The very essence of what he had taken by force, by law, and by power.
He had put them under borrowed names and made very good use of the money that came from them.
Not even Melchor’s wife and children knew he owned them.
Legally, they had nothing to do with Melchor.
But the real owner was Melchor.
He had thought he’d hidden them extremely well, but it was clear the rebels knew something.
“Is there any good way to handle this?”
“How about moving some of your assets somewhere safe?”
“Somewhere safe?”
“We liquidate all the casinos and the farm, turn them into cash, and put it into coins or secret accounts. You were going to have to clean everything up before your term ended anyway.”
“Still, it feels like a waste.”
Melchor truly did think it was a waste.
They were cash cows that brought in an enormous amount of money every month.
He did not want to sell them.
Of course, selling them would bring in a lump sum, but the casinos that provided him with monthly income were far better.
They were far too valuable to sell.
“Then leave them as they are. But if they get attacked a few more times, word will spread that they’re dangerous, and you won’t even make half of what you’re making now. Just keep that in mind.”
“Really?”
“If you were gambling and people started fighting right next to you, would you feel like playing? If you were on a hot streak and someone fell over and bumped into your cards, would you like that?”
“No. I wouldn’t. Still, couldn’t I send the police to guard them?”
“You want to advertise that they’re your casinos? The casinos get attacked, and the police protect them? Since when did casinos become that kind of place in the Philippines? Of course the police can guard them, but the moment they do, it’ll raise a flag that says this place is connected to someone. Anyone with something to hide won’t come.”
“……”
“I’ll operate them as usual for now, then. I came to tell you that.”
“Wait… if I sell them, is there anyone who’d buy?”
At that moment, he remembered the phone call from last night.
The words about sending him a gift.
If all of this was a planned crime by the rebels, then the attacks would continue, and the price of the casinos would fall.
If he was going to dispose of them anyway, now might be better.
“As it happens, there’s someone who wants to buy casinos. I think handing them over to that person would be fine.”
“Look into it for now. Try to sell them if possible. What should we do once they’re sold?”
“Put the money into coins or launder it and move it into a corporation. Switzerland’s a bit iffy these days.”
“Got it. Take care of it for me.”
“Don’t worry. What are friends for? I’ll handle it. Don’t worry.”
After leaving Malacañang Palace, Raksa looked around and then called someone.
“Yes. I told him. Understood. I’ll take care of it right away. Thank you.”
After hanging up, Raksa’s face was full of smiles.
.
.
.
After hanging up, I felt slightly uneasy.
I was worried that Melchor might misunderstand my gift.
My gift wasn’t the casino attacks, nor the fire at the farm.
My real gift was Raksa.
I was worried that Melchor might not realize that.
I was worried he hadn’t properly received my gift.
The one who planted the cell phone.
The one who told us the locations of the casinos and the farm.
All of it had been Raksa.
I was worried that Melchor might not know that.
I’m so worried I can’t sleep.