by James Hudson
“Oh, no!” she exclaimed, laughing. “Not for a thousand!”
George grinned. “Well, let’s leave him here.”
“You can kill him if you want,” she said simply, putting on her dress. “You have guns.”
“Why?” George chuckled.
She shrugged.
“Just imagine how interesting your life would be afterward. A man about forty was found dead in a hotel room in thirty miles from London. The police didn’t find any evidence. But the sniffer dogs smelled the fragrance of French perfume. The police understood that a woman was involved in the murder.”
She laughed cheerfully.
“What fantasy!” George smiled. “Oh… I forgot… Shit!”
“What? You’ve lost your wallet?”
“No! Here’s your money! But I need you to bring my laptop here. It’s outside.”
“In your car?”
“No… Somewhere in the park. Across the road. Behind the bench.”
She grinned.
“Gentlemen have their own secrets.”
“Just bring it here, please.”
“All right. Are you staying?”
“Just go,” George smiled.
“All right!”
“Wait… You have no coat?”
“Don’t worry! I’m always hot,” she winked at him.
Then she went outside in the night and never came back.
George searched the sleeping man and stole his car keys. He decided to go back to London. The woman with chubby cheeks – he didn’t want to call her a whore – invigorated him and raised his spirits. George felt that she hit the spot. He was satisfied so much, probably because the woman with chubby cheeks was the only person who didn’t hate him and didn’t do any harm.
George left a note for the sleeping man saying that his car would be waiting for him in London. He wasn’t going to steal it.
George found his laptop right at the place he’d left it yesterday. The woman with chubby cheeks didn’t take it. I’m quite sure that Lana – the ex-girlfriend of the system administrator – would act differently. I wonder who her sponsor is now… Walter Schmidt?
George came up to the car and unlocked it. It was a brand-new Audi A5. He started the engine. The diesel rumbling destroyed the wonderful stillness and silence of the place. George stepped down on the accelerator, and the blue hatchback launched forward.
In thirty minutes, George Hartley reached London. GPS led him to the clothes store. George walked in and purchased an expensive suit, a shirt, an elegant raincoat, and leather shoes. And at once, he took to it like a duck to water. He threw the old clothes in a garbage container.
No more humiliation! Probably, I’m as innocent as a lamb! No more hide-and-seek! If I think like a poor man, I’ll never get back in the game. If I behave like a frightened baby, I’ll never know the truth. There must be an explanation of all this. I should read the papers. But first of all, I need a lot of sleep.
He walked into a random restaurant and ordered breakfast. It was 8 a.m., rush-hour.
Then, walking down the street, George approached a random girl and asked her to do him a favor. He told her that he was from the USA and lost his credit card and that he couldn’t check into a hotel. The girl – a pretty 20-year-old college student – looked at George’s expensive suit, a box with a new laptop, and believed him. She skipped a class, and helped George to book the nearest expensive hotel, using her cell phone and the credit card. George thanked her and paid her one thousand dollars. Although he begged her not to bother him at least for a week, the girl apparently wanted to get to know the mysterious American better. He let her come only for check-out.
I want to believe, a few days would be enough time to get everything straightened out, George Hartley thought, collapsing into bed.
13. Trip to North Korea (Part 1)
I can’t reveal my name. I’m an intelligence officer. Our department has been spying on George Hartley for the last two months because his activity has already had severe consequences for the global economy and international relations. In most cases, Mr. Hartley makes a lot of money destabilizing global financial markets. He’s smart, cunning, and resourceful.
I’m going to set out all the facts we’ve collected regarding the activity of George Hartley. Believe me, we’ve already had enough information to put him in jail forever. Probably, it’s just a matter of time.
So, regarding the recent trip of George Hartley to North Korea. Let’s begin…
We deem it an incredible success that we managed to hide an electronic eavesdropping bug in Hartley’s hair. During the flight to North Korea, our planted employee strongly recommended George Hartley to have his hair styled. That employee was actually a hairdresser himself. He did his job, applying gel to Hartley’s hair, and prohibited him from touching it. The bug was hidden right there. If George Hartley had touched his hair, he would’ve definitely found the eavesdropping device. Most likely, he wanted to look like a million bucks in front of the North Korean leader.
So, George Hartley arrived in Pyongyang at 7 p.m. Although, he flew on his private jet, we assumed it was a top-secret meeting, and nobody knew about it. No reporters, of course.
We can’t say who met him at the airport – we have only this audio recording. Upon arrival, George Hartley remained mute. We just heard that someone told him to hand over his cell phone and all electronic devices. It is a miracle that the security guys didn’t find the eavesdropping bug. I have no doubt they searched George Hartley. No jokes with North Koreans – that’s for sure.
George Hartley got into a car – something with a V8 engine, judging from the sound. It must’ve been a car from the fleet of the North Korean leader. It is rumored that the garage of the leader consists of more than one hundred supercars. Good on him. Thousands of people die of hunger in North Korea.
So, twenty minutes later, the car stopped, and George Hartley got out. He whispered, “Magnificent!” entering a building. Probably, it was one of the palaces of the Supreme Leader of North Korea.
At 8 p.m., they met each other. Just three of them – George Hartley, the North Korean leader Hoon Kwak, and a young girl translator. Even though the Supreme Leader had lived and attended school in Switzerland, and he could speak English, he invited a translator. We’re pretty sure that after that conversation, the poor girl had no chance to stay alive.
So, here’s what we heard.
“Mr. Hoon Kwak! Nice to meet you!” George Hartley exclaimed.
“Call me Marshal Hoon,” the North Korean leader said.
“OK. You’ve got a fancy jacket!” George Hartley said cheerfully.
Pause. Probably, Hoon Kwak didn’t get used to an informal style of communication. Just imagine who would ever tell him jokes? Just a mention of his name was enough to strike terror into people.
I don’t know why but Hoon Kwak laughed at last. The girl-translator must’ve smoothened things.
“Actually, I don’t like this jacket. I don’t feel comfortable. Local manufacturing,” Hoon Kwak muttered.
“I see,” George Hartley grinned. “What do you usually wear? Italian clothing brands?”
That sounded risky. We heard the mockery in his voice. Very risky. But apparently, Hoon Kwak was interested in dealing with George Hartley. He didn’t get angry. We’re quite sure that he could’ve ordered to execute Hartley by firing squad or by flamethrower as Hoon Kwak had already done to some of his relatives.
Hoon Kwak laughed again. It was a histrionic laugh.
“You want something to drink, Mr. Hartley?”
“Just George. And yeah, I’d love to drink whiskey.”
“All right, George. Irish or scotch?”
“You have both?” George Hartley was surprised.
“Of course! We have everything you want – wine, whiskey, vodka, cognac, tequila… Just everything.”
Hoon Kwak’s tone was excited. I bet his eyes sparkled at that moment.
“But how is it possible,
Marshal Hoon? North Korean economy is under sanctions. You can’t import a lot of goods, including food, alcohol, clothes, etc.”
George Hartley was fearlessly trolling the North Korean leader. And we were amazed by the reaction of Hoon Kwak.
“Presents!” he exclaimed. “A lot of people give me expensive gifts!” He was apparently nervous. George perplexed him with all these questions.
“By the way, I read in Wikipedia that you had your own island,” George Hartley added.
“Yeah, it’s not far from here. My cars are parked there. And I’ve got two yachts as well.”
“Even yachts?”
“Yeah. British yachts, by the way.”
“Wow!” George Hartley exclaimed. “You have great taste! Has anyone visited your island?”
“Only one guest. But… let’s drink!”
Hoon Kwak was obviously nervous and a little bit angry. He didn’t expect all this.
“Oh, I know who it was!” George Hartley laughed. “A famous basketball player Michael Jordan visited your place! I’ve read it on the Internet!”
“Yes!” Hoon Kwak said dryly. “I’ve always been fond of basketball.”
“Oh, it’s your hobby? And what about politics?”
Awkward silence in the room lasted for half a minute.
“You studied in Switzerland, as I remember,” George Hartley uttered quickly. “Did you like it?”
“Absolutely! I enjoyed that time.” Hoon Kwak’s tone was warm.
“To Switzerland!” George Hartley exclaimed.
We heard they clinked glasses. The girl-translator coughed. I bet they didn’t pour her a drink. But they could, given the fact that it would’ve been her last meal. Jesus…
Twenty seconds later, Hoon Kwak suddenly asked,
“Wait! Why Switzerland? You forgot where we are, George? How is it possible… that it wasn’t a toast to me… to my country?”
“Jeez, man! This is ridiculous what you’re saying!” George Hartley chuckled.
“You are in the greatest country in the world! Don’t you ever forget it, mister! Our people are the happiest! We have overall justice! We hate Japanese! Korean nationalism is the greatest thing that encourages people to be themselves. No falsehoods and sycophancy! Justice and fairness! And what do you have? Lousy capitalism! Everyone tries to sell everything. Everyone is ready to flatter, ingratiate himself with everyone, bow and scrape… And sell, sell, sell!”
To tell the truth, we were sure George Hartley would apologize. But he didn’t…
“Yeah,” George Hartley grinned. “Say it again! The familiar mottos of your granddad and dad. Do you know what I think of them? They were just fucking paranoids, maniacs, misanthropes who hated people killing thousands or even millions of them. I hope they’re still burning in hell. Let’em burn a thousand years more…”
The glass broke into smithereens. Someone pulled out a chair with a clatter. The girl-translator squeaked in horror. Something was about to happen.
14. Trip to North Korea (Part 2)
“Calm down, man! I know your secret!” George Hartley exclaimed.
“You are not gonna insult my family!” Hoon Kwak roared. He cursed and swore in Korean. But the girl-translator stayed calm and polite. Sometimes, her voice trembled.
“I know something about you and that basketball player,” George Hartley said in a serious tone.
“What the hell are you talking about?” the North Korean leader barked.
But we distinctly heard that his voice almost cracked.
“I know that you’d invited that basketball player not only to show him your island. Right? I know what actually happened in Switzerland, dear Hoon,” George Hartley whispered.
“Go on!” he ordered. “What do you know?”
“Sitting in boring classes in Switzerland, you’d been drawing his portraits. You’d been watching basketball games with him again and again. I read about it on Wikipedia or somewhere else. Man, you have to admit that you wanna be with him. You suffer staying here, in this crappy North Korea. You wanna be with Michael Jordan, right?”
When we heard it, we just went pale and couldn’t breathe. George Hartley definitely had balls of steel.
The girl-translator started coughing loudly. Hoon Kwak kept silent for a minute.
Then he said in a sad voice,
“You’d never understand, George, how difficult it is to pretend that I love all this shit. I do pretend 24 hours a day. They made me marry that stupid gal. Yeah, she adores me. But as you probably know from the newspapers, I recently ordered sauna equipment from Finland. I thought once that I would invite five-six whores, and they would arouse me… But hell, no! Even twenty gorgeous sluts—”
“Western girls?” George Hartley asked.
“Nah… local girls… Their husbands had been labeled as public enemies and sent to labor camps. And their wives tried to amuse me. Nothing, George! I felt nothing! I couldn’t stop thinking about Michael… He’s so cute… He’s tall, wide-shouldered, has a big…”
“Stop it!” George Hartley interrupted him. “Have you thought about leaving the country?”
What a master negotiator George Hartley was!
“I can’t!” Hoon Kwak exclaimed. “I thought about it, but it’s impossible. I’ll never hide! They would go to the end of the earth to get me back.”
“And why didn’t you invite Michael Jordan to your place? He could live on your island…”
“He’d never come again,” Hoon Kwak sobbed.
The voice of the girl-translator quivered.
“Even if he came, these fucking reporters and scouts from South Korea are everywhere! They would definitely blurt out the news all over the world. I’ve got no place to hide on this planet. You know, George, sometimes, I feel I’m the unhappiest person in the world. People in Switzerland were so free, so easy to communicate with. Now I have only two pleasures: playing computer games and beating girls.”
“Beating?” George Hartley was amazed.
“Yeah, I hate women.”
“I bet you just don’t know how to have fun with them. I read on Wikipedia you’d been a timid boy in Switzerland.”
“Screw you!” Hoon Kwak shouted.
Obviously, George Hartley overstepped all boundaries.
“Come on, man! You can make really tough decisions, can’t you?”
“Like what?” Hoon Kwak asked rudely.
“Well, you killed your uncle.”
“I did.”
“You showed your character. No one in the world thinks you’re a weak guy.”
“Really?” Hoon Kwak asked quickly.
“Yeah! But you have to be happy!” George Hartley exclaimed. “Tell me one thing… Were you depressed after you ordered to kill your uncle?”
“Well…”
“Say it!”
“I was thinking about Michael once, holding his photo in one hand, when suddenly my uncle came into the room. I was so angry that I almost killed him by myself. But then I thought it would be less noticeable to charge him with treason.”
“Smart,” George Hartley grinned. “You must show your character again, man! Because it’s been a long time since you did some crazy things. You’ve got a lot of dangerous shit like nuclear weapons, missiles, bombs, etc. You know, if you want to attract the attention of a man you love, you must make something extraordinary. And probably he’ll like it. I mean, any action is always better than inactivity. Stir up some crazy shit. Some real planet-scale shit!”
“You think so?” Hoon Kwak asked dubiously.
“I do. Let’s drink again!”
They clinked glasses.
Then Hoon Kwak said, “You’ve come to propose something.”
“Yeah,” George Hartley replied. “Man, do you know how I make money?”
“You’re a financial market trader, right?”
“Yes. Let me explain. Every morning I wake up, start my computer and see what’s going on. What is actually a financial market?
This is a place where you can buy or sell stocks of different companies, as well as commodities like oil, gold, silver, natural gas, coffee, sugar, etc. You just click on what you wanna buy or sell. So, if you buy stocks – you buy a small part of the business of this company. You believe that the company will flourish, and in a month, in a year, or ten years, the stock prices will rise. Or you don’t believe in this company, and you sell the stocks, expecting the prices drop, and then you would buy it back.”
“What about oil, gold, and all that shit?” Hoon Kwak asked. “Do I buy real barrels of oil?”
“Well, they can deliver it if you want. But most traders buy and sell futures contracts. They just try to predict the future movement of the prices.
The details are not so important. What actually affects the prices? Demand and supply. So, if I want to change any price dramatically, I’ll have to invest hundreds of millions of dollars. There are a lot of big players out there. And I’ll never be sure whether or not the prices rise or drop in the nearest future.
But if we’re talking about the events, the situation is different. Every trader knows that if a country declares war, this is terrible news for the market. Every unstable situation makes traders sell. On the contrary, if a new President or a Prime Minister is elected, this can become a positive trigger for the markets.
Traders try to predict the future. They truly believe that everything happens entirely by accident. We can’t predict natural disasters like earthquakes, tsunamis, and volcanos. But most of the time, the financial world is under the control of big financial funds. Financial chaos is under control all day and night. The whole world is controlled.”
“I don’t believe it!” Hoon Kwak exclaimed. “What do you mean ‘under control’? Who controls me? I can declare anything I want, and every politician would have to respond to it.”
“You’ve got me!” George Hartley cried. “Here’s the explanation! Numerous financial groups are interested in speculating in the financial markets. Every group has its own interests. As a British market player, I can tell that I don’t interfere in American affairs. But I’m always involved in home affairs in Britain – Brexit, the situation on the currency market – Euro/British pound – as well as I’m concerned about oil prices and international conflicts.
