From the Fatherland, with Love, page 22
“His Excellency has just asked why we should be drinking under these circumstances. My reply is that this special Pyongyang product, like the feast you see before you, is intended to inaugurate a mutually beneficial relationship.” So saying, he emptied his brimming glass in a single gulp, then motioned with his chin toward the NHK cameramen as a signal to Jo to have them leave. The lieutenant announced that coverage of the day’s events was over for the moment and that the media representatives should wait in the lobby until the press conference. “We will now discuss that relationship,” Han resumed, once the people had left. “The necessary basis for any such association is mutual trust.” He then took a big bite of the skewered pork and kimchi he had in his right hand and a sip from the bowl of cold seaweed-and-cucumber soup in his left. Jo also began eating with gusto, while Ri Hui Cheol gnawed on some deep-fried mackerel, crunching every bone. Ri Gwi Hui had for the moment put her laptop to one side and was working on some minced chicken and kimchi in a bowl piled with rice. The sound of her chewing was rather pleasant, as suggested by the Korean proverb that the crunch of kimchi sounds better than birdsong. Pak Myeong, remembering this, thought that it must refer to the pleasure of seeing and hearing a beautiful woman eating, and this blended with the nostalgia he felt as he savored his cheyukjon. The taste wasn’t quite the same as the dish his mother had cooked. Presumably there were subtle differences in the recipe between regions, and even between families.
Tenzan and Yoshioka looked on in amazement as their hosts put away meat, fish, cabbage, and rice with the speed of hungry wolves, not knowing that the SOF were trained to do most things as quickly as possible and that the officers had, in fact, scarcely eaten since taking over Fukuoka Dome. Even as he was making alarmingly short work of the food, Han brought up the subject of Juche as a simple illustration of what he meant by “a mutually beneficial relationship.” Representatives of the Republic who were engaged in negotiations habitually mentioned this practical, home-grown ideology. It was not set policy to do so, but it was nonetheless uniform practice. With the gradual introduction of liberalization, however, the Dear Leader had himself expressed the unprecedented view that when dealing with foreigners a long-winded exposition of the national ideology was unnecessary. His decision in this regard had arisen after the American representative at the non-aggression pact talks displayed impatience when being treated to a two-hour lecture on the subject. Han was now saying: “We stand firmly by the belief that by focusing on our common humanity, and striving to further that humanity through scientific progress, we can overcome our differences in social organization and culture. Your Honor, Your Excellency, working hand in hand, we can start building a new society here. I dare say that half the battle is having confidence that this is worth doing—and can be done.”
From deeply ingrained habit, he was on the verge of expanding on the philosophy behind this, but Major Ri raised a hand to gently dissuade him. Curtailing his remarks, he went on: “The principles of Juche, with their emphasis on independence and self-reliance, are something we in the Republic grow up with and frequently have recourse to; but we are by no means dogmatic about them. After all, at the heart of everything are human beings, and the fact that everything changes and evolves is reassuring. It is again our common humanity that enables us to coexist.” He then told Pak Myeong to distribute copies of the Master Plan for Harmonious Government. Pak had spent the entire night grappling with the draft and had completed it forty minutes before the meeting. There were three basic points for agreement, along with two concrete policies and demands, and one announcement. The points were: (1) the peaceful coexistence of the Koryo Expeditionary Force and the residents of Fukuoka; (2) the joint effort of the KEF and Fukuoka’s representatives to work out the particulars concerning that relationship; and (3) the ultimate independence of the KEF and Fukuoka from Japan.
Han paused and asked whether there were any questions. Tenzan looked up from the document, removed his reading glasses, and asked calmly, “You spoke just now of Juche, but aren’t you rebels?” Tenzan was bright red in the face from only half a glass of Kamhongno, but his speech remained clear. “We are,” replied Han with a nod and a smile. “But if you staged an attempted coup in the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea and then fled to Fukuoka, why don’t you lay down your weapons and seek asylum?” Han remained unruffled: “We are neither asylum seekers nor aggressors. Rather we have abandoned our country and come here to pursue a cause—true justice.” He then looked at Major Ri. In faltering Japanese, Ri apologized for having to use an interpreter and then began speaking in Korean, with Jo translating for him.
“There are many examples in history of insurgent troops allying themselves, even while still armed, with people of other countries and fighting with them for a cause. Such partnerships have been well received, from ancient times to the present day—from the empires of Alexander the Great, Rome, Genghis Khan, and the Ming, to what we’re now seeing in Central Asia and Russia. It wasn’t so long ago, during World War II, that armored brigades in Finland rebelled against their Soviet-allied government and joined forces with the German army. And there were Polish soldiers who, defying the puppet regime that was reconciled to the Nazi occupation, threw in their lot with the Soviet army. South Korean soldiers rejecting the Syngman Rhee regime went over to the side of the DPRK-Chinese alliance. During the Vietnam War, many South Vietnamese and Cambodian soldiers coexisted, in common opposition to their governments and in the common desire to fight the Americans. We hope you will see us as forces offering a helping hand to Fukuoka and other democratic elements among the Japanese people.”
“All the examples you’ve given,” replied Tenzan, “involve wartime conditions. Fukuoka is not at war. Neither do we want this ‘mutually beneficial relationship’ you refer to.” Hearing Tenzan say this, the governor looked at him with a mixture of anxiety and reproach, as though to warn him that they might all be killed for talking like that. And yet, as Pak Myeong noticed, the hand with which Tenzan was holding his glass of Korean liquor was trembling, an obvious sign that he was scared as well. Han replied to Tenzan’s objection: “For sixty years the Republic has merely been observing a truce. War is just another aspect of diplomacy and politics; it is a great mistake to think that peace and war are polar opposites. We are not asking you, your Honor, your Excellency, to agree with the Master Plan for Harmonious Government. We are merely giving you notice of it. Should you oppose it, you will be arrested for taking a stand against harmonious coexistence. That unfortunate development will further result in making impossible the release of the foreigners now being confined in this hotel, something the governments of Canada, Australia, Taiwan, Malaysia, and South Korea will hardly welcome. Responsibility for that will rest entirely on your shoulders, and once you are locked up with the others, you will be in no position to argue further. Would you care to take a look at what has become of Mr. Okiyama, while being held for false impersonation?” Without waiting for a reply, the commander took out his mobile phone and ordered his subordinates to fetch the man in question, though discreetly out of range of NHK’s cameras.
It wasn’t long before two KEF soldiers dragged Okiyama into the banquet room, holding him by both arms. The sight made Yoshioka squeal, and Tenzan gagged, and gagged, clutching a handkerchief to his mouth. Okiyama was half-naked, and his right shoulder was covered in blood, the flesh split and flapping open, with a bit of white bone exposed. His face was badly scratched and contorted, a yellowish liquid was dripping from one eye, and his left hip looked out of joint and incapable of supporting his weight. Barely conscious, he revived just long enough to grimace and give a groan that sounded like air leaking from a balloon. This was too much for Yoshioka: he had turned pale, and his plump body was shaking. His eyes wandered about in a daze, he knocked his glass over, and the muscles in his cheeks began to twitch as if he were laughing, or choking. Tenzan was trying hard to maintain his composure, still holding his handkerchief over his mouth. “Various questions were put to him concerning the movements of the Special Assault Team, the regular police, and the Self-Defense Force, but he declined to answer,” Han said, taking a sesame cookie from a plate and putting it in his mouth. Ri Gwi Hui was eating a deep-fried jujube; and Jo Su Ryeon asked Kim Sun I if she would hand him an apple.
Yoshioka and Tenzan tried not to look. The governor was on the verge of panic, as though he might at any moment stand up and scream. Pak had never seen people react like this. In the Republic, it wasn’t uncommon to see someone who’d had the stuffing beaten out of them. Everyone knew what happened to political offenders and ordinary criminals, and in the military, the sort of punishment that Okiyama had been subjected to was something one learned to expect. Any KEF soldier could have identified the treatment he had undergone simply by looking at him. He had probably been made to do the Motorcycle several times, which would account for the hip injury, perhaps with renewed damage to his herniated disk. In reaction to the excruciating pain, he might inadvertently have scratched his face and damaged an eyeball. After that, the subject would have been made to sit cross-legged, then beaten on the bare right shoulder with a wooden staff. This too caused great pain, and it wouldn’t have taken many blows to tear away the flesh and expose the bone. Okiyama probably didn’t know anything about any joint plans drawn up by the police and the SDF. If he had known, he would readily have spilled his guts. There was no reason to expect a Japanese to stand up to the sort of torture the SOF were familiar with.
Okiyama’s raucous breathing blended with the sound of Ri Hui Cheol chewing his kimchi. Yoshioka’s eyes were wide with fear, and Tenzan was struggling to speak. His face, flushed with Kamhongno moments ago, had now lost its color. He had closed his eyes and was biting his lip. To Pak it seemed he was trying to regain his composure and get his thoughts in order, but it was probably impossible. These Japanese simply weren’t used to violence; they lived in a soft, tissue-paper world. Tenzan looked up and glanced again at the poor Okiyama. “I understand,” he said. “What do you understand?” asked Han. Tenzan replied with a distracted expression and in an almost inaudible voice: “I accept the Master Plan.”
Prior to the news conference held at 10:30 that morning, a total of fifty-nine foreigners at the hotel were released from their various rooms, along with eighteen Japanese. The released Japanese were children under the age of fourteen, the ill, and the handicapped, and included both tourists and hotel employees. All had been well treated and were in good spirits. The fifty-nine former hostages were to be taken in a bus provided by the KEF from the hotel to Checkpoint B at Momochihama Bridge. From there they could walk to the downtown area. The South Korean tourists, mostly students, spoke freely with the soldiers, asking Pak and Jo whether there really had been a coup d’état in the DPRK. Would Kim Jong Il’s regime continue? Would the KEF now be attacking Busan from Fukuoka? What kind of relationship did they intend to build with the South? “Unfortunately,” said Pak, “we can make no comment at this time. We’ll be informing the world at large of our situation, thoughts, and plans when the appropriate time comes.”
The press conference began in the hotel lobby, but Yoshioka had excused himself, saying he was feeling ill. Terrified by the sight of Okiyama, he’d been reduced to a nervous wreck. He’d stood in a corner of the room, leaning against the wall and weeping like a child, refusing to reply to anything the mayor said to him. As if comforting a child, Warrant Officer Ri Gyu Yeong put an arm around his shoulders and led him into another room, where she would gave him a tranquilizer and let him rest. Representing the KEF at the press conference, in addition to Pak, were Colonel Han and his second-in-command, Ri Hui Cheol, with propaganda director Jo Su Ryeon officiating. “First,” said Jo, “our commanding officer, Colonel Han Seung Jin, will receive a report from His Honor, Mayor Tenzan, concerning the basic agreement.” Tenzan’s voice wavered as he outlined the three main points. When he finished reading out the third item concerning the independence of Fukuoka, there was commotion among the members of the press corps.
The reporters rose to ask what the hell this meant, but Jo told them that questions would have to wait until the end. Next Pak Myeong presented the two concrete policies for the new joint government. These two administrative mainstays were: (1) the issuance by the KEF of yen-convertible notes, and (2) the arrest of both politically dangerous elements and serious criminal offenders. A list of offenders had already been compiled but would not be announced out of concern that the guilty might attempt to flee. The task of rounding them up would be carried out with the cooperation of the Fukuoka police. Though a meeting with the prefectural chief of police had been cancelled, His Excellency Governor Yoshioka along with His Honor Mayor Tenzan had pledged their support. The KEF, Pak added, was a military organization without police functions. Thus, the assistance of the prefectural police was essential.
Yen-convertible notes would be backed by the financial resources of the KEF, but in practice paper money would not be issued. Payments for food, drink, clothing, medicine, sanitation, and residential-building construction would be made electronically; KEF officers would make payments with the memory cards they carried. Pak did not explain what he meant by “financial resources,” but the reporters present didn’t seem to be interested in this aspect. He had prepared an answer: gold bullion brought from the DPRK. In reality, however, funding would come from assets confiscated from politically dangerous elements and serious criminal offenders. After their arrest, their bank accounts would be transferred to the KEF, while information concerning overseas capital, stocks, and securities, along with savings concealed in the name of third parties, would be extracted under interrogation and these resources subsequently appropriated.
Politically dangerous elements and serious criminal offenders—corrupt politicians and power-brokers, corporate extortionists, and those who’d racked up fortunes through gambling, loan-sharking, prostitution, and drugs—were to be attacked root and branch. Included on Lieutenant Ri Gwi Hui’s list were members of Chongryon, the General Association of Korean Residents of Japan. Their home and business addresses were known, and as Fukuoka was already sealed off, they had nowhere to run even if they got wind of their impending arrest. The yen-convertible note had been planned by Major Ra Jae Gong, a product of the National Security Agency and commander of the 907th Battalion’s Third Company. Ra was rumored to have been involved in the transfer of the Comrade General’s personal assets to a Swiss bank account. A monetary and economic expert, he had been put in charge of managing the financial operation in Fukuoka. From his straightforward and unequivocal point of view, no one could object to taking money from crooks.
Finally, Han had an announcement: ships carrying a hundred and twenty thousand rebel troops from the People’s Army would be docking in Fukuoka in eight days’ time. Tenzan, who had already been told this at the banquet, lowered his eyes and bit his lip; the assembled journalists, for their part, were momentarily stunned. They stopped writing, exchanged glances, and conferred in undertones: Did we hear that correctly? A hundred and twenty thousand troops on their way here? Lieutenant Jo explained the plan. “As soon as these troops arrive at Hakata Port, they will be integrated into the KEF. They will then construct living quarters on vacant land in Hakata Ward, Chuo Ward, Sawara Ward, Nishi Ward, and the Gannosu area of Higashi Ward and thereby become fellow Fukuokans. In due course they will form a fine workforce in this new land, advancing the ‘lightning progress strategy’ developed in the Republic, and devoting themselves fully to peace and prosperity in East Asia. That is the substance of our announcement. Now if you have any questions, we’ll be happy to answer them.”
“Yokogawa of the Nishi Nippon Shinbun. I must say I find myself speechless with shock, and I’m sure my fellow journalists feel the same way hearing this. I have several questions. First, when will these reinforcements leave the DPRK by ship?”
Yokogawa was the oldest of the four reporters, with the thinnest hair, but though he claimed to have been rendered speechless, he spoke out purposefully in his booming tenor. “I cannot tell you when exactly the ships will leave port,” said Jo, “but, as I’m sure you all know, it should take about fifty hours for naval vessels to reach Fukuoka from the east coast of the Republic.”
Yokogawa nodded and scribbled a note. “Has General Secretary Kim Jong Il authorized their dispatch? This morning the Korean Central News Agency expressed the opinion that you are indeed a rebel group and have nothing to do with either the Democratic People’s Republic or the Korean Workers Party. As such, the response of other countries to your actions is of no direct relevance to the DPRK, even if the Japanese or American governments attack you. As these governments are already denouncing the DPRK over this incident, there is some question as to whether the General Secretary will permit the departure of ships carrying rebels. What do you say to that?”
Yokogawa scratched his head with his pen as he posed the question. His outward appearance suggested a weary, middle-aged man, but Pak could see that here was a professional and tenacious journalist. This press conference was being broadcast worldwide, but that didn’t seem to bother Yokogawa in the least. Nor was he intimidated by the presence of KEF sentries armed with AKs or by the fact that all Han’s subordinates were packing pistols.
