“Why by train?” Luganov asked.
“He is petrified of flying, Your Excellency.”
“How far is that journey?”
“Almost five hundred miles.”
Oleg stopped writing for a moment and looked at Petrovsky. Five hundred miles by train? he wondered, though he said nothing. This North Korean really is insane.
That turned out to be an understatement. Nimkov reminded Luganov that the man had several titles he would appreciate being used when they met. He wanted to be referred to as the “Ever-Victorious, Iron-Willed Commander.” He also wanted a reference made to the “Glorious General Who Descended from Heaven.” While he was partial to “Highest Incarnation of the Revolutionary Comradely Love,” he would not be offended if Luganov preferred to simply call him the “Guiding Star of the Twenty-First Century.”
Oleg could have written a book about the absolutely bizarre eccentricities of the North Korean dictator he observed during the two-hour meeting between the two leaders, from what he wore to what he ate to how he expressed himself. But what truly disturbed Oleg was how close Luganov seemed to be to this madman. Oleg had never participated in—much less created a transcript of—a single call between the two leaders. Yet the evidence suggested the two men had spoken dozens of times over the past few years. They clearly had a history together, and they were using a personal shorthand to build their framework for an entirely new bilateral relationship.
At first, none of it computed. On the plane, Petrovsky had advised Luganov on ways to persuade the North Koreans to end their nuclear weapons program and enter into a new round of six-party peace talks with South Korea, China, Japan, Russia, and the United States. Luganov had acted as if he fully agreed with his defense minister. But once Petrovsky left the room, it became obvious that defusing the North Korean threat was not Luganov’s objective at all.
As Oleg took notes during the meeting between the two heads of state, it was clear that Luganov was trying to clandestinely flip Pyongyang’s allegiance from Beijing to Moscow. In so doing, he seemed willing to help Pyongyang become a regional powerhouse ready and able to intimidate and even dominate Seoul, Tokyo, Taipei, and everyone else in the Pacific Rim. To accomplish this, Luganov offered to cancel North Korea’s $11 billion debt to Russia and provide some $2 billion in new Russian grain shipments. That’s why, Luganov said, he’d persuaded five oligarchs to be prepared to invest upward of $25 billion in developing North Korean natural resources like coal and iron ore over the next decade. That was also why Luganov was offering Moscow’s technical assistance with helping Pyongyang build ballistic missiles capable not only of carrying nuclear warheads but of reaching the continental United States.
Luganov’s chilling offers were immediately accepted, but there was more to the conspiracy the two leaders were concocting. They agreed that to throw the West—as well as Beijing—off the scent, Russia would publicly and forcefully condemn Pyongyang’s ongoing nuclear weapons tests. They even wrote the press release together. What’s more, they agreed that Russia’s Foreign Ministry would actively support additional economic sanctions against North Korea at the U.N. Security Council meeting later that month.
It would all be a show. The “Guiding Star” couldn’t have made himself more clear that he eagerly sought to be the Pacific arm of a “rising new Russian Empire.” He agreed to fully share the results of North Korea’s ICBM testing with scientists from Tehran in order to help the Islamic Republic of Iran become the Middle Eastern arm of the new Russian Empire. Then, in the final minutes of their time together, the two men lowered their voices and somewhat cryptically agreed to be helpful to each other on “additional projects of mutual concern.” Oleg wasn’t sure what they meant. Nor was he certain he wanted to know. But he dutifully wrote down every word he heard through the official translator and kept his mouth shut.
28
The flight back to Moscow was surreal.
Luganov lied to the defense minister’s face. He spoke of the “sober but successful” talks he’d had with the “Guiding Star.” He said he believed new Russian financial assistance to Pyongyang was going to help curb the “lunatic’s nuclear ambitions” and bring North Korea back to the six-party peace talks. He insisted Russia should pursue a policy of both carrots and sticks. They would surprise the world by supporting the French draft of the U.N. Security Council resolution condemning Pyongyang’s latest nuclear tests, and actively work to ratchet up international pressure on the “rogue regime.”
Yet when Petrovsky stepped out of the conference room to take a call from his deputy in Moscow, Luganov sketched out an entirely different strategy with the FSB chief. Then, as if suddenly remembering that Oleg was sitting there, he turned to his son-in-law and ordered him not to transcribe anything he was about to say next. Clearly the president wanted no record of his daring gambit to flip Pyongyang from Beijing’s sphere of influence to his own. Oleg obediently put down his pen. He fully expected to be asked to step out of the room. But that order never came. The two men spoke in hushed voices for several minutes. Then Luganov instructed Nimkov to step out of the room and ask for fresh chai and some snacks to be brought in.
After a steward delivered the order, he bowed slightly to the president and backed out of the conference room, shutting the door and leaving Luganov and Oleg sitting alone together. Not even Agent Kovalev was with them.
Oleg had a thousand questions, none of which seemed prudent to ask. The truth was he felt deeply conflicted. He abhorred what the North Koreans were doing and saw them as a grave threat not only to the whole of the Pacific Rim but also to Russia herself. Their megalomaniacal leader would soon be armed with fully operational nuclear warheads and intercontinental ballistic missiles. Wouldn’t he be difficult, if not impossible, to manage? How did the president not see he was creating a monster?
At the same time, these were strategic matters far above his pay grade. He had tremendous respect for his father-in-law’s ability to defend Mother Russia from all threats, at home and abroad. He’d seen the strong hand Luganov had used in Chechnya, to great effect. The terrorist threat to the Russian people had largely disappeared. He had seen President Luganov show admirable strength and unexpected resolve in invading eastern Georgia, and while Oleg regretted the loss of Georgian lives that had resulted, there was no question that his father-in-law’s standing on the world stage had significantly—and counterintuitively—improved. Global leaders, and especially the Americans, now respected and even feared Luganov in a way they hadn’t before the invasion. Oleg could see the way the current American president, a weak and pitiful creature, was showing great deference to his father-in-law and granting him surprising concessions in various trade and arms-control negotiations and a host of other matters.
If that weren’t enough, Luganov’s approval rating among the Russian people had soared following the invasion of Georgia. Before, it had hovered in the low to midsixties. Afterward it shot up to the mideighties. Rather than be frightened or bothered by the move, the people had loved Luganov’s show of raw Russian strength. They had loved his utter defiance of the global order and especially his flouting of NATO and the Americans. They had certainly had their attention diverted from systemic economic troubles throughout the motherland and the rampant corruption inside Moscow, and they seemed happy to be so diverted. Their leader looked tough and decisive, especially while the weaklings in the West issued meaningless press releases and wrung their hands and whined about the need for “order and stability” and “respect for international law.” Contrary to Oleg’s concerns, there had been no negative consequences for Russia at all.