3. The Nuclear Man #2
He had to think of a way to go back to the main hall before someone appeared. Taekjoo started walking first with his back to the kitchen. Not far from him, he saw a hallway that veered off to the side. Everything had been going smoothly—
“Excuse me, where are you going?”
—until an unwelcome voice cut in. Taekjoo flinched and looked back. The butler earlier stood straight, staring at Taekjoo. His eyes now held a vigilance that hadn’t been there before. Taekjoo had to come up with an excuse.
“Restroom.”
Taekjoo tried to put on as awkward an expression as possible.
It was a basic human need, one that everyone experienced, and should, therefore, be understood.
But it seemed the butler wouldn’t easily go away.
He scrutinized Taekjoo without uttering a word.
Taekjoo didn’t look away but held his gaze in return.
He even forced a tight smile. The butler’s job was to deal with and read people, so it wasn’t easy to fool him.
The butler’s suspicious eyes roamed like marbles, brushing over Taekjoo’s skin.
Not long after, the butler gestured at the waiter coming out of the kitchen.
“Please accompany the gentleman to the bathroom.”
Taekjoo said he had to go, so the butler had no choice but to let him. But that didn’t mean his suspicions were all quelled.
“This way, if you will,” said the waiter, approaching Taekjoo. Unfortunately, the restroom was opposite the main hall. Taekjoo had no choice but to give a curt nod to the butler and follow the waiter.
The restroom was close to the kitchen and seemed to be used by the people working in the residence. On his way there, Taekjoo thoroughly scanned the ceiling, walls, columns, windows, and every nook and cranny. He was looking for surveillance cameras, but found none.
“Here you go. Well, then, if you’ll excuse me.”
The waiter nodded and turned around. As Taekjoo stepped aside to make way for him, he suddenly stopped the waiter by placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Yes?”
“Why don’t you take a break?”
“Excuse me?”
The waiter looked confused at first, but the expression quickly vanished—Taekjoo had targeted his vital point. The waiter flinched, then crumpled—knocked out cold. Taekjoo dragged the limp body into a restroom cubicle.
When he stepped out, he looked exactly like a waiter.
He kicked the cubicle door shut, dislodging the mop he had wedged earlier.
It clattered into place, locking the door from inside.
The waiter wouldn’t be discovered for a while.
Taekjoo had to act fast and take care of everything within that window.
He didn’t waste a moment and headed straight to the kitchen.
“Hurry up and get the whiskey out! And who’s in charge of the canapé? Move faster, you morons!”
Outside the kitchen, the most elegant banquet was taking place.
But inside, it was a battleground. The head chef, his face red with rage, had been yelling orders.
Then, without missing a beat, he turned around and handed Taekjoo a tray full of glasses of single-malt whiskey.
He didn’t forget to push Taekjoo in the back and yell at him to stop fidgeting around.
And just like that, Taekjoo was out of the kitchen again.
It took him a second to register, but this was the perfect way into the main hall. He trailed another waiter ahead, blending in as they entered the main hall. He met the butler again at the hall entrance, but Taekjoo lifted the tray up to hide his face.
Meanwhile, the main hall had grown even more crowded.
Everyone was in the same space but was experiencing different emotions.
On one side, some guests were deep in discussions about important domestic affairs.
On the other, men and women mingled and giggled.
Children dragged along by their parents sat slumped in their seats—dozing off, nibbling on sweets, or sitting still like lifeless dolls.
None of them had the playful innocence usually found in ordinary children.
Taekjoo navigated through the important guests with ease, discreetly eavesdropping on conversations. However, because the hall was such an open space, nothing he overheard stood out. Even so, he was certain that someone in the room knew where Anastasia was.
He decided to narrow down his target. A specialized contact lens in his left eye allowed him to scan people.
If he stared at someone for more than three seconds, a brief summary of their identity would appear in the corner of his vision.
For instance, if he stared at Lomonosov for more than three seconds, the text “Valery Antonovich Lomonosov, the president of Russia” would flash briefly in the corner of his vision.
Taekjoo moved his gaze slowly across the room, scanning every guest’s face. The hall was filled with the most powerful people—high-ranking government officials, wealthy business magnates, oligarchs[7], and infamous mafia figures. Everyone in the room had influence to wield.
“Looks good on you,” Zhenya told Taekjoo, seeing him in the waiter uniform.
Taekjoo was quietly chuckling to himself at the scene in the hall when a familiar voice cut in.
He looked to the side and found that Zhenya was standing next to him.
Zhenya reached out and took a glass of single-malt whiskey.
Taekjoo put on a bright smile, just because there were so many eyes watching him.
Every now and then, he’d offer a glass to those passing the two of them.
Zhenya mumbled while swirling the drink in his glass.
“A strange place, isn’t it? It’s busy, yet filled with anything but humans.”
What?—Taekjoo nearly blurted out the word before catching himself.
It was such a sudden and strange statement that for a moment, Taekjoo thought he heard it wrong.
Then, he remembered where he was and shut his mouth.
But his uneasy gaze lingered as he scanned Zhenya up and down.
Zhenya slowly brought the glass to his lips and changed the subject.
It was as if he wanted to fool Taekjoo to doubt whether he’d heard it at all.
“The one with Lomonosov right now, he’s the secondborn son of the House of Bogdanov, Vadim Vissarionovich. He’s said to be one of the figures closest to the president. I heard they go horseback riding together at least once a week. Apparently,
he’s also the most influential member of the State Duma[8]. They say all state projects and policies go through him before reaching the president, which speaks for itself.”
Taekjoo recalled that the head of the Bogdanov family was the practical president of Gazprom.
It made sense that his secondborn was the most influential member of the Duma and the closest advisor to the president.
It also explained how the energy project between Japan and Russia was conceived and established.
In the end, House Bogdanov benefited the most from the deal.
Zhenya swapped the glass he’d quickly emptied with a new one while pointing at an old man.
“There. That man in the wheelchair—Vissarion Romanovich—is the one with real power in Gazprom, the government-run energy giant. The Bogdanovs owe their current position to that old man, who controls Russia’s energy industry. After the Soviet Union collapsed,
energy resources became the country’s lifeline, its most reliable gold mine. The president may rule Russia, but it’s oligarchs like him who truly dominate it.”
The extent of the influence of the Bogdanovs was much more formidable than Taekjoo had anticipated.
It also made him curious about the rest of the family.
His eyes started moving busily, looking for the firstborn Bogdanov, Vladimir Vissarionovich.
And when Taekjoo failed to spot him, he grabbed a glass of whiskey from his tray and passed it to Zhenya.
Zhenya, having understood what Taekjoo was doing, smiled.
There he comes—said Zhenya as he accepted the glass with a smirk.
Taekjoo turned to where Zhenya was looking at. He saw a man coming down the stairs while shaking hands with guests. To Taekjoo’s surprise, the man was of short and had a stern, irritable look.
“The eldest, Vladimir, is said to be taking after the family business. When Vissarion Romanovich dies, he’ll be the richest energy mogul in Russia. Slaves breed slaves, and kings sire kings. Vladimir is already drawing more attention than his father.
Some believe the family business will flourish even further under his control.”
“A family business run by the family, indeed. But what about Psikh Bogdanov, that maniac? Is he, like, Romanovich’s bastard son? He’s practically a wanted thug, isn’t he? Doesn’t exactly fit into the royal family.”
“No, not really. Technically speaking, he’s a civil servant.”
Taekjoo snapped his head toward Zhenya before he could even stop himself. He was sure he’d heard it wrong this time. Or maybe Zhenya tried to be funny—and failed. But Zhenya returned Taekjoo the stare with a blank face.
It couldn’t possibly be. How could someone who tried to abduct an innocent foreigner be a civil servant? How could someone who fired a rocket launcher in broad daylight, in the middle of the city, possibly be a civil servant? It was outrageous.
But Zhenya didn’t correct what he’d just said. He simply added more information on Psikh Bogdanov.
“He’s quite knowledgeable in the defense industry. He’s got the brains for it too. I bet everyone who’s dealing arms underworld knows him.”
By underworld, Zhenya was referring to the world of mafias.
It was well-known that the mafia had become the de facto driving force of the Russian economy.
Their business once revolved around prostitution, human trafficking, drugs, violence, and other illegal activities.
But starting in the 90s, they began pivoting toward the weapons trade.
As a result, they made significant profits, and along with the energy industry, the weapons trade became one of the two pillars supporting the Russian economy.
Almost all weapons developed in Russia were distributed through the mafia.
It was more profitable than using legal and official channels.
There was no way the government didn’t know the route through which the state-of-the-art weapons they’d funded were being distributed.
The government was either turning a blind eye or was complicit in the illegal, industry-wide practice.