Free Sohlberg and the White Death by Jens Amundsen Page B

weak. The seolleongtang made him feel alive.
    “Good,” he said. “This is so good. What a splendid gift.”
    Of course he was grateful that the Supreme Leader allowed him and the rest of the Ju family to have some food at home. It wasn’t a lot—about 1,800 calories a day per adult. He often thought about food throughout the day. He worried about reaching the magic 1,800. But it was more than enough to keep starvation at bay.
    Who cared if the quality of the rationed food was usually atrocious?
    Who cared if the potatoes and corn were stunted and rotting?
    At least the Ju family received a weekly ration of rice. That was an absolute luxury in a country where the Supreme Leader used food as a weapon and a means of control.
    “This is very good,” said Ju to no one in particular. “What a treat!”
    “We are exceedingly fortunate,” added his wife Ji Won. Like her husband she also wanted to make sure that the eavesdropping devices in their dining room picked up their comments. “The Supreme Leader is so kind and thoughtful. He is wonderful. He is so good to us. He gave us so much food that we had enough soup and noodles left over for another dinner.”
    The food was indeed a special one-time gift from the Supreme Leader. He wanted to reward the 78-year-old Ju, his wife, their two grown sons, and five grandchildren for Ju’s outstanding supervision of the Supreme Leader’s obsession—the design and manufacture of intercontinental ballistic missiles and nuclear warheads. The ox bone soup served as a tangible and tasty reminder that Ju’s work with nuclear triggers was advancing with great strides.
     
    ~ ~ ~
     
    Only yesterday at an important meeting in his bunker the Supreme Leader had said:
    “Ju! . . . You are on time and under budget. Congratulations. I will send some of my own seolleongtang for you and your family to enjoy.”
    Ju Kyu Chang did not believe that he deserved such praise.
    Yes. It was true that within a year his Nuclear Warhead Group would manufacture a reliable working model of Item # XY-RR-13096.
    Yes. It was true that this trigger could set off a nuclear explosion in a wide variety of platforms—ranging from nuclear suitcase bombs to multiple warheads on intercontinental ballistic missiles.
    Yes. It was true that a reliable and miniaturized trigger was critical to manufacturing small and lightweight nuclear warheads that could easily be lifted up into space by the Taepodong-4 missile. The latest ICBM could reach all of Europe and the entire western half of the USA thanks to its range of 5,000 miles.
    Yes. It was true that the trigger would allow the Supreme Leader to fulfill his ultimate plan—the transfer of small warheads to Muslim radicals who would detonate nuclear bomb suitcases and backpacks in major European and US cities according to the American Hiroshima plan of the late Osama bin Laden.
    “You are too kind Supreme Leader. . . . I don’t deserve more food.”
    “Nonsense,” said the well-fed Kim Jong Un. “You must learn how to appreciate my reward.”
    “Oh yes. I appreciate it tremendously.”
    “Good. You never know when you might starve.”
     Ju trembled inwardly. He was terrified of the 30-year-old dictator. The chubby kid took after his deranged father, “Dear Leader” Kim Jong Il, and ruthless grandfather, the “Great Leader” Kim Il Sung.
    “I would gladly die . . . or starve . . . for you Supreme Leader.”
    The Supreme Leader made no comment or expression. He turned to the next person sitting at a giant table in the underground conference room and said:
    “Who’s next?”
    Ju wondered who indeed was fated to fall from grace and disappear into some concentration camp. A year ago Vice Marshal Ri Yong Ho and his entire family had simply vanished because of “Ri’s bad health.” Out of the blue the Supreme Leader had turned on the Chief of the General Staff of the Korean People’s Army—a key figure who had helped the kid take over after his father’s