Ch.579Episode 21 – Peace in Our Time

Priestess Rebecca said she would guide me to a quiet place.

However, by common sense standards, the destination was quite far from “quiet.”

A bustling downtown area crowded with people.

Numerous citizens out celebrating the holy day.

Whether they were commemorating the blessing bestowed upon earth by the celestial deity, or perhaps unleashing a year’s worth of pent-up reproductive instincts, I couldn’t tell. But the night of the holy city Laterano during the year-end festival was burning bright until the early hours of dawn.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and peered into a display case filled with hopeful light.

“Hmm…”

A downtown area teeming with crowds could hardly be called a quiet place by general social standards, but from an intelligence officer’s perspective, there was no place “quieter” than this.

The question was why she had summoned me to such a place.

That curiosity seemed likely to be resolved soon.

Priestess Rebecca, dressed in casual clothes, briefly spoke as she cleared a path forward. As always, in a dry, businesslike voice.

“This way.”

She stepped onto a landing after entering an unfamiliar building in the downtown area. Standing at the narrow passage leading underground, her eyes fixed on me.

And I said,

“…Are you sure this is the right place?”

“Yes. Is there a problem?”

“This is way beyond problematic.”

The entrance of the building I had followed the Inquisitor to. The purple glow emanating from the sign was bizarrely eye-catching, and the pinkish lighting infused with a subtle violet hue began to color my nerves with a calm tone, as if trying to win physical favor.

At a glance, this was the kind of lighting you’d expect to find in a butcher shop or red-light district. The epitome of decadent culture where people wear masks and appeal to each other’s attractions.

The perfect place for having the most raucous yet simultaneously quiet conversations.

In refined terms, a red-light district.

In familiar terms, a brothel.

“…This is insane.”

A hollow sigh briefly escaped at the stairs leading to the entrance of “La Pigalle Theater.”

Episode 21 – Peace in Our Time

From business processes to the aged faces of members who’ve been scorched by the blazing sun and withered away.

For companies at the forefront of military intelligence and counterespionage, future orientation is a luxury, a pie in the sky, as hopeless as a securities account frozen by the National Intelligence Service.

The intelligence agencies of South Korea’s Ministry of National Defense, though lagging about 20 years behind the NIS in terms of development, had their own fresh theories.

One of them was that “there’s no place less likely to be bugged than a noisy location.”

The problem was that the results of this innovative theory often went in completely wrong directions, a symptom particularly prominent among mid-level officers who wore a couple of bamboo rank insignias.

For instance, choosing a cabaret or hostess bar as a noisy place.

This might sound like nonsense, but surprisingly, it was an undeniable fact.

Entertainment establishments tend to be quite noisy, don’t they?

Loud background music, drunken patrons shouting at the top of their lungs.

With such a noisy environment, any potential eavesdropping could be easily neutralized.

I could find someone who personally proved this immutable truth around me—my father’s military junior who extracted me from my position as a platoon leader in an East Coast division to join military intelligence, a veteran intelligence officer, my uncle.

Whenever he had the chance, he would visit my off-base quarters, downing shots of soju with kimchi, and was notorious among his peers as a karaoke addict.

He claimed he was discharged as a lieutenant and went into business, using that as an excuse to frequent establishments with corporate executives.

Of course, in reality, my uncle was promoted to lieutenant colonel and began working as a battalion commander and analysis section chief at headquarters, and those “corporate executives” were actually intelligence unit commanders or brigade staff members.

What these middle-aged intelligence officers in their 50s and 60s (though actually in their 30s and 40s) discussed in those private rooms wasn’t “steel export business to Shanghai branch” but “inter-unit working-level meetings on North Korean operations.”

But at this moment, such trivial past details didn’t matter at all.

What really mattered was that hostess bars, karaoke rooms, and cabarets were surprisingly effective places for preventing eavesdropping.

And the fact that my uncle, who had hastily registered his marriage at 25 upon promotion to lieutenant (thanks to the Ministry of Defense’s policy encouraging early marriage for housing benefits), would use my bachelor pad as a safe house for married men to escape from his wife, who would be furious that “this husband of mine is always out drinking.”

For the record, it’s a top-secret fact, unanimously kept confidential by all parties involved, that sometimes my uncle’s juniors (lieutenant colonels and majors) also came along when they couldn’t enter their homes due to changed door codes—a secret of secrets that would prevent them from ever returning home if revealed.

Anyway.

These not-so-funny secret meeting places were often criticized harshly among intelligence officers.

Especially among young commissioned officers and non-commissioned officers below the rank of master sergeant.

And for good reason—sitting at the edge of a gaudy sofa with sparkly decorations in a karaoke room that 40-year-old men might enjoy, while in your 20s, was a unique experience you couldn’t pay for elsewhere.

Was the location the only problem? Just sitting there was quite an ordeal.

The expensive alcohol ordered couldn’t be touched because drinking during sacred working hours (dawn) was forbidden, and for snacks, the senior officers ordered the cheapest fruit plates because everything else was too expensive, only to devour them completely during breaks in their meetings.

And if you couldn’t bring expensive anti-bugging equipment like vibrators or radio jammers, someone (usually the lowest-ranking officer) had to grab the microphone and desperately perform bio-radio jamming for hours, waiting for a senior officer to ask, “What songs are popular with kids these days?”

In the end, junior officers like myself, who followed senior officers around with notepads taking notes, had to rush to convenience stores after meetings to fill our hungry stomachs with ramen, boxed meals, triangle kimbap, and 2+1 event drinks—the frozen human feed of the modern age.

Looking back now, I can somewhat understand, but at the time, I often wondered what I was doing there. I’d reached a sort of enlightenment, you could say.

But when I went abroad, what did I find?

Chinese intelligence agents meeting at KTV, high-ranking French intelligence officers gathering at harbor pubs proposing information exchanges in front of naked strippers, Dutch liaison officers guiding me to Almarck’s red-light district claiming it was suitable for discreet conversations, and so on.

They were all using entertainment establishments as supposedly safe places!

For the record, among those frequenting such places, regardless of nationality, not a single one maintained a proper married life.

National duty be damned. What spouse wouldn’t file for divorce upon learning their partner was hanging around in entertainment districts during foreign business trips instead of coming home?

That’s when I realized:

The world is indeed wide, and there are many eccentrics.

I’m probably never going to have a normal married life.

That was exactly what I was thinking.

“Why are you sighing like that?”

“…It’s nothing.”

Because if anyone finds out I came here, they’ll want to kill me.

*

In Laterano, a nation equivalent to a theocracy, prostitution is a crime prohibited by national law.

But humans, faithful to the doctrine of having sex and reproducing offspring, eventually succeeded in building red-light districts in this earthly paradise.

Why is that?

It’s entirely because there’s a loophole in the church’s laws.

The sex trade is subject to strict regulation and crackdown by the Order Maintenance Bureau of the Inquisitorial Office (think of them as police) responsible for social security in the church. However, under local law, prostitution is only prohibited “when direct sex trade occurs.”

What does this mean?

If a pimp openly provides a room to a customer and puts in a prostitute, they’ll get their head split open by the knights, but if an employee goes out with a male or female customer, gets a room, and has sex, the owner’s head remains intact.

In other words,

The miraculous or dog-shit logic applies: “Our employee got close to a customer, they hit it off, their navels matched, and they exchanged personal gifts—how is that a crime?”

Establishments exploiting this characteristic operate in the ambiguous boundary between legal and illegal, and facilities called “theaters” are among such decadent establishments.

And here.

There is a facility at the top of these decadent theaters.

La Pigalle Theater.

Occupying prime real estate even within Laterano, this theater is a magnificent performance hall with 400 years of history.

Centuries ago, splendid plays were performed here, frequented by bishops and cardinals, and it once enjoyed such high prestige that it received official holy day commemoration events from the Papal Office, surpassing formidable competing theaters.

However, with the rise of new entertainment industries represented by cinema and the failure to commercialize theater, the Laterano theater scene gradually declined and disappeared, unable to keep up with changing times.

But La Pigalle Theater managed to survive the dark age of the theater industry.

And it had accumulated overwhelming wealth that it had never enjoyed before.

The secret was simple.

Unlike in the past, it began offering “different entertainment” beyond just selling tickets.

-Ding.

When the pure bell sound rings softly, women dressed neatly in nun’s habits descend from the stairs.

On one side of the bifurcated staircase stand nuns, and on the other side, a group of monks.

When they have descended about halfway down the stairs with seemingly calm steps, the solemn atmosphere changes in an instant.

Loud music. Dazzling lights that numb the eyes.

Provocative underwear revealed as the monastic garments are lifted, immediately capturing attention.

This shocking presentation, which could be called sacrilege, unveils itself with sharp cries of joy and heart-pounding rhythms.

“……”

I was so shocked by the continuous spectacle that I forgot what I was going to say. Good heavens. What kind of heretic would dare conceive the idea of throwing off a nun’s habit to reveal bright red underwear?

I stood there blankly, staring at the “actors” on stage. Whether they knew they were barely clothed or not, both men and women just smiled and waved their hands.

And the audience below, going wild like chimpanzees.

“…Wow. Those people are definitely not going to heaven.”

La Pigalle Theater, driven mad by desire. This was precisely the secret to how it had managed to survive amid long-standing recession and a declining industry.

Though I had traveled through several Western European countries known for their openness to sexual culture, this place was a den of iniquity on a different level. It was fundamentally different.

While nun’s habits might be used as that kind of costume both here and around the world, who would dare to do such things in the heart of the “Holy City of Laterano”?

This was a matter of a completely different dimension, not just in terms of enforcement but in the nature of the offense itself.

“……”

Ironically, however, the Inquisitor showed no particular reaction. There was no contempt or sigh, just a dry gaze scanning the surroundings.

Priestess Rebecca was scrutinizing the corridors and terraces as if examining raw meat displayed at a butcher’s counter. And she silently moved toward the inner area.

I followed her up to the second floor. It was a vantage point overlooking the entire theater and also a strategic location adjacent to the entrance.

Priestess Rebecca explained that the doors placed throughout could be used to exit to the outside through different passages. I took this to mean emergency escape routes in case of contingencies.

Why on earth had she chosen such a place?

Of all the places, why this kind of place?

Standing in front of the makeshift bar on the second floor, I kept thinking as I watched a group of men hitting on the bartender and women exchanging subtle glances with a half-naked man who had thrown off his monk’s robe.

And before long, I got the answer to my curiosity.

“I’ve brought him.”

“Finally here, I see.”

As Priestess Rebecca withdrew, a familiar old man finally revealed himself.

An intelligence officer occupying an elegant curved L-shaped sofa with one leg crossed over the other. The elder of the intelligence community who has maintained the longest tenure among all intelligence agency directors.

A living legend.

A mole planted by Abas, Inquisitor General Pietro.

Pietro extended his hand to me with a rather welcoming smile.

“It’s been a while, Major.”

“You’re looking well.”

I grasped his wrinkled yet strong palm and jabbed:

“Your taste is quite… youthful.”

“What do you think? Is this not an inappropriate place for the Inquisitor General to come?”

“Yes. It’s a concerningly inappropriate facility.”

A current intelligence agency director in a red-light district. If rumors spread, it would be a scandal worthy of a funeral.

Of course, Pietro seemed to welcome even that.

“Crises typically begin from unexpected places. The darkest place is under the lamp.”

“Is it okay for you to come to such a decadent establishment?”

“I came precisely because I shouldn’t. And don’t worry too much.”

“What worry…?”

“My wife has long been in the cemetery, so there’s no one to scold me anymore, is there?”

“……”

“I’m joking.”

His sense of humor rivaled that of a German.

*

The moment I received Pietro’s summons.

I had roughly guessed the purpose of the meeting.

The biggest issue currently facing the church is historical reconciliation and the resulting compensation claims. Since the church’s State Council had requested an off-the-record meeting with me through Saint Veronica, if Inquisitor General Pietro was looking for me, it was likely for that reason.

Negotiations and under-the-table discussions aren’t the exclusive domain of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

Intelligence agencies sometimes take the lead in negotiations as well.

Especially when dealing with hostile relations or situations requiring discreet meetings, intelligence agencies are often mobilized. It was the same when high-ranking intelligence officials led negotiation teams between North Korea and the US administration, and when the KCIA director visited Pyongyang as a secret envoy.

From that perspective, Pietro’s summons wasn’t much different. I’m an intelligence officer and was previously a defense attaché dispatched to Laterano.

Although I had stepped down from the attaché position, my relationship with the Inquisitorial Office—or more precisely, with Inquisitor General Pietro—remained valid.

“Did you call me because of the negotiations? I believe reports have already gone up that they’ve fallen through.”

“I heard about that too. You mediated to prevent Saint Lucia’s use of force, correct?”

“So you did know.”

Meeting Pietro at La Pigalle Theater, a venue specializing in decadent performances, he nodded silently and began to speak.

With a cocktail glass in one hand and the other resting on the leather sofa’s armrest. It was a rather comfortable posture. The atmosphere was the same.

“First, on behalf of the Papal Office, I’d like to thank you for helping prevent a violent bloodshed. The terror felt by the clergy who filled the beds at the cathedral’s infirmary was no small matter.”

After moistening his mouth with a sip of cocktail, Inquisitor General Pietro grasped the glass with both hands. The old man’s gaze was directed toward a distant place, and my gaze also avoided meeting his, looking in another direction.

I opened my mouth.

“There’s nothing to thank me for. I just did what I was asked to do.”

“I hope the compensation was to your liking.”

The private transaction between the church’s State Council and me was concluded based on appropriate compensation and various success conditions.

Given the high hurdles of the conditions, the compensation was quite substantial. Even if I hadn’t perfectly achieved the conditions, I could at least get my money’s worth for the work I’d done.

Thanks to that, I was able to secure a nice property in a quiet neighborhood in the Abas region. For reference, the company didn’t say much about it. They wouldn’t have anything to complain about since I earned foreign currency rather than causing an outflow.

They could have found fault if they wanted to, but the higher-ups just let it slide as long as there were no complications. Thanks to that, I didn’t have to worry about being discharged for violating the prohibition on dual employment.

I looked around the bustling theater interior and suddenly began to speak.

“Is there still something to settle?”

I was asking if I needed to persuade Lucia further.

Inquisitor General Pietro answered immediately.

“That’s not it.”

He explained in a roundabout way that he hadn’t summoned me for issues related to Lucia. Strictly speaking, there was something to discuss about Lucia, but he had called me for multiple reasons.

“I do have something to tell you about Saint Lucia, but another problem has also been discovered.”

“Problem?”

“It’s a common occurrence.”

At this ambiguous expression, I tilted my head and asked again. A common problem. That was too broad a euphemism.

I took a sip from a glass of cold water I had paid for and thought carefully, but nothing specific came to mind. At least not within the knowledge of myself and the Military Intelligence Service.

“I won’t ask what kind of problem it is.”

Whatever it was, I would find out at this meeting anyway.

I put down my glass and added:

“How significant is this matter that you’ve summoned me?”

As the ice clinks against the glass beaded with droplets, a clear sound resonates. Inquisitor General Pietro, bringing his cocktail glass to his lips, suddenly answered.

“To that question, this old man has only one answer.”

The seasoned intelligence officer speaks.

With a rather solemn face, a deliberately dark expression.

“To summarize. Yes.”

“……”

“One could say that the peaceful times are now over.”

*

The history of the Imperial Lyuba Theater (Императорский театр Люба) extends beyond the imperial capital throughout the Kien Empire.

This world-class opera and ballet theater is a historic space where immortal masterpieces that anyone would have heard of were born and performed. From the award-winning Swinhoe’s Pheasant with 21 accolades to the master who left behind over 70 operas and worked at the Imperial Lyuba Theater for five years.

A stage with luxurious curtains. The interior decoration modeled after ancient architectural styles, combined with the harmony of gold and crystal with a silvery white tinge, possesses an elegance that captivates the audience with its inherent brilliance, and the skilled dancing of the ballet company, worthy of its reputation, overwhelms the spectators.

A theater named after an empress centuries ago.

Among the 1,770 seats arranged in five levels in a gentle horseshoe shape, the undoubtedly highest-grade seats are the front box seats in the dress circle.

Although these central box seats are considered the highest grade, not just anyone can enter. Only the most noble in the empire are permitted to set foot in this space. The royal box seats in the dress circle are reserved solely for the Smirnov imperial family.

Some might say this place was arranged merely to symbolize the emperor’s authority and is unsuitable for enjoying opera or classical music due to its position, but at least the imperial family member visiting the theater today was free from such concerns.

The sweet harmony of exclusive singers and the choir,

The concerto of the orchestra and pianist,

The ensemble dance of the ballet company that exists as a matter of course.

Despite being the farthest away, she clearly heard the resonance of percussion and wind instruments, distinctly observed the dance unfolding from strings and keyboards, and precisely watched the delicacy and rich performance created by the dancers’ muscles.

Grand Duchess Alexandra Petrovna of Novo-Nikolayevsk could personally witness the beauty conveyed through the movement of human flesh and skeleton.

As the high-level techniques displayed by the soloists on stage captivate the souls of the audience.

A servant of the imperial household standing guard at one side of the box seat carefully brings a message.

“Your Highness. I apologize for interrupting your viewing, but someone wishes to see you.”

“Let them in.”

The servant bowed deeply and quietly ushered the guest into the box seat.

The sounds that had changed momentarily quickly returned to their place.

“……”

Grand Duchess Alexandra Petrovna, who had softly exhaled, gently broached the subject.

“…I didn’t expect you to appear here.”

In a tone that seemed welcoming yet not entirely cordial.

The elder of the Smirnov imperial family withdraws her gaze from the stage.

“They say the light guarding the East shines even at dawn, and indeed, that saying is true.”

“……”

“So, what brings you here?”

She pulled her chin toward her shoulder and continued speaking to someone behind her.

“Director Ilya Kutuzov.”