taken every opportunity throughout the trip to try and sell him every suspect deal on their books he waited for his new friend to contact him.
A day later, he did just that via the hotel front desk manager on the telephone telling him that he had visitor waiting for him in the lobby.
"A? Mr. O," The manager had announced when Rob had asked who the visitor was.
"Tell him I will be down in a minute please," Rob had replied.
Once he arrived downstairs, both the men warmly greeted each other.
"Mr. Robin, thank you for seeing me without notice," O had said in his regular broken English.
The covert operative studied the man's dress code.
He was dressed as normal in a pair of chinos, white shirt, and blazer with his little pin of with picture of Supreme Leader on it on the edge of the jacket's lapel.
"My pleasure, Mr. O," Rob had countered with equal warmth.
"Would it be possible for you to come with me?" O had asked him, not wasting any further time on niceties. "To meet with my father," he then had quickly added.
Rob pretended to look at his watch.
"It's a short drive," one of the two associates who also happened to be in the employ of the Investment Group and had accompanied O, had injected. Falling instantly into Rob's trap, he smiled and nodded his head as a way of acceptance. Immediately, the look of relief Rob had earned from both of O's associates with his acquiescence, if not his new friend, had told him that O's father had to be important.
Unlike in Pyongyang, where he had been driven around in a black Mercedes S600 of 1990s vintage, the car Rob had stepped into this time was the latest black version of the Mercedes luxury limousine with the flag of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea on its bonnet.
"Typical," Rob had thought sadly "To the outside world, nothing but wealth! Inside the kingdom, anything but!" he had concluded with some disgust.
Something else Rob noticed has he had stepped into the luxury limousine were the two Chinese looking gentlemen sitting inside a black Audi A4 across the street. One of them was holding a camera.
"SSC," Rob had quickly thought, referring to the State Security of China before he had promptly dismissed them from his mind on the basis that taking photographs of people getting in out of Embassies cars outside Beijing's five star hotels was probably a routine task in China.
The journey, interlaced with humor and general questions about how he found his recent trip had only taken them twenty minutes. The second he had seen the guard's familiar salute Rob knew where he was - The Embassy of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea.
Once out of the car, Rob immediately followed the welcoming party up the steps and into the embassy, which had looked every inch as if though it still belonged in Stalin's Russia, with its grey paint and metal furniture everywhere. Figuring he was the first intelligence officer of the CIA that had ever actually taken this walk, Rob decided he needed to make mental notes of everything he saw until they reached set of doors.
Then as if by magic, the doors had opened. The person who had greeted him on the other side told Rob everything he needed to know in regards the level of his new friend's access and his family connections.
"This will please G," he had thought to himself, referring to the case officer that he reported to in the Agency.
"Mr. Ashley, it is a great pleasure and an honor to meet you," the spectacled, bald, elderly man in his late seventies wearing a very expensive black pin-stripe Hong Kong tailored suit and red tie had said whilst offering his outstretched hand.
Immediately Rob took then firmly shook the man's hand. Noting the firm grip as he did so.
"I am Wonsu O-Kang Ru," the man had continued in the type of English accent that a BBC News presenter would have used in an introduction, using his rank that translated as Marshal in English.
Rob had recognized the man instantly. He was the infamous Head of 'Room 39' and more importantly, the Vice-Chairman of the National Defense Commission, rumored to be the No. 2 man in the political hierarchy of North Korea after Kim-Jong II.
The meeting that followed was cordial, polite and to the point until the elderly gentlemen had asked him a question Rob guessed was the most important one as far as the Marshal was concerned. He had asked him whether the Sheikh would be supporting the English carpetbagger's investment program as had been indicated by the overweight Englishman to the leadership at a private meeting during the recent trip. This news was something Rob had only found out about during this conversation.
With his "other employer's hat" on for a moment, Rob had answered, "No Sir. His Highness will not," killing dead in his tracks the Englishman's lies. The serious looks of those in the office had Rob immediately worrying whether or not he should have been so honest with the man.
"Is this because you believe Mr. Renwick's group and his associates are poor partners?" The Marshal had asked, referring to the man who had hosted Rob's visit and held the mandate to raise investment on his country's behalf.
"Not poor," Rob had answered. "It's more to do with the fact that Mr. Renwick's track record is extremely limited in being able to raise the vast sums that will be needed to overhaul your natural resources industry," Rob had clarified before proceeding to diplomatically explain over the next fifteen minutes why that was the case and outline what would mostly likely to be needed to ensure that the country was attractive to overseas investment in an effort to gloss over the truth.
That truth was far more colorful on two counts. Firstly, Renwick, the Englishman from Jersey in the Channel Islands and a so called "friend" of the Sheikh had a conviction for fraud-and his last five companies, once they had been listed on the London Stock Exchange, had all gone into liquidation and secondly the "Kingdom" of Korea had no creditability whatsoever with the financial markets of the world.
Sensing he needed to soften the blow he had just delivered, Rob asked the Marshal if his country might be interested in sending workers to work for one of the Sheikh's construction companies in the UAE, knowing it was something they had done throughout the Middle East in an effort to earn foreign currency.
As he did so, so he had felt guilty for the second time that week. "I doubt the poor sods they select?Even know what they were letting themselves in for!" he had glumly thought. "Long days, unbearable heat in summer, and working conditions that are less than safe," he had thought harking back to The Independent on Sunday article he had recently read and had secretly agreed with.
The Marshal looked at Rob for a few seconds. Then nodded.
"I thank you for your honesty, Mr. Ashley," he had said politely.
"My son will liaise with you on His Highness's kind offer," he then said to O in a manner that it appeared it had been ordered before. Without further comment he had gotten up and shaken Rob's hand firmly before leaving the room, leaving Rob, O, and a pair of terrified Koreans employees of the Englishman in his wake.
Once back in the car Rob could tell, with the exception of O, that the man and the woman who worked for the Englishman were worried souls. He knew why. It was because of what he had just told the Marshal. Unlike the twenty minutes of the previous journey when the two of them had chatted away to their hearts' content, in contrast this time on the trip back to the hotel nothing had been said and despite knowing why, Rob had nonetheless had been relieved. The time had given him the opportunity to store away in his head his observations and reflect on the conversation he just had with the Marshal for his report back to Langley. Not to mention, to clarify for him once and for all that his new friend was in fact a 'Princeling.'
When the car had pulled up outside the hotel and the doorman had opened his door to allow Rob out, his instincts had immediately noticed the same Audi he had seen earlier was still there. He also noticed the occupants were taking pictures of him again. He had been tempted to smile for them but he thought better of it.
Once they were all standing outside the entrance to the hotel and the two associates of the fat Englishma
n had politely said their goodbyes, they got back into the Mercedes and drove off, leaving O with Rob. He had felt sorry for them as he watched them drive off.
"Re-education camps for them," Rob had thought grimly referring to the gulags of their country. After a quick glance of his Rolex, Rob noted that it was six o'clock and seized the initiative.
"Mr. O how would you feel about a spot of dinner?" he had asked, knowing in Asia that everybody liked to eat early.
"That sounds wonderful Mr. Rob," O had answered with a beaming smile.
Two bottles of whiskey later, and armed with a collection of pretty Chinese girls on either side of them esconched in the private room of the Karaoke club located in the basement of his hotel, the two men bonded as friends. It had been an interesting evening. Away from the "Orwellian" watchful eyes of his Korean Masters, O had opened up to him.
Together they had shared stories on some of the people they had met and the experiences they had had. Eventually his new friend had told him about the actual position of his country and the problems they faced. So much so, Rob had believed the intelligence he gained from this session alone would be prove invaluable for analysts of Langley in being able to formulate their own opinions outside that of what the South Koreans provided for them.
Then just before the end of the evening, the mood had suddenly shifted between them.
Turning