Chapter 67: Moon of Wrath II

The last line of the contract stated, ‘Destination: the Moon’.

I signed it immediately.

I handed the contract over to my assistant before whipping out my phone.

I called the chief of the cultural department.

We were 300 million short.

He answered the phone almost immediately.

“What’s the matter, sir?”

“When will the ads be sent out? I’ve already signed the paperwork,” I said.

“The ads have long been released, sir, perhaps you’ve been too busy to notice. I’ll send you the video in a short while if you’d like.”

“It’s fine. You might as well tell me the results. You do know that I’ll have to gather the 300 million as soon as possible right?”

“There are at least 63 companies proposing bids for the protective shield. Rocket wise, there’s only been one company so far.”

“Oh? Which one?” I asked.

“Pepsi Cola,” he answered.

“Pepsi Cola? Why not Coca-Cola?”

“Coca-Cola did participate but they did not give as good a price as Pepsi Cola,” he informed me.

“Okay, okay. How much in total?”

“You’ll have to check with the finance minister as we’re only in charge of the ads and not the money,” he spoke softly.

I shook my head, annoyed. Deliberate violation, not owning up…

“Got it. Right, about the sports stadium… why didn’t you go ahead with the plan?”

“I already told you… the other nation has already built something even better so I had no choice. I’ve already explained…” he stuttered.

I interrupted him with a stern voice, “Didn’t you just tell me that you’re not in charge of the money? Why do I recall 700 million being handed over to you for that project, and yet, you’re only handing 400 back now?”

“De..demolishing fees, contract penalty fees and…” he hemmed and hawed.

“Do you really take me for a fool? Demolition works are written into the contract so how much can it cost? Perhaps you’ve forgotten why you’re here today? Your position used to be mine – I am well aware of all the procedures. Did you really think that I don’t know which procedures you can potentially milk some money from? Who was the one who agreed to your proposal last year? And to whom are you relaying this useless information right now?” I shot.

The chief broke down. He replied through sobs, “You. It’s all you. I was greedy, I’ll admit it. It was that 300 million and I did make amends. Pepsi won the bid because I gave them 300 million. I was wrong. Let me off, please. It’s my first offense.”

“Millions of dollars involved in a first offense? What about the second time?”

“No next time, I promise. Ultimately, not much of that 300 million was left for me. There was only about 280 million left and I even threw in another 300 million in order for Pepsi to make a tender. Please believe me,” he pleaded, his cries growing increasingly loud.

“You sure know how to think, huh? But there are still so many loopholes in your story. Pulling down one wall to repair the other? So, where did you milk the 20 million from? Will I gain more information if I were to question the boss of Pepsi myself? Are you really going to build the rocket or just somehow mishandle the 700 million, losing it along the way? I think this project is your way of filling in the remaining holes, no?”

I hung up.

I connected the dots in my head.

I supported the chief’s sports stadium proposal last year. He must have thought of it because he knew that our neighbor was already building an even bigger one. He was going to wait for the demolition works to be completed before making changes to the proposal and milking more money from it. When asked, he would explain that another nation had already done something better so he had to come up with something else.

When Project Begin first came into the picture, he immediately saw it as a chance to surrender whatever money was left. He swallowed a full 300 million. He must’ve won Pepsi the bid through other methods, but instead, claimed that the 300 million was responsible for its successful bid. He must be waiting for Pepsi to award a bonus as well.

I called the general immediately to search for more gaps. I wasn’t going to go easy on him.

An hour later, the chief of the cultural department was thrown into jail.

Only after thorough checks did I discover that he had swallowed a total of 900 million throughout the seven years he had been in office, slowly working his way up. 900 million… our country did not even earn that much in a year.

Because of the chief’s fall, Coca-Cola and Pepsi bid again.

This time, Coca-Cola clinched the deal with a real 200 million.

Two years later, bustling city center.

All kinds of advertisements surfaced on the massive protective shield.

It was stood smack dab in the city center, magnificent beyond description.

It was no different from the diagram in the blueprints.

“This is basically… oh, not right. What’s this rocket called?” I asked doubtfully.

“Armstrong Speed Cycle Jet-propelled Armstrong Cannon… no, Armstrong Speed Cycle Jet-propelled Armstrong rocket,” the assistant corrected himself.

“What a tongue twister. Who came up with it?”

“The military expert was inspired by the romantic side of men.”

On the rocket was a glaringly huge Coca-Cola logo.

Below it was another massive tagline: It’s up to you to feel good.

Why was there such a garish tagline on this magnificent rocket? I frowned and asked, “And who came up with the tagline? It’s so huge! Where’s the chief of the cultural department?”

“Have you forgotten, sir? You threw him in jail and no one’s dared to take over his position since then.” The assistant hurried, “Alright, there’s no time, you have to go on stage now.”

“But this ad…” I mumbled.

“Coca-Cola spent 200 million on it. There’s nothing to be done.”

The countdown was starting and I was put in charge of pushing the launch button.

Over 10 cameras were aimed at me and all national channels were broadcasting this historical moment live.

The general gave me a thumbs up and the white-gowned scientists nodded.

I listened on nervously as the host started the countdown.

“Countdown to the rocket launch, start.”

“Nine.”

“Eight.”

“Seven.”

…

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

Before all the cameras, I pushed the big red button.

The ground started shaking and flames rose up.

The rocket, not far away, lifted into the sky as everyone held their breaths.

The host did not forget to add, “Proudly brought to you by Coca-Cola. It’s up to you to feel good.”

The rocket shot up into the sky, straight and stable.

It disappeared into the horizon before everyone’s eyes.

They only lowered their heads when the rocket could not be seen anymore.

My body that had been shaking along with the launch gradually started to calm down.

I felt somewhat insipid, but the crowd actually went wild with cheer.

“Have we succeeded?” I asked upon coming out of my daze.

“Yes.”

“We did it!”

The cheers and shouts fell incessantly into my ears.

The white-gowned scientists walked onto the stage, took over my microphone and hushed the crowd. “It’s not a success yet since the whole procedure isn’t completed. Do not disrupt what we’re about to do next. Please leave if there’s nothing else. We are, however, as pleased with the current situation.”

I nodded and took back the microphone, leading the crowd away from the stage area.

Emotional, happy.

The general whispered in my ear, “So sorry about that, the expert is just a bit more cautious. I’ll get him to apologize.”

I patted his shoulder. “No problem, he’s doing the right thing.”

…

Three days later, the minister of finance brought thick piles of reports into my office.

He shouted gleefully, “Do you know how much we’ve earned form this? Monetary and status, the tangibles and the intangibles. We’ve won the bet, we’ve won!”

I took the contracts and browsed through everything. We did make a windfall from this.

“We can launch more rockets! Everything you see in the city center can be reused. We can launch one every two years. This… this is doing amazing things for our nation!” the minister said cheerfully.

“I know and I already planned to continue even if you didn’t ask,” I replied with a smile.

The minister of finance department nodded and left the room happily.

I picked up a red document from the red cabinet.

‘Rocket launch to the moon, February.’

I wrinkled my brows and sighed. “How rash… Project Begin had just begun.”

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