December 24, 2002, 48 kilometers west of San Diego, California.
The carrier strike group centered around the aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln (CVN-72), which had participated in the Iraq War, was slicing through the waves of the Pacific Ocean as it returned to its home port.
Carrying approximately ninety fixed-wing and rotary-wing aircraft, including F/A-18 Super Hornet fighters, the Abraham Lincoln was, in itself, a formidable moving airbase—one whose combat power surpassed that of the entire air force of many nations.
Alongside it, multiple Aegis cruisers, destroyers, and support ships formed a protective screen around the strike group, sealing off every direction. Beneath them, a nuclear-powered submarine shadowed the fleet, asserting control over the depths of the sea.
Leading the formation with imposing grandeur, the scene on the carrier's flight deck was exceptionally busy.
The deck, which had to accommodate the constant takeoffs and landings of aircraft, had been cleared spotlessly.
On the neatly organized deck, sailors in sharply pressed uniforms stood in disciplined formation, while on one side, reporters from media outlets such as CNBC and Fox News gathered in a noisy cluster.
Wearing a khaki service uniform with the insignia of a rear admiral, the commander of the Lincoln Carrier Strike Group, Douglas Brinkley, looked up at the cloudless, deep blue sky and asked:
"Is it still far from arriving?"
At that, Captain Justkin Harts, the commanding officer of the Lincoln, who was standing beside him, replied,
"It should be coming into view soon. Please wait just a little longer."
"Hmm."
As Admiral Brinkley adjusted his uniform by tugging at his sleeve, the aide standing behind him spoke in a low voice,
"Air Force One has arrived."
Turning his head in the direction indicated by the aide, Admiral Brinkley spotted a small dot in the sky ahead of the aircraft carrier.
As the distance quickly closed and its silhouette became fully visible, the identity of the aircraft was revealed to be an S-3B Viking anti-submarine aircraft.
The S-3 Viking, developed to replace the S-2 Tracker, was a four-seat, twin-engine turbofan jet. It was an all-weather anti-submarine aircraft with an operational range of no less than 5,121 kilometers, capable of carrying bombs, torpedoes, mines, and even anti-ship guided missiles both internally and externally.
The aide had referred to the Viking as Air Force One (AF1) because aboard it was the 43rd President of the United States, George W. Bush.
Shading his eyes with his hand as he watched the Viking approach, Admiral Brinkley asked in a low voice,
"Is it true that the President is personally flying it?"
Captain Harts glanced sideways at the reporters, who were busy taking photos of the Viking with their cameras, and replied.
"It is said that he even put on a full flight suit and took the co-pilot's seat."
"What if an accident happens?"
At Admiral Brinkley's frown, Captain Harts shrugged and replied,
"It may have been a long time ago, but he did serve as a pilot in the Texas Air National Guard when he was younger, so he should at least have the basics."
"That's exactly why I'm more concerned. Is a part-time National Guard unit that leisurely flew patrols in the rear really the same as our Navy, which roams the world while enduring harsh sea winds? It's been a long time since he last flew, so his instincts must have dulled quite a bit. I'm not even sure he can properly land on a flight deck."
"Surely the President won't be the one handling the landing. The naval pilot accompanying him will take care of it, so there's no need to worry. And even if something does go wrong, the Viking is equipped with ejection seats for all crew positions, so it should be fine."
Captain Harts added lightly, as if making a joke,
"They say he even underwent separate water survival training the day before in preparation for a crash, so you can rest easy. Though if he does end up in the ocean, he'll look like a drenched rat—and that'll be captured on camera for everyone to see, so he might be a bit embarrassed."
At that, Admiral Brinkley let out a faint chuckle and replied,
"It would be a dreadful thing just to imagine, but it would certainly remain in the public's memory for the rest of their lives—just as President Bush intended."
As the two men exchanged jokes, their expressions soon tightened with tension as the Viking anti-submarine aircraft descended and approached along the landing course.
Despite their earlier words, if an accident were to occur, it would not be a trivial matter—it would be a serious incident, and it would also leave a blemish on both of their careers, so they could not help but feel anxious.
In particular, since the scene was being broadcast live across the United States through television cameras, not even the smallest issue could be allowed.
As if sensing their unease, the Viking descended sharply with a piercing engine roar and gently touched down on the deck of the Lincoln.
Prepared for any contingency, the aircraft continued running across the deck without shutting off its engines, but soon, like a fish caught in a net, it was snagged by the arresting wire made of thick steel. It lurched once violently before coming to a complete stop.
Before the smell of burning rubber—caused by the friction between the landing gear tyres and the deck—had even dissipated, President Bush, wearing a one-piece flight suit and holding his pilot helmet in one hand, descended through the side hatch.
Deck crew members in bright primary-colored uniforms—yellow, red, and others depending on their assigned roles—lined up on both sides and raised a simultaneous salute. President Bush returned it with practiced ease and strode forward confidently.
He then firmly shook hands with Admiral Brinkley and Captain Harts, who had come out to receive him.
The historic scene of the President of the United States personally piloting an aircraft and landing on an aircraft carrier for the declaration of the end of the war was vividly broadcast across the entire nation through cameras installed throughout the ship.
With the island bearing a massive banner reading "Mission Accomplished" behind him, President Bush stepped onto the prepared podium and, before thousands of naval personnel and members of the press, opened his mouth powerfully as a victor.
"Our mission has been accomplished, and thanks to your efforts, the dictator has fallen. Iraq has been liberated!"
Waaaaaah!
The gathered naval personnel erupted in loud cheers and applause all at once.
Though the harsh sea wind tousled his hair wildly, President Bush continued his speech without the slightest concern.
"We once used military power to destroy nations and topple regimes. However, with new strategies and precision weaponry, we have been able to achieve our military objectives without direct attacks on civilians. We will stand together with Iraq's new leadership as they seek to establish a government of the Iraqi people, by the Iraqi people, and for the Iraqi people. Of course, there are still challenges that remain to be resolved."
President Bush raised one clenched fist and spoke firmly,
"We must restore order throughout Iraq. And we will relentlessly pursue the leaders of the former regime, who committed countless crimes, and ensure they are brought to justice. We will also begin a search for the weapons of mass destruction that were the cause of this war, thoroughly investigating hundreds of suspected sites. Of course, it will not be an easy path—it will be a tedious and gruelling task. However, transforming a dictatorship into a democracy requires time and effort. And that effort will surely lead to noble sacrifices that are worth far more than the cost!"
"Woooooah!"
"Bush! Bush!"
"Great America!"
Thunderous cheers, loud enough to make one's ears ring, swept across the deck.
At the very center of it all, President Bush—who had effectively declared the end of the Iraq War—wore an expression where the confidence and exhilaration of a victor intertwined.
The broadcast cameras did not miss that moment, capturing it in close-up and imprinting upon the world a powerful image: a president victorious in war, alongside the overwhelming military might of the United States, the world's sole superpower.
***
At the same time, the New York Mercantile Exchange.
As President Bush's declaration of the end of the war played on a television set installed in one corner of the booth, the trading floor of the New York Mercantile Exchange in Manhattan was boiling over with the shouts of brokers clutching their order slips.
"Buy 150 contracts of February futures at 23.99!"
"Buy 180 at 24!"
Jerry Fisher, who had been standing in the booth with a stiff expression, watching the trading situation, let out a groan as the February WTI price finally broke past 24 dollars per barrel.
"Grr… This doesn't feel right at all."
The rise in oil prices, triggered by the NDPVF armed group's attack on a pipeline construction site, had been expected to end as a short-term event. However, contrary to those optimistic predictions, the situation was worsening as time passed.
Following the shutdown of the Forcados crude oil export terminal and nearby offshore oil fields operated by Shell, political instability intensified ahead of the presidential election as clashes escalated between supporters of the ruling People's Democratic Party (PDP) and the main opposition, the All Nigeria People's Party (ANPP).
On top of that, religious and ethnic conflicts erupted, and strikes overlapped, causing Nigeria's daily crude oil production to plunge to less than half.
In a single stroke, the crude oil output of the world's sixth-largest oil-producing country had been cut in half.
For a market that had been expecting supply to stabilize once Iraq's oil exports—previously blocked by war—returned to normal despite OPEC production cuts, this was nothing short of a bombshell.
Watching the brokers wave their arms frantically and shout at the top of their lungs to secure trades, Jerry ran a hand through his hair, his face worn with fatigue.
"Did he actually foresee that things would turn out like this?"
Jerry muttered as he recalled how the Eldorado Fund—no, Chairman Park Seok-won—had taken massive long positions again when oil prices had crashed, after previously amassing huge profits by heavily buying futures.
Otherwise, there was no way such a bold bet could have been made.
"He must have bought futures through other channels besides me. If you add it all up, just how much did he rake in?"
Even a rough estimate came to hundreds of billions of dollars.
"And if he even touched the spot market, the total size of the bet might be far bigger."
At the fact that he had made a bet large enough to shake the entire oil market on his own, Jerry shook his head, one hand resting on his hip.
When such an excessive one-sided bet is placed, no matter how much one tries to hide it, the position is bound to be exposed.
And once that happens, there is a high risk of becoming prey for other investors and being attacked from all sides, making it a reckless act, little different from gambling.
Watching the international oil prices displayed on the monitor installed on the booth ceiling continue their upward trend, Jerry muttered,
"This kind of dangerous gamble—and to pull it off this cleanly. It's nothing short of incredible."
Unaware that Seok-won's target profit lay far above the current level, Jerry could only look on with admiration.
At that moment, an employee sitting on one side of the booth suddenly shouted in a startled voice.
"Breaking news! The damage to Iraq's oil production facilities is more severe than expected, and production is expected to fall below 250,000 barrels per day for at least two to three months!"
"What?!"
Jerry's eyes widened as he hurriedly checked the Bloomberg terminal installed in the booth.
[Damage to oil fields and pipelines more severe than expected; it will take at least several months for Iraq's crude production to normalize]
[For the time being, total production from both southern and northern oil fields is limited to a maximum of around 250,000 barrels per day]
"What the…"
With the situation already tense due to the crisis in Nigeria, the news that even Iraq—on which they had been placing their hopes—would struggle to properly supply crude oil was nothing short of a bolt from the blue.
Sure enough, as the news spread, the trading floor was filled with the desperate cries of brokers trying to secure even a single additional drop of oil.
"Buy 400 at 24.33!"
"Buy 250 at 24.42!"
Watching prices surge at a pace that looked ready to break past 25 dollars per barrel at any moment, Jerry gaped, letting out a groan.
"This is insane."