North Korea Tried to Extract Secrets from Plant Powering 50% of Hungary

By Eleanor Voss · August 12, 2026

DPRK sought to bypass the Kremlin for nuclear data, but Hungarian officials blocked the move because Moscow owned every blueprint and expert.

Ferenc Szabó, head of the 4th Regional Major Department of the Hungarian Foreign Ministry, did not mince words when he wrote to Comrade Láng at the Hungarian Academy of Sciences. The subject was a request from the Democratic People's Republic of Korea (DPRK) regarding the Hungarian nuclear power plant. To a casual observer, the request might have looked like a routine exchange of technical data between fraternal socialist states. To a man who spent nineteen years in the war-plans rooms of Strategic Air Command, it looked like a client state trying to bypass the landlord.

An English translation of the letter, provided by the Cold War International History Project, shows a chain of bureaucratic deflection. The original inquiry had been sent to Comrade Deputy Foreign Minister Vencel Házi, who then passed it to Szabó because he was the one "competent to deal with this." In the world of the Eastern Bloc, competence was rarely about skill; it was about knowing exactly where the leash was held.

Direct Soviet Support

The Paks Nuclear Power Plant, located 5 kilometers from the town of Paks on the shores of the Danube, was not a Hungarian achievement so much as it was a Soviet installation on Hungarian soil. Public records indicate that the plant eventually became the cornerstone of the nation's energy grid, with its four reactors producing more than 50% of Hungary's electricity by 2016. But in the era of this correspondence, the facility was a symbol of total dependency.

Szabó’s response to the Academy of Sciences is blunt. He notes that the plant was being built "on the basis of Soviet documents and with direct Soviet support." He emphasizes that the machinery was "largely Soviet made." For the DPRK, this meant that any technical secrets they hoped to extract from Budapest did not actually belong to Budapest. Hungary was merely the tenant; Moscow owned the blueprints, the turbines, and the operational manuals.

4th Regional Major Department

There is a specific kind of frustration found in the archives of the satellite states—the friction between the desire for national prestige and the reality of Soviet hegemony. The DPRK likely viewed Hungary as a softer target for technical acquisition than a direct request to the Kremlin. After all, a request to a fellow satellite might be handled with more "comradely" flexibility than a request to the center of power.

Szabó shuts this door firmly. He writes that the plant would be operated with the support of Soviet experts for "some time," noting that the training of Hungarian experts had "just gotten underway." This detail is critical. It reveals a calculated lag in technical sovereignty. The Soviets didn't just provide the hardware; they ensured that the people turning the keys were their own, or at least students who had not yet graduated from the Soviet school of nuclear management.

In the terminology of the letter, these were the "objective conditions" that prevented Hungary from fulfilling the request of the DPRK. In my experience with targeting and war-planning, "objective conditions" is often the phrase used to describe a wall that cannot be moved. It is a polite way of saying that the decision had already been made in a room where the Hungarian Foreign Ministry was not invited.

A Referral to Moscow

The resolution of the matter is a masterclass in Cold War hierarchy. Rather than attempting to negotiate a compromise or offering a limited set of non-sensitive data, Szabó directs the North Koreans back to the source. He suggests that in the event of an official request, the Hungarian government "may advise them to submit their request directly to the competent Soviet authorities."

This referral serves two purposes. First, it removes Hungary from the line of fire, ensuring that Budapest does not accidentally leak something that Moscow wished to keep secret. Second, it reinforces the internal discipline of the bloc. By forcing the DPRK to go through the proper channels, the Soviets maintained a monopoly on the proliferation of their nuclear technology, treating it as a political currency to be traded for loyalty rather than a scientific achievement to be shared.

While other archival records from the period, such as those in the FRUS Eastern Europe indices or CIA reports on semiconductors and accelerators, touch upon the broader technological race, this specific letter captures the micro-mechanics of control. It shows a world where even a power plant on the Danube was an extension of the Kremlin's will.

The letter concludes with "comradely greetings," a standard sign-off that masks the rigid reality of the exchange. Szabó’s final instruction remains the only factual outcome: the DPRK was told to submit their request directly to the competent Soviet authorities.