Night of the Assassin: Assassin Series Prequel

by Russell Blake

  “I’d be interested in having you set up a mechanism. I want money to wind up in Uruguay or Belize. I’ve read about setting up companies there, International Business Companies, where the ownership can be held via bearer shares, which are untraceable,” El Rey observed.

  “Yes, but there are some problems with that. I’d advise a more involved structure, where we first create a trust whose beneficiary is a Swiss corporation, and then have the trust’s attorney set up the IBC and the bank account. Do you need papers? Passports? Identity documents of any kind?” Tortora asked.

  “Now that you mention it, yes. I’ll need a Spanish passport, a Mexican birth certificate and passport, and a third passport, maybe from El Salvador or Peru. I’d like them all in different names and, if possible, legitimately issued – not forgeries.”

  “That can be done. But it will be expensive. Probably a couple of hundred thousand dollars. It would be way cheaper to have high quality forgeries created,” Tortora advised, glancing at the young man. “But fakes are not as bullet-proof, no pun intended.”

  “The money isn’t a concern. How long will it take?”

  “For legit? A month or two. I can get the Mexican paperwork faster, so if you have pressing travel plans, figure two weeks for that. The rest are more complicated,” Tortora explained.

  “All right. Get the Mexican one as soon as possible. Now let’s talk about how this will work. I have a large sum of cash I need washed so it can be transferred into a bank account once you have the structure set up. Why the ten percent for cash?”

  “That’s what I have to pay to circumvent the anti-money laundering laws at the bank. It’s the going rate. How much cash are we talking, anyway?” Tortora asked.

  “Two million dollars, mas o menos. And likely two hundred fifty thousand per job, couple of times a year. To start.”

  Tortora didn’t blink. “Do you have any questions for me?”

  “How many other contractors do you handle?”

  “Three. But smaller scale than what you’re doing. Fifty grand here and there.”

  “I’d like you to drop them. How much would I need to bring in to replace their income?” El Rey asked.

  “Depends. Will you be sourcing your own clients?”

  “Absolutely. All you’ll be doing is handling the money. I’ll even collect it most of the time, unless there’s a wire transfer, which is doubtful given my clientele.”

  Tortora considered it.

  “One of the issues is that if you’re killed, I have lost my business and will have to start over.” Tortora quickly punched some numbers into his desktop calculator.

  “I’m not planning on getting killed.”

  “Nobody does. But it’s a risk that needs to be adjusted for. I think that if we went fifteen percent up to the first million of income per year, then ten for anything above, I could cut my other contractors loose. But I’d need to see at least half a million gross per year of income to make it worth my while. That’s a lot of contracts,” Tortora said.

  “Not to brag, but soon that will only be two contracts a year, and then only one. So not that many. I accept your proposal. Fifteen of the first million, ten above that. Bank fees to come off the top, pre-split.” He lifted the duffel and placed it on the desk. “This is two million five hundred thousand dollars. Take the paperwork money and the fees to create the structure out of it. What will the structuring run, anyway?” El Rey asked.

  “Not that much. Maybe fifty by the time everything’s set up. Fifteen for the company formations, and the rest for lubrication and consultants and attorneys. Then maybe ten grand a year thereafter for filing fees.”

  “Okay. So call it two point two million cash after deducting for that. Minus ten percent for the banks, leaves us at an even two. I’ll give you fifty of that for your time, given that you haven’t done any heavy lifting beyond opening some accounts. Cut your other operators loose within six months. By then, I’ll be back and working,” El Rey instructed.

  “Do you have any questions of me? Guarantees about the safety of your money?”

  “Our mutual friend must have explained a little. I know you have an apartment upstairs and a home, with a daughter in university. I know everything about you. I can find you wherever you are, no matter how deep you think you’ve gone, so, no, I’m not too worried. Then again, you’d be stupid to try it, because over the next few years you’ll make a lot of money as my fee increases. And it will. I’m already at two hundred grand a hit, and that will move to two-fifty on the next ones.” El Rey wasn’t bragging or threatening. His calm, soft voice was merely stating fact.

  Tortora appraised him anew.

  “I believe you. My friend indicated that you’d done the impossible in no time. And he’s not an easy man to impress. If he’s singing your praises, you’ll have your hands full with work whenever you want it.”

  They discussed more details, such as names for the passports and logistics of contacting each other, and after an hour, concluded their meeting.

  El Rey liked the man. He was perfect. Avaricious but old enough so he wouldn’t be a runner. Morally neutral on the issue of the business, and not squeamish. A good combination. The money would all accumulate in accounts only El Rey had signature authority over, using his new passports and names, so it would be in no danger once it hit his banks. As to the cash, he wasn’t worried about that disappearing. There were some things that just weren’t worth doing, and he got the sense that the pawn shop proprietor had quickly figured out that fucking him over was one of them.

  He had a spring in his step as he returned to his Toyota, one more problem dealt with. This was shaping up nicely, perfectly following the plan he’d had in mind since he was sixteen. He would become the highest paid assassin in the world within a few years, famous for meticulously-planned sanctions that defied belief. He would become a sort of miracle worker. El Rey would be a name that cartel bosses used to scare their kids at night, and it would be synonymous with a ghost, a phantom who could do the impossible. In a world where nobody got scared, an environment where violence and death was daily currency, there would be something that even the most hardened veterans would fear.

  The name of the beast.

  El Rey.

  Chapter 11

  The jungle was everywhere. That was El Rey’s impression of Costa Rica, if anyone were to ask him. It was everything he’d always imagined when he heard the term rain forest, right down to the toucans and monkeys. And even though everyone spoke Spanish it was as different from Mexico as he imagined South America would be.

  He had arrived there to learn how to fly. Specifically, how to operate prop planes and helicopters, should he ever need to be able to do so. Rather than resting on his laurels, he’d made a personal commitment to continually learn new skills, expanding his abilities as well as the likelihood of survival. In the end, he hadn’t been able to convince the Mexican special forces to teach him how to operate a plane, so the first stop after he’d gotten his new papers was to find a place off the beaten path where he could master the discipline.

  The flight school in the capital city of San Jose had been more than willing to teach him everything he wanted to know for certification of fixed wing, and he had clocked almost all the required hours he needed. Helicopters were a different story, but he’d been able to find a pilot who was willing to unofficially give him lessons and explain everything about the mechanics of the crafts. El Rey had been in Costa Rica for three months and was about ready to get the hell out and back to what he considered civilization. For his money, San Jose couldn’t hold a candle to Guadalajara or Monterrey or Mexico City.

  He pulled up to the hangar at the edge of the runway and got out of his rental car, and after greeting his trainer, they moved to the small Cessna 172 prop plane to undertake their pre-flight checklist. El Rey was now certified, but he wanted to clock as many hours as possible while he was in Central America so he was confident in his abilities.

  Just as they
were getting into the cockpit, his cell phone rang, and he excused himself for a moment and took a call.

  It was Tortora.

  “Our friend called me. He has an urgent matter for you. Thinks it could be a real opportunity. How soon can you be in Sinaloa?” Tortora asked.

  El Rey considered the question for a moment. “Tomorrow, at the latest. I have to look at flight schedules. Worst case I can charter a plane. I’ll check in later to let you know what my timing looks like. Did he indicate how urgent?”

  “He didn’t go into detail. Said he’d prefer to discuss it with you in person. Shall I tell him you’re en route?” Tortora asked.

  “Please. But don’t tell him from where. That’s our little secret.”

  “Of course not. Call me when you know more,” Tortora said, and then the line went dead.

  El Rey walked over to the plane.

  “Sorry, Roger, got to cut out. Tell me. Just for the sake of conversation – how much would it cost to hire a plane to get me to Mexico City if I needed to leave in the next few hours? My mother isn’t well,” El Rey explained.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. What’s the distance? Fifteen hundred miles?”

  “A little less. More like twelve hundred.”

  “Boy. I don’t know. You want me to make some calls and find out? Not too many prop planes could make that without setting down at least once. You care if it’s a jet or prop?”

  “Not really. But I need to get going by one o’clock on the outside.” El Rey checked his watch. It was nine in the morning.

  “I know a guy who has that King Air over there. He might be into it. But it would probably be ten to fifteen grand…”

  “Make the call.”

  An hour later, and they’d gotten nowhere, so El Rey went to the passenger terminal and checked with Taca. They had a five o’clock flight that would get him into Mexico City a couple of hours later, and then he could get a plane to Culiacan in the morning. He booked it, paying in cash, and returned to his leased condo to pack. He didn’t have much – a rucksack with his clothes, thirty thousand dollars in hundreds and a credit card, in the name of one of his companies, with a fifty grand limit. In his line of work, he’d found it paid to travel light.

  The flight to Mexico City was tiresome, and once he landed he exhaled a sigh of relief. For all its exotic charms, Costa Rica hadn’t been his cup of tea and he was glad to be back on home turf. He checked the flight schedules to Culiacan and found one that departed at eight a.m., which would put him in Culiacan with time to spare for an afternoon meeting with Valiente. He booked a room at one of the large hotels connected to the airport terminal that catered to business travelers and settled in for the night, preferring to order room service than venture into town.

  The next day, he touched down in Culiacan and rented a car at the airport. Now that he had a variety of IDs it made life much easier for him. He could change around who he was whenever he felt the urge, avoiding any chance of there being a pattern in his coming and going.

  When he arrived at Valiente’s office, the cartel honcho greeted him warmly and invited him to sit. After some cursory pleasantries were dispensed with, including congratulations on Valiente being the new regional chief for the Sinaloa cartel’s northern operations – Altamar’s former role – they got down to business.

  Valiente slid a grainy black and white photograph of a man across his desk to El Rey, who studied it before looking up at the narcotraficante, no emotion showing on his face.

  “That’s German Coriente. Known as ‘El Chilango’. He used to be one of the ranking members of the Jalisco Cartel,” Valiente explained.

  El Rey waited patiently for more.

  “He disappeared a year ago, after a contract was put out on him by the head of our Sinaloa cartel, Don Aranas. The contractor who took the assignment failed to execute him and was never heard from again. We assume that El Chilango stopped him somehow, and extracted information from him on who hired him to do the hit. Shortly afterwards, he disappeared, and it has taken a full year for us to find him,” Valiente continued.

  “Where is he?”

  “Australia. He got a Chilean passport and moved to Sydney, where nobody knows him. He’s hired several mercenaries for security, and bought a wine exportation company to establish residence there.”

  El Rey nodded. “Sounds like he got as far away from Mexico as you can get, and he’s out of the game. So why go after him? Not to talk myself out of work, but rather so I understand the motivation,” El Rey said.

  “What do you care why? We offer a contract, you take it. That’s how it works, no?”

  El Rey held Valiente’s gaze and shook his head. “If I need to fly halfway around the world to kill someone, I need to know everything. That’s one of my conditions. Otherwise, respectfully, hire someone else. Although it sounds like your last experience with a contractor on this guy didn’t work out so well. So tell me, why go after a player who’s taken himself off the table and is living on the other end of the planet?” El Rey asked.

  Valiente initially looked annoyed, but then remembered who he was talking to. El Rey was a dangerous man, even by cartel standards. Not someone you wanted to make an enemy of.

  “It’s personal. The hit is personal. Unfinished business.”

  “Personal? With Aranas? What could El Chilango have possibly done to bring that upon himself?” Now El Rey was genuinely curious.

  “It’s a long story. Apparently, the two men knew each other from many years ago and then when Sinaloa went to war with the Jalisco cartel, things escalated out of control. That was almost a decade ago, and it went on for years, with heavy casualties on both sides.”

  “They’re still enemies to this day, no?” El Rey asked.

  “Yes. And they’ll always be enemies. Too much blood spilled to ever build bridges. What happened was that, during the worst of the war, El Chilango sent an execution team to take out Aranas. But they botched it. You can probably guess how that went down. Four killers from Veracruz with AK-47s – playing cowboys. Anyway, turns out Aranas wasn’t where they were told he would be, so when they shot up the car he was supposed to be traveling in, it wasn’t him. It was his twelve year old daughter, Imelda, on her way to ballet class.” Valiente paused to allow that to sink in. “She was apparently a rare talent. And beautiful. They tell me she lived for almost a month on machines before the injuries were too much for her. So it’s personal. Every day El Chilango breathes is an affront to Aranas, and he wants the man erased. Which brings us to why you are here, gracing our town with your presence.”

  “What are the details?”

  “The most important thing to understand is that Aranas doesn’t just want a hit. He wants El Chilango to suffer. A lot. I had mentioned to him how adept you’ve been in handling our transactions, and he authorized me to reach out to you. So here I am. And now, here are you as well.”

  “What’s the contract price?” El Rey was curious how badly they wanted him dead.

  “Two hundred fifty thousand dollars.”

  “Too low for the risk involved. A foreign country, likely many unusual expenses, a police force that can’t be bought, foreign mercenaries…I don’t mean to sound like an ingrate, but that won’t cover it,” El Rey explained.

  Valiente sat back, exasperated. “Then what’s the right number for you to take this on? I know I can get any of a dozen men who would jump at doing this for fifty.”

  “You tried that once. These aren’t the kinds of situation where you look to save money. If you want the best and you want a guaranteed result, you will pay more than hiring someone who will try, and fail. Sounds like if you blow it one more time, he’ll disappear on you for good. I’m not sure I’d want to have to deliver that news to Don Aranas.” El Rey studied a point on the wall for a few moments. “My number is three hundred thousand.”

  “Done.”

  “Plus expenses, which will probably come to another fifty to a hundred. I won’t know until I get ove
r there and see the lay of the land.”

  Valiente’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Fair enough.”

  “And I’ll need specialized gear once I’m there, so you’ll have to find a local who can get hard-to-find items for me. I won’t know what they are until I’m on the ground, but it could be specialized weapons, or explosives, or gas. Don’t know. Do you have any contacts there?” El Rey asked.

  “There’s nowhere in the world we don’t have contacts. I’ll find someone.” Valiente smiled. “Is there anything else?”

  “I expect you to pay for the travel, too. I’ll bet first class tickets to Sydney aren’t going to be cheap.” El Rey rose to his feet. “I can leave tomorrow. I’ll need half the money in advance, as usual, and an ATM card I can withdraw up to a hundred thousand dollars on. That way I can pull money out as necessary. No, better yet, give me fifty in cash, and fifty on an ATM. Do you have a package on him?”

  Valiente pushed an envelope across the table. El Rey glanced at the contents and nodded. Valiente reached below his desk and retrieved a slim briefcase.

  “Here’s two hundred and fifty, cash. Call that two for you, and fifty for expenses. I’ll have a card for you within a few days and will send it to you by DHL. That way you’ll have it within a week, on the outside. My guess is you’ll want to spend some time lining things up before you do this. Am I right?”

  El Rey ignored the question. “So you would have paid five hundred?”

  “We think very highly of your talents. But it sounds like you’ll wind up costing four by the time this is done, so you can make it up on the next one. And if you pull this off for Aranas, there will be as many next ones as you want.” Valiente grinned. “It’s only money, right?”