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 in the tiny Central American country 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. And Costa Rica was well off any radar – while it had a decent amount of infrastructure, even by Mexican standards it was backwards, as were its neighbors, Nicaragua, El Salvador and Honduras. He’d considered each of those in turn, but decided on Costa Rica after researching the alternatives – the others were too unstable, with a considerable cartel presence he would rather avoid unless working.
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 now 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, but it has served its purpose. One thing he was sure of was that he wouldn’t likely be back unless he lost a bet.
He pulled up to the hangar at the edge of the runway and got out of his rental car, and after greeting his flight 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 completely 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, eyeing the surrounding airport as he did so. “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 returned to the little 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.
He set his bag by the door and then retrieved a rag and a bottle of ammonia-based cleaner, and began the tedious but necessary process of wiping down every area he might have touched. The cleanup took an hour and a half, but he had time to kill, and nobody had ever gotten caught by being overly careful. When he was done, he took a final look around the small condo and nodded, then wiped down the doorknob and deadbolt, twisting it open using the rag, and then repeated the process after closing it. He sauntered down the stairs to the front foyer and eased the steel and glass entry door open, then dropped the rag into a scarred garbage can at the end of the block.
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. 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. An admittedly expensive set of precautions, but ultimately worth it to him.
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 El Rey’s congratulations on Valiente becoming 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 swarthy man across his desk to El Rey, who studied it before looking up at the narcotraficante, his face devoid of expression.
“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, El Chilango 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 again, 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.”
The assassin nodded. “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.”
El Rey shook his head, holding Valiente’s gaze. “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 over 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 in-country, 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 set up so I can withdraw up to a hundred thousand dollars on it from anywhere in the world. That way I can pull money out as necessary.” El Rey paused, thinking. “No, better yet, give me fifty in cash, and fifty on an ATM. Do you have a package on him?”
Valiente pushed a manila envelope across the table. El Rey opened the top, 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?”
“You have a point. I’ll look into hotels and flights. Timeframe for the hit?”
“If you can bring it in within ten days that will do.”
“Shouldn’t be an issue, if he’s only got a couple of bodyguards. Do you have dossiers on them?” El Rey asked.
“It’s in there. One’s South African, the other British – who saw a tour in Afghanistan. Not pushovers, that’s for sure.”
“They all die the same.”
“Too true. You need anything else from my end?”
“Just get in touch with someone who can get me whatever I need in Australia. I’ll get a cell phone once I’m there and touch base for the contact info.” El Rey stood, and hefted the briefcase. “Hate to leave a hundred on the table, but it is what it is.”
“I have a feeling if you make it ugly enough for El Chilango, there’s a chance of a bonus. Aranas isn’t that price sensitive.”
“Tell me. Does he have any other children?” El Rey asked.
Valiente looked at him strangely. “I think he’s got two sons. I’m not sure, though. We aren’t that close,” Valiente admitted.
“His only daughter. No, I imagine he’s not price sensitive at all.” He held up the briefcase and moved towards the door, hesitating before he left. When he turned to face Valiente a final time, even the hardened cartel drug lord’s stomach lurched when El Rey offered a diminutive smirk.
“I’ll get creative.”
Night of the Assassin Page 16