Night of the Assassin (Assassin Series 4_prequel) (16 page)

He pushed open the entry door and walked into a small, somewhat shabby showroom with a few inexpensive glass cases showcasing the tarnished treasures of the impoverished and downtrodden. Silver infant cups, cheap watches, scarred gold chains, obsolete cameras.
El Rey
was liking this guy’s style more and more. This was the last place in the world he would expect to find a man who handled the affairs of high-end contract killers. Nothing about the shop spoke of money or success or high-rolling, which were usually hand in hand with cartel-related businesses. This just said boring.

El Rey
liked boring.

He approached the barred window, which was fabricated out of inch-thick bullet-proof glass, and pushed the button next to it, listening as the buzzer echoed in the rear, behind the heavy steel door to his right. He studied the door; it was built like a bank’s, although this was probably heavier by the looks of it. He rapped a knuckle against the wall – at least foot-thick concrete. A meager enterprise with security like a vault. Interesting.

Footsteps approached, and then a small man with a beret and a graying goatee appeared at the window.

“Yes?” he asked by way of greeting.

“I’m here for an eleven o’clock meeting,”
El Rey
said.

“Ah. Of course.” The steel door buzzed and
El Rey
rushed to grab the handle before it stopped. He swung it open and noted that he’d been correct. It was very heavy indeed, and the locking mechanism was industrial grade.

“Nice door.”

“Mmmm. Two one-inch steel plates with a titanium core. Custom made in Austria. Cost a bit, but worth it,” the little man said. He extended his hand. “Jaime Tortora, at your service. Please. Come back to my offices. Would you like anything to drink? Water? Coffee? Beer?”

El Rey
shook his hand. “No, thank you. I don’t drink coffee or alcohol. I’ll follow you.”

Tortora walked down the dimly lit hallway and opened the door of his office. The two men entered and Tortora gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk. He took his seat behind it and leaned forward, both hands on the surface, visible at all times.
El Rey
noticed this reassuring stance, and nodded almost imperceptibly as he sat, placing the duffle on the chair next to him.

“A mutual friend of some distinction called and indicated there was an opportunity for us to help each other,” Tortora began, then hesitated. “You may speak freely. I have eavesdropping detection equipment in place, and if you were wired, I’d know. I also sweep the office once a week. Vocational paranoia, you could say.”

El Rey
fixed him with a tranquil gaze. “I am looking for someone who can help me; act as a back office and clearing system for my payments and due diligence on clients,”
El Rey
said.

“Ah, yes. Well, that’s what I do. I take twenty percent if I source the clients, or ten percent if you do. I can deal with cash, although that’s ten percent right off the top for the bank to handle. I prefer wire transfers or bearer instruments, and have an extensive infrastructure to accommodate those. Austria and the Caymans, with a second set of accounts in Panama and Lichtenstein. All owned by dummy front companies out of Hong Kong or Cyprus.” Tortora reached over and took a sip of water from a glass near his computer monitor. “I can assist in setting up a structure for you, if that is necessary. My only advice if you intend to do so yourself is to hire a professional. The money trail is often the weak link.”

“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 consider dropping 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 three 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 million cash after deducting for that. Minus ten percent for the banks, leaves us at one eight. 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.

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 fly, 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.

“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…”