Business Registration
I came home and started getting ready to move.
When the unit had been allotted to me, I'd already ordered the furniture and every last appliance built in. Anything that wasn't important—bags, clothes—I meant to throw out. I called my mother and put her to work.
"Move my things over too. You know the code, right?"
"You have to leave that fast?"
"Yeah. Oh—and I put this month's pay in."
"Pay? What pay."
"What do you mean? It's nice getting paid, isn't it?"
"Do you even have any money?"
She said it like that, but she didn't sound put out. Five million won had just landed in her account. Of course she was pleased. I'd never managed to send her a proper allowance before. From now on, I'd send it on the dot, every time.
"It's a long-term posting, so the overseas allowance comes out fat. Don't worry about money. And I set aside a separate sum for fixing up the house—if there's something you want, buy it with that, however you like. If you need more, just say so."
Once she came up from Andong she'd be bored stiff until she settled in. Tidying a house would eat the hours before she noticed.
From the loan and the money I'd made selling gold, I set aside what I'd need for the interest. With the rest I opened an account for Mother's salary and put an automatic transfer on it. On top of that, I sent her a separate bankbook holding fifty million won.
"If something comes up in a hurry, use this."
I paid the remaining balance as well, and funded the auto-transfer account in advance. When I added up everything I'd spent, what was left of the money I'd prepared came to a little under six hundred million won. I converted all of it to dollars.
Taking cash out of the country was a problem. Exchanging it was not. Every dollar went into the magic wallet.
The money was ready. I boarded another flight for Cairo.
Cairo.
I got off the plane and rented a car. The Hummer drew far too many eyes in the city, so I picked a modest Japanese SUV instead, then went back to the lawyer's office I'd visited last time.
While I was in Korea I'd gone back and forth with the Egyptian lawyer over a suitable line of business, and I'd made my decision.
Mining.
The Egyptian government had designated sixteen industries to encourage foreign investment and was running support programs for them. Mining was one of the sixteen. Worked out nicely.
People used to pan for gold along the middle reaches of the Nile, and for a while quite a few firms had run placer operations out here. The margins had collapsed since, of course, and every one of them had shut its doors. Still, if I was going to touch a business, better it be a field the government itself was pushing.
Rather than filing and registering a new company from scratch, I had them introduce me to one that still hadn't formally closed. It hadn't done any actual business in years. The plant was long shut, and they'd sold off the equipment besides. What assets remained amounted to a business registration number that existed only on paper, a few pieces of machinery that wouldn't even cover the freight if you tried to sell them for scrap, and a single container serving as a site office.
Paperwork and fees included, I bought the company for twelve thousand dollars. I kept the registration number and changed the name. Say Egypt, and you think of the Sahara. I changed the company name to Sahara Gold Corporation.
With the mining registration left in their hands, I contacted an arms broker next. I placed the order, then went from market to market buying what I'd need for a long stretch in the field. Rice and gochujang—Korean chili paste—I'd brought from home. The rest I filled out with high-calorie staples, and every empty space I packed with as much diesel as I could buy.
The Hummer's operational range was roughly 560 kilometers. Mine had most of the armor stripped, so it ought to manage over 700. While I was gathering fuel for it, I also looked into goods I could take to Gaia and sell. On this trip I'd have to do some market research and figure out what would actually move. No reason it had to be only slaves.
Even the commercial city of Lorenzo had running water and sewers, and the standard of its roads and walls was high. That meant anything large enough to need heavy equipment could be handled with magic instead. But something small that had to be stamped out in volume—there, magic might actually be the weaker option. Which meant everyday goods, a few kinds mass-produced in huge numbers, might find a market.
What would that even be…
I was turning it over while I drove when a few men walking the sidewalk caught my eye. Well. The same bastards who'd tried to take my money in front of the ATM last time.
Once the business was properly registered, there'd be no reason to sell at a discount. At the international gold price, that was about 110,000 won a gram. Two gold coins apiece came to roughly a hundred grams—ten million won a head. Three of them: thirty million.
As expected. The old saying wasn't wrong.
People are the best investment there is.
I pulled ahead of them and parked somewhere suitable, then took my place in front of the ATM I'd passed on the way. In the familiar pose, I pretended to withdraw cash. I already had bills out of my coat and was counting them in my hand, and they didn't disappoint.
"Hey. Mister Monkey."
I turned. Their faces were split with grins. One of them changed expression—he recognized me.
"Fuck! That's the bastard from before."
Surprise on his face turned to anger, then to smug triumph.
"Look who we ran into. You son of a bitch."
"What about him?"
"You don't get it? It's that guy from last time. The Asian pulling cash. The one who ran."
Ran, my ass. I'd left them beaten unconscious and walked off. That was all.
"Oh. Yeah. Caught the bastard good."
"Perfect. Fuck it—drag him off and kill him."
Last time the three of them had taken a brutal beating. This time they looked a little different, and I saw soon enough what they were leaning on. The one who'd recognized me pulled a pistol from the back of his waistband and leveled it at me.
"You talked real big, you piece of shit. Go on. Talk big again. Huh?!"
Last time it had been a knife. After I beat them down, they'd gone and found a gun somewhere. I answered.
"What a relief."
Blank disbelief crossed their faces.
"What? A relief?"
"Crazy bastard."
"We're gonna kill you. Come on."
A relief that nothing about them had changed. When they came at me like that, I wouldn't feel the slightest guilt selling them.
They dragged me to an abandoned building with no one around. I said it to myself.
Good boys.
The first thing I'd done after landing in Egypt was put on body armor—two vests, one under the other. Unlike Korea, this was a country of street robbers with knives and guns, and the occasional bomb. Safety first. I'd tested it last time: one vest was enough to stop a pistol round. Two layers meant a handgun wasn't going to hurt me. Of course, with a muzzle in my face, I was tense anyway. Nothing to be done about that.
Once I confirmed no one was nearby, I moved. In truth, unless you freeze, hitting a man on the move with a pistol is no easy thing. That was part of why I'd chosen a shotgun. And with my body accelerated as much as fivefold, I moved faster than ordinary eyes could follow. No need to advertise that the bullets wouldn't stick.
I slipped the first shot, then—as last time—used my strengthened muscle and took the man with the pistol first. I grabbed him, hooked a leg, and slammed him into the floor. An awkward stance that would almost never work in a real fight, but when strength and speed differed by the gap between a grown man and a child, that was another story.
Thud!
He hit the cement back-first. The impact knocked the breath out of him, and he couldn't move. I took the gun, then dropped the other two and finished them the same way. A scratch on the merchandise could cut the price. Nine seconds to put all three down.
I trussed the fallen men with cable ties, neat and appetizing. Until I decided what business I'd actually run, this was still the best goods I had. Above all, the cost of goods was nothing.
I hauled the three of them, bound, into a corner of the abandoned building and put them under with a sleep spell. I checked the area, went back for the car, brought it around, loaded them, and left.
Not long after I pulled out, a text alert chimed. I opened the phone. The broker.
The goods were ready. I glanced back. They lay side by side in the rear seat, heads resting against each other, asleep. A pleasant sight. Just looking at them warmed me.
I drove them to the container yard. The middle warehouse. I'd roughly fitted out the inside of the container like an office. I lifted the carpet on the floor, and a seam showed in the cut steel plate. I raised the plate and lifted off a thick wooden cover.
A space below.
I put them in and shut the lid again. The way you'd set down a crock of aged kimchi, I stacked them carefully along one side of the floor and stepped back outside. I restored everything to how it had been, then headed back into the city. Time to pick up the goods.
As last time, I went to the broker with a hood covering half my face. Meeting him a second time, he looked as if he'd shed a good deal of his suspicion.
"You already bought a load last time. You need this much again?"
I brushed him off.
"Different job from last time."
"That so? Have a look, then."
The broker brought the goods out. A piece of work in wood and steel. An AK-47 assault rifle—one of the most common things in Africa. In some countries it went for less than a chicken. Supply was so heavy the price was only a hundred dollars. I bought three, for spares and for parts, and a bolt-action sniper rifle besides.
The sniper rifle was an old piece that might have seen the Second World War. The assault rifles were for fighting. The sniper rifle was for long-range work, just in case. I worked the bolt open and shut in my hands, checked the condition, and seated and stripped the magazine underneath.
"Performance won't be a problem. Old, but tough, and it runs fine. Here's the ammunition you asked for. Five thousand rounds. That one was a pain to get."
I'd bought as much ammunition as I could. Both guns took 7.62mm and were compatible, so that was fine. On top of that I bought another three hundred pistol rounds and a thousand shotgun shells. Even if I didn't use them in a fight, I'd need plenty just to practice regularly. I also picked up a nine-power scope and a close-combat sight to mount on the assault rifle.
The old line was right—the belly button bigger than the belly. The accessories cost more than the guns. I paid seven thousand dollars in cash and took the lot.
"You gonna carry all that?"
"No problem."
I broke the guns down, stacked the ammunition, and packed it tight into the backpack I'd brought. Ammunition, and four firearms on top of it. The weight was considerable, but I lifted it without strain, and the broker stared as if he couldn't quite believe it.
"See you next time, then."
"Let's."
I left the shop and headed back to the container yard. Time to cross over to Gaia.