In the late 1990s, after the capture of Francisco Rafael Arrellano Félix and the failed assassination attempt, the Arellano Félix brothers orchestrated a plan to finally rid themselves of their most formidable rival, Joaquín "El Chapo" Guzmán. With the rise of the Sinaloa Cartel, the Felix brothers, particularly Ramón and Benjamín, knew that Guzmán's influence was growing too strong to ignore. They were determined to strike a decisive blow and take him out once and for all.
Through a web of corrupt prison officials, insiders, and even paid off guards, the Felix brothers orchestrated a highly coordinated ambush. They used their connections to find out when El Chapo would be vulnerable, and on a cold night in the late '90s, they attacked Guzmán's compound. The hitmen, armed to the teeth, stormed his hideout, catching Guzmán off-guard and forcing him into a fierce standoff. The gunfire echoed through the night as El Chapo's men fought valiantly to protect him. However, the odds were too great.
After a bloody gunfight, Guzmán was captured. His handcuffed, bloodied body was dragged away, and the government quickly took him into custody. His capture was a blow to the Sinaloa Cartel and sent shockwaves through the drug world. Many believed that the empire of El Chapo had finally crumbled.
He was sentenced to serve his time in a maximum-security prison, specifically the notorious Puente Grande Prison in Jalisco, one of the most secure facilities in Mexico. Guzmán's life behind bars was a far cry from the lavish lifestyle he had once enjoyed, but even in prison, he never lost his control.
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Inside the Prison:
The prison halls were cold and sterile, the sound of heavy boots clattering against the stone floors echoing through the halls. Inside his cell, Guzmán was constantly surrounded by armed guards and kept under 24-hour surveillance. Despite the grim situation, El Chapo still had his mind sharp, always thinking of ways to get out.
In the early days of his imprisonment, Guzmán would sit in his cell for hours, brooding, thinking. But as the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, he started to form a plan—one that would eventually make him one of the most notorious escapees in history.
Guzmán's Cell:
"How long do you think they'll keep me in here?" El Chapo muttered to his closest confidant, "El Güero" Palma, a former ally turned prisoner. They were separated by the thick bars of the prison cell, but Guzmán spoke as if he were still in charge of an empire.
"Not long, jefe," said "El Güero" with a grin. He leaned forward, his voice low. "I know you've got something planned. I can see it in your eyes."
Guzmán gave a small, knowing smile. "You know me well, Güero. You can't keep me locked up forever. Not in a place like this."
Their conversation was interrupted by the harsh clang of the prison door, as guards walked past, peering inside.
In the months that followed, Guzmán began quietly making moves. He cultivated relationships with the prison's corrupt officials, slipping them bribes, always keeping his true plans hidden. He spent countless hours talking to guards, prison staff, and even other inmates, gauging who could be trusted, who could help him escape.
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The Plan:
The plan, as it began to take shape, was a bold one. Guzmán had been monitoring the prison's routines and security measures. He realized the one weakness in Puente Grande was the prison's laundry system. The prisoners would dispose of dirty laundry by loading it into large carts, which were then transported to the prison's washing facility by guards. Guzmán saw an opportunity.
He began bribing a few key staff members who had access to the laundry area. As the days passed, Guzmán grew more and more anxious. He knew that time was running out, and if he was caught before the plan was complete, he'd face even harsher conditions—or worse. But he kept his composure, always cool under pressure.
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The Night of the Escape:
Finally, the night came. The plan was ready. Guzmán, dressed in the same prison garb as always, was transported out of his cell under the guise of being taken for a routine inspection. The plan was simple: he would be wheeled out in a dirty laundry cart, concealed under heaps of clothing.
As the guards pushed the cart through the prison halls, Guzmán remained motionless, his breathing shallow. His heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his face expressionless, not betraying the excitement brewing inside him.
One step closer, he thought.
The guards wheeled him through the dimly lit corridors, oblivious to the fact that one of the most dangerous men in the world was hiding in plain sight. Guzmán could hear the distant clanking of chains and the murmurs of prisoners behind their cells, but he stayed still, focusing on the next few minutes.
As they approached the laundry area, Guzmán could see the exit door ahead, the final obstacle. He held his breath. Then, he heard a familiar voice from one of his men, "It's all clear, jefe. The car is waiting."
With a final push, the cart was moved into the laundry room, and Guzmán was quickly taken to the laundry van. It was tight, but he didn't mind. His heart raced as he was wheeled towards the truck, knowing that freedom was within his grasp.
When he finally emerged from the cart, he was in the middle of a wooded area, far from the prison walls. He looked back at the prison and smiled. It was a moment of victory, a moment of triumph.
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Aftermath:
Guzmán's escape was a spectacle that left the Mexican government reeling. He had been one of the most wanted men in the country, and now he was free. The public was in shock—many wondered how it had been possible, and others marveled at his audacity.
Even his rivals knew that they couldn't take his escape lightly. The Sinaloa Cartel, although weakened by his capture, began to regroup, and with Guzmán's escape, the cartel's power was restored.
El Chapo was back. And this time, he was more dangerous than ever. He was back and with more vengeance than ever.
Mazatlán, a once peaceful beach town now caught in the grip of cartel violence, became the setting for the first major move in the rise of Sinaloa.
Ramon Arellano Félix, one of the leaders of the Tijuana Cartel, had been traveling to one of the many luxurious hotels he owned in the city. Unbeknownst to him, Guzmán and Zambada had been keeping a close watch on his movements. They had learned through their extensive network of informants that he was making his way to the hotel, a key hub for the Arellano Félix family's operations. This was the perfect opportunity to send a message, to eliminate one of the last remaining figures of power in the cartel world.
They knew that to avoid direct confrontation, they would need to operate in the shadows, using the forces already in place. And so, they put the plan into motion.
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"The police are in position," Guzmán said calmly, his voice low as he looked over the plans at their hideout in Culiacán. "Once he reaches the outskirts of Mazatlán, we move."
Zambada, sitting across from him, gave a small nod of agreement. His eyes were as calculating as ever. "We've already planted the idea of a traffic violation with the federales. The rest is up to them."
The two men exchanged a brief look, the weight of the decision clear in their eyes. This was more than just an execution. It was a calculated blow to the Arellano Félix family—a family that had been one of the greatest threats to their rise.
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Mazatlán, hours later.
Ramon Arellano Félix was in his car, driving through the quiet streets, unaware of the danger closing in on him. The traffic was light, the evening sky painted in shades of orange and pink as the sun began to set. He was close to his hotel, his mind preoccupied with business as usual.
Without warning, several federal police cars pulled up alongside his vehicle, their sirens flashing. A uniformed officer motioned for him to pull over. Ramon, frustrated but accustomed to the routine, slowed down and complied, pulling his car to the side of the road.
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As Ramon stepped out of the vehicle, his hand instinctively moved towards his sidearm. He had grown up in this dangerous world, always ready for confrontation. But the moment he reached for his weapon, the officers acted swiftly.
The sound of gunfire shattered the quiet evening. Ramon Arellano Félix collapsed to the ground, his body riddled with bullets from the officers who had been briefed and paid for this moment. The street, once calm, now echoed with the sound of his death.
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Back in the shadows, Guzmán and Zambada watched the news of Ramon's death filter through their network. "It's done," Guzmán said, his tone calm but tinged with satisfaction.
"One down," Zambada replied, his eyes narrowing. "But the rest will fall soon enough."
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But the death of Ramon Arellano Félix was only the beginning. The Tijuana Cartel was already weakened, its grip on the border slipping, but now with the loss of one of its most prominent leaders, the remaining brothers were exposed.
Guzmán and Zambada knew that the next move would be crucial. They had already sent their message. They had taken out the high-profile target. The power vacuum left by Ramon's death would create a ripple effect, weakening the cartel even further. But they knew the Arellano Félix brothers would retaliate—they always did. However, Guzmán and Zambada had planned for this eventuality. They were already one step ahead.
"We'll wait," Guzmán said quietly, as the two men looked out at the vast landscape before them. "The next step will be even more decisive."
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As the news of Ramon's death spread, Tijuana was crumbling.
The Sinaloa Cartel was no longer just a shadow in the background. They were stepping into the light, prepared to claim what was rightfully theirs. With every death, every strategic move, they were one step closer to total control.
The remaining brothers of the Tijuana Cartel—now in disarray—were faced with a choice: try to avenge the death of their brother, or accept the inevitable collapse of their once-great empire. Either way, Guzmán and Zambada were already moving forward, their empire growing larger with each passing day.