The Andes Dream

The covered man slipped into the room, his boots leaving faint tracks of dust from the street. then he exhaled sharply. "Fiuu… The situation in Caracas is grim. Spanish patrols are all over the place. I counted at least five guards heading this way."

Oscar frowned. "Do you think they already know about us? Why else would there be so many soldiers—unless something happened." His expression tightened. "Wait… did something important happen?"

The agent pushed back his hood, his face drawn and solemn. He nodded. "Yes. The King of France was executed by the republican government last month. Our organization learned the news two weeks ago. It seems your savior sent someone to inform his father."

Oscar's eyes widened. "Francisco? He's already in Europe? Wait—" He straightened abruptly. "Did you just say the King of France was killed by the republicans?"

The agent looked momentarily speechless, then nodded again. "That's right. Our patron seems to have struck some kind of agreement with your savior's father—Carlos Gómez, I believe."

Oscar nodded slowly. "So we're allies now. That's… good." He let out a relieved breath, the heavy air of the room carrying the faint smell of damp wood and distant cooking smoke from the streets.

The agent hesitated. "You have one mission, and after that you should return to Antioquia. You'll begin working under Carlos."

Oscar frowned, puzzled. "Are the two of them really on such good terms?"

The agent nodded, then shook his head slightly. "The leadership split into two factions last year. One, led by Carlos, wants to push for independence while Spain is tangled in a war with France. The other prefers the status quo, waiting for a 'better moment.' Our patron sided with Carlos as soon as he could."

Oscar's expression hardened. "So the independence war is close."

"Closer than you think," the agent said, his voice low. "After the split, most leaders chose the status quo faction. They feared the war might not break out, and then we'd be facing Spain alone. But with King Louis' death, everything changed. People now see war between Spain and France as inevitable. If King Charles IV does nothing after the republicans executed his own cousin, the Bourbon name will be a laughingstock across Europe."

He paused, glancing toward the shuttered window where distant bells rang from the cathedral.

"But now those same leaders have a problem. Because they waited, they didn't prepare. Their men are few, their supplies scarce. And they all know this war will determine the power they'll hold afterward." He looked back at Oscar. "And that brings us here."

The man walked toward the window and stared out at the buildings visible from San José. Oscar stepped beside him, following his gaze. When he recognized the structure in the distance, he stiffened.

"The royal warehouse?"

The man nodded. "That's right. Our patron wants to sell information about the warehouse to the other leaders. After all, robbing New Granada or Cartagena is one thing—robbing in Caracas is an entirely different and easier challenge. If you can obtain the full schedule of the guards' rotations, as well as the method to open the place, our patron is willing to hand you over completely to Carlos Gómez."

Oscar frowned. Something felt wrong. He eyed the man with deep suspicion, then glanced behind him at the three women. He had already grown attached to them; they felt like real family. so he knew he what does he had to do after a moment of silence He spoke firmly.

"Fine. But just in case, I'm taking them out of Caracas before the mission. That way, even if I fail, they won't pay the price."

The man's expression tightened, clearly displeased. But seeing the sharp suspicion in Oscar's eyes, he understood that refusing would be dangerous—not only for him but for his master's plans. Reluctantly, he nodded.

"Very well. Prepare the informants you have here. I already have someone ready to take your place. We'll tell them tomorrow."

Oscar nodded. "Good. I'll start preparing the plan. We meet tomorrow night."

The man hesitated. He had clearly hoped to stay the night, but he sensed he had already pushed Oscar's trust too far. Better to act normal. He gave a stiff nod and left the inn.

The three women watched Oscar with anxious eyes. Carmensa, especially, spoke in a trembling voice.

"This doesn't feel right. The way he insisted on getting the informants before the mission… it sounds like they don't expect you to come back alive. And the look in that man's eyes—malicious. I think they want to get rid of you."

Oscar nodded and headed toward the stairs, the women following close behind. He paused and looked back at them.

"Pack your things. Now. I'll see you in the basement in twenty minutes."

The women froze, startled. Rosa spoke first. "What? Why? Shouldn't we plan how to steal the warehouse information before anything else? Why are you suddenly telling us to pack?"

The younger girl, Sofía, echoed her sister. "That's right, brother. This is too sudden."

Carmensa looked into Oscar's eyes and saw the tension there. She exhaled softly, then turned to her daughters. "Do as Oscar says. Pack your things. Now."

The girls exchanged grumpy, worried looks, but they knew their mother's tone left no room for argument. They hurried to their rooms, gathering clothes and the bare essentials.

Oscar continued walking, with Carmensa close behind. When they reached his small bedroom, he went straight to the closet. He knelt, pressed a hand against the wooden floorboard, and lifted it. The plank came loose, revealing a dark opening beneath.

Carmensa's eyes widened; she had never suspected such a hiding place.

"When you work in this line of business," Oscar said quietly, "you learn to leave stashes everywhere." He reached down and pulled out a heavy pouch. The coins inside clinked faintly. He handed it to her. "With this, you should be able to reach Antioquia. Once there, find the Gómez family. Tell them you were trained by me—they'll give you work."

Carmensa frowned, worry plain in her eyes. "So it's true. You know this is a trap… and you're planning to walk into it."

Oscar let out a strained breath and moved to the chair by the small desk. He sat, shoulders heavy, and looked around the room as though memorizing it. "Yes. This mission is clearly my last. If I succeed, they'll kill me before the Gómez family can get hold of a useful asset. If I fail, the Spanish troops will kill me. There's no way out."

Carmensa stepped closer, her voice soft with fear. "Then why don't we run? With this money, we could find a town far from all this… far from politics and soldiers. We could even join an indigenous tribe and live quietly. Why not choose life?"

Oscar fell silent for a moment, the shadows of the small room flickering over his face. Then he spoke quietly.

"Do you remember how I always say I'm a mestizo?"

Carmensa nodded, confused by the sudden shift.

Oscar continued, eyes distant. "Haven't you ever wondered why? By my face, I could easily pass as a criollo. Yet I still insist on calling myself a mestizo."

Carmensa shook her head. She had found it odd before, but never questioned it—she simply thought it was part of his personality.

Oscar gave a faint, bitter smile. "It's not my personality. Before I became an agent, I had a good family. A beautiful mother. A father who, at least in public, acted like a gentleman. He'd been a Spanish soldier… ambitious, always hungry for rank."

He paused, staring at the floor as though seeing another time entirely.

"Our family carried a secret. One I didn't know until the night everything fell apart. My mother was half Indigenous. My father knew. Pretended it didn't matter. But his ambitions kept growing, and the local tribes were already subdued. Peaceful. There was no war, no opportunity for him to rise. So he looked… at us."

Oscar's voice wavered for the first time. He took a slow breath.

"One night, he came into our house with a few soldiers. Accused my mother of being a spy for the tribes. They tortured her—right in front of me. When I tried to stop them, I begged him: 'Father, why are you doing this to her?'"

Oscar swallowed hard, the memory tightening his throat.

"He looked at me with a glare so cold it froze my blood. Even now I still dream of it. he say ' i dont have a savage as a son ' That same night he killed her. Then he dragged me out of town, into the forest. And there he said, 'You have the savages' blood. You should live like one.' And he left me there."

Carmensa's hand flew to her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes. "How can a father treat his own child like that? That man… that man was a monster."

Oscar nodded slowly. "I've thought the same, every day since."

He leaned back, memories pressing on him like stones. "A tribe found me—saved me. Raised me. Taught me their ways, their tactics, their language. They were my family. Until…" He stopped, breath trembling. "Until they were wiped out when I was sixteen. I had gone into the nearby town for supplies. When I returned…"

His hands clenched. His voice dropped to a low, raw whisper.

"Every man was dead. The women… broken. Even the infants weren't spared. The soldiers claimed the tribe had rebelled." He shook his head slowly. "But I knew the truth. The pattern was the same as with my mother. I learned later that my father had staged the 'rebellion' to justify the slaughter… so he could rise in rank again."

The room felt colder. Outside, faint night sounds drifted in—the murmur of distant voices, the creak of wooden carts rolling over uneven stones.

"That day," Oscar finished, "I decided this country might be better off without the Spanish."