The Andes Dream

After a while, the agent asked, "So… what is your plan?"

Oscar let out a small sigh. The fact that the man was willing to listen meant he trusted him at least enough to hear him out. After taking a breath, he said:

"I already walked around the front of the warehouse, and i hear from couple of soldiers where I can find the information you want. But there are two problems. First: time. If I don't want to attract suspicion, I'll need to copy the information onto a new sheet of paper. If that book disappears, the officers in charge will immediately change all their plans. And the second problem is getting inside… though I more or less have an idea about that."

The agent frowned. "So the problem is copying the papers… and getting in. That is difficult. How exactly are you planning to enter?"

With a thoughtful look, Oscar replied, "I was planning to get inside through the group delivering supplies to the royal warehouse."

The agent's frown deepened. Then he sighed, pulled out a cigar, lit it, and started smoking.

"There are two issues with that. The supply caravans usually have a lot of soldiers around them, so slipping in unnoticed would be difficult. And there's the identification at the entrance. The people in that group know each other—if suddenly an unknown face shows up at the gate, they'll react immediately."

"I understand that," Oscar said. "So the plan is this: first, we make clothes similar to what the workers wear. Then I hide inside the cargo. Once inside, I pretend to be one of the workers and look for a way to enter the guardroom and copy the documents."

The agent took a slow puff of his cigar, thinking. "Fine. I'll give you some time. But my men will stay around you at all times to make sure you don't betray us. Do you understand?"

Oscar gave a bitter smile. "I think it's unnecessary, but I accept."

He understood that it was more about a power play—punishment for losing the women—than any practical measure. If he truly wanted to escape, he could do so at any moment. But considering that helping the women escape already caused him enough problems, he was in no mood, nor any position, to provoke more trouble.

The agent nodded, seeming more relaxed. "I'll help you with the clothes. You figure out a way to copy the documents faster in the meantime. I'll also send another man to check the supply schedule in Caracas and look for a window for you to infiltrate the cargo."

Then he finished the cigar and pressed the ember out with his own tongue—a crude intimidation tactic that left Oscar speechless.

After the agent left, two men stayed behind with Oscar. Their silent presence made him uncomfortable, but he accepted it. He walked toward the office, and the men followed him closely, frustrating him even more.

He couldn't help but ask, "Don't you want to eat or drink something? The kitchen is there."He pointed, but the two agents ignored him completely.

Oscar sighed and continued walking, still shadowed by them. When he reached the office, he entered, took a seat, and the men sat as well, waiting in silence.

Oscar tried to ignore them while thinking of a solution to his problem. Just then, a pigeon arrived carrying a small letter. He frowned and moved to take it, but the agents stopped him and took the message first. After reading it carefully and finding nothing suspicious, they finally handed it to him.

It was a letter from the three women—and thankfully written in code. That prevented the agents from understanding anything. It simply told him that they had reached the hideout safely. The news made him smile with relief.

Then he suddenly slapped his forehead.

"That's right… code. If I can't copy the information word for word, I can write it in code. I just need to create one…"

He grabbed a sheet of paper and began working immediately. The agents exchanged glances; they clearly realized the letter had been coded. But Oscar cleverly burned it in front of them after reading it, leaving nothing they could analyze.

Time passed, and two days later the main agent returned. After entering the inn and seeing no one downstairs, he immediately drew his pistols—suspecting Oscar might have killed the guards and escaped.

He moved up to the second floor cautiously. Approaching the office door, he heard the sound of writing. Frowning, he pushed the door open.

Inside, his two men were fast asleep while Oscar sat at the desk, still writing steadily.

The agent's expression shifted—from relief to irritation. He holstered his pistol, walked up to one of the sleeping men, and slapped him on the back of the head. The guard jolted awake, ready to fight, but froze when he saw who stood in front of him. His face drained of color. His partner, waking up as well, went just as pale.

the agent said coldly. "We'll settle this later."

Then he walked toward Oscar. After seeing the strange patterns and symbols on the paper, he frowned, picked up one sheet, studied it for a moment, and finally understood Oscar's plan. He placed a hand on Oscar's shoulder.

Oscar, eyes red from lack of sleep, looked up and frowned."Let me finish this part. After that, you can tell me the rest."

The agent sighed helplessly and moved back to sit beside his men. The two guards, terrified and ashamed, kept their eyes down and didn't dare speak.

"How long has he been writing?" the agent asked them quietly.

One of the men hesitated before answering."For the past two days… he's only slept about four hours, and taken half an hour to eat."

The agent frowned—partly impressed, partly concerned. Even knowing he was as good as dead, Oscar had worked relentlessly. The agent didn't comment, but watched him more closely.

Two hours later, he and his men had dozed off as well, only to be jolted awake by Oscar's voice.

"Finally… I did it."

The agent blinked, startled, and glanced at his subordinates who were also scrambling up in embarrassment. He shot them an angry look but didn't scold them—after all, he had fallen asleep too.

He stood and asked, "Did you finish?"

Oscar looked up. "So you're here. Yes—take this."He handed the documents to the agent. "I've memorized the entire code. It'll help me translate whatever I manage to gather inside the warehouse."

The agent nodded. "Good. Now go bathe and rest. I've prepared the clothes you'll wear tomorrow. There's also an opportunity—you're lucky. A large supply caravan is arriving in Caracas at noon. The governor is stocking up for the internal conflicts that are expected to break out. It's the perfect moment; with so many people moving around, one extra worker won't stand out."

He placed a small stack of papers on the desk.

"I also managed to gather the names of the caravan leaders. One is Roberto, the other Alberto. Brothers—clearly their parents weren't very imaginative. These are the documents for the other workers we could identify. We don't have files on all of them—most peons aren't important enough, so information is scarce."

Oscar nodded gratefully while taking the papers. "Thank you. This will help a lot. And… if possible, I'd like a good breakfast tomorrow. Considering it might be my last meal, I'd like a proper one. Think of it as my last request."

The agent frowned, but seeing Oscar's sincere face, he finally nodded."Fine. Now go sleep. Tomorrow will be a hard day."

Oscar sighed and headed to his room.

The agent watched him go, feeling a heaviness in his chest. He didn't want to say goodbye to such a valuable operative, but he understood why his patron refused to let Oscar defect to the Gomez family. Strengthening another family was unacceptable.

He shook his head and turned to the guards with a fierce glare.

"What are you sitting there for? Go stand by Oscar's door and keep watch. And you are forbidden from taking a chair. Falling asleep on duty… what a disgrace. What have I become?"

He muttered the last part while heading downstairs he was going to hire someone to prepare francisco food

The men snapped to attention and marched to Oscar's door, standing guard with rigid expressions.

Watching them, the agent murmured under his breath,"We're still too green…"

Oscar entered his bedroom and took a long bath. When he noticed the guards had no intention of stepping inside, he quietly approached a hidden stash behind the bed. With careful movements, he lifted a loose plank from the floor. Beneath it lay an armor he had stolen years ago. He had never worn it—it was far too tight for him, forged for a twenty-year-old soldier, practically a boy.

But considering the promise he made, and the danger ahead, he had no choice now.

He inspected the armor. Iron. Heavy. Uncomfortable. If it managed to save him, it would be due more to divine luck than craftsmanship. Still, survival was survival. Oscar slid it under the bed, right where he would be able to reach it before leaving at dawn. Then he replaced the plank with precise care.

Once everything was ready, he blew out the candles. Darkness filled the room. He lay down, closed his eyes, and let out a slow breath.

If tomorrow went wrong, this would be his last night alive.If it went well… it would be the night he finally freed himself from his patron.