Chapter 45: Oscar: A Country That Wishes to Prosper

After reaching Bogotá, Oscar took the women to an inn and left them there while he contacted the organization.

He walked through the streets until he reached the foothills, where the city faded into a poor district. The place was miserable—muddy alleys, bad hygiene, and children of mixed and indigenous descent begging or working for scraps. After wandering for a while, Oscar arrived at a rough-looking inn, dark and full of scoundrels. This was a den for the worst of the worst in New Granada—smugglers, thieves, even child traffickers. For the first time in a long while, Oscar felt strangely at home.

The inn in Antioquía had been elegant—too elegant. He looked too “pure Spanish” for the slums, so the organization had placed him as a high-class bartender. But he’d always felt uncomfortable there. Here, among the scum, he belonged.

Oscar went to the counter and placed a strange coin on it.”Can you change my money?” he asked.

The bartender examined both sides carefully.”Comes from a faraway country?”

“It comes from a country that wishes to prosper,” Oscar replied.

The bartender studied him for a moment, then said quietly, “Maybe the manager has some. He’s behind that door.” He handed the coin back.

Oscar entered. The door closed behind him, leaving two staircases—one going up, one down. As it shut, he heard a drunkard outside ask,”Does your manager really change coins from other countries?”

“Sometimes,” the bartender replied. “He says he always dreamed of traveling the world.”

Oscar took the stairs leading down. A heavy stone door waited at the bottom. He knocked.

“Who is it?” someone asked from behind.

“A visitor from a faraway place, wishing to change some coins.”

“Wait a minute.”

The door opened. Oscar stepped inside and handed the coin to the guard.

“You’re lucky,” the man said as he closed the door. “He’s here today. Your disappearance caused quite the stir.”

Oscar followed a narrow passage until he reached a wooden door. He knocked.

“Come in,” said a voice.

The man inside lifted his head and froze for a moment when he saw Oscar. “I thought you were dead.”

“So did I,” Oscar said flatly. “I need to talk to the leader.”

The intermediary raised an eyebrow. “You know that’s impossible. Only my boss can speak with him.”

“I have information about future plans. He needs to see it himself.”

“Then give it to me.”

“I can’t. It’s too important to pass through anyone else’s hands. Only the leader can be trusted with this.”

The intermediary’s eyes narrowed. “And what’s stopping me from torturing you for it?”

“That I’d kill myself before you could make me talk,” Oscar said, drawing a dagger and pressing it against his throat.

The guards raised their pistols immediately. The air grew heavy with tension. Oscar knew any sudden move would get him shot twice in the head, but he didn’t waver. This information was too valuable to risk.

Before things escalated further, a knock came from the other side of the door. The intermediary stiffened.

“It seems you’re in luck,” he said, motioning his men to stand down. “Go through that door. Someone will put a bag over your head and take you to the leader. Do you need to do anything before that? You might be gone for a few days.”

Oscar hesitated. “There are three women in an inn in Bogotá. I plan to train them as informants. Send someone to tell them I’m fine and will return in two days.”

“Understood,” said the intermediary.

Oscar stepped through the door into darkness. Before he could speak, someone slipped a cloth bag over his head. A hand gripped his shoulder.

“From now on, don’t speak. Just walk straight. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Oscar obeyed. He was nervous but also excited. After all, if they meant to kill him, there was no reason to take him anywhere. The walk felt endless, twisting and turning until he lost all sense of direction. Then came stairs. They descended, and after a while he was placed in a carriage. It drove for an hour or two before stopping.

He was led up more steps—this time he could feel smooth marble beneath his feet. An estate, he thought. Too luxurious for a hideout.

Finally, they sat him down. Someone removed the bag. In front of him sat an old man in a chair—aged, but with cold, sharp eyes. Guards stood around him, armed and silent.

“So,” said the old man, “if the information you bring isn’t valuable enough, you might not leave this place alive.”

Oscar met his gaze. “Yes, sir. But first I must ask—do you trust these men completely? What I’m about to say could make any traitor kill you instantly to keep it secret.”

“Don’t worry,” said the old man. “They were raised by my family. They’re absolutely loyal.”

Oscar took a deep breath and began to recount everything that had happened in Antioquía. When he mentioned Francisco, the old man interrupted.

“So Francisco saved your life?”

Oscar nodded.

The old man frowned, thoughtful. “Strange. Considering his father’s position, I didn’t expect him to be so discontent with the Crown.” He waved a hand. “Continue.”

Oscar spoke about the Church’s conspiracy—the hunt for him, the three servants who’d died at his hands, and the bishop’s involvement.

The old man’s face darkened. “I knew that bishop was scheming,” he growled, then laughed bitterly. “Now it makes sense—his obsession with the 1795 rebellion, pushing the miners in Antioquía, forcing our people to act elsewhere. Clever bastard.” His expression turned murderous. “Sooner or later, I’ll kill him myself.” He exhaled slowly. “Thank you for the information.”

“Yes, sir,” said Oscar, bowing slightly.

“I heard you brought three women to train as informants.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. You’ll go to Caracas to build a new network. From now on, you’re a second-level intermediary. You still don’t have the right to know which family we are, but if you do well, you’ll rise to first rank—and all the answers you seek will finally be given.”

Oscar’s eyes lit up—a promotion, a chance to lead his own network. Still, he hesitated. “Sir, I promised Francisco I’d help him contact some smugglers.”

“Smugglers?” The old man arched a brow. “Does he plan to trade that? No… it’s too rare. He’s the only one with the materials.” He muttered to himself, then waved a hand. “Forget it. Let him try. Alberto,” he called to the butler, “tell the organization to help Francisco contact our smugglers when he reaches out. By then, he’ll likely know who we are.”

“Yes, sir,” said the butler.

“Anything else?”

Oscar hesitated again. “If I may, sir… Francisco is ambitious—and dangerous. The organization should try to recruit him. I’ve seen his work. He spent months in that warehouse for a single material. Who knows what he’ll create after returning from Hanover? It’s better to make him an ally than an enemy.”

The old man looked intrigued. “I’ve heard about that material, but wasn’t it already described in another book? I doubt it’s that impressive.”

“It’s not the same, sir—neither in quality nor in cost. He’s improved the process, based only on what he read.”

The old man’s eyes gleamed. “Interesting. I’d like to meet this boy myself. Very well, I’ll take your advice. Now go—Alberto will train you for two days in building your network. After that, you leave for Caracas.”

Outside, Oscar glanced toward the forest behind the estate. “It seems we won’t see each other again for a long time, kid,” he murmured. “I just hope next time we meet, it’s as friends, not enemies.” Then he followed the butler.

Inside, the old man turned to his guards. “It seems this young Francisco is more ambitious than I thought.”

“Why do you think that, sir?” asked one.

“Because no agent would praise a man so much just for saving his life. They’re trained to kill and gather information—nothing more.”

“Is that why you’re sending Oscar to Caracas?” another asked.

“That’s right. His bond with Francisco is too close. Keeping him near would be risky if we ever need to act against that boy.”

“You think we’ll become enemies?”

“Who knows,” said the old man with a sigh. “But ambition like his always leads to conflict. Depending on who’s stronger, we may have to fight.” His mouth curved into a faint grin. “Pity that young Mauricio seems fond of him.”

“Should we warn the young master?”

“No. Let it be a test. If we ever have to strike, he may have to do it himself. I’m curious to see if he can.” The old man smiled darkly.

The guards said nothing.

“Send a letter,” the old man finally ordered. “Tell him what Oscar told us. The Church is already moving against us. It’s time we prepare for the others to do the same.”

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