CABIN IN THE MOUNTAIN
by Eduardo Prospero
On the 123rd day of his mandate, Eleazar Negrón received a visit that altered history forever. The Citadel’s history. His own history. The “benevolent dictator,” as some of his employees called him, looked straight at a warped reflection of himself. He wasn’t satisfied with the shape of his beard. Eleazar rinsed the razor under the tab while trying to clear the fog of the mirror. Clumsily but effectively, he managed to sculpt the straight line he was looking for.
Like the leaders before him, the younger of the Negróns ran The Citadel as an enterprise. Because that’s what it was. A private city. A product. The family’s PR team had to convince Bitcoiners from all over the world to buy into their narrative and vote with their feet: to choose to move to The Citadel over more populated options with less confusing names.
The Bitcoin-focused private city was extremely successful, even though The Citadel was a small project compared to Orange Orange, NOSTRa Terra, and Bitcoin City, just to name the most well-known ones.
As Eleazar stepped out of the bathroom, he immediately heard his phone bleeping and blooping. Being the man in charge was a terrible inconvenience. Everybody and their mother wanted something from him, and it was his job to try and give it to them. Or at least that’s what Eleazar liked to tell himself.
First message: “Boss, your nine o’clock is already here. Did you include a Mr. Roca in the schedule? I didn’t do it, I don’t think. I would remember a name like that.” A mystery this early in the morning. That was unusual.
Ten minutes later, as he walked out of the fort-like building that came with the job, Eleazar bumped into his brother Nicolás. He had a feeling that the middle brother moved into “The Orange House,” as the citizens called it, just to fuck with him. He suspected Nicolás wasn’t going through financial troubles, nor wanted to actually cohabitate with him. If they asked Eleazar, the joker just moved in because he thought it would be hilarious.
With an infectious grin, Nicolás greeted him, “Good morning, little brother! May your day be fruitful and merry.” Eleazar gave him a head nod and kept walking. “That motherfucker!,” he thought. “How could a man be so cynical?”
His assistant met him at the gate and walked with him. It was a clear and sunny day. Eleazar focused on the fractal shape of the clouds and wondered if the fluffy ones of the past were really as different as the legend says.
She broke the silence, “So, about Mr. Roca?” Eleazar stared blankly at her. She shivered.
“Sorry boss, he appeared and I turned him down, but he insisted and got me to check the schedule and… his name was there! What was I to do?”
Let them wait
In what at the time Eleazar considered a power move, he left Mr. Roca waiting in his office and went to the big conference room instead. His wife was in there, along with two or three concerned citizens. Eleonora was easy to find; she was at the mere center, decisively telling people what to do. In charge. In the zone. Eleonora didn’t like interruptions, but Eleazar couldn’t think of any other place to go.
“Can I borrow her for two minutes? Three tops,” he asked her assistant.
From a private city to a nation, when all is said and done ruling is about two things: food and energy. Everything else stands over those two pillars. Eleonora was in charge of the supply chains that kept The Citadel well stocked; her team was the link to the capital city’s vendors. Under her watch, The Citadel built relationships and joined the relevant networks and trade routes. And here was Eleazar, bothering her for no reason.
“This is important,” he whispered into her ear after kissing her cheek. They entered the little conference room and Eleazar went off.
“Honey, I’m here on a secret mission. There’s a strange man…”
Eleonora stopped him in his tracks, “why aren’t you with Mr. Roca?”
He was perplexed. “How do you know about… wait, did you add The Rock to today’s schedule?”
Now, she was perplexed. “What are you talking about? He was at the house yesterday night and told me you two were meeting today.”
This was unacceptable. An all-consuming rage took over his body, “I’m going to kill that motherfuck!…” Her expression stopped him in his tracks. His wife clearly felt that violence wasn’t an option.
“Mr. Roca is a character. I think you’ll like him.”
Let the right one in
Eleazar knew how to enter a room. And he was fuming over the outrageous late-night visit. Invading HIS house. Bothering HIS wife. Was the visit a threat? It certainly was a threat. And who was this Mr. Roca anyway? Had he met him at one of the endless functions he had to attend? Being the governor was so incredibly boring. With all that in mind, Eleazar opened the door and faced an ice wall so cold that his hot head immediately melted. The man in front of him was a serious threat. That much was obvious.
The meeting was a mere formality. Eliseo Roca had already decided that The Citadel would be his next client and Eleazar his next project.
“Welcome, Mr. Negrón. Sit wherever you want, pretend you’re in your office,” said a slender man who stood at the right side of Mr. Roca’s seat.
Eleazar ignored the attempt at a joke and sat behind his desk. His wife had picked the slick-looking table to be as intimidating as possible. And his seat was a full eleven inches higher than the visitor’s one. Nevertheless, Eleazar felt insignificant. He was not in the power position this time around.
“I’m going to be blunt here. You and I are a natural match, Mr. Negrón. Our interests align.” Eliseo Roca sounded like a much older man. “Patrick…” he added.
The slender man, presumably Patrick, started presenting: “Imagine a country without a secret police, where everything the ruler does is out in the open. It would explode into chaos every three months…”
Eleazar interrupted armed with confidence and violence, “What the fuck were you doing at my house last night?! Are you some kind of sick fuck? Was that a threat?”
“Yes,” Mr.Roca responded, “it was. Patrick…”
The name seemed to press play on a cosmic remote control, “A secret intelligence agency is a crucial ingredient of any modern government,” Patrick continued, “Left, right, dictatorship, what-have-you. The secret police is always there.”
Eleazar interrupted once again, “that position is taken. There’s no job available. How is it that you’re offering detective services and don’t know that extremely-easy-to-find fact?”
“Your intelligence apparatus consists of Police Commander Ignacio “Nacho” Díaz, plus lobbyists José Venecia and Miss Elliot,” Patrick continued, “Your team has a slight grasp of what happens in the capital city, but the rest of the country is uncharted territory to them.”
Eleazar thought about interrupting but decided not to. It was obvious that these people knew more than he did.
.
“The enemy can come from any side. And information is power, sure, but an intelligence apparatus could prevent disasters and also cause havoc. Our organization can inflict more damage than a standing army for a fraction of the cost. It’s just a wise investment.” Patrick made sense. “Mr. Roca here is one of maybe five people worldwide who could offer you the kind of service you need to protect your citizens from every future threat. He chose you. He believes that The Citadel has the potential to become a billion-dollar enterprise.”
These men were impressive – Eleazar was ready to sign. The flattery in the last few lines cemented the deal. However, he decided to play it cool and kept listening. Patrick explained to him exactly what kind of premium service they offered. They were clued into little dramas inside the president’s cabinet, they had done their homework and had eyes in every corner.
Eleazar realized just how dangerous these people were and a shiver went up his spine. On the other hand, he recognized that Mr. Roca was just what his government needed.
Let there be rock
In the three years that followed, Eleazar didn’t see Mr. Roca even once. In fact, he seldom met with Patrick; and when he did, it was usually for practical reasons. His internal intelligence team of three, however, got a weekly report on Thursdays at 19:30 on the dot. Miss Elliot lived and breathed by it. Nacho Díaz only bothered to read it once. He disposed of each document with extreme caution, though. Those were thorough. The reports were a guide to understanding the inner workings of the world, and The Citadel’s place in it.
Eleazar paced around The Orange House’s dinner table, which Eleonora bought to be as intimidating as possible. He expected to hear from Mr. Roca tonight. The Citadel was in a desperate situation. In a matter of days, it went from being the pet project of a non-descript president working for the status quo to the thorn in the shoe of a Cro-Magnon dictator probably also working for the status quo.
A few days ago, as he walked from the office to his house, Eleazar thought he saw Patrick hiding behind a tree. He kept walking and, once inside, went straight for the false tile in the courtyard floor. Even though it was a Monday, there was a report there. It said that everything was under control. The coup d’etat was successful, but Mr. Roca was already in talks with the new government. It assured him that The Citadel would survive.
How could Eleazar be sure, though? Mr. Roca was just an employee. His whole identity didn’t depend on The Citadel surviving, as Eleazar’s did. Why did this have to happen on his watch? The gods sure were a funny bunch. A real crisis right in the middle of his mandate, why have they all forsaken him? He pleaded with the gods. If he survived this, Eleazar promised to be a better human being and visit Tomás, his father, more often.
Eleazar wasn’t expecting a knock on the front door, and the person on the other side surprised him even more. Patrick was usually extremely stealthy. When they met, it was in remote or extremely crowded locations.
Once inside the house, Patrick felt the question lingering in the air and explained, “in a time like this, it’s good that the citizens see you working, hustling, meeting with mysterious people.”
Let them eat cake
Three hours later, Eleazar and Eleonora were airborne. Patrick was piloting, nobody else could know about this. The helicopter seemed to be going straight into El Ávila, the majestic mountain that surrounded the north of Caracas.
The house Mr. Roca inhabited while in Venezuela didn’t look like much, but it had a heliport right beside it. From above, Eleonora could only see two armed guards. It was a tiny operation, in a small country, related to an emergent private city. However, everything felt huge to her. She was at the center of the story. At last, she was a protagonist.
The rustic decor inside the cabin left much to be desired. It looked nowhere near a Hollywood set. It was immaculate, though. And there weren’t servants in sight. Was Patrick responsible for the extreme cleanliness? Impressive. Only then, she saw Mr. Roca sitting at the head of a rectangular table. Right at that moment, Eleonora knew that everything was going to be fine.
“Welcome, Negróns. Sit wherever you want,” Eliseo Roca said, “Patrick…” Without missing a beat, Patrick offered them drinks. Eleonora went for wine. Eleazar played hard to get but eventually settled for whisky on the rocks. By that time, he had changed strategies. Instead of bringing up responsibilities and stratospheric salaries, Eleazar said, “What shall we do, Mr. Roca? It’s your time to shine, rockstar.”
Disappointed, Patrick responded: “Did you read the report or did you skim it?”
“Mr. Roca will explain to us the terms of the agreement with the new president, General Tomás Máximo,” Eleonora explained. “And, reading between the lines, I would say that there’s a problem with The Citadel’s location.”
Patrick smiled. “In any case, Mr. Roca has everything under control,” he clarified. “That’s what brings you both to our humble abode. Mr. Roca will not explain the terms, you both will discuss them.” Nobody heard that last part. The sound of a second helicopter approaching drowned Patrick’s reveal.
Let the record show
As far as Eleonora was concerned, General Tomás Máximo was as impressive as Mr. Roca. If not more. As soon as he stepped out of the helicopter, she knew her husband had misjudged him. Tomás Máximo was an evolved Cro-Magnon. A businessman.
As the group entered the cabin, Eleonora counted again. Out of the four militaries that came with the new president, two remained outside and the others escorted the General. There were now a total of six armed guards in sight. Everyone sat except for Patrick. The guards refused to drink, but the new president asked for whisky. He smelled it before tasting it. And started the conversation with a bang.
“The first thing you should know, and I will deny this in any other forum, is that a good percentage of my savings are in bitcoin already,” Tomás Máximo said. “And I understand that The Citadel is the gateway to Bitcoiners and their companies. They wouldn’t come here otherwise, so our deal is a net win for everyone involved.”
Dramatic pause. The Negrons seemed impressed. Mr. Roca’s expression was impenetrable.
“But listen to this, Eleazar Negrón. If you fuck with my business, I’m going to cut up your feet and throw you into the sea,” the General said, “And the same goes for you and your android, Eliseo.”
Dramatic pause.
“If you don’t try anything funny, Mr. Negrón, we can do business together. This situation can be profitable for everyone involved. I want to bring even more people to The Citadel. More companies. Build a bigger citadel, even.” Tomás Máximo closed with, “this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
The man certainly had a good grasp of the situation and summarized it concisely.
Let it snow
The second time that Eleazar Negrón flew to Mr. Roca’s cabin, the heavy rain altered the experience. The helicopter ride was scary and he was freezing. Eleonora stayed home – it was too risky for her to go. This time, Eleazar asked Patrick for rum and a coat as soon as he landed. Mr. Roca grinned.
It was a desperate situation. Eleazar was there to take on an impossible task. What Mr. Roca wanted, he couldn’t get. He also couldn’t refuse. Patrick insisted, “it’s the perfect location for The Citadel, Eleazar. The deal depends on you convincing them.”
He was no miracle worker. His sister and Simon spent the last few years building that place, and he was supposed to ask them to give it up all of a sudden? How could he spin THAT story? To make things worse, his father also lived on the premises. What kind of sick mind conceived of that deal?
Patrick continued, “I can’t believe you’re making me say this, but you offered the location to the General yourself. Unprovoked.”
The last time Eleazar had been in that living room, he made a fool of himself. In front of his wife, the new president, and that curious employee who seemed to order him around a little too much. Mr. Roca set up what could’ve been the meeting of a lifetime and he couldn’t control himself. The situation surpassed him. General Tomás Máximo surprised him with his crystal clear mind, which probably intimidated him. And his wife drank too much wine and vomited in the sink. Or, as Eleonora put it, the helicopter ride made her sick.
Even with chaos unfolding around them, the negotiations advanced. That was, of course, aided by the fact that Eleazar quickly gave up everything Tomás Máximo asked of him and then some. The General protested about the short distance between Caracas, the country’s capital, and The Citadel; Eleazar offered to construct another one far away.
The two armed officers that accompanied the president suddenly came to life and objected that finding an available place for a project that size would be a problem; Eleazar suggested something near her sister Elena’s secret spot. The place in which the Negrón family hid their golden goose. What was wrong with him?
That one time, as Eleazar and Eleonora were preparing to leave the cabin, Mr. Roca pulled them aside and said: “Next time, let me and Patrick do the talking.” The couple spent the whole helicopter ride silently pondering those words… And here they were, the consequences of his actions arriving just in time to smack him in the nose.
Eleazar suddenly realized that he was fooling himself. He was back in the cabin to figure out a way to pull it off; to convince her sister to use her home as a base of operations to build yet another citadel; to persuade his family that pausing their booming business to move a whole town would be beneficial somehow. “Impossible,” Eleazar said instead, “I think it’s time to admit that I made a catastrophic mistake and our new mission is finding an alternative plan to present to the General. It’s as simple as that.”
“You’re so dramatic, kid,” Mr. Roca said. “The plan is simple: we’re going to make your family think they’ve been made. If they think their location is not safe anymore, they’ll have no use for it.” The room went silent for a few seconds… and a maniacal laughter set it on fire.
“Holy shit! That could work,” Eleazar said between laughs. “My eyes are open, Eliseo. I see clearly why they pay you the big bucks.” Patrick wasn’t satisfied with the assertion. “Oh, NOW you see it? We’ve saved your ass countless times, Mr. Negrón.”
Eleazar’s laugh finally lost all of its steam. “You’ve done great work so far, sure, but this is on a whole other level,” he said. “I see why you both live on a mountain top. These higher-level ideas aren’t floating around on the ground.”
CABIN IN THE MOUNTAIN
Epilogue: Two or three months later
In the control room, Patrick took notes on his phone and Nacho Díaz on a notepad. There were eleven screens in front of them, surrounding three of the best drone pilots in the country. The hired guns had no idea who their bosses were or what they were actually filming. The cover story was that they were supervising a land deal. The three of them had heard carefully spread rumors that the government funded the whole operation and was considering hiring them full-time. To spy on people. With drones.
From above, the group watched Eleazar’s father, Tomás Negrón. He was with his son-in-law, one of the owners of the property. Suddenly, Eleazar and his brother Nicolás pulled up in a car. It was showtime. The three younger men took the car out of the road and covered it with some sort of camouflage. They had done this before. Tomás waited for them in the truck, even though he clearly wanted to join his family members. He’s feeling the years, Patrick thought. He can’t waste energy anymore.
Twenty minutes later, the truck arrived at the house and Eleazar took center stage, trying to steal the spotlight as usual. The genius in Mr. Roca’s plan was that the youngest of the Negróns just had to be his usual idiot self to plant the seed. His mission was to offer an obvious solution to the problem that the Negróns would face later on. Little did it matter if Elena and Simon laughed the idea out of the room at first.
In approximately three hours, Simon will detect and shoot down one of the drones. This will generate a discussion between all family members, in which everyone would blame everyone else.
The kids, Eleazar and Nicolás, will vehemently deny that any vehicle could have followed them there. “We took every precaution. We did everything right,” Eleazar will allege, “nobody even knows we’re here.”
Elena and Simon will lock eyes and frantically discuss their recent activities, trying to figure out where they could’ve been made.
In the end, Tomás will say, “that’s it, we have to move now. Whoever was flying that machine forced our hand.” And that will be that.
Back to the present, as soon as the group entered the main house, the three drones went their separate ways. The first one filmed an enormous garden with all kinds of plants and trees perfectly organized. A project that required meticulous planning, flawless execution, and constant maintenance. The second one circled an inconspicuous building that was supposed to have two basements and contain a Bitcoin mining operation of epic proportions. The third drone went along a powerful river that was the heart of the property. At a certain point, the turbines of a small hydroelectric power station were working overtime.
“These Negróns are good,” Nacho Díaz concluded. “Very good. How did they even build all of this?” The answer was simple. “Using Bitcoin, that’s how,” Patrick responded.
________
Note from Stackchain Magazine: No Bitcoin (or inferior monies) were exchanged for this article. This piece was written by Eduardo Prospero, Author, content writer, professional rapper. You can find him on X @edprospero23 on Nostr @eduardoprospero@nostrplebs.com. If you enjoyed this piece you can send a tip to Eduadro via his LNURL eduardoprospero@blink.sv