Carmen, missing. My life was crumbling before my eyes, and I didn’t know how to put the pieces back together. What now? I asked, staring out the window as the trees sped by. Let’s go to the station. She has to give her official statement. Then we’ll wait for news from the coast guard. They’ll find the yacht, Elena.
They’ll find your daughter. I nodded, unable to say a word. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe I’d see Carmen again soon, but fear for her gripped my chest like icy claws. What if plan B was already in motion? What if they took her somewhere we could never bring her back from? At the police station, I mechanically answered the inspector’s questions, signed documents, and accepted the coffee they offered me. Everything was a blur. I couldn’t think of anything but Carmen.
Where is she? What are they doing to her? Does she know her father is dead? Hours later, García entered the office where I was giving my statement. His face said it all. There was news. Did they find her? I asked, jumping to my feet. They found the yacht, the coast guard said. They located it 20 km off the coast, but there was no one on board.
What do you mean, nobody? Carmen should have been there. Those men… Raúl was empty. There was no trace of her daughter or anyone else. Just a note. What note? García pulled a plastic bag from his pocket containing a folded piece of paper. Our experts have already examined it. The fingerprints belong to a certain Raúl Díaz with a record for kidnapping and extortion. He was one of her husband’s bodyguards.
He unfolded the note so I could read it through the plastic. Plan B. Activated. Cargo moved awaiting further instructions at point C. Cargo, I repeated, feeling nausea rise in my throat. They’re calling my daughter cargo. It’s standard practice in these kinds of operations. Cargo means the target of the kidnapping. Point C.
It’s probably a prearranged meeting place. Where is that place? What is it? We don’t know, but we’re investigating. We’re reviewing all of your husband’s connections, his contacts, the places he used to frequent. If there’s a pattern, we’ll find it. But it could take days, even weeks.
And what will happen to Carmen in the meantime? What will they do to her? As long as she serves as a hostage, they won’t harm her. They’re waiting for instructions from her husband. Instructions that will never come because he’s dead. That gives us an advantage, time, or the complete opposite. I said bitterly. When they realize Miguel won’t respond, they might panic, do something impulsive. They might get rid of her.
García looked at me with seriousness and compassion. I understand your fear, but these men are professionals; they don’t act impulsively. They’re going to wait. And we have a card they don’t know about. What is it? Your husband’s phone number. We can use it to contact the kidnappers, impersonate him, arrange a ransom drop, and when they show up, we’ll catch them. I was lost in thought.
It sounded risky, but it was better than doing nothing. And he thinks it will work. What if they don’t suspect anything? We’ll be careful. Only messages, no calls. If they’ve seen the news about his death, we can say it was a tactic to throw the police off our trail. It might work. And if it doesn’t, if they suspect anything, then we’ll put plan B into action. We’ll keep looking for them by other means.
We’ll check every known hiding place, every contact. Sooner or later we’ll find them. Sooner or later, I repeated softly. And what will happen to Carmen in the meantime? García didn’t answer. He didn’t have an answer. We both knew that time was running out. The longer Carmen remained in those men’s hands, the less likely we were to find her safe and sound.
“I want to participate in the operation,” I said firmly. “I want to know every step, every decision. All of this goes against protocol. You’re a civilian, and you’re my daughter. And if you want me to cooperate, if you want me to help you in any way I can, then you must keep me informed. It’s non-negotiable.” García looked at me for a few seconds, then nodded.
Okay, but you must promise not to get directly involved. No acting on your own, no contacting the kidnappers without our knowledge. Is that clear? Yes, I promise. At that moment, there was a knock at the door. A young officer entered. Captain, there’s a call for you. They say it’s urgent.
García left, leaving me alone in the office. I stared out the window at the city as dusk fell, the lights coming on, the people returning home from work. A normal life, just another sunset. For everyone, that is, except me. For me, this day had turned into a nightmare with no way out. García returned a few minutes later.
Her expression said it all. It wasn’t good news. “What happened?” I asked, feeling fear tighten in my chest. “We received information from some of our sources. Apparently, her husband had a significant debt with certain people—people it’s best to avoid—and those people may be involved in Carmen’s kidnapping.”
What kind of people? A criminal organization dedicated to debt collection and illegal gambling. According to our information, her husband owed them around 5 million euros, money he didn’t have, and they took Carmen as collateral until he paid the debt. It’s possible, or it could be part of another scheme. We’re still investigating the details.
I slumped into a chair, feeling my strength drain away. Five million. I don’t have anywhere near that amount. “This isn’t about paying a ransom,” García replied quickly. “We don’t negotiate with criminals. We’re going to find your daughter and bring her back without any deals.” But I heard the doubt in his voice. Even he didn’t entirely believe what he was saying.
If Carmen was truly in the hands of an organized criminal network, every passing minute diminished the chances of finding her safe and sound. What can I do? I asked, tears threatening to spill. Tell me, what can I do to get my daughter back? García sat down across from me. His face turned serious, focused.
Help us find the point. Think about whether your husband had a special place, a spot that was important to him, maybe something related to the letter C. I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate. A place like Cala Benirras, where we used to walk. Cerro del Parque, that corner Miguel fixed up in the back garden. Calderón, where he often took me? And then I remembered. Cuenca.
We used to go there on vacation. We had a little summer house. Miguel loved that place. He said his soul rested there. How long has it been since you went? A couple of years. Miguel said the house needed renovations, that it wasn’t worth investing in such a remote area. I thought maybe he’d sold it, but I’m not sure. Do you remember the address? Yes.
Sierra de Cuenca village, Pino Street number seven. It’s about an hour from the city. García picked up the phone and started giving orders. I listened as he organized the operation, requested an intervention team, asked for information about the house and its surroundings, and I prayed. I prayed that my hunch was right, that Carmen would be there, that she would be okay.
When the call ended, she turned to me. We left immediately. The intervention team will be there in an hour. They’ll surround the property, conduct reconnaissance, and if Carmen is inside, we’ll get her out. You’ll stay here under protection. I’ll keep you informed. No, I said firmly. I’m coming with you. That’s not possible.
It’s a police operation, not a family visit. It could be dangerous. I’m not asking you to participate in the raid. I just want to be nearby, wait in the car if necessary, but I have to be there when they find my daughter. I need to see her, to know she’s okay. García wanted to object, but seeing my determination, he gave in.
Okay, but you’ll be at a safe distance under the watchful eye of my agents and you won’t interfere in anything. You promise, I promise. We left 20 minutes later. I was in the back seat of a police car while García was in the front next to the driver. Several vehicles with plainclothes officers followed behind us. The intervention team was supposed to arrive before us to prepare the operation. The drive felt endless.
Every minute felt like hours. I stared out the window at the darkening forest on either side of the road and couldn’t stop thinking about what lay ahead. Would we find Carmen, or would it be yet another disappointment? Another dead end. García was in contact with operations center the entire way.
From time to time he would update me, “The team is already on site. They’re doing a reconnaissance, gathering information.” Finally, we turned off the main road onto a narrow path through the trees. After a few more kilometers, we reached a clearing where there were already several cars without police markings.
“Wait here,” García said as he got out of the car. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I saw him approach a group gathered next to one of the vehicles, which was tilted over something. A map. They were planning the operation. I kept watching them from the car, unable to tear my eyes away. They were talking, pointing at the map, nodding. Then García left the group and came back to me.
“The house is under surveillance,” he said, sitting down next to me. “Our men have seen movement inside—at least three men and possibly a woman or a girl, but it’s hard to be sure. The windows are covered.” “It must be Carmen,” I said, clinging to hope. It has to be her. That’s what we hope. Now the team is taking up positions around the house.
As soon as they’re ready, we’ll begin the operation. How will you do that? First, we’ll try to establish contact. We’ll ask them to surrender peacefully. If they refuse, we’ll have to intervene by force, but we’ll be extremely cautious. There may be a prisoner inside. I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest.
The minutes dragged on as if time had stopped. García received messages over the radio, responded with short phrases, and gave orders. Finally, he turned to me. “They’re ready. They’re about to begin.” I held my breath, looking in the direction of the house, though we couldn’t see it from where we were.
Suddenly, in the stillness of the night forest, a voice amplified by a megaphone boomed. “Attention, this is the police speaking. The house is surrounded. Come out with your hands up. This is your only chance.” Silence. No response, no movement. “I repeat, the house is surrounded. Come out with your hands up or we will force our way in.” Silence again. García said something into the radio, listened to the response, and then looked at me.
They’re not responding. We’re initiating the operation. I nodded, speechless. The next instant, the night’s calm was shattered by gunfire. One, two, a full burst. Then, shouts, footsteps, more gunfire. What’s happening? I asked, my heart sinking. They’re resisting, García replied, his face grim. They’ve opened fire on ours.
And Carmen, what about Carmen? I don’t know. We’re waiting for news. The shooting lasted a few more minutes and then stopped. García listened intently to the radio. His face was pure focus and tension. “The house is clear,” he finally said. Two criminals dead, one captured. “They’re looking for the hostages.” I held my breath, waiting for news.
Every second felt like an eternity. Finally, García’s radio crackled to life. “We’ve found a girl inside,” a voice said. “She’s unconscious, but alive. It seems she was sedated. We’re requesting medical assistance.” “Is it her?” I asked, my voice trembling, tears welling in my eyes. “It’s Carmen.”
“We’ll find out now,” García replied over the radio. “Describe the girl. Apparently 18 or 19 years old, dark hair, medium height. She’s wearing jeans and a light blue blouse. She has no visible injuries.” “It’s her!” I exclaimed. “It’s Carmen. She’s okay.” “It seems so.” García agreed. “The ambulance is already on its way.”
They’re taking her to the hospital for an examination. I want to see her. Right now, of course. Let’s go. We got out of the car and walked briskly toward the house. On the way, we passed several officers escorting a handcuffed man, one of the kidnappers, who had survived the assault. I shot him a hateful glare and kept walking.
The house was small, a single-story building with a terrace overlooking the mountains. I remembered the times Miguel and I used to come here on weekends. Carmen, still a little girl, would run through the garden picking flowers. Back then, that place was filled with happy memories. Now it was the scene of a nightmare.
Inside, chaos reigned: overturned furniture, shattered glass, bullet holes in the walls. In the living room, Carmen lay on a sofa. A medic from the tactical team leaned over her, checking her vital signs. “Carmen!” I shouted, kneeling beside the sofa. She was pale, but breathing normally. The medic stepped aside to let me be with her.
“She’s okay,” he said. “It was just a sedative. She’ll wake up soon.” He stroked her hair, her cheeks, whispering her name. Tears streamed down my face, but this time they were tears of relief. My daughter was alive. She was safe. García watched the scene silently with an expression of genuine satisfaction.
The ambulance will arrive in 10 minutes. We’ll take you both to the hospital. Thank you, I said, not taking my eyes off my daughter’s face. Thank you for everything. I’m just doing my duty, she replied. Besides, the operation isn’t over yet. We have to interrogate the surviving kidnapper, uncover all the details, and find out who was behind all of this.
I know who my husband was, the man I trusted for 20 years. García said nothing. He knew there were no words to console such pain. Betrayal by the closest person is a wound that doesn’t heal easily, if it ever does. Shortly after, the ambulance arrived. The paramedics carefully placed Carmen on a stretcher and loaded her into the vehicle.
I sat beside her, holding her hand. During the drive to the hospital, she began to regain consciousness. Her eyelids trembled and then slowly opened. “Mom.” Her voice was weak, but to me it was the most beautiful sound in the world. “I’m here, my love. Everything is alright. You’re safe.”
What happened? Where’s Dad? I remained silent, unsure what to say. How could I tell her that her father was dead? That he had used her as just another pawn in his game? Then I whispered, “We’ll talk about everything later. Now you need to rest.” She nodded slightly and closed her eyes again.
The sedative hadn’t fully worn off, and she fell back into a deep sleep. At the hospital, Carmen was examined thoroughly: blood tests, medical examinations, and vital sign monitoring. The doctors assured me she was fine, that the sedative had been strong but not dangerous, and that she would fully regain consciousness in a few hours. I sat beside her, holding her hand, watching her sleep.
My thoughts wouldn’t leave me alone. What would I say to her when she woke up? How could I explain that her father had died? That he had tried to kill me? That he had used her in his own schemes? García appeared in the room around midnight. He looked tired, but with the expression of someone who had done his duty.
“How is she?” he asked softly, nodding slightly at Carmen, who was asleep. “The doctors say she’s fine. They’ll discharge her tomorrow. Good news. I have some news too. We interrogated the kidnapper. He talked. What did he say? Her husband really did have a significant debt with a criminal organization.”
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