Out of the three grieving brothers, Dev had taken it the hardest. With his parents’ blessing, he’d dropped out of college and enlisted. John had talked about following Ian into the Navy, and Dev had decided to do it since his brother was no longer able to. Whether he’d joined the Navy for the right reasons or not was no longer a question in anyone’s mind. A few years after enlisting, Dev had achieved his ultimate goal, surviving the BUD/s training and securing a spot on SEAL Team Four with his brother and the men who were now still fighting by his side.
Chuck glanced at his watch. Wow, a full two minutes had passed. This wait was going to drive him mad. Feeling helpless, he wished there was something he could do. Earlier, he’d gone with Devon and Marco to retrieve his and Marie’s bags and things from the little hostel they’d been staying in for the past few weeks. As soon as the teams got the two women out of there, they’d take Jocelyn wherever she wanted to go, then head to the airport. If things went to shit, Ian wanted everyone in the air before the authorities found out. Knowing how the teams worked, Chuck was certain they’d leave no evidence of their identities behind. If, God forbid, the authorities found out who’d been involved, well, let’s just say it was a good thing Ian had the assistant director of the FBI on speed dial, among other people with high government clearances. While the Government of the Philippines would probably be thrilled if one of their notorious drug lords ended up dead, Chuck wasn’t too sure how they’d feel about a rogue team dispensing justice.
Standing, he strode toward the doors leading to a balcony, and then stepped out into the heat. High above, the sun beat down as it peaked for the day. With a sigh, he counted the seconds until he’d see the woman he treasured more than anything else in the world again—his beautiful Marie.
9
Marie glanced around the guarded, walled-in compound, as she and Jocelyn followed Albano from the main house across a well-maintained lawn with beautiful landscaping—another sign of his wealth. They approached a small building that appeared to have been made with thick, concrete blocks and had no windows she could see. Bringing up the rear were Antonio and another goon, as Ian would probably call him—either that or one of his favorite “twat” words. She couldn’t wait until his child was old enough to start repeating everything he said; Marie was going to just sit back and laugh. Although she usually rebuked her sons whenever they cursed in her presence, she knew it came with the territory of being a Navy SEAL and private security operative. Once you’re exposed to something, over time, it tended to become a habit. And, sometimes, a situation just called for a swear word or two.
Everyone at Trident was trying to curb their foul language by having a “curse jar” on Colleen’s desk, but whenever she’d been visiting and seen it, the darn thing was always full of $10 bills. She’d bet anything most of it had come from Ian. At least the money was going to a good cause, helping veterans with PTSD get support dogs.
One of Marie’s other acts of charity, that her sons didn’t know about, although Chuck did, was performing facial reconstructive surgery on veterans who’d served in Iraq and Afghanistan and been disfigured from shrapnel or bullets. Many of them couldn’t afford it, and military benefits only went so far, so she donated her time and expertise through a non-profit organization one of her medical school friends had founded a few years ago after her own daughter had been injured in combat. It was Marie’s way of paying it forward, since Ian, Devon, and Nick, and their teams, had survived their tours relatively intact—aside from Ian taking a bullet to the chest during an ambush while still in the Navy. Marie did the surgeries in honor of God or the powers that be who hadn’t taken another one of her children. Losing John had devastated her family, and Marie never wanted another one of her sons to die before her. No parent should have to go through that, but, unfortunately, it’d happened, and despite her grief, she’d remained strong for her husband and surviving sons—especially Nick, who’d still been in elementary school at the time. And, now, she would stay strong until her “boys” came to her rescue—that included all the Trident operators, counting Lindsey, who she doubted would take offense at the informal male moniker. Marie would do what she had to in order for her and Jocelyn to remain alive. If that meant performing surgery under duress, so be it.
The thought of doing a lousy job on whomever was going under the knife had crossed her mind a few times since last night, but her personal and professional codes of ethics wouldn’t let her. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t take her time and be very meticulous about the reconstruction, giving Ian and Devon’s teams a chance to find her and Jocelyn. Marie wasn’t as naive as her eldest son thought she was—she knew there was a tracking device inside the watch he’d given her many Christmases ago. She didn’t doubt for a second Brody had a satellite pinpointing her location right now. Thank God for technology!
Stopping in front of a door, Albano punched a few numbers on a keypad beside it until there was a click. Pulling the door open, he led them inside. The sterility of the sparse building surprised her. Albano paused and gestured down a hallway that seemed to run the length of the building. “Aside from the operating room, there’s a pre- and post-op room, a scrub room, and radiology room. My staff has already obtained the X-rays you’ll need. If you follow me, I’ll introduce you to your patient. You’ll have silicone implants and all the necessary tools to alter his face at your disposal.”
As Jocelyn walked next to her, Marie was glad to see the woman had regained her composure and emotional strength. They’d sat in the bedroom for several hours yesterday, watching TV, eating the meals they’d been served, and talking. The longer they’d chatted about everything under the sun, and watched a few old movies, the calmer Jocelyn had become. Whispering under the raised volume of the television, in case the room was bugged, Marie had explained who her sons were and that they’d be coming to the rescue. All she and Jocelyn had to do was get through the surgery and act normal—whatever normal was under the circumstances.
Albano had wanted Jocelyn to wait in the main house while Marie performed the surgery, but she’d insisted her nurse assist her, explaining they’d done many procedures and worked well together. The physician had been shocked when their unwanted host had relented, however, he’d required his two nurses observe the surgery to make certain the doctor was doing her job properly. A nurse anesthetist would also be present. Marie would’ve preferred an anesthesiologist, but she’d deal with it.
When they entered what apparently was the pre- and post-op room, Marie caught the first sight of her patient, and breathed a small sigh of relief she didn’t recognize the Asian man. If she’d known who he was, that would probably have increased their odds of not getting out of this mess alive. He was sitting on a reclining chair next to a gurney, surrounded by the state-of-the-art equipment Albano had crowed about. The man was wearing dark-gray dress pants, a white, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and spit-shined, black, leather oxfords. There was an air of importance combined with a sense of evil Marie felt emanating from him, and a shiver went down her spine.
Suck it up, Marie. You graduated at the top of your classes from high school all the way through medical school, you toughed it out when that pervy asshole, Dr. Branson, tried to make your life hell during your residency, you’ve given birth to four sons over nine pounds each, and you survived John’s death; you’re strong, and you can do this. Just give Ian, Devon, Nick, Jake, and everyone else time to come to the rescue. They’ll be here soon. Just do what you must until then.
The internal pep talk helped, and the butterflies in her stomach calmed. Working under stressful conditions wasn’t anything new to Marie, but this was the first time she was doing it surrounded by men with guns.
Off to the left side of the unidentified man, two Filipino women stood silently, a prepped tray-table, with supplies to start an intravenous line, was between them. Both dressed in blue scrubs, these had to be the nurses, unless one was the anesthetist. To the right, another Asian
man, this one tall, muscular, and wearing a suit, was standing sentry in the corner of the room, the big, black gun on his hip couldn’t be missed—obviously a bodyguard. It made sense since the patient would be unconscious during the surgery.
“Dr. Sawyer, this is Mr. Wang,” Albano said, indicating the seated man, as if introducing them at a social gathering. He didn’t bother introducing the two women or the man standing guard.
Marie fought the urge to roll her eyes—Wang was as common a surname in China as Smith or Albano were in the US and the Philippines, respectively. The man scrutinized her from head to toe, his glare hard and unemotional. After a few moments of silence, his gaze flitted to Albano, and he said something she didn’t understand in Mandarin or Cantonese.
“Oh, I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Mr. Wang,” her captor replied in English with an amused lilt. “Dr. Sawyer is a well-respected surgeon in her country. She also knows if she makes even the slightest error during the procedure, she and her friend here will not survive the day.”
What an idiot! Sure, make the doctor nervous going into surgery, you brilliant twat. Oh, God, Ian is rubbing off on me! Although that might not be a bad thing at the moment.
With her most-professional facial expression and tone of voice, Marie took a step forward. “I assure you, Mr. Wang, even though I’m performing this surgery under duress, I will do my best. Blame it on my Hippocratic oath.”
His response was an obnoxious harrumph, before he spoke in his native language again. She looked to Albano to translate. He nodded at her. “You may proceed, Dr. Sawyer.”
She surveyed the room. From an IV pole, hung a fresh bag of saline solution, ready to be hooked up to the patient after a line was started in his arm. An EKG monitor sat on a platform behind Wang, with an attached blood pressure cuff. A folded, green hospital gown was draped over the back of the recliner. To Marie’s right, on the wall, was an X-ray view box with three films tucked under the grip bar at the top. It looked like any other aseptic pre-op room she’d been in during her career, with a few obvious exceptions, such as there was only room for one patient.
And don’t forget the guys with guns.
She pushed that unwanted last thought from her mind. “I hope you have scrubs for me and Jocelyn to change into—what we’re wearing isn’t exactly sterile.”
“Of course, forgive me. You’ll find them in the scrub room.” Albano gestured toward a door to her left. Through its small window, she could see another door beyond it, which had to go into the operating room. “There’s also a comfort room where you can change.”
Marie almost thanked the man out of being polite, which was second nature to her, but she bit her tongue instead. She nodded to Jocelyn. “Let’s go change, then I’ll evaluate our patient.” Before following her to the door, Marie turned to the other nurses. “Do you both speak English?”
“Yes,” the shorter of the two replied. Unlike Marie and Jocelyn, neither appeared to be there against their will. If she had to guess, they were being paid very well for participating and maintaining their silence about what took place within their employer’s compound. In this poor area of the world, money was scarce and could buy someone’s cooperation in a heartbeat.
“Please get him changed into the gown, then take his vital signs and start the IV. I also want to speak to the anesthetist before he or she administers any drugs.” The last thing she needed was a screw up on that end.
“He’s setting up in the OR.”
Marie acknowledged the woman with a curt nod, then followed Jocelyn into the scrub room. Both had taken quick showers in their bathroom earlier but had needed to dress in the clothes they’d been wearing for the past twenty-five hours.
After opening a few cabinets, they found what they needed. Jocelyn used the half-bath first to change into a set of scrubs, then Marie did the same. Folding her clothing, she left everything on top of Jocelyn’s small pile on a stool but tucked her watch in the small back pocket of the scrub pants. Stepping back out of the windowless room, she joined Jocelyn at the basin sink. Using the provided foam antibacterial soap, they scrubbed their nail beds, hands, and arms. Marie would do it again right before starting the surgery, but it was a stall tactic no one should question. In her heart, she knew her boys were closing in on her location; she just had to hold it together until they got there.
10
They had the compound partially surrounded, just waiting for the “go” signal, as the teams hid behind trees, shrubbery, rocks, and underbrush. Brody had hacked into the surveillance system and had most of the camera feeds now playing on loops, so the raiders wouldn’t be spotted until it was too late. The main gate was guarded, and there were two men patrolling the grounds. The members of Steel had confirmed Marie and Jocelyn had been escorted, about an hour ago, to the building they suspected housed the surgical suite. There was no doubt in Devon’s mind his mother would do everything in her power to stay alive until help arrived. He hoped she had faith in them finding her, since as far as he knew, she wasn’t aware of the tracker in her watch.
Donning a disguise and using a fake ID, complete with a helicopter pilot’s license in the same name, a burner credit card, and a large amount of cash, Marco had taken Red and Lindsey and rented a Bell B206 JetRanger. The female sharpshooter would cover their asses from above, while Red flew the bird and Marco provided intel on the tangos’ movements. The other available snipers, Jake, Carter, and Jordyn, were perched in trees, with the best views inside the compound, with their high-powered rifles.
When Ian gave the signal, Boomer and Pierce, Steel’s EOD man, would set off explosives, which were attached to the walls on either side of the compound, blowing holes in the rock that others would use to enter. They both had a few frag grenades to further induce mayhem. Devon, Ian, Nick, and Brody were designated as Alpha Team, taking the east side, while Foster, Morrison, Reese, and Mancini, Omega Team, were on the west side. Meanwhile, two vans they’d rented, again with fake IDs, would storm the front gate, and the operatives inside, McCabe, Rook, Flynn, and Chris Jordon, would take down as many of the guards as they could, while creating as much chaos for the enemy as they could. The goal was to be in and out in under eight minutes—anything longer than that, they’d have to deal with a local police response.
Unfortunately, they had to do this in broad daylight, so the more distractions they provided, the better chance they had of rescuing the principles without harm. They had no idea how long the doctor and nurse duo would remain alive after the completion of the surgery, which should last several hours. Devon hated thinking of his mother as an unnamed entity, but when a mission was personal, it had a higher chance of going FUBAR, and this one was fucked up enough already.
There was no way in hell Devon or his brothers were leaving this hellhole without their mother. She still had a lot of living to do, along with spoiling the crap out of her grandkids. Whenever she called to say hello, Devon would put the phone to his son’s ear, and he was sure JD recognized his grandmother’s voice, because his face would light up and he’d start cooing to her. Devon swore the next time they did that, he was going to use his Go-Pro to record it. When his mother did leave this Earth in another twenty or thirty years, if Devon’s prayers that she lived a long time came true, he wanted lots of video and voice recordings of her so his and his brothers’ future children, Little Bit, and JD had plenty to remember her by. But, damn it, today was not the day Marie Sawyer was going to meet her maker.
About an hour, give or take a few minutes, after he’d led the women into the surgical building, de la Vega had returned to the main house. So, unless there was a secret tunnel, or someone had been in there longer than the Steel operatives had been keeping surveillance, there were only eight people in the smaller structure other than the two principals. They’d seen two women and a man go inside, who they suspected were nurses or medical assistants, as well as Xiao, his bodyguard, and three of de la Vega’s armed men. With any luck, the latter would co
me out to see what was going on when the pandemonium started and be taken down quickly. Xiao should be unconscious, leaving only his bodyguard and the surgical staff left to deal with.
“Bravo Team, you ready?” Ian asked over the comm system.
“Affirm,” was Marco’s reply.
“Omega Team?”
Foster’s voice sounded in Devon’s ear. “Ready.”
“Echo One & Two?”
Boomer and then Pierce confirmed they were also primed and waiting.
“Charlie Team?”
“Ready,” responded McCabe.
“Alpha Team is ready,” Ian announced. “Everyone else, wait for the gate crashers. Charlie, on my mark—three . . . two . . . one . . . go!”
From a quarter of a mile up the road the compound was on, the two white vans would be heading toward their target, like they were just out for a Sunday drive. A few moments passed before Devon could hear them approach and then accelerate. A split second before the first vehicle crashed into the wrought-iron gate, ripping it from its hinges and demolishing it, through their earpieces, they all heard, “Cowabunga!”
Torn in Half: A Trident Security Novella: Book 8.5 Page 6
