Page 8 of Torn in Half

Swiping the screen, Jordyn brought up another image—this one was of an Asian man. “Xiao Zhihao—one of the Barrera’s hitmen. MSS just bumped him up into their Top Ten Most Wanted.” The Ministry of State Security was China’s CIA counterpart.

Can this shit get any worse?

“Who do they suspect he killed?” Nick asked.

Standing with his arms crossed over his chest, Ian responded before anyone else could, “Kang Zhi, Chinese ambassador to Bahrain and reputed presidential candidate for the next election.” It was a wild guess, but an educated one. “Kang was shot and killed, along with one of his bodyguards, three nights ago. MSS has been holding back a lot of the intel from the press, and they’ve been trying to pass it off as a home invasion gone wrong.”

Carter nodded. “You watch way too much CNN and BBC, dude, but you’re right, as usual. During our recon of the compound earlier, Jordy got a glimpse of Xiao, when he arrived at the compound late last night, and recognized him.”

“We’ve crossed paths before,” the female spy added. Considering some of her assignments involved assassinations of foreign threats to the United States, it made sense she would recognize a peer, even if the man didn’t have a conscience like she had. “I called a contact at MSS, and they confirmed, unofficially of course, that a surveillance camera caught just enough of the assassin’s face to verify it was Xiao.”

“Okay, again, what does this have to do with our mom?” Nick interjected.

“Word is,” Carter explained, “de la Vega has a state-of-the-art surgical suite at the compound.”

Almost everyone in the room made the connection right away after hearing that, but it was Ian who spoke. “They needed a plastic surgeon to reconstruct Xiao’s face so he’s no longer recognizable.”

“Yup. Apparently, the doc who’d done the last few surgeries for de la Vega, in exchange for cancelling some of his gambling debts, got a little too greedy and tried to blackmail him and whomever he’d operated on. The doc’s body was found not too long ago, missing both its hands and head.” That wasn’t an uncommon form of revenge in this region. “From the activity we observed at the compound, my guess is Marie will be doing the surgery sometime this morning.” He slid a piece of paper into the middle of the table. “Here’s the layout of the compound. We think this building here is where the surgical suite is located. Marie and the nurse, Jocelyn, are probably being held in the main house and treated well, although they most likely threatened Jocelyn to ensure Marie would do the procedure.”

Studying the crudely-sketched map, Ian pushed aside all thoughts of what his mother had to be going through and began doing one of the things he did best. He started formulating a plan of attack with a take-no-prisoners strategy. The clock was ticking.

Chapter Eight

Chuck sat on one of the living room chairs, then popped right back up again. He was slowly going crazy. His sons and their friends and teammates had left an hour ago in broad daylight, although they would’ve preferred it had been under the cloak of darkness. Their plan was to infiltrate the compound where Marie and Jocelyn were being held any minute now. Devon had explained to him that the best time to attack the enemy was in the wee hours of the morning. If they weren’t already asleep, their guards would be down—boredom and exhaustion made a person’s reaction time much slower. Unfortunately, they didn’t think Marie and Jocelyn had until the morning to be rescued. There was a strong possibility the two women would be killed after the surgery, since they could identify both Xiao and de la Vega.

“The waiting is almost as bad as the worry, isn’t it?” CC Chapman asked as he exited one of the penthouse’s bedrooms and stretched. The aviator had taken the opportunity to take a shower after spending over eighteen hours in the jet’s cockpit. His co-pilot had stayed with the aircraft in the private hangar to make certain it was properly refueled and nobody messed with it.

“Pretty much. I just made a new pot of coffee—help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

As the retired Air Force pilot shuffled into the kitchen, Chuck sat down again and turned on the volume of the muted television. He had no idea what the CNN newscaster was reporting, nor did he care—it just gave the room some white noise to distract him from his worst thoughts.

Even without their specialized training, Chuck knew his sons would do everything possible to rescue their mother. While he’d wanted to be there when Marie was brought safely from the compound, he understood he would’ve just been in the way. To kill some time, he’d called the main offices of Operation Smile and given them an update. When he’d spoken to them yesterday, after talking to Ian, he’d asked directors to keep the news of the missing women quiet for now. At first, they’d objected, but once he’d explained who his sons were and what they were going to do, they’d relented and agreed it was in the women’s best interest for the rescue to be done under the radar.

Chuck couldn’t imagine life without his beloved wife. They’d seemed like a mismatched couple when they’d first met. With only an associate degree in business administration, Chuck had followed his mother’s footsteps into real estate. When he’d been younger, and money had been tight at times, she’d taken him on many of her appointments, showing prospective buyers the local listings. Somewhere along the line, Chuck had become a bit of a salesman in his own right during those times. He’d tell young parents or newlyweds about how the backyard of a certain house was a great place for kids, or other things like that.

The night he’d met the woman who would become his wife, Marie O’Toole had been out with friends, enjoying a brief period of downtime in between her four years of medical school and starting her residency. He’d been out celebrating closing on the most recent property he’d sold as a real estate agent—it’d been his first seven-figure sale, which had netted him a hefty commission. Chuck had seen the lovely doctor across the bar room and had fallen in love. By the end of the night, he’d convinced her to have coffee with him the next day. That’d been the start of their budding romance, which was still going strong to this very day.

While they’d had their ups and downs, like every couple did, their marriage had thrived as she’d become one of the top plastic surgeons in North Carolina and he’d invested well in real estate and had created a billion-dollar empire. It had all started with a foreclosed apartment building he’d bought, two years before their first son had been born. Sawyer-O’Toole was now one of the biggest corporate, commercial, and residential real estate firms on the east coast. But Chuck and Marie had never taken their wealth for granted and refused to let their sons do that either.

After welcoming, Ian, their firstborn, into the family, Devon and then John had followed. Nick, the youngest, had been a pleasant surprise for the couple, after several years of thinking they wouldn’t have any more children. Nick had been six years old when Ian had left to join the Navy after his high-school graduation. Despite having trust funds set up for his boys, Chuck had insisted each one get either a four-year college degree or spend that time in a branch of the military. While they’d gotten a small stipend from their trusts, between their teens and twenties, they didn’t get to manage their own accounts until they’d reached thirty. Well, that had been true for Ian and Devon. When twenty-seven-year-old Nick had gotten married to Jake a few months ago, Chuck had gifted his youngest son full control of his trust.

As for John, Chuck’s heart still squeezed when he thought of his third oldest son. Somehow, as close as their family had been and still were, they’d all missed the signs that the senior in high school had developed a severe drinking problem. Others might ask, “How could you not know what was going on under your own roof?” But, like most alcoholics, John had become adept at hiding his addiction. By the time his parents had found out about it, it’d been too late.

Chuck would never forget that fateful day. Marie had been at her private practice; Ian had been on the other side of the world; Devon had been away at college; and little Nick had been in elementary school. It’d happened only a few days after the Christmas/New Year’s break. John was supposed to have been in class too, but for whatever reason, he’d returned home after everyone else had left for the day. He’d gotten drunk, vomited, and then aspirated, dying two full hours before Chuck had swung by the house to get some papers he’d forgotten. He’d found his son unresponsive on the kitchen floor, and despite his efforts to revive him, when the paramedics responded, they’d gently told a devastated Chuck there wasn’t anything they could do to save his boy. Rigor mortis had already begun to set in. One and a half empty bottles of vodka had been found, and when the coroner’s report came back, it’d stated John’s alcohol level had been four times the legal limit. Over the next few days, while waiting for Ian to fly back to the States for the funeral, Dev had learned from John’s friends the extent of his alcoholism.

Out of the three grieving brothers, Devon 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. The 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.

Chapter Nine

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 Marie had 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.

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