CHAPTER SIXTEEN
4:05 p.m.
The Skies Approaching Varadero, Cuba
“We don’t tolerate resistance,” Luke said. “Someone shoots, someone so much as shows a weapon, they’re out of the game. Copy?”
He glanced through the wide open doorway. The chopper rode low over the water, moving fast. It was probably close to its max air speed, around 180 miles per hour. The dark blue water went by in a dizzying blur, almost close enough to touch. A hot wind blew in, buffeting his face and body.
“Copy,” the men around him said. “Copy that.”
Luke crouched on a low-slung bench in the chopper’s personnel hold. He felt that old trickle of fear, of adrenaline, of excitement. He had swallowed a Dexedrine pill twenty minutes before, and it was starting to kick in. It had been a long day already, but suddenly he
