CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
They brought Omar up on deck.
Omar’s head was covered in a black nylon bag. His wrists were zip-tied behind his back. He sniveled and moaned in pain.
“Okay, drop him a minute. We’ve got trouble.”
The SEALs leading Omar let him fall to the deck. He lay curled in a ball.
Luke’s eyes were dazzled by the bright sunlight. He was even more dazzled by the swarm of about a dozen Cuban helicopter g*n ships hovering in the air around them. They were dark blue. Luke recognized them as old, Russian-made Mi-24s. The Cubans called the Mi-24 el cocodrilo, Spanish for “the crocodile.”
Three American Apache helicopters would take out the whole lot of them, but Luke didn’t have three Apaches today, and he wasn’t going to have them. He had breached Cuban airspace, and he hadn’t let any
