The chopper landed, kicking up dirt and whipping the trees this way and that. The minute it touched down men in military uniforms jumped out. David counted ten of them. They all carried assault rifles which he’d bet they knew how to use. Maybe they were marines, but he’d bet Special Ops.
The man in front approached Rafael. “I’m Colonel Russell Sanford,” he shouted over the roar of the chopper blades. “President Lovinggood requests you release his son and Miss Beckwith to me.”
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