" But now Max wanted Gina to look out the window.
“The cavalry had arrived,” he told her.
Someone was standing directly in front of the tank. Whoever he was—a boy, dressed like a surfer, on crutches—was holding one hand out in front of him like a traffic cop signaling halt.
The tank, of course, had rolled to a stop.
And Gina realized this was no ordinary surfer, this was Jules Cassidy.
Jules was alive!
And here she’d thought she was all cried out.

Max laughed as he peered out through the slit that passed as a windshield for the tank. “He has no idea that we’re in here,” he said.
Damn, Jules looked like he’d been hit by a bus.
“Jesus, he has some balls.” Jules turned to the interpreter, who still didn’t quite believe that they weren’t going to kill him. “Open the hatch.”
“Yes, sir.” He poked his head out.
“Do you speak English?” Max could hear Jules through the opening.
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell your commanding officer to back up. In fact, tell him to leave the area. I’m in charge of this situation now. My name is Jules Cassidy and I’m an American, with the FBI. There are Marine gunships on their way, they’ll be here any minute. They have armor-penetrating artillery—they’ll blow you to hell, so back off.”
“Tell him Jones wants to know if the gunships are really coming, or if that’s just something he learned in FBI Bullshitting 101.”
The interpreter passed the message along.
As Max watched, surprise and relief crossed Jules’s face.
“Is Max in there, too?” Jules asked.
“Yes, sir,” the interpreter said.
“Well, shit.” Jules grinned. “I should’ve stayed in the hospital.”
“I hear helicopters!” Gina’s voice came through the walkie-talkie. “I can see them, too! They’re definitely American!”
Max took a deep breath, keyed the talk button. And sang. “Love me tender, love me sweet, never let me go . . . "

― Suzanne Brockmann , Breaking Point (Troubleshooters, #9)