Gray Man, Dead Eye
(Sprache: Englisch)
Ex-CIA master assassin Court Gentry gets hit with a blast from the past in the fourth Gray Man novel from #1 New York Times bestselling author Mark Greaney.
Court Gentry has always prided himself on his ability to disappear at will, to fly below the...
Court Gentry has always prided himself on his ability to disappear at will, to fly below the...
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Ex-CIA master assassin Court Gentry gets hit with a blast from the past in the fourth Gray Man novel from #1 New York Times bestselling author Mark Greaney.Court Gentry has always prided himself on his ability to disappear at will, to fly below the radar and exist in the shadows-to survive as the near-mythical Gray Man. But when he takes revenge upon a former employer who betrayed him, he exposes himself to something he's never had to face before: a killer who is just like him.
Code-named Dead Eye, Russell Whitlock is a graduate of the same ultra-secret Autonomous Asset Program that trained and once controlled Gentry. But now, Whitlock is a free agent who has been directed to terminate his fellow student of death. He knows how his target thinks, how he moves, and how he kills. And he knows the best way to do the job is to make Gentry run for his life-right up until the moment Dead Eye finally ends it...
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OneThe Lincoln squealed through a hard left turn, drifting in the slick intersection awash in the glow of headlights from angry oncoming traffic. It raced up Crescent Place and then past a small, unlit sign that read Townsend Government Services. After squeezing through electronically-operated iron gates still in the process of opening, it rolled up a winding driveway lined with bare cherry trees to a huge peach-hued brick mansion bathed in floodlights. Lee Babbitt climbed out of the Lincoln without a word to the driver and ran through the cold rain up the stone steps of the residence, passing through a door held open by a lean man in a sport coat.
In the round marble foyer of the building, two more young men with military haircuts and civilian clothing stood with Heckler & Koch automatic weapons hanging from slings over their shoulders. Before anyone spoke, a man in his late thirties, some decade younger than Babbitt, came rushing up a long hallway that led to the rear of the building. He wore a cardigan sweater and corduroy slacks, and an assortment of card keys and laminated badges bounced on his chest from a chain around his neck.
Babbitt met the younger man in the middle of the foyer, and his voice echoed off marble. "It's happening?"
"It's happening," the man in the cardigan confirmed.
"The assault is underway?"
"Infiltrating to target as we speak."
"One man? One man is going to hit that fucking fortress?"
"Yes, sir."
"And it's him? It's our boy?"
Jeff Parks took his boss by the arm and quickly ushered him back up the hall. "We think so."
"You'll have to do better than that," Babbitt said. While he walked, he unfastened his bow tie and opened the top button on his shirt, freeing his thick neck. "There is more than one motherfucker out there who wants to stick a knife into the neck of Gregor Sidorenko."
The long hallway was trimmed in stained cherry, and the tastefully lit walls were adorned with fine art of
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the American West. There were Russell watercolors of cowboys on a cattle drive, regal George Catlin portraits of Native Americans, and a pair of Frederick Remington desertscapes worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, as well as a Remington bronzed buffalo statue on a side table lit by antler lamps.
As they rushed up the corridor, Babbitt pulled off his damp jacket and slung it over his arm. He asked, "How did we pick him up?"
"One of the UAVs was up on a calibration flight. No one expected activity tonight. It's Saturday; a party was in full swing at the target location until about an hour ago, which put three times the number of personnel on scene as normal. Plus, the weather's shit and the next illumination cycle isn't for two days."
"Right."
"The ScanEagle pilot spotted movement a half mile off the coast. We tracked the signature for less than a minute before determining we were most likely looking at a singleton attack on Sid's property."
"Speedboat?"
"Negative."
"Scuba? That water must be less than forty deg-"
"He's not swimming."
"Then how-"
Parks stopped at a door and looked up to his boss with a grin. "You need to see this shit for yourself."
Parks scanned a card from his chain through a reader next to a heavy oaken door, then opened the door to reveal a staircase. He followed his boss down, the older man's patent leather shoes echoing in the stairwell. At the base of the stairs was another corridor; this one went back in the opposite direction, and it was, in contrast to the hallway above, narrow, dimly lit, and utilitarian, though its walls were also adorned.
As the two men hurried up the hall they
As they rushed up the corridor, Babbitt pulled off his damp jacket and slung it over his arm. He asked, "How did we pick him up?"
"One of the UAVs was up on a calibration flight. No one expected activity tonight. It's Saturday; a party was in full swing at the target location until about an hour ago, which put three times the number of personnel on scene as normal. Plus, the weather's shit and the next illumination cycle isn't for two days."
"Right."
"The ScanEagle pilot spotted movement a half mile off the coast. We tracked the signature for less than a minute before determining we were most likely looking at a singleton attack on Sid's property."
"Speedboat?"
"Negative."
"Scuba? That water must be less than forty deg-"
"He's not swimming."
"Then how-"
Parks stopped at a door and looked up to his boss with a grin. "You need to see this shit for yourself."
Parks scanned a card from his chain through a reader next to a heavy oaken door, then opened the door to reveal a staircase. He followed his boss down, the older man's patent leather shoes echoing in the stairwell. At the base of the stairs was another corridor; this one went back in the opposite direction, and it was, in contrast to the hallway above, narrow, dimly lit, and utilitarian, though its walls were also adorned.
As the two men hurried up the hall they
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Autoren-Porträt von Mark Greaney
Mark Greaney
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Mark Greaney
- 2018, 624 Seiten, Masse: 10,6 x 19 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Berkley
- ISBN-10: 0399586679
- ISBN-13: 9780399586675
- Erscheinungsdatum: 23.07.2018
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
Praise for Dead EyeThe various moves of each of the skilled and ruthless principals play out against a constantly shifting background of changing goals and allegiances. Fans of superhuman antiheroes will hope the Gray Man survives to fight another day. Publishers Weekly
More praise for the Gray Man novels
Hard, fast, and unflinching exactly what a thriller should be. #1 New York Times bestselling author Lee Child
Bourne for the new millennium. New York Times bestselling author James Rollins
Writing as smooth as stainless steel and a hero as mean as razor wire. New York Times bestselling author David Stone
The story is so propulsive, the murders so explosive, that flipping the pages feels like playing the ultimate video game. The New York Times
A high-octane thriller that doesn t pause for more than a second for all of its 464 pages. Chicago Sun-Times
Take fictional spy Jason Bourne, pump him up with Red Bull and meth, shake vigorously and you ve got the recipe for Court Gentry. The Memphis Commercial Appeal
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