Dead Eye (A Gray Man Novel)
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The fourth Gray Man novel from #1 New York Times bestselling author Mark Greaney.
Ex-CIA master assassin 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…
he passed a security guard sprawled on the floor, arms and legs askew, his eyes wide open in death. Dead Eye shined his penlight over the body quickly as he headed for the exit and saw the rich bruising around the neck, a single band of color from a garrote’s bite. Dead Eye regarded the wound as he passed, acknowledging a job well done. The guard never saw him coming. But as he reached the lobby door, he allowed himself no more time to think of tonight’s action. There was much work to do
his mouth on the end of the Ace bandage around the splint. As Whitlock began shaking him left and right, doing his best to prevent his victim from mounting any kind of a defense, Court pulled the splint apart with his teeth. The two broken branches spilled out, and he managed to wrap his weak right hand around one of them. Knowing well his maneuver would cause excruciating pain, Court threw his broken arm up over his head, and the sharp broken edge of the stick came back into Whitlock’s face,
two, five, niner.” “Confirmed. Dead Eye here. Iden number four, eight, one, oh, six, oh, five, two, oh.” “I’m at the airport. Will be in the AO in an hour. Have you located the target?” “Of course I have.” “All right. We can meet at twenty-two hundred.” Russ pulled his paper map of the city from his pocket and looked it over for a few seconds. “Open your map. You’ll need to write this down.” TWELVE Whitlock walked alone with his hands in his pockets and his head down,
building she found almost comically surreal. Seemingly every square inch of wall space was occupied by some homage to the Old West. Knowing what little she did about this company—that they were a glorified posse deputized by the CIA to bring back their man, dead or alive—she half wondered if Parks and the other men in the building wore ten-gallon hats and stirrups when they were not conducting meetings with outsiders such as herself. Parks led her into a room and presented her with an
asked, “What the hell were you doing?” “Having a drink with a knife held to my rib cage.” “What did he say?” Mike asked. “He knew about us. About Townsend. He said he doesn’t want to kill Kalb.” “Sounds like what someone would say if they did want to kill Kalb.” “Right, but it’s also what someone would say if they did not. I believe him.” Mike said, “We can call Townsend, see if the UAV has located him.” Laureen said, “Or maybe you two can just meet for drinks again