One Minute Out (Gray Man, #9) by Mark Greaney Read Online (FREE)
Read One Minute Out (Gray Man, #8) by Mark Greaney full novel online for free here.
COURTLAND GENTRY: Freelance assassin. Former CIA Special Activities Division (Ground Branch) paramilitary operations officer
LILIANA BRINZA: Moldovan citizen
RATKO BABIC: Former general, Bosnian Serb army
CAPTAIN NIKO VUKOVIC: Chief of police, Mostar, Bosnia and Herzegovina
TALYSSA CORBU: Europol criminal analyst
GIANCARLO RICCI: Security director of Alfonsi crime family, Italy
ROXANA VADUVA: Romanian university student
- CLAUDIA RIESLING: American psychologist
KOSTAS KOSTOPOULOS: Greek sex trafficker
KENNETH CAGE: Hollywood-based investment fund manager
SEAN HALL: Bodyguard to Ken Cage
JACO VERDOORN: Director of White Lion Security and Risk
ZACK HIGHTOWER: CIA contract employee. Former CIA Special Activities Division (Ground Branch) paramilitary operations officer
MATTHEW HANLEY: Deputy director for operations, CIA
SUZANNE BREWER: CIA officer
CHRIS TRAVERS: CIA Special Activities Center (Ground Branch) paramilitary operations officer
SHEP “PAPA” DUVALL: Former CIA, former JSOC (Delta Force) operative
RODNEY: U.S. Army veteran
KAREEM: U.S. Marine Corps veteran
A.J.: U.S. Army veteran
CARL: U.S. Army veteran
GORNJI CRNAČ, BOSNIA AND HERZEGOVINA
The grandfather of six stood on his front porch, a cup of tea in hand as he looked out across the valley at the green hills, thinking of the old days.
They didn’t seem so long ago, but still he often wondered where they had gone.
The warm afternoon tired him, and he considered a nap before dinner. It was something an old man would think to do, and this bothered him a little, because he didn’t really consider himself old.
At seventy-five he was in robust health for his age, but back when he was young he had been truly strong and able physically, as well as a man of great power in his community.
But those days were long past. These days he lived here on this farm, never ever ventured off it, and he questioned if his labors in life had amounted to much of anything at all.
Money was no problem—he had more than he could ever spend—but he often pondered his purpose here on Earth. He’d most definitely had a purpose once, a cause he believed in, but now life amounted to little more than his easy work, his occasional pleasures, and the strict rules he’d adopted to live out his days in quiet and in peace.
Another day here, he told himself, reflecting on both the years and the decisions he’d made in life. Good decisions all, of this he was certain. He was not a man to harbor doubts about his actions.
But he was painfully aware that the decisions he’d made had come with a high cost.
The wet heat hanging in the still air tired him even more. He drank down the dregs of his tea, looking out over the lush green hills, contemplating his existence, and he made the final and resolute decision to go back inside the farmhouse to bed.
The old man’s eyesight was not good, but even if he’d had the vision he’d enjoyed in his prime, he would not have been able to see the sniper across the valley, dressed in a green foliage ghillie suit and lying in thick brush 470 meters away, holding the illuminated reticle of his rifle’s optic steady on the old man’s chest.