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One Minute Out (Gray Man, #9) by Mark Greaney Read Online (FREE)

One Minute Out (Gray Man, #9) by Mark Greaney

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

  1. 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


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







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.