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Informationen zum Autor Mark Greaney Klappentext The Gray Man's first adventure leads to trouble for him in the present in the latest entry in the #1 New York Times bestselling series. Before he was the Gray Man, Court Gentry was Sierra Six, the junior member of a CIA action team. In their first mission they took out a terrorist leader, at a terrible price- the life of a woman Court cared for. Ten years have passed. The Gray Man is on a simple mission when he sees a ghost: the long-dead terrorist, but he's remarkably energetic for a dead man. A decade of time may have passed but the Gray Man hasn't changed. He isn't one to leave a job unfinished or a blood debt unpaid. Story Locale: India, Pakistan Series Overview: Court Gentry was one of the world's top assassins, until he was betrayed and cut loose. Now he's known as the Gray Man-and making a living means other people dying. Leseprobe One Twelve Years Ago Zack Hightower and the five other men of Golf Sierra watched the scene before them as if they were merely spectators, when in fact they were the stars of the show, waiting in the wings for the play to begin. Fifty yards away from them, the ramp lowered slowly on the Lockheed C-130 Hercules. A scarlet glow shot like a soft ray from inside the cabin, illuminating the tarmac, and the plane's four massive turboprops spun at idle, growling in the cool night. Ground crew worked feverishly around the aircraft, moving this way and that as they readied it for its upcoming flight. The light from the cabin did not quite reach Hightower and his men on the tarmac; they remained in the dark, gazing on, interested but unconcerned. The six men were armed and armored, festooned with heavy equipment and bulky parachutes, but they endured patiently, embracing the suck of the weight on their bodies. The sixty pounds of gear strapped to each man made unnecessary movement ill-advised, so all of them knew better than to waste energy now, before their arduous evening had even begun in earnest. The ground crew in front of them did not engage with or even look at the operators in the dark. That was considered bad form, so the six men were left alone with their thoughts, gazing at the glowing rear of the hulking aircraft in front of them and waiting for their cue. All six operators wore quad-tube night vision goggles stowed in the up position on their helmets. They were also equipped with rifles, pistols, and extra ammunition, as well as fragmentation, flash bang, and thermite grenades. They'd be dealing with extreme cold soon enough, so they wore efficient merino-wool base layers under nondescript black Gore-Tex flight suits, which were themselves under plated ceramic body armor that was housed inside load-bearing vests. Additionally, each man wore two parachutes: a main chute on his back and a reserve in front, low, cinched around his midsection. Oxygen masks were snapped tight to their faces, with two small tanks strapped just as tightly to their bodies. The men were already consuming bottled O2 even though they were still on the ground. Tonight's mission would begin with a HAAM, a high-altitude airdrop mission-a leap from the Hercules at twenty-eight thousand feet-and breathing from the tanks now would eliminate the risk of nitrogen buildup from the rapid change in air pressure as the men descended. These six were ordinarily a talkative bunch, but as team leader of the tiny unit, Zack demanded a strict decorum before an operation. All extraneous conversation had ceased as soon as they'd arrived on the tarmac; no one shouted through their rubber mask about what was to come. They all just waited, heavily laden statues in the night. Eventually the aircraft's loadmaster ca...
