I LOVE THE GRAY MAN.#1 New York Times bestselling author Lee ChildBOURNE FOR THE NEW MILLENNIUM.New York Timesbestselling authorJames RollinsPraise for Back BlastMark Greaney reigns as one of the recognized masters of action and adventure. Back Blast is no exception.New York Times and #1 internationally bestselling author Steve BerryFast-paced [and] tightly written...A great ride.New York Times bestselling authorLarry BondTakes the best of Clancy and Ludlum and mixes them into a fantastic story with an unforgettable character.James O. Born, author of Scent of MurderA blistering thriller that builds to a soaring and explosive climax. Fast, tough, enthralling, and the best so far in the amazing Gray Man series.Bestselling author David BellPunches with bone-busting powerFlesh-and-blood priceless.New York Times bestselling authorStephen TemplinGreaney is a master among the top thriller writers in the world...Intense, explosive, daring, funny, and ultimately just flat out awesome.New York Times bestselling authorBen CoesGreaneys unraveling of the Back Blast mystery is masterly, but its the Gray Mans ability to outthink and outgun...that will keep readers glued to the pages.Publishers Weekly(starred review)[A] high-energy thriller...Clancy fans will have a blast.Kirkus sAbout the AuthorMark Greaney has a degree in international relations and political science. In his research for theGray Man novels, including Gunmetal Gray,Back Blast, Dead Eye, Ballistic, On Target, and The Gray Man, he traveled to more than fifteen countries and trained alongside military and law enforcement in the use of firearms, battlefield medicine, and close-range combative tactics.He is also the author of the New York Times bestsellers Tom Clancy Support and Defend, Tom Clancy Full Force and Effect, Tom Clancy Commander in Chief, and Tom Clancy True Faith and Allegiance. With Tom Clancy, he coauthored Locked On, Threat Vector, and Command Authority.Excerpt. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof***Copyright 2016 Mark GreaneyA dimly lit street in the center of Washington Highlands was a hell of a place for a nighttime stroll.The Highlands were in the southeastern corner of the District, over the Anacostia River in Ward Eight. Full of high-rise government housing, low-income apartment complexes, and derelict single-family homes on tiny lots strewn with garbage, Ward Eight had been the second most dangerous ward in the District behind Ward Seven, but it had recently retaken the lead thanks to a triple murder in the last week of the reporting period.But despite the late hour and the areas infamous reputation, a lone pedestrian ambled calmly through the misty evening, heading north on Atlantic Street SE as if he didnt have a care in the world. He walked along a broken sidewalk, catching the glow of most all of the streetlamps that had not been shot out or burned out and left black by a city that didnt give a damn about its poorest residents. He wore blue jeans and a wrinkled blue blazer, his dark brown hair was tousled and damp, and a clean-shaven face revealed him as white, which, around here, at this time of night, meant he was probably up to no good.It was ten p.m., and the neighborhood appeared devoid of any life other than the solo pedestrian. But while the street itself was barren, several sets of eyes tracked the mans movements. Astonished senior citizens looked out from behind their barred apartment windows. A single mother up with a sick kid watched through the bolted Plexiglas door of her duplex unit with a wince of regret, knowing good and well the damn fool in the street was going to get rolled at best and murdered at worst. And a teen with a cell phone on a darkened stoop of an apartment building watched the man carefully, reporting what he saw to an acquaintance at the other end of the connection with hopes of collecting a finders fee if his friend showed up with a crew and beat every last item of value off of the hapless outsider.But the teen and his friend were out of luck, because another group of predators were closer, and they also had their eyes on this target of opportunity.Three dark silhouettes watched the white man from where they stood in a driveway, in front of a fifty-five-gallon drum filled with burning trash.Marvin was the oldest of the three, and at thirty-one he had eleven priors, most for BE or armed robbery. Only two arrests had really stuck, the first one earning him eleven months, twenty-nine days in a city lockup. And then, on the inside, Marvin had bought himself a full dime at Hagerstown for manslaughter.He did six years before being released on good behaviora relative term in prisonand now he was back on the streets.And he wasnt looking for work. He was looking for a score.In this pursuit he had taken on the two young men with him. Darius and James were both sixteen, and they looked up to the older Marvin since hed done time and hed killed a man, and because of this they would follow him anywhere. For Marvins part, he liked running a crew of kids because they could take chances; any convictions they earned would likely be expunged on their eighteenth birthdays.Marvin carried a handgun in his waistband under his baggy boxers. It was a rusty Lorcin Arms L380, a piece of junk, even compared to the other pot-metal pistols ubiquitous on the low end of crime here in the gun-free zone of D.C. Hed never shot the weapon, it was for show, really, which meant he kept the grip of the gun on display, sticking out from below his faux leather jacket, but only when the cops werent around. If he saw a patrol car a couple of shakes would drop the little automatic down the inside of his warm-up pants and out onto the ground. He could then kick it away or under something, or else he could just fucking run.Marvin had been running from trouble since long before the two boys standing with him were born.The two kids had thin switchblades theyd shoplifted from a head shop in Hyattsville. The knives were comically cheap novelty items, but the boys didnt know any better and they thought themselves impossibly badass for carrying them inside their jackets.Darius and James fingered their knives under their clothes as they watched the white man disappear in the mist, just past an overgrown hedge strewn with blown trash. As one they turned to each other, smiling in surprise at this evenings outrageous fortune. The pedestrian seemed oblivious to the fact hed just walked past the three men standing by the fire, which made them think the fool was drunk, high, or perhaps a combination of both. Even though they rarely saw whites walking around this section of Washington Highlands at night, men and women of all races certainly drove into this neighborhood to buy drugs all the time, especially at night, and the two boys couldnt imagine any reason for this fools presence other than a buy.That meant he either had cash or drugs, and it didnt matter which, because around here, drugs were cash.Darius and James looked back over the flames coming out of the oil drum, towards their leader.Marvin nodded back to his crew, giving them the prompting they needed. All three left the warmth of the drum and headed down the driveway to the sidewalk, following the white man with their hands hovering inches from the weapons they kept tucked inside their clothes.At the same instant three hunters were stalking their prey on 8th Street SE, a twenty-four-million-dollar Eurocopter streaked high over D.C., flying from Maryland in the northeast and heading towards Virginia in the southwest. The men on board discussed the chances someone below them was lining up the advanced optical sights of a man-portable surface-to-air missile on the tail rotor behind them, or perhaps tracking the nose of the helo with the iron sights of a rocket-propelled grenade launcher. Onboard countermeasures were ready, the pilot made defensive maneuvers, and all eyes were focused outside the helo and down at street level, scanning for the bright flare of a missile launch.But there was no flare and there was no launch, because although the man they feared was, in fact, somewhere below them, he had no SAM, nor did he have an RPG.He didnt even have a pistol or, for that matter, any cash.Court Gentry walked alone through D.C.s most dangerous district, as aware of the footsteps closing on him as he was of the throbbing in his right forearm and the maddening itch under the plaster cast that went from his elbow to his wrist.He knew three men were following hima definite leader and two subordinates, much younger and completely subservient to their boss. Gentry determined all this from a quarter-second half glance as he passed them on the driveway, as well as from the sounds of their footfalls. The man in the middle was more sure, the men on either side uneasy, slowing from time to time, then rushing to catch back up to the one in charge.Court knew something about the psychology of crime. These street thugs werent looking for a fight; they were looking for a victim. The strength of the attackers resolve would be reflected in how quickly they acted. If they messed around and followed him for blocks, then they would probably never go through with it. On the other hand, if they challenged him right now, that meant their confidence was high and they wouldnt be expecting any resistance, and this would indicate to Gentry they were probably armed and theyd done this sort of thing before.Just then, still half a block from the next intersection, the man in the middle of the three called out.Yo! You know what this is. You dont gotta get hurt.Court was pleased this guy was getting right to it. After all, he didnt have all night. He stopped, but he did not turn around. He just stood there, facing away. The three men behind came closer.Turn around, motherfucker. Do it slow.Court took a few calming breaths, but he did not turn.Yo, bitch! Im talkin to you!Now Court slowly pivoted to face the threat.The three attackers stood only six feet away on the sidewalk. Court scanned their eyes. It was always the same in a threat situation. Determine the will, and determine the skill. He pegged the leader as cocky, amped up from excitement, but not from concern. The other two tried to show confidence, but their furtive eyes sold them out.All three clutched weapons. The leader had a small gunmetal blue pistol and the two men with him actually now to Court they appeared to be teenagerseach held up a knife.Court spoke calmly. Evenin, gents.The leader cocked his head in surprise. After a second, the thin black man said, I want that wallet. And that phone. He looked around on the street, then asked, Where your car at?Court ignored the mans voice and focused on the pistol in his hand. What do you have there?Its a gun, motherfucker!Right. What kind of gun?The kinda gun thats gonna pop a cap in your ass if you dont pull out that wallet and drop it off, real nice and slow.The man raised the pistol to eye level, in Courts face now. Even though the light was bad, Court was able to identify the weapon quickly here, just three feet from the tip of his nose.He sighed. Disappointed. An L380? What the hell am I supposed to do with that piece of shit?The armed man stiffened his gun arm, then smiled. Oh, I got it. You tryin to die tonight.Court looked around at the two others. Any chance you kids are strapped? The boys glanced at their boss, confused. After a second they held their knives up higher. I didnt think so. Court looked up into the wet sky with a half smile. Just my luck.Marvin had been pointing guns at people since before his thirteenth birthday, and in all this time hed never seen anyone so utterly unimpressed. Normally eyes widened to saucers and fixed on the muzzle of his weapon, and no matter what he did for the rest of the encounter, the person at gunpoint never ever glanced away from the instrument in his hand. They rarely even blinked.But this guy turned to the other men, looked around at the street, into the sky, and at the windows of the duplexes all around. He didnt seem at all concerned that there was a motherfucking gat in his motherfucking face.The white man didnt look high, and he didnt smell drunk. His languid eyes were clear, his relaxed body did not sway. For some reason he just didnt give a damn.And this infuriated Marvin. He had no plan B for intimidating a victim.The two boys stepped to either side of their prey. Now Marvin had a pistol pointed to the mans forehead, and his crew had stilettos in range on the left and right.But the white man wasnt worried about the knives, either. He just sighed more deeply now, his shoulders slumped all the way down. Any chance I can persuade you guys to step off? I dont have any cash, no phone, no car. I dont have a thing to offer you but trouble, and I promise you, Im a lot more trouble than Im worth. What do you say we call it a night andMarvin was tired of this asshole. He stepped forward a half step, raising the gun higher to drive his point home. As he did so the white mans left hand shot up and forward and he spun on his left foot in a blur, pirouetting his body out of the line of fire. Marvin was stunned by the movement. As the man turned, his strong hand locked onto the slide of the pistol, just aft of the muzzle, and he shoved the weapon to the side and down. Marvin instinctively pulled the trigger. The Lorcin cracked loud in the empty street, but the white man had both rotated his body away to Marvins right and pushed the gun down low to Marvins left just as it fired.Marvin realized instantly he had missed.James leapt into the air, the stiletto dropped to the ground as he grabbed at his lower leg with both hands. He fell into the grass by the sidewalk and wailed.The kid had taken the .380 hollow-point round through the top of his foot.Marvin knew he had fucked up, but he still had the gun in his hand, and for some inexplicable reason, his intended victim released his hold of the weapon. The man turned away from Marvin now, his attention on Darius and his blade, leaving his back exposed, just a couple of feet from Marvins gun.Marvin couldnt believe this fool could be so stupid as to let go of a loaded gun and then turn his back on it. Marvin raised the weapon and pointed it at the back of the fools head, ready to kill the man before he did anything to Darius. He pulled the trigger.Click.Court ignored the asshole with the gun behind him because he knew the man was out of the fight for the next few seconds. By grabbing the slide of the weapon, Court had kept it from cycling after it fired. Now there was a spent shell inside the chamber of the Lorcin, and the dude behind him could pull that trigger all damn day and it wouldnt go bang, not until he racked the slide to eject the spent casing and load a fresh round from the magazine.And Court didnt think for an instant he would figure this out for at least a couple of seconds. The attacker was in a fight for his life; his adrenaline would make him spastic and unable to process the flood of information coming his way.Court had learned long ago that in any gunfight, one does not rise to the occasion. Instead, one defaults to the level of ability he has mastered.And the asshole with the shitty pistol couldnt have mastered much of anything involving firearms, otherwise he wouldnt be carrying such a shitty pistol.Now Court had time to deal with the stiletto in front of him. The kid jabbed straight out with it, lunging his body with the strike, and Court raised his right arm. The blade stuck into the plaster cast on his forearm, and Court used his left hand to catch the boys knife hand in a wristlock, twisting until the knife dropped away. Court continued the backwards twist of the hand, then pushed against the sinews connecting the boys upper arm and lower arm together. He wrenched it back at a forty-five-degree angle, cranking the arm awkwardly away from the bend of the elbow joint, spraining the tendons before the boy figured out his only defense to the move was to fall back onto the pavement on his back. He did this, then he rolled around on the cold concrete clutching an elbow that jolted with pain.Court figured the man behind him would be in the middle of troubleshooting his situation, so he turned back to him. The thin man had his hand on the top of the pistol, and he had just begun racking the slide. The spent casing ejected into the air, but before the slide sprang forward, Courts left hand shot out again and wrapped around the exposed barrel and the frame, restricting the slides progress forward. Courts thumb pressed on the mag release button now, dropping the magazine full of bullets to the sidewalk. Court let go of the gun.Marvin retained his grip on the weapon, with his finger on the trigger. Before he understood what was happening he squeezed the trigger, and the striker fired on the empty chamber.The gun went click again.Marvin looked up at the white man, his own eyes as wide as saucers now. His victim looked back at him, still calm. Almost bored.Marvin gaped at his empty pistol, and at the magazine on the ground. He did not understand what had just happened, but he was pretty sure his weapon was useless. He had a folding knife in his back pocket, but he wasnt thinking about it now. In fact, he wouldnt remember it until much later. For now his mind panicked. He turned and ranMarvin had been running for his whole life, after alland he left his teenaged crew behind.Court watched the thin man race off into the mist, then he knelt down over the two injured boys. The teen holding his battered arm was sitting up on the sidewalk, but the kid with the hole in his foot still writhed in pain on the grass.Their weapons were somewhere in the dark, out of reach.Court scanned the buildings in all directions, the windows and doorways and driveways he could see through the mist, and while he did so he spoke softly. Hell of a guy, your fearless leader.Neither boy replied; they just both stared in horror at the calm man kneeling over them.Court waited for some response, but when nothing came, he shrugged. How much cash you carrying?They looked to each other briefly, then back up.Court sniffed. How bout that? Im mugging you. The irony, right?Court reached out, felt through the clothing worn by the kid with the hole in his foot, and pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his front pocket. The boy with the wounded arm extended a shaking hand holding a wad of crumpled one-dollar bills, and Court stuffed them into the pocket of his jeans.He then grabbed the first boys injured foot and looked at the bloody hole in the top of his white tennis shoe. In a soft voice he said, That looks worse than it is, so maybe you shouldnt look at it. He turned to the kid with the twisted arm and helped him back up to his feet. Youre okay. That will hurt a few days, tops. Less if you ice it. Its your job to help him. Take him to a hospital. When you get there tell the cops some dickhead was playing with his gun and it went off. Theyll hassle you, but if you stick with your story, eventually theyll buy it and move on.Both boys nodded slowly.Then both Courts face and his voice darkened. But if you tell them about me, give them a description, any information at all... Ill come back here, Ill find out whatever it is in this world that you love ... and I will kill it. Are we clear?The boys nodded again, much faster this time.Good night.The standing boy hefted the wounded boy, and together they hobbled off into the evening. Gentry noticed they went in a different direction from their boss, and he took that as a positive sign.But he also noted no one had come out of any of the homes nearby to investigate the gunshot, and this depressed him a little.Court had been away from the United States for five years. It occurred to him now that this America didnt feel much different than some of the more dangerous third-world countries hed operated in. Hed always thought of the U.S. as home, as a sanctuary, as his safe place.But that was fantasy. He knew the truth was just the opposite. This was Indian country. He was a wanted man here. There existed danger and menace at every turn.After a moment, Court Gentry walked on, bundling his jacket around him to ward off the cold fog how many books are published every day Back Blast (Gray Man)
6 of 6 people found the following review helpful. Rolicking good read!By spud256I just loved this book. Could not put it down. Got absolutely no exercise this weekend because I was stuck to the couch with this book. Grabbed me by the nose from the first page. I know, I know, that the escapes are a little more than miraculous, but I love this character, and to be fair, he is rarely unscathed as he out thinks his pursuers. ( It almost reminds me of the Robin Hood series by AngusDonald.). Fun and fast paced and a great story twist at the end. I thought I had it all figured out..(.SURPRISE!!) I think it is my favorite one in the series so far. If you have been following the Gray Man, this is a must read. I know one other reviewer who thought it was too long and could have been written 100 pages shorter, but I say, thank you to the editor for all that you allowed. I couldn't get enough of it! Go Gray Man...you poor, troubled, lonely (but dedicated) soul.2 of 2 people found the following review helpful. Best Book Series Out ThereBy Joann CarpitcherWow! I'm new to the Gray Man series and just finished reading all 5 books back to back. I am an avid reader of Thor, Flynn(Mills), Ben Coes, Marc Cameron and many many others in this genre. This author and series is by far the BEST. The action is non-stop at a break neck pace. The Gray Man, Court Gentry, is a "good guy" in a world where he is constantly up against nothing but bad. He's has been on the run from the CIA for 5 years, due to the "shoot on site" order the Director of NCS gets signed by the President. The thing is, he really DOES NOT know what he did to get into this situation. He followed orders, did his job well, actually was the best employee anyone could ask for. His reward? To have his own team at the CIA sent to terminate him. So, he runs for his life, and in the process becomes the "Gray Man". Court's skills make him the best, highly paid assassin in the business. He works all over the world, and along the way, he makes enemies, like the CIA, who want to kill him.Now, he has enemies everywhere and he is constantly hiding, watching over his shoulder and can never rest.What makes him so special? He not only is the best assassin in the world, he also only takes on jobs where he knows he is ridding the world of truly awful people. He does the right thing. Even through 5 years of hell, hiding out in 3rd world countries from everyone who's after him, he remains fiercely loyal to the United States. He is a patriot and really wants nothing more than to go "home" to the US AND to get answers as to why the CIA wants him dead. In this, the 5th book in the Gray Man series, he finally gets those answers.These books are so well written, the ideas that Mark Greaney come up, both that get Gentry into trouble, and the way he gets himself out, with are beyond heat pounding. Waiting for the next phase of what Court Gentry's life becomes is going to be like torture to this fan. Although, there is one thing that will make waiting for the next book bearable, the new book will be released on Feb. 21, 2017, my next birthday.1 of 1 people found the following review helpful. The Gray Man Finally Gets His AnswersBy TMStylesLoyal fans of Mark Greaney's "Gray Man" (Court Gentry) series know that for the past five years he has been a deadly assassin throughout the world while being hunted by his previous handler's, the CIA and Clandestine Services. What readers never knew was what precipitated Gentry's fall from America's deadliest special ops agent to a man on the run while being hunted by kill teams from his own country."Back Blast", the fifth in The Gray Man series, finally answers this question as Gentry covertly returns to the US to find out once and for all why the head our government clandestine services (Denny Carmichael) put a termination order on his head. The Gray Man is back home with plans to stop at nothing, including the loss of his own life, to find the truth and to exact revenge for what he has been through. But how can one man take on America's most powerful Black Ops decision maker who has the full force of assault teams, weapons, intelligence gatherers , etc. to hide behind?Gentry must employ every deception, every trick of his trade, and utilize his remarkable skills and instincts to get close enough to the powerful decision makers to execute his plan while being chased by local police, special ops teams, and even a Saudi hit force. But as "Back Blast" unfolds, Gentry discovers he has "friends" he didn't know about who reluctantly are drawn into the battle on his side."Back Blast" is a fun but convoluted read filled with character studies, plot twists, red herrings, and almost constant action. There are several high suspense chase scenes that will have the reader in "white knuckle" mode for chapters at a time. "Back Blast" is a suspense thriller of over 500 pages that will keep readers captivated for days. Even as Gentry discovers the truth and revenge is exacted, his worldwide roaming status may not change--you'll just have to read to find out why. A high energy novel and series that should not be missed.