Ex-CIA master assassin Court Gentry gets hit with a blast from the past in the fourth Gray Man novel from #1 New York Times bestselling author Mark Greaney. 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... Praise for Dead Eye   “The various moves of each of the skilled and ruthless principals play out against a constantly shifting background of changing goals and allegiances. Fans of superhuman antiheroes will hope the Gray Man survives to fight another day.”— Publishers Weekly   More praise for the Gray Man novels   “Hard, fast, and unflinching—exactly what a thriller should be.”—#1 New York Times bestselling author Lee Child   “Bourne for the new millennium.”— New York Times bestselling author James Rollins   “Writing as smooth as stainless steel and a hero as mean as razor wire.”— New York Times bestselling author David Stone   “The story is so propulsive, the murders so explosive, that flipping the pages feels like playing the ultimate video game.”— The New York Times   “A high-octane thriller that doesn’t pause for more than a second for all of its 464 pages.”— Chicago Sun-Times   “Take fictional spy Jason Bourne, pump him up with Red Bull and meth, shake vigorously—and you’ve got the recipe for Court Gentry.”— The Memphis Commercial Appeal Mark Greaney has a degree in international relations and political science. In his research for the   Gray Man novels, including Agent in Place ,  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 . One The Lincoln squealed through a hard left turn, drifting in the slick intersection awash in the glow of headlights from angry oncoming traffic. It raced up Crescent Place and then past a small, unlit sign that read Townsend Government Services. After squeezing through electronically-operated iron gates still in the process of opening, it rolled up a winding driveway lined with bare cherry trees to a huge peach-hued brick mansion bathed in floodlights. Lee Babbitt climbed out of the Lincoln without a word to the driver and ran through the cold rain up the stone steps of the residence, passing through a door held open by a lean man in a sport coat. In the round marble foyer of the building, two more young men with military haircuts and civilian clothing stood with Heckler & Koch automatic weapons hanging from slings over their shoulders. Before anyone spoke, a man in his late thirties, some decade younger than Babbitt, came rushing up a long hallway that led to the rear of the building. He wore a cardigan sweater and corduroy slacks, and an assortment of card keys and laminated badges bounced on his chest from a chain around his neck. Babbitt met the younger man in the middle of the foyer, and his voice echoed off marble. "It's happening?" "It's happening," the man in the cardigan confirmed. "The assault is underway?" "Infiltrating to target as we speak." "One man? One man is going to hit that fucking fortress?" "Yes, sir." "And it's him? It's our boy?" Jeff Parks took his boss by the arm and quickly ushered him back up the hall. "We think so." "You'll have to do better than that," Babbitt said. While he walked, he unfastened his bow tie and opened the top button on his shirt, freeing his thick neck. "There is more than one motherfucker out there who wants to stick a knife into the neck of Gregor Sidorenko." The long hallway was trimmed in stained cherry, and the tastefully lit walls were adorned with fine art of the American West. There were Russell watercolors of cowboys on a cattle drive, regal George Catlin portraits of Native Americans, and a pair of Frederick Remington desertscapes worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, as well as a Remington bronzed buffalo statue on a side table lit by antler lamps. As they rush