Back Blast (A Gray Man Novel Book 5) by Mark Greaney

Author:Mark Greaney [Greaney, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2016-02-16T05:00:00+00:00

42

Even though he’d had less than three hours to prepare, Gentry had planned this operation against Max Ohlhauser well, even to the point of buying two Metro Smart Cards, one for himself and the other for his hostage. He slipped the card into the older man’s hand and together they went through the turnstiles. Feet away a pair of Metro Transit Police stood, the female officer holding the leash of a Belgian Malinois who looked only somewhat less bored than her handler.

The two men waited in silence on the platform, standing shoulder to shoulder, as per Gentry’s instructions. Max’s breathing was labored and sweat drenched his brow, but Court just stood there, his face placid and his eyes scanning the area around him calmly, not flitting back and forth.

They took a Red Line train heading to the northwestern outskirts of the metro area, but that was just because it had been the first train to arrive at the platform. Court wanted to interrogate Max while onboard the Metro, thinking it would make it tougher for the followers to catch up. Of course he knew at each stop he’d have a new crowd to look over, and it was possible the four CIA contractors up at street level had radioed to other units with instructions to be ready at every stop, but by making himself a moving target in a transitional area with spotty comms, Court was reasonably certain he’d bought himself at least ten or fifteen minutes in which he could squeeze Ohlhauser of intel free of danger.

Court led Ohlhauser to the back row of a car that was only about a quarter full and, as the train began to move, Court sat with his back to the wall and pushed Ohlhauser down into a seat where he faced Court and his back was to the car.

Court still carried an air of calm, and Ohlhauser remained petrified.

Court said, “Relax, Max. You and I are going to chat for a few minutes. If you don’t scream like a bitch, and if you don’t try to make a run for it, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Ohlhauser nodded. He didn’t believe. But he nodded.

Court kept looking beyond Ohlhauser’s right shoulder and down the length of the entire car. He’d slipped his knife back in its sheath inside his pants pocket, and formed a grip on the pistol inside the waistband on his right hip, shielded from view of the other passengers by his body. He said, “First things first: I did not kill Leland Babbitt. I was there. I planned on questioning him, but I didn’t shoot him.”

Ohlhauser gave another compliant nod that looked to Court like a man trying desperately to stall for a few moments until he could think of something to say that would get him out of this situation.

Court said, “I can see you don’t believe me. If I let you go today, will that help convince you I didn’t smoke Babbitt?”

Court saw a hint of optimism on his face.

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