Mark Greaney Quotes

The president stopped and turned. "You are a soldier of fortune."
Gentry pushed him forward. "After expenses, I'm really more like a soldier of the middle class.

A man sat alone under the lamplight, hunched over the desk, listening to the rain on the nearby shuttered window while he worked. He looked up from his project when he heard a noise over the water dripping off the roof. It was the sound of footsteps in the private courtyard outside, and then the echo of a door slamming shut.
The man rose silently and moved to the window, opened the shutters a few inches, and looked down, his right hand hovering over the grip of the Glock pistol in his waistband

He was dealing with well-trained individuals. They were still goons, to be sure, but they'd clearly graduated with honors from a top-flight goon school

The only gold stars the CIA gives out are for death in the field, and then only to actual employees, not contracted assets. You get my appreciation." She smiled. "You'll get a gold star in a forgotten file when you die. It will have to wait for now, but I doubt it will wait for too long." "With friends like you." "All your friends fucked you over, Court. Face it, you are better off with a straight shooter like me managing you.

She spoke into his ear. "You just mugged a guy. Stole his motorcycle." "Not how I see it." "How do you see it?" "Colonel Dai just bought a used dirt bike in Vietnam. I was kind of the middleman." "Tell yourself whatever works, Violator.

Zoya pulled the fitted sheet off the bed and began tying it with the others. While she worked, she said, "No offense, Mr. Wonderful, but that's only a problem for you and Fitzroy. I don't even know the guy.

Zack said, "What do you need to do to get out of here?"
"You have any frags?"
"Negative."
"Smoke?"
"Negative."
"Bangers?"
"That's a negative."
"The f_ck kind of rescue is this?

Court played his role to the hilt now, cocking his head as if he were wondering if the person asking the question might possibly be mentally deranged. "The CIA? You think I bought my way free of the Agency? I fucking shot my way out, pal." He rolled his eyes. "Pay off the CIA? They don't need me to pay them off. They are part of the U.S. federal government, the guys that print U.S. dollars, or didn't you know?" Dai asked his next question in a flat, emotionless voice. "Did you arrive in a Dassault Falcon yesterday?

Send it and end it, kid."
Court would fire, sending a boat-tail round across fields and lakes, over cabins and farms, and, more often than not, much more often than not, he'd hit his target, thereby ending the "threat."
He'd send it, and he'd end it.
He thought back to those days, the fundamentals of the craft, and he fought again to remain calm. He forced himself not to feel any emotion at all. Any increase in heart rate, fluctuation in breathing, new sweating on his skin that could cause reflex muscle contractions. Anything different with his body at the moment he fired would affect his shot. It could send the round out of the barrel one hundredth of an inch from where he wanted the muzzle positioned for firing, but translated out across 1.81 miles, the round would end up several feet off target.

Dom appreciated technological advances like this. His uncle had been a spy, sort of, back in the old days - the 1980s. Dom couldn't imagine what that was like, operating against the Soviet Union without a smartphone and worldwide satellite imagery.

I hope you can take some constructive criticism." "Sure." "It sounds like you are trying to make too many people happy." Court looked to the carpet a moment. "Welcome to my world.