Carmichael snapped back, “But you didn’t put him down, did you?”

“He managed to escape in a hijacked vehicle. Understand, Denny, this operation my men conducted was completely in extremis. If we’d known something about the person the Gray Man was targeting, this Leland Babbitt, we could have been in a much better tactical position.”

Carmichael growled now. “We didn’t know Gentry was after Lee Babbitt, either.”

Kaz clearly did not believe this. “You contacted me within moments of the first shots being fired in Chevy Chase. The only way you could be so on top of the situation like this is if you had some sort of advance warning.”

Carmichael could not tell Kaz the truth: that they had no advance warning, but had instead been targeting the same man and just stumbled onto Gentry in the commission of their assassination. Instead he changed the subject. “How badly was he injured?”

“My assets had to leave the scene before the police arrived. All I know is Violator has been shot.”

“Very well. I’ll try to do better next time with the quality of the intelligence. It would be helpful if your men do better next time with the quality of their marksmanship.”

Kaz took his time before replying. “We remain at the ready.”

Carmichael said, “Don’t remain anywhere. Keep shaking the trees. He’s out there, and he’s hurt. He’ll be easier to hunt.”

—

Court lay in a shallow ditch on his left side, his ears tuned to the sounds around him so he could make sure there was no traffic on the residential road above. After a full minute like this he felt secure enough to proceed.

He used a small penlight to illuminate the right side of his rib cage. Slowly and gingerly he pushed his torn gray parka out of the way, pulled up his blood-soaked gray thermal shirt, and held the light a little closer.

He lifted his head to get a better look, then he dropped it again.

Court closed his eyes for a moment, willing away the sight.

He knew he’d taken a bullet, but he was hoping it was nothing more than a slight graze. He’d seen enough gunshot wounds in his life to know sometimes rounds could just barely break the skin if they traveled along at the right angle, and these types of superficial wounds could nevertheless be incredibly painful.

But now that he’d seen the result of his latest near-death experience Court realized that even though he would not die from this wound, it was no mere superficial scrape. The bullet had failed to penetrate his rib cage, but it had definitely ripped skin, muscle, and other tissue away, all the way to the bone.

It burned and throbbed and stung and ached all at once, and now that he knew what it looked like, it hurt even more.