Previews

In appreciation of my readers’ continuing interest in my novels, from time to time, I’m going to post snippets from the novel I’m currently writing. Fans of Whelan and the Dogs will be able to enjoy their adventures while waiting for the next book to be published. It’s kind of like being a beta reader, so if you want to comment on these postings, please do.


FOLLOWING ARE: 

THE DESCRIPTION OF THE BOOK;

THE FIRST TWO CHAPTERS FROM MY CURRENT SLEEPING DOGS THRILLER: IN THE BEGINNING…A PREQUEL; AND

THE TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

DESCRIPTION: America’s top-secret military and intelligence sections discovered a small group of uniquely skilled individuals. They molded them into the deadliest, most formidable black ops unit in history. Nicknamed the Sleeping Dogs, the unit’s objective was to hunt and kill America’s most dangerous enemies. Their training was so challenging they barely survived it. Imagine their reaction when the government that created them betrays them.

A quantum leap in human evolution is a good thing. Or is it?

PART 1

EVOLUTION

 “Crises are harbingers of evolution.”—Bruce Lipton

Chapter 1—CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

Clifford Levell found himself at a major crossroads in life at age fifty-five. He wasn’t tired or worn-out. Far from it. He was bored. Among his accomplishments, he’d graduated from the United States Naval Academy and served twenty years as an officer in the Marine Corps, retiring as a Lieutenant Colonel. The subsequent step had been easy. The Central Intelligence Agency had had its institutional eye on him for a long time. His duties in the Corps’ Force Reconnaissance, or FORECON, had included frequent involvement with the Agency’s covert paramilitary operations. He mustered out of the Corps and into a position at the Agency’s headquarters, the George Bush Center for Intelligence, located in the unincorporated community of Langley, Virginia.

The one thing he failed at was marriage. Wife number two had moved out a few weeks earlier. In that short period of time, she’d already filed for divorce. Levell was resigned to the termination of the marriage. He understood what living with him was like. This wife, like the previous one, deserved a better quality of relationship, one he wasn’t capable of providing. The job came first, it always would. He feared that if he didn’t do it there might not be anyone who would. America’s enemies weren’t going to go away.

Levell still maintained the ramrod straight posture and no-bullshit persona of a combat-decorated career Marine officer. He also was highly decorated as a CIA operative. He had the steely-eyed, taciturn temperament of a person who has dedicated his life to trying to prevent and disrupt terrorist threats to his country’s safety. 

He sat with his feet propped on the credenza beneath the window in his sixth-floor office in the Old Headquarters Building (OHB) at Langley. The seventh floor housed the Operations Center where the top Agency officials were officed. The building was one of two massive and architecturally mismatched structures. Combined, they provided two and a half million square feet of space. 

Levell was not only bored, he was discouraged. He needed something new, something challenging. It wasn’t marriage. He’d been burned twice and knew he would have to exchange the CIA for a mind-numbing eight-to-five, five-days-a-week job, if he wanted a marriage to work. Alternatively, he needed to find something new and stimulating to do at the Agency.

His ruminations were abruptly interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He slowly spun his chair around and picked up the receiver. “Levell.”

“Hi, Cliff, it’s Melodie in the Director’s office. She’d like to speak with you. Can you come up?”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, I’m on my way.” He hung up and headed for the stairwell. Elevators were for sissies and fat people.

May Ling, the Director of Central Intelligence, met him at the door to her office. She was a beautiful woman of a certain age whose parents had immigrated from Taiwan before she was born. She had finished at the top of her classes at Stanford and the Harvard Kennedy School. Ling had been recruited by the Agency when she’d graduated from the PhD program in Political Economy and Government. In her thirty-year career, she’d risen steadily through the ranks and been appointed to the position of DCI less than a year ago.

Ling said, “Thank you for being available so quickly, Cliff.” She closed the door behind them and led him to a small table in a corner of her large office. As they sat, she gently placed her hand on his arm and said, “I heard about Vanessa. I’m sorry.” Her leadership approach was diametrically opposite that of the legion of hard-core spies and tough-ass military men who’d run the Agency in the past. She appeared to be refreshingly nonpolitical, an almost nonexistent trait in any bureaucracy.

Levell said nothing, indicating his unwillingness to discuss his failed marriage.

Ling seemed to understand. She dispensed with the polite casual conversation she usually preferred for openers and proceeded directly to the topic she wanted to discuss.

“I want to commend you, Cliff, for how well you handle the tasks assigned to you in CTC’s Special Ops. If only everyone was as dedicated.” She was referring to the Agency’s Counterterrorism Center.

He gave her a curt smile of appreciation but said nothing.

“How familiar are you with the DST’s operations?”

“Directorate of Science and Technology?”

Ling was sitting on the edge of her seat and leaning toward Levell. It was her way of creating an atmosphere of informality and confidentiality. She nodded.

Levell shrugged. “Not much, really. I gather their role mostly is to develop and apply technology to advance the Agency’s intelligence gathering.”

“Yes, and as a part of that mission, the directorate has an Office for Advanced Projects. One of their people recently came upon something they think could have significant application in our operations. Particularly concerning CTC/SO’s efforts to prevent and disrupt terrorist threats.”

“How? Severing their financial ties, hacking their communications?”

“No, more along the lines of paramilitary operations.”

“More technological advances? Hell, it’s almost impossible to keep up with that binary voodoo as it is.”

“Not technological, genetic.”

Level sat back in his seat, a puzzled expression on his face. “Is this life imitating art, all those low-budget sci-fi movies about zombie soldiers?”

“No, if our information is correct, these people are very human. I really don’t have very much information at this point. That’s why I asked you here. I want you to look into this, meet with the people at DST, bring me back a detailed report.”

“Is there a specific contact I should liaise with?”

“Actually, there are two. Dr. Rosenstine, who heads the Office for Advanced Projects, and a Marine colonel named Roscoe McCoy.”

“Buster McCoy?” a big grin spread across Levell’s craggy face.

“Yes, I understand you know the colonel.”

“Know him? Hell, we roomed together at the Naval Academy, went through Basic together. He’s one of my closest friends.”

Ling smiled. There was a playful twinkle in her eye. “See how accommodating the Agency can be? We even arrange homecomings to coincide with field operations.”

“If I can indulge in fantasy for a moment,” Levell said, “if it turns out there’s any substance to this…theory, what are you authorizing me to do?”

“Find the people who discovered this potential anomaly, place them and their information under the highest level of security, engage them as full-time employees of the Agency, relocate them to facilities at Camp Peary, and provide them with everything they need in order to identify these genetically-enhanced beings.”

Levell’s characteristically stern expression cracked just a bit as a smile played briefly across his lips. Goodbye boredom.


Chapter 2—Camp Peary, Virginia

The DST’s Office for Advanced Projects was housed in two undistinguished buildings of obvious military origin on the thickly forested, nine-thousand-acre military reservation known as Camp Peary. Among other things, it was the site of the infamous “Farm,” the Agency’s facility for training its clandestine officers. Levell had gone through the program when he joined the CIA.

Even with his CIA credentials and a call-ahead from the DCI’s office, Levell’s clearance process for access to the facility was lengthy and time consuming. It irritated him, but he also was glad that security at the facility was so strictly controlled. Eventually, he was passed through and parked in the lot in front of the OAP buildings. A clean-cut young man met Levell in the parking lot and escorted him to a cramped, well-worn conference room. There were three people waiting for him at a small table. One of them was Marine Corps Colonel Roscoe “Buster” McCoy.

As Levell entered the room, McCoy snapped to his feet and grasped his hand in a vise-like grip. “What’s it been Cliff? A year? Two?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s too damn long for real friends. What is it, Vanessa won’t let you out of the house?”

Levell winced. “That’s not a problem anymore.”

McCoy connected the dots instantly. “We obviously have a lot of catching up to do over drinks, but first I’d like you to meet Hal Rosenstine.” He indicated a slender man wearing a gray suit and horn-rimmed glasses. His reddish-brown hair was strategically combed in an effort to disguise a receding hairline.

“Hal’s the DST,” McCoy said. 

Rosenstine and Levell nodded at each other. 

“I’m afraid my schedule won’t permit me to stay. I just wanted to welcome you to the Directorate of Science and Technology.” Rosenstine said. He pointed to the third man at the table. “You’ll be in good hands with Wisniewski here.” He rose to his feet and left the room.

Wisniewski was a tall, thin man with wispy, prematurely gray hair. He wore round wire-rimmed glasses and a white lab coat with his surname embroidered on the left breast pocket. He extended his hand across the table toward Levell. “Henry Wisniewski. I’m the Assistant Deputy Director for Advanced Projects.”

Levell shook Wisniewski’s hand and sat down. In a raspy voice well suited for a former Marine, he said, “People tell me I tend to be blunt, so let’s get right to the point of this meeting. Why are we here?”

Wisniewski shifted in his seat, apparently uncomfortable with Levell’s brusqueness. “I guess that’s my cue.” He opened a thick folder on the table in front of him and handed a file to Levell and one to McCoy.

“What are we looking at here?” Levell said, thumbing through charts and pages of scientific jargon. “Explain it for those of us who struggled with ninth grade biology.”

McCoy slapped the file down on the table and nodded at Levell. “Ditto.”

Looking down at the documents in his folder rather than Levell or McCoy, Wisniewski said, “I don’t know how much either of you knows about the work we do here.”

“Don’t know a damn thing about it, and frankly don’t care,” Levell said. “The DCI sent me out here for a specific purpose. Just get to whatever it is that led to this meeting.”

Wisniewski shuffled his papers nervously and cleared his throat. “One of the things we do here is monitor scientific journals.” He paused for a moment as if trying to find the words that laymen might understand without mischaracterizing the information.

The two other men exchanged glances and McCoy rolled his eyes, signaling his fear that they had been sent on a wild goose chase.

Wisniewski looked up. “Simply put, gentlemen, we became aware of certain research being conducted by two geneticists at the University of California, Davis. It’s in the preliminary stages, but if it proves to have substance to it, I think we’d certainly want to explore possibilities for its use in Agency special operations.”

“That ain’t a hell of a lot to go on,” McCoy growled.

“What’s this research about?” Levell said.

Wisniewski quickly looked down at this folder again. “Again, simply put, it’s about genetics.”

“Genetics? Isn’t that what determines hair color, eye color, gender, stuff like that?” McCoy said.

“Ah…it’s a bit more complicated than that.” Wisniewski said.

“Get to it, man. What did these guys in California do, discover the ‘missing link?’”

Wisniewski looked directly into Levell’s eyes. “No, possibly the next step in human evolution.”

Except for the struggling air condition unit, a window shaker, the room was quiet for several moments.

Finally, McCoy said, “What are we talking about, supermen?”

Wisniewski shrugged. “Maybe, compared to the rest of us. It’s a bit premature to know for sure.”

Levell leaned forward in his uncomfortable folding chair. “Alright, give us the details. What exactly have these geneticists discovered?”

“They’re professors, PhDs. Jacob Horowitz and William Nishioki. At the risk of oversimplifying things, it appears their research led them to theorize that it’s possible there may be individuals with traces of genetic code that could lead to the development of physically and intellectually superior beings.”

“Where are these ‘beings,’ and how would we find them?” Levell said.

“Please remember this is only a theory.”

“Theories are a waste of time and taxpayers’ dollars,” McCoy said. “How do we find out if there’s any substance to it?”

“I’d suggest having that discussion with Drs. Horowitz and Nishioki,” Wisniewski said.

Sacramento International Airport was about ten miles northwest of the city center. Because the city of Davis, California was twenty-five miles west of Sacramento, it made for an easier drive for McCoy and Levell. Their American flight left Reagan national at 7:01 AM and landed in Sacramento almost eight hours later, including a layover in Phoenix. Because of the effect of time zones, it was not quite noon when they arrived. They stowed their carryon luggage in the trunk of their rented Hyundai Sonata. An hour later, they parked in front of the university’s Genome and Biomedical Sciences Facility, just in time for their one o’clock meeting with Horowitz and Nishioki.

The facility was housed in a modern, six-story building located between Vic Fazio Highway and the school’s football stadium. Dr. Jacob Horowitz met them at the front entrance and led them to offices on the sixth floor. All four men, including Dr. Nishioki, took seats at a small round table.

“We must be famous,” Horowitz said amiably, “or we’re in a load of shit with the government.” He was of medium build, somewhat slump-shouldered, with a fringe of graying hair and matching Van Dyke beard that mitigated the fullness of his fleshy face. His glasses were perched atop his shining pate.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Levell said.

“At least not yet,” McCoy said, “but you never know.” His smile was empty.

“Before we start,” Levell said, “you need to know that Colonel McCoy and I know as much about genetics as you probably do the tricks of the spy trade. So, try to keep the discussion in layman’s terms.”

Nishioki smiled with genuine warmth. “That should be challenging but we’ll do our best. Where would you like us to start?”

Levell and McCoy glanced at each other. “If we understand your research,” Levell said, “tell us why you think…or theorize that there may be humans who are more …”

“Evolved?” Horowitz said.

“Yes, and if there’s some way to identify them in the general population.”

Now it was Horowitz and Nishioki who looked at each other. Horowitz nodded at his colleague indicating he should respond.

“Genetics is a relatively new science with its roots in the mid-eighteen hundreds with the work of Darwin and Mendel.”

McCoy held his up palm out. “Skip the history lesson, please. Just cut to the chase.”

After a brief pause, Nishioki said, “In its simplest terms, the human genome is the whole of a human being’s hereditary information encoded in its DNA. It’s a repository of all that we’ve been including DNA of other hominin species, notably Neanderthal. So, there’s that vast heritable background. In addition, there’s the process of evolution, which includes several schools of thought from Darwin’s survival of the fittest to various forms of mutation.”

Levell pointedly glanced at his watch. “This isn’t going to lead to a suggestion that the X-Men are real, is it?”

“Okay,” Horowitz said, “we’ll skip any discussion of alleles, protein-coding and non-coding DNA genes, and nucleotides, among other criteria. Here’s what we do know. Approximately five percent of the human genome has been conserved by evolution since the divergence from a common ancestor approximately 200 million years ago. So, if you think about how powerful our nearest relative, the chimpanzee, is compared to a human, and you consider that some trace of that DNA exists in the human genome, you could theorize that it may, on rare occasions, present itself in a human.”

“Are you suggesting the presence of ape-men?” McCoy said.

“Not at all,” Nishioki said. “We don’t fully understand molecular evolution, but we do believe it is possible, under the right conditions, for a superior human to be produced.”

“What do you mean ‘produced?’” Levell said. “Like in a lab?”

“No, like in a womb,” Horowitz said with a humorless grin. “The European Early Modern Humans, or EEMH, interbred with the Neanderthal. These early Homo sapiens ancestors were as large as humans today and were more powerful and physically robust. Intriguingly, their brains were one-eighth larger than modern man’s. 

“Bill and I were researching an anomaly in the DNA of modern descendants of early European hominins…humans. We determined that we still carry elements of a genetic code designed to produce stronger, faster, smarter beings in response to a hostile environment. Thus, if a male carrier mated with a female carrier, there could be a potential for one or more of their children to be more genetically advanced.”

Levell leaned back in his chair. “Theories are nice, Dr. Horowitz, but Buster and I deal entirely in the realm of the here and now. So, unless you can offer us some hard evidence…”

“Consider this, while it is as yet unexplained, it is known that prior to a great holocaust or cataclysmic event, certain individuals are born who remain untouched by that event. For example, the Black Plague devastated humanity on a global scale. But some individuals were untouched by it although they lived with and among those whom the disease destroyed. These are the people who repopulated the planet with our species following the event.” 

“How do you explain that?

“You don’t. Unless you are willing to accept the existence of a higher power. Call it God. Or Mother Nature. Or Intelligent Design. Whatever you wish.”

“Are you suggesting that Nature, or whatever,” McCoy said, “may be responding in advance to some hostile environment or cataclysmic event by producing these…these…”

“More genetically evolved beings?” Nishioki said.

“Yeah, I guess that’s it.”

“Alright,” Levell said, “do you have a way of identifying these ‘evolved beings?’”

The two scientists glanced at each other. “We think we do,” Nishioki said. “We believe we’ve identified a genetic marker that these people would have. It can be tested for in bodily fluids such as sweat or saliva.”

“Can you prequalify the list of prospects down substantially from the population at large?” Levell said.

“Yes, we would look for individuals who are both exceptional athletes as well as outstanding students.”

“In what ways would you expect these individuals to differ from the rest of the population?” McCoy said.

Horowitz responded. “They would have different muscle fiber. It would be denser, giving them much greater strength. Their nervous systems would transmit signals faster in their brains and throughout their bodies. Their hearts and lungs would be larger, giving them the ability to process oxygen faster. Their bones would be thicker, stronger.”

Levell looked at McCoy, who nodded. “How soon can the two of you get the testing program underway?”

“In a matter of weeks, I expect,” Horowitz said.

“Good. Get the Colonel and me a list of what you’ll need. We’ll see that you get it.”

McCoy and Levell stood up. “Oh, and one other thing, gentlemen,” Levell said to the geneticists. “You’ll need to resign your current positions or arrange for a long sabbatical. You’re working for the Central Intelligence Agency now. At a multiple of what you were being paid here.”

“And,” McCoy said, “the Agency will be relocating you and your families to the Washington area.”

“And if we don’t want to uproot our families and leave our current careers?” Horowitz said angrily.

With a snarl, Levell said, “Where’s your sense of patriotism? Your country’s needs for military superiority in a dangerous world are paramount. They trump those of the individual.”

“But what about the necessary facilities, equipment, laboratories, assistants?” Nishioki seemed bewildered.

“Your new employer has set up a special section and budget to provide anything and everything you need,” Levell said. “Now, how soon can you be ready to make the move?”


Table of Contents

INTRODUCTION

PART ONE—Evolution

Chapter 1: CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

Chapter 2: Camp Peary, Virginia

PART TWO—Lethal Litter

Chapter 3: Nick Stensen

Chapter 4: Rafe Almeida

Chapter 5: Marc Kirkland

Chapter 6: Quentin Thomas

Chapter 7: Sven Larsen

Chapter 8: Brendan Whelan

Chapter 9: It’s All About The U

Chapter 10: It’s Not All About The U

Chapter 11: Liam Stone

PART THREE—The Recruiters

Chapter 12: Levell

Chapter 13: The Camp

Chapter 14: Initiation

Chapter 15: Final Exam

PART FOUR—Acid Test

Chapter 16: The Not So Friendly Skies

Chapter 17: Into the Abyss

Chapter 18: The Path to Yaviza

Chapter 19: Into the Jungle

Chapter 20: Death from the Sky

Chapter 21: Survival

Chapter 22: Dragon Fire

Chapter 23: Firefight

Chapter 24: Extraction

Chapter 25: The Long Way Home

Chapter 26: Passengers from Hell

Chapter 27: Florida

Chapter 28: Fort Lauderdale

Chapter 29: Fort Lauderdale

Chapter 30: Fort Lauderdale

Chapter 31: Fort Lauderdale

Chapter 32: Trophy of War

Chapter 33: Homecoming

PART Five—Murphy’s Law

Chapter 34: Georgetown

Chapter 35: The Middle East

Chapter 36: Pillow Talk

Chapter 37: No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

Chapter 37: Puerto Rico

Epilogue

Chapter 38: Dingle, Ireland

© John Wayne Falbey 2018 All Rights Reserved