The People's Republic of America Read online

  The People’s Republic of America

  A SLEEPING DOGS THRILLER

  by

  John Wayne Falbey

  The opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself. Sun Tzu

  DIGITAL EDITION

  * * *

  The Peoples Republic of America is a work of fiction. Any references to names, characters, brands, media, incidents, historical events, real people, or real places are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publication or use of trademarked products referenced in this work of fiction is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Copyright © 2022 John Wayne Falbey.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher.

  Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book. You are supporting writers by complying with international copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission.

  ISBN: 979-8-9862580-1-0

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2022938435

  * * *

  Published by the Falbey Group, LLC

  Cover Design: Tatiana Villa at Villa Design

  Created with Vellum

  Dedication

  This is my ninth book in ten years. Sales have been steady, but I haven’t hit the best seller lists—yet. Because of the steady encouragement and unwavering support of friends, fans, and family, I continue to be inspired and the creative juices flow. This ninth book is dedicated to all those who have encouraged me to stick with it. I appreciate and am grateful to each one of you. Especially “Annie.”

  Contents

  Cast of Characters

  1. Chapter 1—Dingle Peninsula, Ireland

  2. Chapter 2—Moscow, Russia

  3. Chapter 3—Ireland

  4. Chapter 4—Langley

  5. Chapter 5—Naples, Florida

  6. Chapter 6—Washington, D.C.

  7. Chapter 7—Dingle, Ireland

  8. Chapter 8—Beijing, China

  9. Chapter 9—The White House-Situation Room B

  10. Chapter 10—Dingle, Ireland

  11. Chapter 11—Aboard the Liberty Belle, Naples, Florida

  12. Chapter 12—Brighton Beach

  13. Chapter 13—Hainan Island, China

  14. Chapter 14—Naples, Florida

  15. Chapter 15—The Camp

  16. Chapter 16—Dingle, Ireland

  17. Chapter 17—Washington, D.C.

  18. Chapter 18—Dingle, Ireland

  19. Chapter 19—Aboard the China Star

  20. Chapter 20—Porto, Portugal

  21. Chapter 21—Porto, Portugal: Day 2

  22. Chapter 22—Off the Coast of Portugal

  23. Chapter 23—Porto, Portugal: Day 3

  24. Chapter 24—Port of Doraleh, Djibouti

  25. Chapter 25—Over the Mediterranean Sea

  26. Chapter 26—Eilat, Israel

  27. Chapter 27—Dire Dawa, Ethiopia

  28. Chapter 28—Maqbarat Al-Shaytan, Djiboutian Desert

  29. Chapter 29—Horbah’ Ayin, Ethiopia

  30. Chapter 30—The Danakil Desert

  31. Chapter 31—The Devil’s Furnace, Djibouti

  32. Chapter 32—Lab Work

  33. Chapter 33—Fire in the Devil’s Furnace

  34. Chapter 34—Flight from Hell

  35. Chapter 35—The Wages of War

  36. Chapter 36—Déjà Vu All Over Again

  Other Books by John Wayne Falbey

  A Note from the Author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Cast of Characters

  Including characters who appeared in earlier books in the Sleeping Dogs series and are mentioned or referred to in this book.

  * * *

  Brendan Whelan – an innkeeper in Dingle, Ireland, and leader of the deadly hunter-killer black ops unit known as the Sleeping Dogs

  The Sleeping Dogs – together with Brendan Whelan, the deadliest hunter-killer black ops unit in history; genetically evolved—Mother Nature’s beta models for humans in future generations:

  Sven Larsen—the most physically powerful of the Dogs and closest to Whelan; he does sets of bench presses with 1,500 lbs

  Marc Kirkland—the most skillful master of martial arts fighting and weapons techniques of all the Dogs

  Nick Stensen—a loner and certifiably insane; his hobby is hunting down and killing those who have escaped the punishment of the law

  Quentin Thomas—a philosopher king and the only black member of the Dogs; the best pure athlete of the Dogs, his conscience is troubled by the inevitable collateral damage

  Rafe Almeida—genetically gifted like the other Dogs, but an inveterate substance abuser and skirt-chaser; unintentionally provides comic relief for the other Dogs

  Liam Stone—a former member of the Australian Defense Force’s TAG West, Australia’s version of the U.S. Navy SEALs. He has the same rare genetic construct as Whelan and the other members of the Sleeping Dogs.

  Caitlin Whelan – Brendan’s wife and partner in the B&B.

  Tom Murphy – Caitlin Whelan’s father and a former member of the UK’s Special Boat Service; currently An Garda Síochána (the Irish National Police force) District Superintendent for County Kerry, Ireland

  Cliff Levell – former Marine and CIA operative, now leader of the Society of Adam Smith (SAS), a shadow government attempting to counter the elected government’s destruction of American values and freedoms. He’s confined to a wheelchair because of injuries incurred in an automobile accident

  Maureen Delaney - chief executive of one of the largest and most successful technology companies on the planet, and Levell’s love interest

  Andrei Ulyanin – former Spetsnaz operative, now working as a mercenary

  Mitch Christie – an agent of the FBI who pursued Whelan and the other Dogs in earlier books in the series; now working with Levell and SAS

  Camila Ramirez — Mitch Christie’s wife; formerly a sheriff’s deputy in Albuquerque, New Mexico and now a member of the U.S. Capitol Police

  Luiz Fernando (Nando) Correia – Levell’s personal assistant, driver, and bodyguard; a master, or specialist, in Capoeira Regional and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu

  The Mueller Brothers (Alfred, Hermann, and Tomas) – billionaire industrialists and patriots who are major funders of SAS operations and provide leading-edge technological support

  “Mean” Max Urbach — a Paramilitary Operations Officer (PMOO). He was recruited by the CIA’s Special Operations Group (SOG) from the ranks of the 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment—Delta;

  Horace Dinwiddie — a professional assassin hired by the CIA to kill Brendan Whelan

  Lucien Magaud — a former DGSE operative and Dinwiddie’s handler and lover

  Huang Li Feng — a lieutenant colonel in the PLA and the personal aide-de-camp to the Strategic Support Force commander. Huang is the leader of the Chinese group assigned to assassinate Brendan Whelan

  Lu Chu Hua, Qián Mei Xing, and Zhèng Wang Wei — the other Chinese agents assigned to Huang’s team of assassins

  — Deceased characters f
rom earlier books who are mentioned in this book: —

  Padraig (Paddy) Murphy – Caitlin’s brother, Tom’s son, and the Sergeant in Charge of the Garda station in Dingle, Ireland

  Maksym Kozak – a ruthless killer and genetic freak who worked for the highest bidder; he also was Whelan’s brother

  Kirill Federov – a former colonel in Spetsnaz (Russian special ops) and SVR (Russia’s external intelligence agency); Andrei Ulyanin’s comrade-in-arms who was killed by Maksym

  1

  Chapter 1—Dingle Peninsula, Ireland

  Hamish Dinwiddie was a professional assassin. Experience taught him that most humans were easy to kill. It also taught him there was a much smaller number of humans who could be more challenging. Some had special training, others had stronger survival instincts. But they, too, were easy prey for a professional killer. Dinwiddie’s experience hadn’t taught him there was a handful of men far more dangerous than he could imagine. His next target was one of these men.

  Dinwiddie earned his reputation as a hitman as a teenage gangbanger in Glasgow, Scotland. Through the years, he kept count of his victims—thirty-eight. At first, they were members of rival gangs, but as he graduated higher in the ranks of organized crime, the targets increasingly were people of substance and position. His fees reflected that progression.

  Over the past several years, most of his hits had been in large metropolitan areas where his comings and goings easily mixed with the dense population and the twenty-four-seven traffic. He simply arrived, mingled anonymously with the local populace, located the target, eliminated him or her, and slipped away.

  This time it was different. Everything was wrong with the isolated village of Dingle, Ireland, his target’s home. It was on a narrow peninsula, and small, with a population of barely two thousand souls. Hell, Dinwiddie thought, the whole damn peninsula had maybe ten thousand people living on it. Hard to lose yourself in such a tight, cloistered environment. The roads were narrow, winding, and two-lane at best. There was no rail transportation on the peninsula. The nearest airport, such as it was, was more than an hour’s drive away in Farranfore on those same narrow, twisting roads. Dingle was a historically insulated environment where everyone knew everyone, and a means of rapid escape didn’t exist.

  Because of these conditions, Dinwiddie initially had serious reservations about this job and almost turned it down. What ultimately changed his mind was the size of the fee his handler had negotiated—£100,000, almost $140,000 in American dollars. It was more than double his previously highest fee. At this point in his life, in his early forties, Hamish Dinwiddie was close to his carefully planned retirement. The fee for this job would push him over the top of his financial goals. He could live full time in the restored petit château he and his lover, Lucien Magaud, purchased on a winding cul-de-sac in the wooded hills above Le Rayol, France. Their home dated from the 1840s in the Maison Forte style. The area offered fine dining and splendid beaches, but it was far less popular than nearby Saint-Tropez. Just what he wanted. He and Lucien had named it Villa le Crime Paie, Villa Crime Pays.

  Still, this was going to be the most challenging job he’d ever undertaken. Forget about staying anonymous and under the radar. That would be impossible in the tiny port town of Dingle. Under the circumstances, his best entrance would be to act like a tourist and book a room at the B&B owned by his target. Trying to skulk around and stay out of sight would only draw unwanted attention. Besides, staying at the inn could eliminate potential logistical issues.

  Dinwiddie’s handler always gathered information and provided a profile of his next hit. This time, his target was a man named Brendan Whelan. The target and his wife owned and ran Fianna House, a B&B on the outskirts of the quaint harbor town of Dingle, Ireland. Outsiders might assume Fianna was the name of a female relative or ancestor of the owners. But Dinwiddie recognized it as the name of an apocryphal third-century band of Celtic fighters led by the legendary warrior, Fionn mac Cumhaill, also known as Finn McCool. The same legend was a part of Celtic mythology rampant in the Scottish Highlands. Glasgow, Dinwiddie’s hometown, was on the southern fringe of the Highlands, and Celtic mythology was part of its history and culture.

  The Dingle area was a place, Dinwiddie assumed, whose inhabitants would be prone to Irish mythology and folklore, and likely to accept the prophesied second coming of Fionn mac Cumhaill and the Fianna. After all, according to legend, they didn’t die, but were sleeping in an Irish cave and would awake one day to defend Ireland in her hour of greatest need. That and three quid will get you a small coffee, if you’re lucky, he thought.

  The profile also identified the target, Whelan, as something of a local legend. The residents of the area claimed he was far stronger, faster, and mentally quicker than anyone they had ever known. According to local rumor, he had been a part of a small, mysterious commando unit whose other members shared his unique abilities.

  Regardless of the mythological codswallop, his handler had urged Dinwiddie to exercise extreme caution with Whelan’s assassination. The plan was simple: check into the Fianna House, where a reservation awaited him under an alias, and stay to himself, avoiding involvement with other guests, but monitoring Whelan’s activity. Ninety minutes after the innkeeper had gone to bed, Dinwiddie would slip into his bedroom. Locked doors were no problem for someone who had the skills to pick them. Dinwiddie would shoot his victim in the head at point-blank range using his favorite weapon, a suppressed Ruger SR22. It had a ten-round magazine and one more in the chamber. The CCI Quiet-22 LR ammo was subsonic and hollow-point. It would bounce around inside the skull, chewing up the victim’s brain and bringing certain death. Fionn mac Cumhaill? Let’s see him survive that!

  * * *

  The train ride from Dublin’s Heuston Station to Tralee took almost four hours. Dinwiddie passed the time drinking tea and reading day-old copies of the Daily Mail and Financial Times. On arrival in Tralee, he took a cab from the small queue at the station and rode to Dingle. The driver took the longer but more scenic route over Conor Pass, regaling Dinwiddie with a pitch that would have pleased the Dingle Business Chamber. Dinwiddie wanted very much to tell the driver to shut up, but didn’t out of fear the driver might remember his discourtesy. He endured the forty-five-minute trip, mostly in silence. The shimmering blue loughs and the lush green fields accented by the lemon-colored rays of sunlight were alluring. But Dinwiddie declined an offer to stop at the top of the pass for a photo op.

  When they pulled into the motor court at the Fianna House, Dinwiddie thanked the driver and tipped him. He was used to operating in metropolitan areas and hoped the tip was an appropriate amount for Dingle—not too little, not too much. Again, he didn’t want to be remembered.

  The bed-and-breakfast was a two-story structure painted a light shade of gray. It had a dark slate-shingled pitched roof and large mullioned windows. Dinwiddie carried his small suitcase to the double-leaf door set within a small, enclosed portico and rang the buzzer.

  Moments later, a man opened the door. He was as tall as Dinwiddie, but much more physically imposing. His body was broad at the shoulders, tapering to a trim waist. His arms and neck bulged with muscles cabled with sinew and thick veins. He appeared to have little body fat, if any. The man smiled with his mouth, but his eyes showed no emotion. He said, “You must be Mr. Dalrymple.”

  The innkeeper’s appearance took Dinwiddie aback. There was something unsettling about him, almost sinister. If this was Whelan, he thought, I should have planned on taking him out with a high-powered rifle from a hillock half-kilometer away. After a moment, he said, “Yes. Yes, I’m Harvey Dalrymple.” He spoke with a distinct Scottish burr.

  “Brendan Whelan,” the man said and extended his hand.

  Dinwiddie took the hand hesitantly, wondering if his bones were about to be crushed into powder. He was relieved when the grip was firm, but not painful.

  Whelan appeared to glance at the gang tattoos on Dinwiddie’s wrist and hand, then he stepped b
ack and motioned Dinwiddie inside. “Come in, please. Let’s get you registered.” He led the way across the hardwood floor of a large living area. The walls were a warm shade of yellow. On the opposite side of the room was a floor-to-ceiling stacked rock fireplace with a thick rustic wood mantel.

  Dinwiddie noticed a large, heavy wood bookcase against one wall. Framed photos occupied the spaces between rows of books. Besides Whelan, the photos included a beautiful dark-haired woman and two boys in their early teens. The missus and their lads? He looked around. Are they nearby? A potential complication, but he was being amply paid to deal with complications.

  There was a narrow table near the wall to the left with a chair behind it and two more that matched it in front. Whelan motioned at one of the two chairs in front and went around to the other side of the table. A few minutes later, Whelan had registered Dinwiddie, as Dalrymple, and made a copy of his authentic looking, but fake, identification papers.