Sleeping Dogs: The Awakening - Part 1 Read online

past.” Whelan paused for a moment then said, “It was Case.”

  Levell sat forward suddenly in his wheelchair. “Harold Case?”

  “The same.”

  “Given what I know about his recent activities, he may have been on his way here.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “To try to persuade or bribe me to help him corroborate certain Agency files that were supposed to have been destroyed nearly twenty years ago.” He shook his head in disgust. “Damn bureaucrats. Nothing ever seems to get destroyed, burned, erased, or deleted as it’s supposed to.”

  Leaning back in his wheelchair, Levell said, “Harold Case, was a miserable sonofabitch. Did he recognize you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “Yes, along with some hired muscle.”

  “His departure was long overdue. Wish I had done it myself.” Levell rubbed his hands together in satisfaction.

  “Any witnesses to the scene? Anyone who could identify you?”

  “None living.”

  Levell smiled. “Chaucer was right. Never wake a Sleeping Dog.”

  “What was Case up to?” Whelan said.

  “He was working for someone who wants to expose the old Sleeping Dogs operation.”

  “Why?”

  “To discredit this country, a popular position on the far left.”

  “Who was he working for?”

  “The senior senator from New York, Howard Morris.”

  Whelan nodded in recognition of the name.

  “We know Morris is being bankrolled by a certain multibillionaire with a one-world view.”

  “Chaim Laski?” Whelan said. He’d been in Ireland nearly two decades, but had stayed current on America’s current foreign and domestic issues.

  “You still connect the dots well,” Levell said. “The far left’s end game is to fundamentally transform the nation from a constitutional democracy governed by duly elected representatives of the majority to one that better fits their one-world format. Laski’s their money manager.”

  “How is that possible? Isn’t American the home of rugged individualists who like to think for themselves?”

  Levell scoffed. “That’s a dying breed, son; replaced by a generation or two of weak-kneed, over-pampered quitters. Looking for a free ride and expecting the government to provide it. Easy pickin’s for socialist candidates looking to merge the U.S. into a global nanny state.”

  The older man sat ramrod straight in his wheelchair. His anger was palpable. “They believe that goal can be achieved by ruining the economy, causing widespread panic. Hell, just look at current events. Profligate spending by an ever-expanding government that covers it with borrowed funds. Requiring fiscally unsupportable programs like mandatory universal health care. Running up the price of oil through bans on domestic drilling, all while our enemies are afloat in cheap carbon fuels.

  “Eventually the nation’s creditors will accept that we’re bankrupt. That will collapse the economy. Capitalism will be blamed for the mother of all depressions that follows, and the populace will turn to a ‘savior’ with a different plan. Then the transformation is complete.”

  “Sounds like a socialist’s nirvana,” Whelan said.

  Levell nodded grimly. “One ruled by a self-styled intellectual elite. People who think they can make better decisions for us than we’re capable of making for ourselves.”

  “Ironic,” Whelan said. “And just when European states are beginning to realize socialism isn’t working.”

  “It’s worse than you may think,” Levell said. “The administration has reduced our military’s size, funding, and technological superiority. It’s soft-soaped terrorism, calling it man-caused disaster or workplace violence, and avoided combating jihadists on their own turf. It’s apologized all over the globe for the U.S. role as peacekeeper. Now when trouble develops, it brags about ‘leading from behind’, and lets itself be outwitted by the Russians and other dangerous foes.”

  “A weakened America is easier to absorb into a one-world order.”

  “Bingo,” Levell said. “Look, I’m not saying that some change isn’t merited from time to time. And it doesn’t matter whether the Left or the Right produces constructive changes like racial equality, sane environmental standards, or workplace safety. But it’s like someone said, the great political failure of progressivism is it always goes too far.”

  Whelan said, “Who’s behind this, Cliff?”

  “It’s supposed to look like it’s the Ruskies. But we believe they’re being gamed by domestic loons and certain greedy members of our own über rich. Sadly, they’re on the verge of realizing the fruits of their long labors. They now control one of the two major political parties in the U.S., as well as the news media. They’re a single appointment away from controlling a majority on the Supreme Court. They’ve twisted reality and molded public perception. And, naïve, self-absorbed fools that we are, most of us paid no attention.”

  “So, you’re saying Case, Morris—they’re part of a long-term strategy,” Whelan said, “to bring the country down from within.”

  Levell nodded vigorously. He clearly was worked up. Whelan saw Rhee, who had been standing silently in the background, move a step closer to the old man.

  “Bastards thought they’d struck pay dirt back in the seventies with Carter’s election,” Levell said, “only to watch the bumbling fool inflame patriotism. That ushered in Ronald Reagan and a brief retaking of the direction of the country. Probably thought they were back on track with Clinton, but overestimated his dedication to leftist dogma and underestimated the size of the ego that drove him to the center for the popular acceptance he craved.”

  Levell’s eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth turned down as if he had bitten into something rancid. “They must have thought they’d hit the jackpot with the current president. Under this administration, they skirt the Constitution in a number of ways. Running the government by a series of executive orders. Appointing czars who bypass cabinet offices and report only to the administration without the required congressional vetting. They refuse to enforce laws they don’t like; and sue states if they pass such laws on their own. They abuse power through recess appointments even when Congress isn’t in recess. And when the federal courts overturn the appointments, they ignore them. Under Articles I and II, Congress holds all legislative power. Yet they issue a tsunami of regulations that strangle capitalism and entrepreneurship, such as the EPA’s regulations advancing Cap and Trade that Congress specifically voted down.”

  Levell smiled. “Ironically, in spite of that, the president has alienated his own far left base because they don’t think he’s ‘progressive’ enough, that he’s too enamored with his rock star status to be manageable. They don’t want him to run for reelection. In fact, they have a replacement puppet in the wings.”

  “Howard Morris,” Whelan said.

  “Exactly.”

  “I understand your concerns, but what does it have to do with me? Has Case’s meddling exposed me and the other members of the old unit? You could have communicated with me in the usual fashion. It doesn’t seem to require a face-to-face.”

  “Maybe, but it’s more important than that.”

  “What’s more important than protecting the anonymity of six men who’ve served this country and were rewarded for it by a PDD calling for their deaths?”

  Levell waived a hand impatiently, as if to cut Whelan off. “It’s far larger than you six surviving members of the Sleeping Dogs.”

  “What is? Pax Americana?”

  “Yes, that and more. The reason I wanted you front and center is to help us put the unit back together. We need the services of you and your former colleagues. And you’re going to round them up.”

  “You’re the point of contact with each of us. Why aren’t you rounding them up?”

  Levell looked at his wheelchair. “Travel is a little difficult. And a phone call isn’t going to get it done.” He
gave Whelan a squinty-eyed smile. “You were their leader. They respect you. A message from you, delivered in person, will have the most impact.”

  “What’s the mission?”

  “There’s going to be an attempt to assassinate the president.”

  Whelan let that sink in for a moment. “Are you suggesting we’re going to do it? I don’t care for the son-of-a-bitch, but not strongly enough to kill him.”

  Levell shook his head impatiently. “No, not us. His own party. We want to stop it.”

  “Why? You were clear about the danger his agenda poses. Why not let the effort succeed?”

  “Because, inevitably, it will be spun to make it seem that we did it.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “Later. There’s something more pressing at the moment.”

  3 J. Edgar Hoover Building

  FBI headquarters were housed in the J. Edgar Hoover Building, a massive, multistoried structure on the north side of Pennsylvania Avenue between 9th and 10th Streets Northwest. Deep in its bowels, eighteen people were crammed into a small conference facility designed for a maximum of ten. All were beginning to perspire as their collective body heat raised the temperature in a room that was already overheated by the building’s HVAC system. Some sat scrolling through messages on their smart phones; others were engaged in animated conversations or phone calls. A few were watching a very large black man, the district commander of the Metropolitan Police Department’s Second District. He was leaning over the conference table and bellowing at the Bureau’s Supervisory Special Agent,