Sleeping Dogs: The Awakening

by John Wayne Falbey

  Petrovich’s animal was called Moordenaar, a Dutch word meaning killer. The guard tentatively reached over and gently scratched Moordenaar behind its right ear. The dog turned and licked his wrist. Petrovich felt a great deal more than respect for the animal. There also was a strong presence of fear. He was certain the jaws of the huge beast could snap his hand cleanly off at the wrist if it was inclined to do so. In a certain way, the beast reminded him of Maksym. He straightened up and wearily said to the animal in Ukrainian, “Come, my friend, it is time to go back to work.” As he tugged gently on the leash to start the dog in the right direction, he wondered why it tolerated the restraint. Together they began to patrol their share of the estate’s grounds.

  * * *

  Twelve miles to the northwest of Laski’s estate, a substantially modified black Eurocopter EC155 rose slowly from an isolated farm field. Tonight it carried two pilots and six passengers and was powered by two six hundred thirty-five kilowatt engines. At cruising speed, it would reach Laski’s home in less than fifteen minutes.

  Noise generated by the bird was damped by the use of additional main and tail rotor blades, which cut the speed of the rotor in half, particularly in forward flight below maximum speed. It greatly reduced the helicopter’s classic whop-whop signature. The bird also had an elaborate system of exhaust ducts and fresh-air mixers in its tailboom. The tips of the main blades had been changed to a variation on Eurocopter’s Blue-Edge rotor blades. It also had an engine exhaust muffler, lead-vinyl pads to deaden skin noise, and a baffle to block noise slipping out the air intake. In addition, it had a modified tail boom and a noise reducing covering on the rear rotors.

  While similar in many respects to the top-secret stealth choppers that had carried Navy SEALs on the bin Laden mission, it was a civilian craft. The stealth modifications wouldn’t render the bird completely silent, but they damped the kinds of noise typically associated with a helicopter.

  The passengers sat in jump seats behind the pilots, three on either side of the aircraft. The six men all were wearing black battledress uniforms. Their jump boots were black, as were their balaclavas. All means of identifying the source of the clothing had been removed. None of the men carried any identification. The exposed areas of their hands and faces had been covered with camouflage face paint.

  Whelan raised a secure satphone to his ear and said, “We’re airborne, e-t-a Lenin’s tomb in ten minutes.”

  Levell, who had chosen the code name for Laski’s estate, said, “As we’ve discussed, make it quick and make it final.”

  “Copy that.”

  There was a pause at Levell’s end, then he said, “You are aware that Laski’s man, Maksym, is on the loose.”

  “Yes.” Now it was Whelan’s turn to pause. After a few moments, he said, “What about him?”

  “He’s unusual. Very dangerous. And he may be back at Laski’s place by now.”

  “Anyone with a gun in his hand is dangerous.”

  “Yes. But you need to be particularly careful with this guy. I suspect he’s different than anyone you and the boys have encountered in the past.”

  “Are you suggesting that this Maksym character might outgun us?”

  “No. Just be extra cautious where this sonofabitch is concerned.”

  “Cliff, have I, or any of us, ever fucked up a mission?”

  “Never. But this guy is unique. He may be as strong and as quick as you are. And as clever. Watch yourselves.” Levell paused, then said, “If possible, we’d like to take this guy alive.” With that, he terminated the call.

  Whelan pondered what Levell had said. Was he suggesting that Maksym was genetically gifted, as he and the others were? If so, it should make for a very interesting encounter.

  69 Potomac, Maryland

  Maksym methodically made the rounds of the security stations. In one room on the first floor of the three-story structure, two men sat carefully watching monitors. One was tracking the video feed from special night vision cameras strategically placed around the perimeters of the property. The second man monitored infrared sensors designed to pick up heat signals from living creatures on the estate’s grounds. The remaining Ukrainians were spread around the house, four on each floor. All security personnel were equipped with wireless headsets. Each was a fierce fighter, tough and ruthless; and they were well armed. Maksym had no concerns about the ability of himself and the others to protect the house and Laski from everything short of a full-strength Marine Company.

  When he had finished his latest rounds, he strolled confidently back to Laski’s library. The man had been joined by a guest, Senator Howard Morris. The senator held a tall glass of straight vodka in both hands and slurped nervously at it. A good bit of it was sloshing over the rim because his hands were shaking so badly. Laski was still sitting at the head of the table where Maksym had last seen him. He was continuing to nurse the precious bottle of Chivas Regal 50-year Royal Salute. Morris was on his right.

  Laski frowned disapprovingly at the small puddle of vodka forming on the gleaming finish of the library table. “Senator,” he said in English, “you act like frightened little girl. Are you afraid of boogie man?”

  Morris scowled. “Any prudent person would be apprehensive given the circumstances.”

  “And where is our friend, Mr. Shepard Jenkins? He is usually with you.”

  Morris shook his head. “I don’t know where he is. The sonofabitch dropped out of sight. Like he fell off the face of the earth.”

  Both men looked up as Maksym entered the room. Laski waved him to a chair at the far end of the table. “You are seeing this man who came in, yes?”

  Morris nodded and his hands shook a little harder. Maksym knew his mere presence terrified the senator. He smirked as Morris reached for the bottle of Grey Goose and shakily splashed more into his glass and some onto the tabletop.

  “This is my friend Maksym, chief of my security force. We could not be safer in middle of fucking Pentagon. So stop this quaking and be still.”

  Morris shrugged and looked at the tabletop. He didn’t want to look at Maksym. He removed his finely tailored suit coat and dabbed at the vodka with an initialed shirtsleeve. There was so much starch in the shirt that he only succeeded in pushing the liquid around in widening circles. “The Pentagon is not so safe. Al-Qaeda crashed a plane into it, remember? Given what’s happened today, Chaim, and the role we played in that activity, I believe it’s wise to be concerned.”

  Laski slowly wagged his head back and forth. “We have been wise from beginning. There is no way to connect us with attempt on life of president. Only person who could be connected is Federov. And he has departed country already.”

  “What about Levell and McCoy? That damn Russian certainly gave them enough information for them to figure out what was going to happen.”

  “Federov is arrogant fool, yes. But, again, is there connection to you and me?”

  Morris took a big gulp of the vodka then shook his head. “I’d like to be as confident as you are, Chaim, but Levell is one tough son of a bitch. He’s probably siccing those fucking Hellhounds on us right now.”

  “Tough? Yes, truly a worthy adversary,” Laski said and smiled. “But, even if he is knowing of our involvement, how many of these Hellhounds, as you call them, does he have? Six?”

  He shook his head and made a sweeping gesture with his right hand. “We are surrounded by small army of heavily armed men. Very nasty men who are completely loyal to me. And we have latest in surveillance equipment. Nothing comes on grounds that we are not knowing. And one more thing,” he gestured toward Maksym. “He is baddest ass on planet.”

  Almost as if punctuating the comment, there was a sudden burst of noise, like gunshots. Laski’s and Morris’ eyes opened wide and their heads swiveled to stare at Maksym.

  The security chief shouted into the mouthpiece of his headset in Ukrainian, “Pavel, what is happening?”

  The man operating the camera monitors said, “One of the fuckin
g neighbors is shooting off fireworks.”

  “Fireworks?”

  “Yes, maybe because it’s Labor Day.”

  “Maybe,” Maksym said thoughtfully. “Maybe. But it also could be some kind of diversionary tactic. Tell the men to be extra attentive.”

  He turned back to the other two men and said in English, “One of your neighbors is using fireworks.”

  Laski shook his head as if in disgust. “That would be Michelsen. He is fucking poster boy for capitalism, supporter of right wing causes. Maybe he will blow fucking hand off.”

  70 The Mission

  Petro Petrovich paused on his rounds of Laski’s estate. Moordenaar swiveled its big head on its thick neck, looked at Petrovich and barked once. A moment later the fireworks started. Petrovich marveled at how the animal had been able to sense it. Moordenaar looked up into the dark night sky and a low growl began to rumble from deep in his chest. Petrovich followed the dog’s lead and looked up. He saw nothing at first. Then he thought he saw a small red flash, but it was only for a fraction of a second. Almost immediately, just as Moordenaar was about to let loose a series of loud barks signaling alarm, Petrovich heard a splatting sound. The huge beast fell dead at his feet, a hole in the top of his head oozing blood. More blood flowed from a much larger exit wound in its chest.

  Petrovich snapped his head up and thought he saw another brief red flash. An instant later a hollow-point slug from a 220 grain Remington .300 Ultra Mag bullet tore through his forehead and blew out the back of his skull. Within seconds all four patrolling guards and their Boerboels were down. Death had come suddenly and silently from the inky sky above.

  It was a relatively still summer night except for the fireworks display underway at the neighboring estate. Four dark colored parachutes drifted earthward. Two of them were larger tandem chutes. Whelan and Stensen were harnessed in one, with Whelan deploying the drogue chute. Because they had jumped from the chopper at low altitude, he quickly deployed the main chute and maneuvered it through the descent to provide stability for Stensen. It was Stensen’s job to take out two of the patrolling guards along with their dogs. Larsen maneuvered the other tandem chute and was harnessed to Thomas, whose job was to terminate the other two guards and their animals.

  The marksmen, Stensen and Thomas, used the same type of weapon that Federov had used earlier that morning. Stensen and Thomas were better shots.

  As Whelan maneuvered the chute for maximum stability, he heard Stensen softly singing “The Ballad of the Green Berets”.

  “Fighting soldiers from the sky.”

  He knew Stensen was doing it out of sense of irony. That was Stensen.

  “Fearless men who jump and die.”

  He nudged Stensen with his knee and the singing stopped. Looking at the movement of the guards and their dogs on the ground below, he said, “What kind of dogs are those?”

  “Big, ugly ones. And dead.” Stensen squeezed off his first round.

  Almost instantly, one of the dogs slammed face first into the ground. Whelan was glad the dogs weren’t German Shepherds. Other than wolves, they were the smartest animals he had ever seen. Smarter than most of the humans he knew. And more dependable.

  The Dogs each wore enhanced night vision goggles (ENVG) mounted on their helmets. The devices incorporated image intensification and long wave infrared sensors designed for optimal night operations. They’d been obtained by McCoy from a military colleague who supervised an experimental weaponry lab. Night jumps typically finish in the Dark Zone, the last one hundred feet or so. The closer the jumper gets to the ground, the darker the ground becomes. This makes it difficult, if not impossible, to judge the distance and anticipate impact. Below the hundred-foot mark it’s similar to landing in a black hole. The goggles eliminated this problem.

  Almeida and Kirkland jumped individually. None of the others had confidence in Almeida’s ability to maintain stability while maneuvering a tandem chute with a sniper harnessed to him. He also was not the same caliber of marksman that Thomas and Stensen were. He was to land near the separate caretaker’s bungalow and additional guest quarters located on the other side of a small lake across from the main house. His job was to neutralize anyone occupying either structure.

  Kirkland, the unit’s resident technology expert, again had responsibility for jamming cell phone operations. Equally important, he also was to cripple the generator that supplied Laski’s home with auxiliary power.

  He jumped slightly ahead of the other five and dropped in very close to a wall of the main house. This enabled him to take out the power supply before the others reached the effective range of the infrared heat sensors. Kirkland’s specially designed clothing would protect him from detection. It was constructed similarly to the ghillie suits he and the others had worn in their training exercise with the Army Rangers in North Carolina.

  Levell, with the assistance of certain other members of the Society, had arranged for the electrical power to the estate to be shut off at Zero Hour plus five. By that point in time, Whelan and the others would be on the ground and in position to begin the assault. And Kirkland would have jammed the phone signals and destroyed the power feed from the generator.

  The fireworks began on the neighboring property at precisely Zero Hour. Their sounds would help to mask gunfire. On the east side of the main structure, Kirkland strategically placed a small red-orange brick of Semtex H explosive compound between the conduit affixed to the wall of the house and the wall itself. The conduit acted as a protective cover for the electrical wires that ran from the generator, buried in a concrete vault, to the main switchbox in the house. When he was finished, Kirkland placed a detonator in the brick. He moved swiftly along the wall and took refuge behind a thick tree trunk. At precisely Zero plus five, the outside electrical supply to the estate was shut down by Levell’s people. Kirkland detonated the explosive charge with a remote signal and activated the jamming device. The entire ten-acre estate was plunged into darkness. Without electricity, the landlines were inoperative. All cell phone signals were being jammed. In less than two minutes, Whelan, Larsen, Thomas, and Stensen were deployed at entrances to the main house. Almeida was positioned at the guest cottage.

  When the lights went out, the interior of the house exploded in chaos. Some of the Ukrainian guards began firing indiscriminately at doors and windows. Maksym grabbed Laski and Morris and, despite the pitch-black environment, managed to shove them into the panic room connected to the library. He shouted at Laski in Russian, “Do not open the door for anyone but me.”

  Maksym moved swiftly by feel and memory to the library entrance off the hallway. “Use your NVGs!” he screamed in Ukrainian at the guards through his headset. The random gunfire stopped as the guards slipped on their night vision goggles and powered them up.

  The house became very still for a few moments. Maksym’s mind was racing. What had happened to the power? Why hadn’t the auxiliary generator kicked in? Why had the patrolling guards and their dogs not raised an alarm if someone was on the grounds? Why had the men monitoring the cameras and infrared sensors not reported security breaches? When his NVGs were fully powered, he slipped his head around the corner of the library doorway and scanned the hallway.

  The guard posted just inside the front entrance turned and looked at Maksym. He started to give a thumb up sign to indicate he saw or heard nothing. At that moment, the massive front door blew inward off its hinges, striking the man. He was killed instantly. Smoke and dust swirled around the opening where the door had been. Maksym pointed the muzzle of his HK UMP45 submachine gun at the empty doorway and squeezed off a thirty round clip.

  A small object sailed through the smoke, which appeared greenish in the NVGs. The goggles purposely turned the scenery into shades of green because the human eye can detect more variations of that color.

  The object, an M84 flashbang or stun grenade, detonated, creating an enormous bang in the 170 to 180 decibel range. It was accompanied by a blinding flash equal to t
he power of more than one million candles. When detonated close enough to a human being, it caused brief flash blindness, confusion, and loss of coordination and balance by disturbing the fluid in the inner ear. The M84 was an ideal weapon for close quarters combat. It also produced concussion effects in enclosed areas, disabling occupants and temporarily preventing resistance to attackers entering the room.

  Maksym was far enough away from the blast that it only had a modest and very temporary effect on him. He slipped back into the library and replaced the spent magazine in his weapon. He glanced for a moment at the library window. The thought occurred to him that maybe the game was up. Perhaps he should try to make his escape. On the other hand, he had no idea how large the assault force was. Perhaps it was an entire company of Marines or Rangers. He could be jumping from the frying pan into the fire. Better to see how strong the assault force was, he thought. The window was always an option.

  He heard the sounds of glass breaking in other parts of the house and suspected more flashbang grenades had been thrown. This quickly was confirmed when he heard the concussions and saw brief, brilliant flashes in doorways and stairwells. He knew the enemy, whoever it was, would be storming into the house under cover of the flashbangs. He peered around the jamb of the library door again. The NVGs made the movement awkward.

  Someone in the blown out entranceway, shielded by the smoke and dust of the explosion, laid down a field of fire with an automatic weapon. Deadly slugs snapped past Maksym’s ear like a swarm of bloodthirsty hornets. He stuck the muzzle of his HK around the corner and emptied the new magazine in the direction of the entranceway. He doubted firing blindly would have much effect.

  He heard two loud blasts in rapid succession and recognized the sound of shotguns being fired. Maksym dropped to the floor and sneaked a quick look around the doorjamb. The two men who had been operating the monitors in the room between the library and the entranceway lay motionless in the hallway. From the positions of their bodies, he could tell they were dead.