do so again.’
Before Joiner could respond, S.I.L.V.E.R.’s leader, Ophion Nexus, stalked from the room, his dagger left behind, embedded in Joiner’s desk like some kind of medieval proclamation, its message clear – a message of warning.
Chapter Three
Malcolm Joiner, one of the most powerful men on the planet, eyed the weapon sticking out of his desk; a weapon that had been close to severing the fingers on his right hand. He leant forward and grasped the blade’s grip and – with some difficulty – wrenched it loose, the wooden surface groaning in release. Holding the dense metal object before him, he angled it back and forth, allowing the surrounding light to glint along its razor sharp edge.
He considered his dilemma. In any other circumstances he would have such a physical threat nullified, but S.I.L.V.E.R.’s leader was in the pay of the Committee and was therefore their agent and representative, as much as Joiner himself. To attempt to have Ophion put down would likely lead to his own demise – S.I.L.V.E.R.’s reputation for retribution in the event something happened to one of their own was well known to those that knew of their existence – but if he let it stand he would appear weak, an affectation the Committee saw fit to excise from their ranks with ruthless efficiency.
Feeling trapped, Joiner recalled Myers to his office.
‘Sir, may I ask who that was?’ Myers said, after he’d returned.
Joiner placed the blade down to one side. ‘He’s a S.I.L.V.E.R. operative.’
‘S.I.L.V.E.R.?’
‘It’s an acronym; Stealth, Infiltration, Liquidation, Verification, Extraction and Reconnaissance.’
Myers’ expression turned to one of distaste. ‘A hired kill squad?’
‘If you like,’ Joiner said. ‘Some call them assassins, mercenaries or hunters, although I think of them more as a multidisciplinary elite taskforce available to the highest bidder.’
‘Which is who?’
‘They’re here on my orders to ensure a successful outcome to our problem,’ Joiner said, sidestepping the question.
‘The missing artefact. I thought it was a retrieval mission?’
‘It is, but S.I.L.V.E.R. are the best at what they do, the best at everything, in fact. They’re recruited without deference to national borders, race, colour or creed. They’re selected solely on ability and paid handsomely for their work. Only the very best, the most skilled, are considered for their ranks, which always number twenty-two.’
‘So few?’
‘Leaders all and highly motivated, they are the perfect choice to ensure any mission’s success.’
Myers looked unconvinced and – unbeknownst to him – his cause for concern was not without foundation, considering Joiner’s recent run-in with Ophion Nexus. The image of the chrome-clad assassin returned to the forefront of Joiner’s mind as he racked his brains for solutions to the threat to his leadership and the retrieval of the stolen Anakim artefact. An idea popped into his head, an extreme idea, but one that might just work in his favour. If I can pull it off , he thought. He’d need to yank quite a few strings and put the backs up of some powerful people, but then many of those would soon be dead anyway, when the next wave of asteroids hit in 2042.
‘I need you to go back to the surface,’ Joiner said.
Myers looked dubious. ‘Should we keep breaching Sanctuary’s lockdown protocols so freely? The military have been vociferous in their opposition to it.’
‘To hell with the military, they’ll do as they’re told. Lockdown can always be circumvented for small parties. Besides, considering General Ellwood’s monumental fuck up last year they’re in no position to judge.’
‘What is it you want me to do?’
‘I need you to acquire something for me.’ Joiner flipped up a display tablet from his desk and tapped away at its keyboard to bring up the relevant information for his plan. Once he had what he wanted he angled it towards the CIA
Before Joiner could respond, S.I.L.V.E.R.’s leader, Ophion Nexus, stalked from the room, his dagger left behind, embedded in Joiner’s desk like some kind of medieval proclamation, its message clear – a message of warning.
Chapter Three
Malcolm Joiner, one of the most powerful men on the planet, eyed the weapon sticking out of his desk; a weapon that had been close to severing the fingers on his right hand. He leant forward and grasped the blade’s grip and – with some difficulty – wrenched it loose, the wooden surface groaning in release. Holding the dense metal object before him, he angled it back and forth, allowing the surrounding light to glint along its razor sharp edge.
He considered his dilemma. In any other circumstances he would have such a physical threat nullified, but S.I.L.V.E.R.’s leader was in the pay of the Committee and was therefore their agent and representative, as much as Joiner himself. To attempt to have Ophion put down would likely lead to his own demise – S.I.L.V.E.R.’s reputation for retribution in the event something happened to one of their own was well known to those that knew of their existence – but if he let it stand he would appear weak, an affectation the Committee saw fit to excise from their ranks with ruthless efficiency.
Feeling trapped, Joiner recalled Myers to his office.
‘Sir, may I ask who that was?’ Myers said, after he’d returned.
Joiner placed the blade down to one side. ‘He’s a S.I.L.V.E.R. operative.’
‘S.I.L.V.E.R.?’
‘It’s an acronym; Stealth, Infiltration, Liquidation, Verification, Extraction and Reconnaissance.’
Myers’ expression turned to one of distaste. ‘A hired kill squad?’
‘If you like,’ Joiner said. ‘Some call them assassins, mercenaries or hunters, although I think of them more as a multidisciplinary elite taskforce available to the highest bidder.’
‘Which is who?’
‘They’re here on my orders to ensure a successful outcome to our problem,’ Joiner said, sidestepping the question.
‘The missing artefact. I thought it was a retrieval mission?’
‘It is, but S.I.L.V.E.R. are the best at what they do, the best at everything, in fact. They’re recruited without deference to national borders, race, colour or creed. They’re selected solely on ability and paid handsomely for their work. Only the very best, the most skilled, are considered for their ranks, which always number twenty-two.’
‘So few?’
‘Leaders all and highly motivated, they are the perfect choice to ensure any mission’s success.’
Myers looked unconvinced and – unbeknownst to him – his cause for concern was not without foundation, considering Joiner’s recent run-in with Ophion Nexus. The image of the chrome-clad assassin returned to the forefront of Joiner’s mind as he racked his brains for solutions to the threat to his leadership and the retrieval of the stolen Anakim artefact. An idea popped into his head, an extreme idea, but one that might just work in his favour. If I can pull it off , he thought. He’d need to yank quite a few strings and put the backs up of some powerful people, but then many of those would soon be dead anyway, when the next wave of asteroids hit in 2042.
‘I need you to go back to the surface,’ Joiner said.
Myers looked dubious. ‘Should we keep breaching Sanctuary’s lockdown protocols so freely? The military have been vociferous in their opposition to it.’
‘To hell with the military, they’ll do as they’re told. Lockdown can always be circumvented for small parties. Besides, considering General Ellwood’s monumental fuck up last year they’re in no position to judge.’
‘What is it you want me to do?’
‘I need you to acquire something for me.’ Joiner flipped up a display tablet from his desk and tapped away at its keyboard to bring up the relevant information for his plan. Once he had what he wanted he angled it towards the CIA
Similar Books
