SILVER-2 (NORRIS FILES)

by Marshall Huffman

  SILVER-2

  A JD Norris File

  By

  MW Huffman

  SILVER - 2

  © 2012 By MW Huffman

  All Rights Reserved

  Since I don’t have a huge staff to edit, research, market and all the other neat stuff big time writers have I would like to thank you for buying the novel and to Amazon for giving new writers a chance to share their works.

  Thank you to Susan Huffman who does read them and makes corrections that I make when my brain is working faster than my hands can type.

  Obviously this book is a work of fiction and any resemblance between anyone living or dead is coincidental.

  OTHER BOOKS BY MW HUFFMAN

  SCI-FI

  THE BRINK

  CLOSE PROXIMITY

  BLACKSTAR

  CHIMERA

  WORLDS END

  SUN BURST

  MYSTERIES & THRILLERS & CATACLYSMIC EVENTS

  Angie Bartoni Case File #1 - The Alphabet Murders

  Angie Bartoni Case File #2 - Frost Bite

  Angie Bartoni Case File #3 - Dead Aim

  Angie Bartoni Case File #4 - What Goes Around

  Angie Bartoni Case File #5 - Nothing to Lose

  Angie Bartoni Case File #6 - Shadow Man

  Angie Bartoni Case File #7 – The Club

  Angie Bartoni Case File #8 – Shakespeare Murders

  The Logan Files - Blond Deception

  The Logan Files - Innocence and Avarice

  The Logan Files - The Deal Breaker

  Norris Files - Silver2

  Norris Files – Insurrection

  Sins of the Fathers

  TRILOGIES

  The Second Civil War–BOOK I-A Nation Divided

  The Second Civil War–Book II-A Nation at War

  The Second Civil War–Book III–A Nation Healing

  THE END–BOOK I of The Event Series

  THE BEGINNING–BOOK II of The Event Series

  THE REVELATION–BOOK III of The Event Series

  WESTERNS

  The Unfinished

  CHAPTER ONE

  It had been near whiteout conditions for the last six hours and showed little signs of getting better. The snow was swirling and dancing in every direction and was being driven by steady but shifting winds. Everything blended into a gray-white haze.

  Snow continued to fall as the guard looked out of the hut window. It had been coming down steadily for the past two days but today was the worst yet. The electric heater radiated just enough to keep him from getting freezing cold, but not enough to keep him warm.

  Earlier he thought he had seen someone outside near the gate. When he went to investigate he found nothing. He had gratefully gone back inside to get warm. The guard opened his thermos and poured coffee into the lid. Taking out his flask he added a generous splash of Bushmill Whiskey to the coffee. Of course he could be fired for drinking on the job, but what the hell, the jerks that made up the rules didn't have to set in the cold guard shack for hours on end. 'Screw em', he thought, and added a little more whiskey to the coffee. He could feel the warmth spreading as he drank the warm liquid.

  "That's better," he said.

  He opened his lunch bucket and removed the current issue of Corvette magazine.

  "Man, look at that baby," he muttered as he skimmed through the car magazine. Just then he heard a light thump against the back of the guard house. He put down the magazine and tried to look out the windows. He couldn't see much out of either window as the snow churned and continued to fall.

  "Ah hell. It can't be anything on a night like this," he mumbled. A few seconds later he heard the noise again.

  "What the hell?" he exclaimed, "Crap, I guess I had better check it out."

  He bundled up and started out. Just as he opened the door a figure appeared in front of him. The guard was looking straight into the barrel of a semi-automatic gun with a long silencer attached.

  "Step back into the room. Don't try to be a hero. Just do as you are told," the figure said roughly.

  The guard backed slowly into the room.

  "Turn around. Place your hands on top of your head and sit."

  The guard did exactly as he was told again. The intruder removed the guard’s gun from his holster.

  "Take your right hand off your head and place it in your lap," the gunman said. He then handed him a piece of paper.

  "Read what it says."

  The guard read the note and looked up.

  The gunman said, "I want you to do exactly as the paper instructs. If you even pause, I'll take your head off. Understand?"

  "Yes sir. Look I ain't getting paid enough to be a hero. Just stay cool. I'll do exactly as it says," he replied.

  The guard placed the paper next to the intercom and keyed the microphone.

  "Alpha 1, P-3, over."

  "Alpha 1, roger."

  "Alpha 1, I have a delivery designated Tango, Tango, Zero, Niner, Three at the gate. He is an hour ahead of schedule. What are your instructions? Over"

  "P-3, wait one," came the reply.

  The guard thought it was awfully warm in the hut now, as they waited for instructions.

  "P-3, Alpha 1. We are opening the gate now. Have the driver proceed to bay four and then immediately to security. Over."

  "Alpha 1, understand Tango, Tango, Zero, Niner, Three is to proceed to bay four and then immediately to security. Over."

  "P-3, affirmative."

  "Alpha 1, my walkie-talkie is not functioning. I need to come to security for another one. Over."

  "Roger, P-3. Wait until the driver reports to security, then come on over. We will have another unit waiting for you. Alpha 1, out."

  "P-3, out."

  The guard looked up at the gunman and asked, "How did I do?"

  "You did just fine," he replied, and shot the guard right between the eyes.

  The killer quickly removed the guards coat and retrieved the man's hat. The gate started to slide open. Dressed as the guard, the killer dashed through the blowing snow towards the building and bay four. He arrived just as the large metal door was starting to open. As soon as it was open enough, he leaped inside and ran towards the stairs on the far side of the room.

  He bound up the stairs and burst through the control room door swinging his silenced Mac 10 in an arc. The automatic spit out two rapid short burst. The man setting at the control panel slumped forward. The guard standing next to him went down with slugs in the chest and stomach. The gunman stepped over to the guard and placed the muzzle to his head and pulled the trigger.

  He quickly moved to the control panel and pushed the operator off the console and onto the floor leaving a trail of blood and body tissue. He pressed the button marked Bay 4 and the overhead door started up again. Once the door was fully open he looked over at the other operator and shot him through the heart. Better to be safe than sorry.

  He then went over to the dead guard and removed the magnetic control security card from his uniform. He went back out into the hall and walked to the door marked SECURITY PERSONNEL ONLY. He opened the door with the security card and stepped inside.

  "What the hell are you doing back here before the truck clears?" the security guard at the radio said, starting to turn towards the door.

  “Killing you," the gunman said as he shot the guard through the right eye the back of his head opening like an over ripe melon. Bone and brains splattered against the wall.

  The killer went over to the radio and keyed the microphone.

  "P-2, Alpha 1, over."

  "Roger Alpha 1," came the sleepy reply.

  "P-2, shipment Baker, Fox-trot, Sixer, Sixer, Zero, is due at 04:20. You are to hold transporter at your location until 0
5:15. Over."

  "Copy Alpha 1. Holder Baker, Fox-trot, Sixer, Sixer, Zero at gate until 0:5:15. Over."

  "Affirmative P-2. Out."

  Next the man took out a small burst walkie-talkie and said, "All secure. Go."

  He then went back down the hall and down the stairs to bay four and waited. Within a few minutes a large white van backed up to the loading bay and several armed figures got out of the back. Twenty minutes later the van was leaving through the gate and disappearing into the snowy night.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Paul Jerome Matts was not having a good night. He had been up too late and had far too much to drink. On top of that, the damn heater was not working again. He was setting on the side of the bed, holding his head when the phone rang. He fumbled for it, knocking it to the floor before finally retrieving the hand piece.

  "Yeah," he uttered with a thick, raspy voice.

  "PJ, you need to get your butt down here ASAP. The shit has really hit the fan. The boss wants everyone here, like a half an hour ago."

  "Hey, hey, hey. Whatever happened to good morning or sorry to disturb you?"

  "I think it went out the window with the prototype laser gun that just got nabbed from the Unitech Facility."

  "Oh shit. Say it ain't so."

  "Sorry, it's so."

  "OK. I'm on my way," PJ said suddenly awake.

  "The sooner the better. Ron's in one of his moods," the voice warned.

  “Ron is always in one of his moods,” he said as he hung up.

  PJ picked up his clothes off the floor where he had thrown them when stumbling into bed. He dressed and headed out the door. The snow was coming down hard and the normal ten minute drive turned into a twenty minute, nail biting adventure.

  He slid into the parking lot and the car bounced off one of the bumper blocks. He leaped out, took one step, and fell unceremoniously on his ass. He got up, slipped again, and then, more cautiously, proceeded to the building door. Once inside he produced his identification card for the armed guard at the front desk.

  "Department, Sir?"

  "Ops3," PJ answered.

  "File number?"

  "1123"

  "Today's code?"

  "Oh shit. Juliet, I think."

  "You think?" the guard said. The second guard lowered his M-16 a little.

  "Yeah, Juliet. Look, I just got up, okay?"

  "Juliet is today's code. You may enter the elevator."

  What a bunch of assholes, PJ thought as he punched in his file number. The elevator started down. When it stopped, PJ entered a large room with a huge, computer generated, and real-time map dominating one entire wall.

  "PJ," a voice boomed across the room, "We have all been waiting for you to grace us with your presence."

  PJ walked over to a large conference table and took a seat. There were ten other's seated at the table. At the head, stood Ron Neilson, the Chief Operations Officer for OPS3. He looked at PJ for a few moments before beginning.

  "Sometime between 04:00 and 05:30 this date, the Unitech Facility was breached by persons unknown. The prototype laser gun, known as SILVER-2, was removed from the facility. Six laboratory technicians working on the project at the time were terminated. Four security personnel were also eliminated."

  Persons unknown. Breached. Terminated. Why can't this jerk ever talk like a real person, PJ mused? What an arrogant buttwipe.

  "No shell casings were found. Early reports indicate an automatic weapon of the Mini Mac type, but that is unconfirmed presently. The media has not been informed, however; the National Security Council and the White House has been told. Here is what we have so far. The only areas disturbed were the cargo bay, security office and the one lab where the weapon was being worked on. The perpetrators knew the guard codes, transportation log codes and the facility layout. It seems rather obvious that they must have had inside help. The bodies have been removed and the area sealed off. Alan and Berry, I want you to get over to Unitech as soon as we break and take charge of gathering physical evidence. Nick I want you to start on blueprint access. Who has had them, who built the place, everything you can dig up. Take Chris and Mike with you. Tom, I want you to interface with the local police. Keep them out of this. Use your muscle if necessary. I don't want to read about this in the papers tomorrow, understand?"

  "Yes Sir."

  "The rest of you will be back-up. Phil, you assign the other guys as necessary. I want to get this weapon back pronto."

  "Okay. Now who has questions?"

  "Has anyone claimed responsibility yet?"

  "No. I don't think it was that kind of job. I don't think we will hear another thing until someone uses it."

  "What about the security at Unitech? I mean, what the hell were they all doing over there?"

  "Well Phil that will be rather hard to answer since they were killed. Next?"

  "Any ID on the vehicle used?"

  "None. As you well know it was snowing, so no tire tracks. We know it must have been at least the size of a utility van. The weapon was on some sort of test cart. They rolled it out of the lab and into a waiting vehicle."

  "How big is this gun?"

  "Damn it Alan, if you ever took the time to read the weapon technical updates I send out, you would know that the SILVER-2 is essentially, a rapid firing laser impulse rifle. It's not much larger than a standard BAR. It has a special scope that does about everything but pull the trigger. It can be carried by one person and is battery powered. As I said, it was on some kind of test cart. The range is said to be around nine thousand feet."

  "Holy shit. Nine thousand feet," one of the agents exclaimed.

  "SILVER stands for Strategic Individual Laser Velocity Emitter Rifle. Now if there are no further questions, I suggest you all get on it. PJ to my office please," Ron said tensely.

  "Now don't forget to read your technical updates," PJ mockingly chastised Alan.

  "And in your ear too PJ," Alan said as he headed out the door.

  "Run along to the headmaster’s office like a good boy," Berry said as he passed PJ on his way out.

  "Sit," said Ron as PJ entered his office.

  "PJ as you well know, I don't care for you much personally. Your lack of respect for authority is appalling. The only reason I put up with your antics is because of the results you get."

  "Cut the crap Ron. You keep me because you have too. If you thought you could get rid of me, you would have done so by now."

  "Actually, you’re wrong. I keep you around because you do get results. I don't always agree with how you get them, but the bottom line is that you do."

  "Whatever. So what have you got for me?"

  "I want you to take charge of this operation. I want that damn SILVER-2 back and I want it back fast. I'm sure it’s clear to you what a weapon like this could do. I'll run interference for you, but you just make sure you deliver. Understood?"

  "Sure Ron. I'll get your damn weapon back. You just make sure you keep my ass out of a sling. And Ron, you already know without me having to say it, don't expect me to send you daily reports. I'll keep you filled in, but I won't get bogged down with paper work."

  "You’re a true work of art PJ. Every once in a while you should look to see what it says on my door, then take a look at yours. I do believe one on of them says Chief Operations Officer. I’m pretty sure it’s not on yours. I'll decide what you do and don't do."

  "Ron we have been over this before. You want results? You want me to head this thing up because we both know I'm the best OPS3 has? Sorry Chief Operations Officer, that's the way it’s gotta' be."

  "PJ, I’ve had about all of you I can stand for one day. Just get over to Unitech and find that damn weapon."

  "On my way. I'll check in when I've had a chance to feel out the situation. I might as well tell you now, I think there is a very big rat inside Unitech. I intend to shake the shit out of that place. You will get some heat. Be prepared."

  "PJ, I would expect nothing else with you heading up this thi
ng. Go. Get me the gun."

  "I'm out of here," PJ said getting up to leave. "One more thing, are any other agencies involved?"

  "Not yet. If you can get this wrapped up fast enough, no others will be."

  "OK," PJ said closing the door just a litter harder than necessary on his way out.

  CHAPTER THREE

  OPS3 was a splinter faction from the CIA. It had been created in 1962 by President John F. Kennedy. Their mission was to protect the Unites State's advanced military weapons from falling into unauthorized hands. The space program was producing a new generation of weapons. The CIA had been entrenched in the Vietnam War and OPS3 was devised to supplement the agency. Under the Johnson administration they were given even more latitude and soon became one of the most feared elements of the CIA.

  By 1971 the ground war was slowly being turned over to the South Vietnamese Army (ARVN). PJ had been discharged in 1971, and recruited by OPS3 upon his return to the States.

  When the peanut farmer took over the White House, OPS3 was stripped of much of its power and they retreated to the cover of the CIA once again. President Reagan realized the need for weapon security and the OPS3 department was once again activated. The assassination attempt on the President on March 30, 1981 helped spur the resurgence of OPS3 to its former powers. Shortly after President Reagan declared the Soviet Union an "evil empire", the roll of OPS3 was once again broadened.

  As terrorist groups made the US a prime target, OPS3's powers were virtually unlimited and they found that they could operate outside of the law if they could justify the results. The end justifies the means, became the operational doctrine.

  An embarrassing disaster in 1996 caused them to once again retreat and maintain a low profile. They were all aware that the heist of the SILVER-2 would push them into the foreground once again.

  **

  After leaving the building in the blinding show, PJ had gotten into his car and headed North on US 270. The snow continued to fall and was building up faster than the highway crews could keep up.