He held his clenched hand thus, channelling his anger into it before letting it ebb away. Slowing his breathing, Joiner poured himself a glass of bourbon from a crystal decanter and took a sip, his usual self-control restored. So the Committee seeks to keep Project Ares to themselves, he mused. If they think a simple warning will scare me off, they’re mistaken. In fact, it has only fuelled my curiosity further. What aren’t they telling me? What are they so keen to hide? Joiner knew the folly of disobeying direct instructions; however, he’d amassed a lot of power in his time as intelligence director and even more when he’d assumed his position on the pre-eminent GMRC Directorate. He’d also accumulated a lot of allies over the years, willing and otherwise, many of whom were beyond even the Committee’s extensive reach. He was no longer the naïve man who’d been coerced into their service all those years ago.
He stared into his glass. His previous efforts at finding out the inner workings of Project Ares had clearly been too overt, and he knew he must cover his tracks better if he was to find out more about this black project that seemed to have more layers than a supersized prizewinning onion. He prided himself on knowing everyone’s business – everyone that mattered, that was – and now the Committee had reined him in they would have to be taught that he was not for controlling. He pursed his lips and sighed. That time had not yet arrived, however. He’d worked for far too long to secure their trust; to throw that away was unthinkable. He was so close now; he could taste it. Each step drew him nearer to becoming one of their number and then their deepest secrets would be his. Secrets he wanted … no – had – to know.
When he completed this task the Committee would be forced to accept him into the fold. He’d been promised an opportunity, this must be it. When he secured them this incredible artefact surely they could not refuse him any longer?
Of course, when he entered their ranks they would have to be made aware of just whom they were dealing with. When that day came he would make them feel the fear they’d induced in him tenfold. The thought of bringing them low, of the terror in their faces, brought an inhuman glimmer to his eyes. But as of that moment his and the Committee’s goals were still aligned and such fascinations, delightful as they were, needed to be put on hold.
The movement of the limousine ceased, bringing Joiner’s attention back to the present. His door opened and a wash of warm air entered the air-conditioned cabin. He exited and made his way into USSB Sanctuary’s GMRC Command Complex, where he submitted to the minor irritation of security checks. He then took a super swift vacuum elevator up to his office suite, located on the one-hundred-and-first floor of the functional glass-clad building.
Leaving his minions to their own devices, Joiner entered his office and shut the doors behind him. As if by magic the room’s walls, ceiling and floor lit up, their state-of-the-art displays powering to life and producing a seamless three hundred and sixty degree 3D visual marvel. Instead of standing in a mundane office, Joiner was now surrounded by the Brazilian rainforest as it had looked before the dust cloud had stolen away its life-giving sunlight. Vibrant greens of dense foliage filled his vision, from horizon to distant horizon. Above, the azure skies of the Amazon shone like the mythical pellucid seas of Atlantis, picture perfect in their majesty and populated with a rainbow of ornithological plumage.
Joiner closed his eyes and took a deep breath, imagining the sweet scents that would surround him if the image were real. He stood there for some moments, but as hard as he tried no smells could be conjured forth, only the faint aroma of filtered air and the chemicals used to dry-clean his suit registering from reality. Annoyed at buying into the stress management techniques suggested by his overpaid physician, Joiner walked to the screen and tapped it with two fingers. A graphical command grid appeared in front of him. Selecting his network files, a red-flagged, unread digital package stood out from its fellows. Joiner opened it and an array of documents popped up to arrange themselves throughout the grid.
The dossier promised him by Selene, on behalf of the Committee, was detailed and extensive. Moving to his desk, Joiner transferred the information to the wallscreen behind him and settled into his chair to digest the information contained within.
♦
A couple of hours had passed since Joiner had laid eyes on the digital dossier and during that time he’d been joined by one of his top agents. And while their discussions had been grand in scope, talk inevitably returned to a subject that cropped up time and again.
‘Project Ares was investigated wholly in-house,’ Joiner said. ‘No outside agencies were used.’
‘You suspect a leak?’
‘I don’t suspect. I know.’
‘You want further enquiries off the books?’
Joiner considered the man before him. Agent Myers, a nondescript fellow of above average height and build, and Joiner’s right-hand man, had proved invaluable over the years. A member of the CIA’s Special Operations Group with a dual position as a high-ranking GMRC intelligence agent, his skills and professionalism were second to none. Joiner rarely relied on specific people, but Myers was the exception to the rule.
‘I’ll make it happen,’ Agent Myers said, recognising Joiner’s silence to be the affirmation he intended.
Joiner went back to perusing the documents provided by the Committee. He frowned. Some of the video files had been extensively censored, minutes of footage disappearing behind a wall of black and white static. Considering the warning he’d been given, he knew the missing segments must conceal vital information about Project Ares. If I want to reveal what lies beneath, Joiner thought, I’ll have to ensure anyone working on their decryption is kept in the dark as to their content, especially considering the leak and my tenuous position with the Committee.
‘There’s something else,’ Myers said.
Joiner looked up, his expression quizzical.
‘We’ve had reports from throughout the GMRC and U.S. military that …’ Myers’ voice tailed off.
‘That?’ Joiner prompted.
‘Debris from geosynchronous orbit has been tracked entering the atmosphere.’
‘Debris from what?’
‘It appears the asteroid intercept missions planned by the GMRC’s Space Programme will not be proceeding as envisaged.’
Joiner frowned and sat up straighter. ‘Debris from what?’ he repeated, concerned.
‘The reports indicate that a catastrophic failure in the International Space Station’s propulsion system created a chain of events that has induced a series of explosions, destroying the ISS.’
Joiner’s eyes widened. ‘What?!’
Myers looked grim. ‘That’s not all; the other three stations attached to it were torn to pieces in the aftermath. The Space Programme is dead.’
Joiner shook his head in shock. Standing up, he paced away from Myers and stared out at the trees without seeing, his mind working furiously to compute the information he’d just received. With the Space Programme gone, Earth’s surface was doomed. All hope of averting the approaching asteroids turned to dust like the veil that still cloaked the planet in its choking embrace. Joiner thought of his collection of houses and apartments, dotted around some of the most affluent neighbourhoods in America. At least my art collections are safe here, he thought, knowing his prized possessions had already been relocated to his new home in USSB Sanctuary.
While he had prepared for the worst case scenario, there had always been a part of him that thought the surface could still be saved. Now that chance had disappeared and subterranean life was assured, it was difficult to accept. It was true he cared little for the billions of lives that would be lost, but thinking about the architectural gems that would be ruined by the scorching heat and icy cold of a world without an atmosphere made Joiner feel quite morose.
Agent Myers cleared his throat. ‘Two Sabre transportation ships are reported to have left for Earth just prior to the incident.’
Joiner turned around. ‘GMRC?’
My
ers nodded. ‘You suspect foul play?’
Joiner didn’t reply, he didn’t know what to think, but Myers’ assertion might not be wrong.
‘Why would anyone want the Space Programme to fail?’ Myers said. ‘Who could possibly gain from that?’
Joiner wasn’t sure, but as the GMRC’s Director of Intelligence he knew its infiltration by hidden groups was almost assured, such was the council’s scale. Perhaps the question should be who had the resources to pull off such a coup? He could think of a few organisations that could, the Committee being one of them. Although, surely even they wouldn’t devise such a plan, would they? Feeling disorientated, Joiner sat back down at his desk to collect his thoughts. Myers remained silent as his director digested the news.
‘Dig deeper,’ Joiner said at last. ‘Find out what you can. Run it alongside the Project Ares op. But be careful who you involve. Make sure no one sees the whole picture. Use multiple agencies, civilian and military, but not the GMRC. Make sure any enquiries or data received cannot be traced back to us. Anything you find: my eyes only.’
Myers gave a nod.
Joiner’s intercom buzzed to life. ‘Sir,’ his aide said, his voice sounding fearful. ‘Someone is coming in to see you, I tried stopping him, but—’
Both doors to Joiner’s office opened wide, the hyper-realistic digital forestscape of Brazil replaced by the silhouette of a man.
‘Malcolm Joiner?’ the figure said.
‘Who wants to know?’ Myers said, his hand straying to his sidearm.
The doors closed behind the interloper and the simulated scene of nature resumed. The man, dressed in chrome-like armour edged with gold, held a similarly clad helmet under one arm. At six foot seven and powerfully built, he was a couple of inches taller than Joiner and carried himself with an assured ease. His chiselled features were unnaturally pallid and his long black hair had been pulled back into a neat plait which draped down over one shoulder. Bright eyes and a relaxed expression showed no hint of concern at the threat from Agent Myers; in fact the glimmer of a mocking smile tugged at his lips as he moved his attention from Joiner to the CIA operative.
‘My name is Ophion Nexus,’ he said, his voice tombstone deep. ‘I believe you are expecting my team?’ He looked back to Joiner.
‘Sir?’ Myers said, keeping his eyes on the man before him.
‘Leave us, Agent.’ Joiner motioned for Ophion to approach.
Myers remained on guard and held the man’s gaze as he walked past before taking his leave, a look of uncertainty on his face.
Once the two men were alone, Joiner rose and held out a hand, which Ophion shook. The intelligence director’s eyes flicked down to an emblem etched onto the man’s chest-plate.
‘The Committee has briefed you?’ Joiner said.
‘They have.’
‘I’m to oversee your mission.’
Ophion Nexus shifted his stance. ‘That won’t be necessary.’
‘Your autonomy is legend, but here – now – you will operate solely under my orders. Do we understand each other?’
Ophion’s face hardened.
‘Well?’ Joiner said.
‘I’ll report back to you, as the Committee requested.’
‘And you will action my orders,’ Joiner said, ‘also as the Committee requests.’
Ophion gave a barely perceptible movement of his head, his reluctance causing Joiner concern. What has this man been told? he wondered. Selene, the Committee member, had indicated Joiner would be in charge; S.I.L.V.E.R.’s leader, Ophion, seemed to think otherwise. Is he just unused to taking orders or has the Committee undermined my position? Either way it didn’t fill Joiner with confidence; if his success rested on another’s actions, someone over whom he had no control, his destiny, and perhaps his very life, was out of his hands. It was a status quo he could not allow to stand. Measures would have to be taken – fast.
‘The thief and her two companions have a week’s head start,’ Ophion said in his rumbling baritone. ‘The repairs need finalising; each hour, each minute, reduces our chance of success.’
Joiner sat back down in his chair. ‘I’m well aware of the state of play. Matters are in hand.’
‘If they were in hand there would not be a problem. If I was in command there would not be a problem.’
Joiner gritted his teeth. ‘Is that so?’
Ophion held his gaze. ‘It is.’
The two men remained thus for some moments in an unspoken battle of wills before Ophion relented under Joiner’s determination to continue the frosty silence ad infinitum. I can’t afford to cede the upper hand, he thought, not now; my position of power is already tenuous.
Ophion turned to leave.
‘Wait!’ Joiner said, his voice ringing with authority.
S.I.L.V.E.R.’s leader stopped and looked back, his expression dark.
‘I haven’t given you your orders …’
Ophion was obliged to wait as Joiner paused. He wanted the man’s full attention to ram home his position of power. ‘Once I’ve spoken to the facilitators of this fiasco,’ Joiner continued, ‘you can liaise with them to form the search teams. When you’re out in the field, messengers and tethered relays will be utilised to coordinate under my direction.’
Ophion didn’t respond, his hooded eyes bleak.
‘Are we clear,’ Joiner said, ‘or do I need to draw you a diagram?’
The muscles around Ophion’s hawklike eyes tightened. In the blink of an eye and a blur of motion, a narrow blade slammed into the desk, mere fractions of an inch from Joiner’s hand, making him jerk back in alarm.
‘You forget to whom you speak, Intelligence Director,’ Ophion said, his tone ice cool. ‘You’d do well not to 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 operative.
Myers’ eyes grew round and he looked back at Joiner. ‘You can’t be serious?’
‘Deadly. This is what I want. Can you make it happen if I get you the necessary clearance?’
2041 Sanctuary (Let There Be Light) Page 5
