This fanfiction is made for entertainment and is purely fictional. Viewer discretion is advised.
The Locket is the third installment in the SILO files. The first chapter is planned to make its debut sometime in September of 2012.
In 1961, a brilliant nuclear physichist develops a secret nuclear weapon to be used as a last resort against the Soviet Union. Fearing if they captured the weapon, the scientist developed a secret and sophisticated detonator to render the nukes useless.
Years after he dies, an airline is flying from Stockholm to New York when it mysteriously explodes and crash lands on the Swedish beach with no survivors. SILO is called to investigate. Despite the seemingly normal job, they are unknowingly interfered with a multibillionaire political party with malicious plans, which could result in the fall of the western world. Can they be connected with the scientist's mysterious weapon?
In the Locket, you'll travel to:Edit
- A secret nuclear weapons factory
- A high flying airliner over Sweden
- Markets in Casablanca
- Bunkers in the French Alps
- The Formula One Grand Prix
Lane Experimental Weapons Plant
Having been built only a few months back in 1964, the Lane Experimental Weapons Plant was opened during the new year celebration of 1965. Appearing as a small office compound in the middle of Minnesota, very few took notice when passing by on a highway. They didn't even question the barbed wire barriers surrounding the place. Several new weapons had been designed here, including the modern issue gatling guns, a radical new attack helicopter that would be canceled four months after conception and discussions of the next WMDs were rumored to be stored behind a massive vault door which the staff dubbed "The door of no return"
However, Lane Experimental Weapons Plant was not a classified development facility today.
Douglas Sutton and several of his assistants stood at the entrance watching several members of the press beginning to get out of their cars and start towards the atrium. It was a glass opening, allowing what little natural light Minnesota skies could offer to shine down on the stone floor, giving it a glow. Lane's logo was embossed in brass on a cherrywood panel directly to the back. A small reception desk that was currently vacant stood in the center with a telephone, papers and a coffee cup.
Sutton felt nervous with media only being on the other side of the glass. Born to a single mother, Sutton was pressured to exceptional performance in school, graduating as his class treasurer. He went to Harvard and graduated with nuclear physics as a major at the age of 21. Right away, he was whisked away by the US experimental weapons division to join a team of 12 scientists as the project director. Being told it was all top secret, he was then instructed to create a "last resort" bomb. He was here today to announce and simulate the weapon's detonation.
"Professor Sutton." A middle aged man approached and shook his hand. "We look forward to the demonstration."
Sutton returned the handshake and began to mingle around with the other members of the press assigned to witness his achievement. He thought of it something on the lines of him going down in history as the one who doomed the Western world. Despite his protests to the Pentagon, they insisted that they get a demonstration. Douglas presumed that it was a demonstration to the Soviet Union to what would happen if they ever tried to invade.
His weapon was a Promethium bomb. Although nuclear in the fuel, the blast was no larger than six pounds of C4 explosives. However, it was the radiation that made the bomb a last resort. It would be harmless to anyone because of its low output, even with protected suits. The radiation would target certain metals found in everyday items and the output of radiation would be increased sevenfold making doses lethal to even those in protection.
His assistants led the media to the testing simulation area where the flashes of cameras began to blind him. The chamber was enormous, over three hundred feet long and almost equally as wide. The lights above were arranged in a typical grid pattern and the ceiling was high enough to fit a Lockheed C-130 plane inside.
Taking a deep breath, Sutton strode to the center where he began his demonstration. The screen showed a demonstration of the Promethium bomb. The explosion was no larger than several grenades, but the real part was about to happen. Sutton fast forwarded the computer and displayed the decay that the lethal radiation would leave behind.
The second the simulation was over, the press swarmed like bees and began asking so many questions, all he could make out was incomprehensible dialogue. As he was answering questions as best he could, he noticed a journalist that hadn't arrived with the group. The middle aged man had a hand in his pocket. Sutton could only react in surprise when he strode next to him and walked down the hallway.
"You stop!" One of the MP guards shouted at him. The journalist's response was to dig into his pocket and leveled a pistol at the security. The gunshot took everyone by surprise and the MP was dead before anyone else could figure out what was going on. Screams filled the air as the media and Sutton's assistants began to flee the building. Working as fast as his hands would allow, he pressed the alarm and moved to the observation deck.
The gunman had fled into test chamber B, where he sat next to the Promethium bomb. Three MPs were opposite, taking cover behind work desks. One of the men fired near the intruder to indicate a warning, but it only prompted him to fire three successive shots at the MP, missing his head by a few inches.
Just as the gunman spotted the detonator, he sprinted through the fire produced by the guards and reached the locker. He shot the lock and opened it up, taking out the detonator. One of the MPs had followed him and delivered a blow with the M14's butt. Instantly, the man collapsed on the ground, allowing the MP to clip a pair of cuffs over his hands. The press applauded as two of the MPs led the captured gunman outside. Sutton was among the clapping and was met by a death glare from the young man in the cuffs. The captive gave a slight malicious smile before being shoved into an approaching police cruiser. He didn't know what to make out of it, but there wasn't anything he could do now.
Sutton had talked to the police for a hour and they deduced that he had no idea that the assassin was coming.
"If I were you, I'd make the detonator something less obvious."
He thought about the policeman's suggestion, "Yeah, maybe I'll try that."
It was dark by the time Sutton had arrived home. His wife, Kelsey had already gone to bed and had dinner in an enclosed dish in the fridge. Before he settled in for the night, Sutton had placed the detonators in another safe, one that only he knew where it was. He was vigilant to keep Kelsey and anybody else unknown of the safe's existence. Along with the detonators were manila folders containing blueprints and general info to use the Promethium bomb.
He let out a long sigh as he took one last look at the safe before shutting the door. The professor waited for the sound of the lock clicking before he turned to the house's kitchen.
September 22, 2018
The increase of volume in the bustiling streets of Casablanca indicated that someone else had entered the casual restaurant. A figure with an aura of slyness and cunning entered the restaurant. The waitress greeted him, asking if he needed a table, but the figure politely declined, insisting he was here to meet someone. She smiled and he went about his duty. He was a medium build and his hair was of a typical Moroccan. His polarized glasses were beginning to return to normal from being out of the harsh African sun.
Calmly walking past the booths, he noticed two strangers dining together. The smaller of the two eyed him without obvious surprise and gave a subtle rise of his head, indicating that he should come over.
Knowing this was his agent, the man walked over and the diners stood to greet him. The larger man parted his hands and made a fist with his left. Already knowing what it meant, he reached into his pocket and discreetly removed the clip of a pistol. He pocketed both ammunition and gun in separate pockets.
Once the deal with the gun was over, the man pulled up a seat and sat down. "Now that our tensions are over, why don't we discuss our deal?" The two were surprised at his flawless English.
"I suppose we should introduce ourselves." The smaller man extended his hand and shook. "My name's Victor Havok. My friend here is Taylor Crespo."
"A pleasure." The Moroccan replied, "I am Lieutenant Mohammed Erkzel of the Surete Nationale. The entire royal kingdom thanks you for helping us in this hunt."
"We were just finishing dinner." Crespo finished his chicken, "Can you tell me what you know?"
Erkzel looked around to make sure that nobody suspicious was eavesdropping. When he was certain, he leaned close and whispered, "Three days ago, the Ugandans had sent us a warning that one of their most wanted drug traffickers was spotted at a grocery store. During the time there, he made a call and it described a safehouse on the eastern side of the city. He replied, saying that he has to walk."
"But why walk?" Havok asked, "Wouldn't taking public transport be less suspicious and faster?"
"The kingdom owns nearly all the transportation companies availible to the public. All workers report to the government." Erkzel replied, "He is actually not arousing as much suspicion if he just walked."
"Have you tracked him to his newest place of residence?"
"He's been renting nights at run down apartments downtown. We actually realized why he didn't move to the safehouse right away is because he is meeting someone there. Perhaps a deal to get rid of the evidence. In addition, the safehouse is near a major Casablanca heliport and the international airport."
Crespo handed the plates to the waitress, "Makes you wonder,"
"That the drug dealers have that safehouse for a specific reason?"
"It makes sense." Havok concluded as he stood. "Quickly conduct an agreement and whisk it to the airport or heliport and be out of there before the police even knows you were there." He looked at Erkzel, "Can I trust you to get me backup if the plan goes south?"
"Yes. Mr. Havok. The royal kingdom will honor your deal of three and a half million dollars once the target is captured or dead."
"Rendezvous at intersection west of the target's apartment at oh-nine-hundred tomorrow. That's when he will make his move."
"Pleasure conducting buisiness with you Mr. Havok." Erkzel smiled, putting back on his glasses. Upon walking away, his shoes stepped gracefully and noiselessly as if made from a shadow. He moved like a spectre out the door.
Havok waited for him to fully exit the restaurant before dialing a phone number. Crespo was placing dirhams on the table. He was finished by the time Havok pressed the terminating button and both men thanked the waitress before leaving the restaurant.
The next day
Havok waited until Erkzel arrived in their semicircle before he laid the gangplank to Defiant to allow the representative across. He was dressed in a casual tourist blue button shirt with forest green shorts. The sun had already risen and began casting its baking heat across the city. By noon, it was very difficult to even walk a few blocks without sweating profusely.
He was reluctant to even agree to have Erkzel aboard. Defiant was a highly sensitive place that should only belong to the crew's eyes alone.
The representative made a face at the rust caking on the deck and looked even more nervous as the two men walked past a crane that looked ready to collapse under its own weight at any given moment. Havok was actually glad that he was disgusted, not only the fact that it was his ship, but they would commence the mission faster and obtain their pay. The faster he got paid, the faster they could get out. Although not wanted by the Moroccan authorites, they had made more than enough powerful foes that reached well into the governments of countries where his organizaiton, SILO had contracts in.
Started after Havok left the CIA, SILO was a private contractor that would perform operations sponsored usually by a high bidder or the US Government. Following the fragmentation of the Soviet Union, Havok was aware that there would be an increase in regional conflicts and the US military would have much difficulty trying to counter the rampant terrorism. All crew members were handpicked by Havok himself, who was the commander of the entire band. They were the best of the best, from the group of the best skilled special forces fighters to the onboard chef, who trained at Cordon Bleu.
"Representative Erkzel." Havok regarded him as two more people walked across the filthy deck towards them. "This is Rex Pyra, my chairman and Alexis Roush, my vice chairman." He pointed to Erkzel, "This is the representative for the mission and my contact."
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Havok led them down a nearby staircase into the lower decks of the ship. The hallway was narrow and the lights occasionally flickered. There was little on the bare white walls save for a few holes where thumbtacks were previously mounted. The meeting room had only one window, but was much warmer lit than the hallway. The four of them sat down at a small table where a bowl of nuts and four glasses of water in the center.
"Alright, let's get down to business. The runner is planning to get out of Casablanca within the next two hours. Crespo will be providing overwatch and will snipe the target if I fail to take him alive before he gets into the rental building. Erkzel will accompany Crespo at the top of the hotel. Rex, as soon as we get the target, ready the ship for immediate extraction."
"I'm on it." Pyra replied, already halfway out of the room.
"What about me?" Roush asked.
"You, um just keep looking pretty."
Before she could retaliate at his comment, the team was already beginning the operation.
"Do you see him?"
"Affirmitive," Havok muttered, easily spotting the target due to him seeing the dossier minutes before walking the streets. He sat at a bus stop across the target's building and was "playing" on his Iphone5. Not only did it double as his cell phone, but it also kept him useful information on other conditions. He had even installed a prototype outcome predictor which could predict the next outcome of a device like a slot machine.
The target was dressed in a typical shirt and shorts and just about blended in with the rest of the crowd. He also wore dark sunglasses over his eyes, something Havok had forgotten to wear. The SILO commander did not get onto the bus when it stopped by the station. Other than a simple glance in his direction, the target did not know he was being trailed.
Havok quickened his pace slightly, but he made no move to push people out of his way. Not taking his eyes off his target, he silently flicked his hand to signal the construction workers.
As the target approached the alley that the trap had been set, two of his men dressed in construciton clothes were erecting detour signs. They began telling the pedestrians that the alleyway was the only route if you wanted to go towards the main sector, which was where the target was headed.
The target stopped when he saw the detour and Havok was about to tackle him in a last resort when he just grumbled and began walking down the alley. With his chance wide open, Havok sprinted forward as quietly as he could and tripped the target. The man recovered, quicker than expected and surveyed his attacker.
Without warning, a rip in his clothing jerked the body. The target stared at the crimson circle on his shirt before falling to the ground.
"Crespo what the hell? I thought I said kill the target when I couldn't capture it?!"
"Looks like somebody else wanted him dead. I'm searching for the origin of the bullet trail."
The commander did not need the frantic yelling in his earpiece to know that something was amiss. Since the bullet trail had come from the rooftops, Havok began scanning them, holding his hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun. He really wished that he had brought a pair of sunglasses. Locals were still slightly panicky, but after several seconds, they began to resume their normal tasks.
Havok spotted a figure jump over an alley adjacent to his location and immediately set pursuit. He began shoving people out of his way and ignored the banter that followed. All that mattered was getting to the person who did his work for him. Finding a crack in the side of a market stand, he heaved himself up as fast as he possibly could. He hit the next roof at a full run, barely slowing down as the target leapt onto the balcony of a hotel building, using the sides to easily climb. Havok kept his pace, ignoring the Winchester rifle leaning beside a case.
The assassin wasn't going to risk another shot, especially with Havok earning himself the admiration of watchers below. He saw the assailiant pull something out and toss it behind him. Havok was too insistent on pursuing his target that he walked right into the flashbang. The grenade detonated and his vision went white. Despite squeezing his eyes shut and covering his ears, it was still unable to see or hear anything.
Finally his vision began to revert back to normal and the constant chatter slowly rose in volume until it reached its original pitch. Looking around, he saw that the shooter was nowhere to be found. Something caught his eye as he walked over to a small ribbon of camo that was previously attached to the rifle. It was a wild goose chase, but he could get his team to cross-reference the camo patch to its manufacturer.
After all, he knew that logo too well.
The next day