The Shot: A Novel

By Asa Walker

It is the summer of 2016 when Russia is banned from the Summer Olympics due to its athletes’ use of human growth hormone and other performance-enhancing drugs. Vladimir Putin, the president of Russia, is outraged. After vowing his country will dominate the 2020 Olympics, Putin assembles a secret team of brilliant scientists, researchers, and doctors to develop undetectable performance-enhancing drugs. Creating the miracle serum comes with many obstacles, especially when compounded with an impossible timeframe and the overbearing demands of an ex-KGB agent turned dictator. When the team reluctantly headed by a physician battling internal demons finally achieves what had been a seemingly impossible undertaking, the result is astonishing. As the drug becomes increasingly popular due to its ability to elevate man’s physical and mental abilities to near perfection, its deadly side effects begin to manifest. Will the shot lead to the destruction of mankind?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Apr 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9781684701742

Book preview

04/11/2019

PROLOGUE

T he human race is in danger of becoming extinct.

The year is 2036, and the average age worldwide is fifty-five. The death rate has been exponentially outpacing the birth rate, and the survival of earth’s inhabitants is in grave doubt. In the previous twenty-one years, there have been only slightly more than 18,500 births. To put that in perspective, in 2015, the average birthrate for earth was 15,000. Per hour.

To compound the problem, this situation isn’t widely known because the internet and cell phone services have not worked for years. Some people have adapted to this situation by communicating by shortwave radio until the batteries run down. But very few have these radios or antennae needed to send and receive.

Famine is raging due to worldwide food and water shortages. No one is farming, raising livestock, or in any other way producing food. Most of the population is not physically able to work or are just too old.

Every imaginable school has been shut down for years. Sports and games are a thing of the past. Government entities, police, and formal military no longer exist, but strangely, crime isn’t prevalent. Power plants, refineries, factories, and pharmaceutical plants are shutting down due to the lack of materials and the wasteland that is the global economy. Fuel and food have become the sole world currencies, and barter is the only form of payment anyone will accept. The power grid is inoperable without trained workers, so soon, the only source of power will be solar energy.

This sounds like the epilogue to a story about the return of the black plague. Or possibly the result of World War III, the great nuclear conflict between the United States and Russia that ended civilization as we know it. Well, those two countries are definitely involved in this downfall, but it is not with nuclear weaponry. The weapons that brought us to this point were greed, the thirst for power … and a desire to be perfect.

1

CHAPTER

T he whole situation started in the summer of 2016. Russia was banned from the Summer Olympics by the International Olympic Committee due to the use of human growth hormone (HGH) and other performance-enhancing drugs. Vladimir Putin, the president of Russia, was outraged and vowed he would dominate the 2020 Olympics. His plan was to assemble a team of scientists, researchers, and doctors to develop undetectable performance-enhancing drugs.

Dr. Boris Babushkin, a somber and quiet gentleman, had just finished his afternoon rounds at European Medical Center. He pulled out a drawer of his desk and retrieved a bottle of vodka and a glass. With shaking hands, he poured a drink. He put the bottle away and leaned back in his chair. The death of his family had been driving him crazy for two years. Every time he thought he was getting better, he would see something that reminded him of his family and fall deeper into depression. He had made up his mind to move far away. He planned to move to Switzerland the first week of December; it was a place where nobody knew him and he knew nobody. He downed his vodka and returned the glass to the drawer.

His office door swung open startling him. What the fu— He saw President Putin.

Boris, what the hell is going on? It took my agents two weeks to find you. Why in the world would a man of your expertise and knowledge take a job as a resident doctor in a hospital? Vladimir shut the door and sat.

Trying to appear calm, Boris replied, Mr. President, ever since the passing of my family, I’ve lost interest in my career. I do this only to keep my sanity. What brings you here? And why have you been looking for me? Have I done anything wrong?

No, quite the opposite. I was looking for you because you’re a world-renowned pharmacologist and hematologist. You developed Porcretion, the miracle drug that all but cured chronic kidney disease. The cloning of Dolly the sheep … your resume goes on and on. Therefore, I have chosen you to be my team leader.

Mr. President, have I missed something? Leader? Team? I’m not following you.

Sorry, Boris. Sometimes I get ahead of myself. I’m sure you’ve heard about what happened with my Olympic team in Rio de Janeiro this past summer. I’m mad as hell. Not because of the doping but because those inbred idiots got caught and embarrassed me. So here’s my plan or dream whatever you want to call it. You’ll lead a team of scientists and doctors to develop an HGH that will be effective and undetectable.

Mr. President, if I may, I was planning on moving the first week of December.

Move, you say? And just where do you plan on moving to, Boris?

Well, I haven’t nailed down the city, but to Switzerland. I was thinking the foothills of the Alps, or perhaps Zurich.

Switzerland, huh? Well, the best-laid plans are always subject to change! You will be making a move, but I assure you it won’t be to Switzerland. As I mentioned, you’ll be heading my team!

Boris knew by his tone that it was time to stop pushing this powerful man. Yes Mr. President. I would consider it an honor to lead your team.

Perfect! You will have until the 2020 Olympics to get this perfected. Failure will be unacceptable. You can pick and choose your people. Just remember what I told you. When you have selected them, we will set up a meeting in my office. Boris, I suggest you move quickly. Time is not your friend.

Vladimir left as quickly as he had come. He left the door open. Boris walked to the door and slammed it shut. He was enraged. He returned to his chair for another drink or two of Absolut. Still in shock and disbelief from what had just gone down, he realized that in a matter of ten minutes, his life had gone from bad to terrible.

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CHAPTER

B oris worked diligently on selecting a team. Renowned Russian scientist Zoya Yazova and his wife, Dr. Anna Yazova, were the first he hired for this project. Zoya had graduated from Yale in 1969 and had earned a doctorate at Harvard Medical in 1976, after which he moved back to Russia to work at Norvo Pharmaceutical in Moscow on the development of new formulations of HGH and synthetic testosterone ethers. He helped develop several drugs for Russian Olympic athletes, the Russian military, and the special police force.

Anna’s first year at Harvard Medical began in the fall of 1975, and she met the young and incredibly ambitious Zoya. The two fell in love and were married shortly after. She continued her studies at Harvard focusing on the science of early childhood development for six years, and then she moved back to Moscow to be with Zoya. With her educational resume, she was quickly hired at the Filator Moscow Pediatric Clinical Hospital, where she stayed for ten years before joining up with Father Alexander Men at the Russian Children’s Clinical Hospital.

Boris needed a neurologist, and that was when Dr. Radimir Vorobyov, an accomplished neurosurgeon, came into the picture. He had graduated from Vanderbilt School of Medicine when he was just twenty-three. After graduation, he returned to Russia to be closer to his family. He took a job at the European Medical Center in Moscow, where he joined a team of international doctors working under the supervision of Prof. Alexei Krivoshapkin, PhD. He had worked at EMC for twenty long years before Boris selected him as his neurology expert.

Since the members of the team were all native Russians, they knew that when Vladimir asked them to join the team, it wasn’t really a request. There was no refusing that man.

Anna and Zoya were the first to arrive at Vladimir’s office. Zoya, who already knew the president from his earlier work with the military and special forces, introduced his wife. Mr. President, it gives me great pleasure to see you again. This is Anna, my beautiful wife of many years.

I must say you are a very lucky man to be able to hold onto someone so beautiful, Vladimir responded as he took Anna’s hand and kissed it. I thank you both for joining the team. Please, let’s go the parlor and have some drinks. So Boris, who is the other member of the team, and when will he arrive?

That would be me, Mr. President, and I’m here precisely at six thirty, Radimir said as he entered the office with hand extended to Vladimir. It gives me great pleasure to meet you, Mr. President. They shook hands, and the president said, You have a powerful handshake, Radimir. I like that in a man. It shows self-confidence and that he can take care of himself. Let’s have some drinks.

After a few drinks and some small talk, a server announced that supper was on the table. The large oval table was covered with servings of lamb-filled dumplings in broth, stroganoff, chicken and beef shashlik, unleavened bread, Russian pickles, spicy tomato sauce, salad, and honey cake.

As everyone’s plate was being filled, Vladimir asked, If there is anything else you would like, just tell Felix and he will bring it. I’m assuming Boris has filled you in on your mission. You know about this year’s Olympics and the doping. As I told Boris, that was very embarrassing to me. It really pissed me off.

As Vladimir expressed his anger at being banned from the Olympics and how adamant he was about taking the lion’s share of gold medals at the 2020 Olympics, he thought about something he had heard many times as he was growing up—If you’re not cheating, you’re not trying. The president felt the only way to achieve his goal required undetectable performance-enhancing drugs. Normally, it would take several years and millions of rubles to develop such drugs, but research, animal trials, human trials, and then the dreaded red tape of government oversight made that route unacceptable for Vladimir.

Plus with all the research that has already been done on HGH and other PEDs, he felt it could be achieved much quicker. He made it clear to his team that money was no object. They were told that they had essentially unlimited resources but a very tight schedule. They were to use any means necessary to achieve the desired result in three years.

Vladimir told them that after dinner, they would return to their homes with an escort and retrieve anything they needed to make the next three years as comfortable as possible. He let them know that he had chosen a site in Tula, a town about two hours south of Moscow, for their base of operations. Tula was a quiet place populated mostly by elderly and retired people. At one time, it had been a hopping college town, but as universities were built in the larger cities, Tula’s schools were forced to shut down. The students there preferred life in bigger cities.

Years earlier, the university hospital in Tula hadn’t been big enough to serve the town’s population, but at that point, it had only a few patients, so most of the hospital was sitting idle. Resourceful as he was, Vladimir had commandeered it to use as the facility for his new project. He named this facility Новое начало, New Beginning.

Vladimir had begun renovating the hospital three months before his meeting with Boris. It was furnished with a state-of-the-art laboratory and had all the latest pharmaceutical and medical technology available to a head of state. He also converted the hospital rooms into plush apartments, a gym, a game room for children, and of course a fully stocked bar for relaxing after hours. Vladimir’s intent was to keep his team comfortably confined until he got from them what he wanted. Anytime they would leave the complex to get groceries or personal items, they would be chauffeured by officers in Vladimir’s Otryad Mobilny Osobogo Naznacheniya, Special Purpose Mobility Unit.

It took Boris only a few hours to pack his belongings—pictures, albums, candles, personal hygiene stuff—and a couple changes of clothes. He had only three suitcases and a couple of boxes. He was traveling light for a three-year hitch at his new home. His mind darted between going to Tula or making a run to another country. Why did I say anything to Vladimir about moving to Switzerland? What a dumb-ass move that was. But going on the run would surely be a death sentence. There’s no escaping that man.

He downed a last shot of vodka, grabbed his last box, and headed to the limo. He wanted to be at the university hospital to greet the others when they arrived the next day.

September 10 was a beautiful day in Tula—sunny with a slight breeze. It was two weeks before the first day of autumn, but the leaves were starting to change colors and lose their grip on branches. If you were to drive down the cobblestone streets lined with a beautiful array of brilliantly colored trees and pull up to the old university, you would be stunned by its beauty. Tula was a beautiful town most of which had been rebuilt after World War II. Parts of the 1920s-era buildings were reused for rebuilding the churches, the school, and the old university to maintain its old-world feel. The churches all had tall steeples, stained-glass windows, and hand-laid stone fences. The streets were lined with quaint tract-style housing complete with wrought-iron fences and stone sidewalks.

Boris was up at four a.m. He didn’t need an alarm clock; he was an early riser by nature. He made coffee and cinnamon rolls. He went for his morning walk around the grounds for a meet-and-greet with the guards to inform them of the others who would arrive later that day. He asked them to be informed when they arrived; he wanted to meet them at the front door. After his walk around the grounds, he toured the hospital and ended up in the bar to settle his nerves.

It was 8:45 when Boris’s phone rang; a guard let him know that the first of his team had arrived in an SUV pulling a trailer followed by a guard. Boris eased his way to the front door and waited on the porch for Anna, Zoya, and their beautiful daughters, identical twins who had been born on November 24, 1999. Sofia and Regina were seventeen; they had one year left of high school homeschooling, and then it would be off to college in St. Petersburg.

The girls were extremely excited about moving to a new place. They loved their parents, but after all their years with them, they were ready to experience life away from their brilliant parents’ umbrella.

Anna was first to make it up the sidewalk and stairs.

Boris asked, Anna, how was your trip?

Not bad at all. We slept most of the way because we were up late packing.

The girls were tall and athletically slender; they had long blond hair and sky-blue eyes. They loved to play indoor volleyball and basketball and always had a healthy competitive streak going on between them, but they were closer than anyone could imagine; one always knew what the other was thinking as if they communicated telepathically. They were a hard team to beat.

The next morning around 9:15, a truck arrived with Dr. Vorobyov’s belongings. It was followed by an SUV that carried Radimir, his wife, Trara, their two boys, and of course the family dog. The young men, Anton and Yeager, were also identical twins born on August 10, 1998. When they walked down the hall to their rooms, Sofia’s and Regina’s eyes lit up. The boys were about six-three and had jet-black hair and slim, toned frames. Radimir worked out with his sons daily, and he always made it clear to the boys that a strong body was a healthy body.

As the boys unpacked the truck, Radimir and Trara were in the gym admiring all the equipment. Trara, I see Vladimir was serious about making life easy—all the best free weights, cardio equipment, strength and fitness accessories … It even has a damn steam and sauna room.

Anton walked in. Mom, we need your help at the apartment.

Okay, son. Be there in a minute.

At age forty-eight, Trara looked much younger than she was. She was full of life, an eternal optimist with a bright smile for whomever she met. It was obvious that she also took care of herself; her sons were often asked if their sister was married, and those who asked were beyond shocked to learn she was in fact their mother.

Their dog was Igor, a large Siberian husky. Despite his size, he was still a puppy at six months old. Igor was enjoying his change of scenery by running around the fenced grounds barking loudly and chasing leaves that were being blown in circles.

By early afternoon, they were settled in, and Trara was in the kitchen preparing the family’s meal. She was a stay-at-home mom and an excellent cook. She was serving mushroom julienne, a creamy mushroom dish, for starters, and then her specialties—beef stroganoff, Russian green beans, and pickled beets. The table was set for nine. A gallon of tea and a bottle of vodka was the norm at the table.

The interaction at dinner was mostly small talk; the families were getting acquainted. The kids talked about their schooling, future plans and goals, likes, dislikes, and who was in a relationship and who wasn’t. They were kids having some laughs and giggles.

After dinner, the kids cleaned the table and the dishes and the adults went to the bar to discuss ideas and a meeting time for the next morning.

Day one was ending, but the countdown for their three-year deadline had started. The word deadline couldn’t have been more apt in this situation.

3

CHAPTER

T he first official workday started at seven sharp, which was considered late for some in the group but early for others. The team sat around a large, oval table in the grand conference room drinking strong, black coffee and eating kolacky and pryanik , a delicious Russian spice cake.

At 7:10, Zoya set his coffee cup on the table. Radimir, Boris is ten minutes late. He’s our damn team leader. We can’t work like this!

I totally agree, but let’s give Boris a break and call it first-day jitters. We need to start off tension free, but if happens again, I’ll let Boris know how we feel.

Boris showed up thirty minutes late and obviously a little hungover. He had had a few too many shots of vodka far surpassing the point of a relaxing evening drink. That had become his common ritual over the two previous years.

His tardiness pissed off Radimir. Boris, the meeting was to start at seven sharp and you come staggering in at seven thirty. This is totally unacceptable, and we won’t tolerate it! We have all been handed an unachievable mission. If we’re going to have any chance at all of doing the impossible, we must have the full commitment of all team members. Do I make myself clear?

Boris was dumbfounded as he looked at Radimir, whom he thought considered himself the team leader. Yes, Radimir, you are a hundred percent correct—full commitment by all team members. I offer my apologies and assurance this will not happen again.

The meeting began. The talk went immediately to HGH—straight to