Shangri-la 199

By Michael Cassata

Titan Pharmaceuticals has the key to resolving the world’s depopulation crisis – Project Shangri-La, which will nearly double the lifespan of a healthy human to 199 years.

In the near future, four superpowers cling to their respective hegemony and vie for control of the drug that will stabilize matters long enough to reverse the devastating trend.

Karlson, a successful entrepreneur, is recruited by Poland to infiltrate the American pharmaceutical company and steal the elusive formula. Other agents have tried and failed, falling victim to Mendoza, Titan’s efficient yet brutal security chief. However, Karlson has an advantage the others didn’t possess – his skill as a former Rocket Racing champion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781329951716

Book preview

law.

PROLOGUE

Not Too Distant Future

T

he cool breeze swept in low off the Santa Barbara coast, whipped its way past a spate of Chinese tourists on Stern’s Wharf, and ventured clear up State Street eventually angling toward the Mission. Stevens and his two colleagues, Jacobs and Mallum, noticed the swirl a block before it hit and secured their drinks and plates as the rush of wind blew past.

How many foreigners just lost their lunch on the pier? Mallum asked with an amused air of superiority.

Stevens caught Jacobs’ eye before responding, Don’t you mean tourists ... you seem to forget Jacobs and I are Polish?

That’s right, now how did you guys get past security? Mallum replied devilishly as the server refilled his drink.

We told Mendoza we knew you, Stevens replied dryly, baiting the American chemical engineer.

The only people who get the undistinguished privilege of seeing Mendoza are the ones being interrogated.

Ah, you’re right, then we must have slipped through the cracks, Stevens said, or, if you’re Jacobs here, have a father in high places.

Jacobs didn’t flash his usual self-deprecating grin and instead gave a quizzical look down the street. Speaking of Mendoza, I swear I just saw him run across the street. Stevens and Mallum turned. It looked like he was chasing someone.

Come on, that’s not like him, Mallum replied. He has others do the dirty work while he sits in his high palace sifting through our files.

Stevens and Jacobs suddenly glanced at each other, seeming to share a common understanding.

What? What did I miss? Mallum asked.

In both Stevens and Jacobs’ right eyes streamed the message:

Titan Pharmaceuticals

Security Alert

All Employees Return to Campus Immediately

Crap, Jacobs snapped, we didn’t even finish lunch.

I didn’t get the message yet, Mallum said pleadingly. What did it say?

It said you need to upgrade your implant or there will be hell to pay, Stevens jibed.

I should switch carriers ... mine sucks.

Well it will have to wait because –

There it is, Mallum interrupted, Another damn security alert.

As Mallum concentrated on the streaming message in his right eye, a chaotic noise grew from inside the restaurant. The three Titan employees joined the rest of the patio and craned their necks toward the commotion. The shadowy outline of a man quickly came into view trailed by the carnage of tossed over tables and chairs that once blocked his path.

Holy crap! Jacobs exclaimed as the man stepped into the light of the patio, his eyes frantically scanning for an escape route. He spotted Jacobs with a hint of hope then arched his back. The grimace on his face explained everything. The man threw Jacobs one last pleading look before his eyes rolled back and he fell forward, crashing onto their table. A woman a few seats over screamed as Jacobs, Stevens and Mallum stared in disbelief.

I got him! a voice thundered in the patio doorway. He was tall, broad-shouldered and menacing. He stared at the dead man with the uncaring disgust of having just killed a pest at the dinner table. 

Mendoza..., Jacobs whispered.

Mendoza glanced at Jacobs with the pleasure of knowing the fear he instilled in all Titan Pharmaceutical employees. Mark my location and pick him up, Mendoza stated authoritatively then momentarily turned his attention to the three men. Did you send out the alert? Stevens awaited the silent answer with as much curiosity as Mendoza. Then why do I have three Titan employees still sitting around a café as if the order hadn’t been received? It was an obvious rhetorical question that produced the desired result.

We were just leaving, Mallum said, swallowing hard.

Maybe your ocular sensor needs an upgrade, Mendoza expressed snidely.

Yes, I think you’re right. You’re definitely right.

A vehicle rolled up to the curb and out popped two security men in gray suits and sunglasses. Mendoza nodded to his men and disappeared into the restaurant.

Stevens, Jacobs and Mallum quickly rose and headed back to campus.

*     *

Back on campus tensions ran high. Although incidents like the one earlier in the day didn’t happen frequently, they happened enough to remind the employees of Titan Pharmaceuticals that theirs was a business of high consequences. In light of the world’s evolving depopulation crisis, corporate espionage had become an essential card in the high stakes poker game between the world’s four main powers.

Mallum, a project manager in the biocybernetics division, winced as his third cup of coffee since lunch touched his mouth. His upper lip pulsated with a burning sensation that he welcomed as a temporary distraction from the anxious atmosphere engulfing the lab. His second sip wasn’t as dramatic and he felt his heart rate return to its previously unhealthy state.

How can you work? Mallum asked rhetorically as he stepped in front of Stevens’ desk. Seen Jacobs around?

Can’t say that I have.

That’s not good.

Relax, he’s probably just grabbing a snack or actually doing some work.

No, it means he’s in ‘Mendoza’s Locker’ is what it means.

Stevens cocked an eyebrow picturing instead what some of the old-timers called the ‘Operating Room’. Even though most would never see the insides of the interrogation room, all new Titan employees were encouraged to diligently avoid paying an undue visit. Rumors added to the notoriety, but one didn’t wait long before understanding that a workover by Mendoza could turn out to be much more than career ending.

Damn, I hope I don’t get the call, Mallum continued.

What are you worried about, you haven’t been selling secrets, have you?

Mallum’s eyes just about popped out. Of course not ... and don’t say that so loud.

Relax. Besides, if anyone should be worried, it should be us foreigners, right?

Mallum studied Stevens in a new light. The man’s steely composure impressed him, but also raised a subconscious red flag.

I guess you’re right, Mallum replied.

Good, now if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish this report before I’m summoned. However, just as the words came out, a message streamed in his right eye:

Titan Pharmaceuticals

Security Division

Jedrek Stevens: Report to Security Immediately

Speak of the devil, Stevens said as he punched in a few keys.

Really? Mallum said somewhat excitedly. Stevens nodded as he moved around his desk.

I’ll let you know if there are any dead bodies in the locker room when I get back.

As Stevens headed toward the elevator, Mallum whispered, If you get back.

*     *

Outwardly cool, but inwardly anxious, Stevens rode the security elevator up to the seventh floor. Captivated by the floor-to-ceiling window, the Channel Islands emerged in the distance behind a loose strand of clouds. A swath of deep blue water followed to be capped off by the white rush of waves into the coast line.

He reflected on the coming scene, one which contrasted sharply with the current serenity. Light gloves or heavy hand? What would be their angle of attack? What did they know or better yet, what did they think he knew? He wondered how soon he would be reflecting on the distant islands or if he would even get the chance. The adjacent elevator didn’t yield such a pleasant view and one knew that riding it down was more than symbolic; it was the beginning of the end.

A slight jolt and the doors slid open. Stevens stared curiously at a gray wall, taking in the moment in a sort of sick pleasure. The faint sound of office work echoed from a distance providing the slightest flicker of normalcy. But Stevens knew better and stepped out.

The hallway was modern and clean, but not as antiseptic as a hospital ward. He reassessed the décor and decided the walls were not really gray, rather silver, exuding the glint of a sharpened blade.

A man stepped through the glass door at the end of the hallway, his head down, seemingly unfocused. Stevens knew right away from how he held himself in that lumpish sort of way that it was Jacobs. He prepared himself, but as Jacobs approached and their eyes met, the man walked past as though a ghost unfamiliar with its surroundings. Stevens decided to let it go and walked through the door, but couldn’t help notice how an already pale man seemed to have had every last pigment sucked out of him.

As Stevens stepped up to the desk, he wondered which elevator Jacobs was now riding and whether he would see him again.

*     *

The questioning room, as the clerk had called it, was sterile with light gray walls that angled toward each other near the ceiling. The slightly claustrophobic effect was subtle, but intended. The door was heavy and windowless. The temperature was a chilly fifty-five degrees. Stevens sat at an uncommonly low table – the edge at his thighs – and continued his observation. The only other oddity in the room was a half-sized door, three-feet high, tucked near one corner, easily visible from his position. He studied it, wondered what it could be then noticed a faint, dark stain on the floor that carried under the door. It had obviously come from some sort of pooling, but what? A janitor’s closet?

The door opened and a man in his early thirties, black suit, black tie, black shirt, quickly walked to the opposite side of the room, ignoring Stevens, and punched a code into a small console in the wall. Stevens hadn’t noticed it before and realized that at his angle, it blended seamlessly into the wall.

The man threw Stevens a disappointed look as he exited.

Stevens stared at the blank wall, repositioned his head a little this way, a little that way, but still couldn’t see the console. Then he noticed it was directly above the half-door and his mind jumped back to an unanswered, evolving question – was the dried stain blood?

Mendoza entered calmly, confidently, and walked over to the console, his big shoulders blocking it from view. Stevens noticed that his feet purposefully avoided the stain. He also noticed Mendoza’s outfit matched the other man’s, except Mendoza wore a dark red shirt. Was this some sort of rank thing? Mendoza stepped back and took a seat.

Thank you for coming in, Mr. Stevens. Stevens nodded, wiping sweaty palms on his knees. It’s my understanding you’re a chemical engineer, Stevens nodded again, a Class II researcher in the Genetics Division. Is that correct? Oddly, Stevens couldn’t muster his vocal cords, so he nodded for the third time. Please, there is no reason to be nervous; this is simply a general inquiry into personnel matters. Another nod. What project are you currently working on?

A gene manipulation study called Nerocin A-21, Stevens replied, getting his voice back.

I see. And who is running the R & D?

Dr. Formosa. I don’t see him often, but I’ve been on the project for the last two years.

Yes, Dr. Formosa does have several projects under his supervision. I can see why he would be a hard man to get to know.

Well from my short conversations with him, he’s very knowledgeable and precise. He doesn’t like mistakes.

None of us does, Mr. Stevens. Stevens took a breath and reminded himself to not encourage unnecessary conversation. Mendoza continued, Your background is interesting – you’re from Poland, correct? The nodding resurfaced. How did you happen to come to the U.S.?

An exchange program in school … which is where I met my wife, who’s American.

I see. Do you ever go back?

No. Most of my family, including my parents, died from the flu.

Mendoza nodded. A lot of people died during that time, including my son. Stevens was shocked at the revelation. Was this a tactic? Then suddenly, Did you know the man I killed in front of you this afternoon?

No, no I don’t.

"You mean didn’t."

Right, of course, I didn’t know him. Who was he?

Mendoza ignored the question. How well do you know Jacobs?

Stevens looked around innocently while formulating a response. How much trouble was Jacobs in? Could they seriously be considering him a viable threat or was it a knee-jerk reaction causing all foreigners to become more suspect than usual.

More of an acquaintance than a friend. Mendoza narrowed his eyes wanting more. Stevens fought the impulse unsuccessfully. We have lunch once in a while and chat about meaningless stuff in the hallway. I don’t work with him if that’s what you’re getting at.

We know you don’t work together. Do you ever get together outside of work?

Once in a while with some of the others … we might have a few drinks, but again, idle chit-chat is all.

I see. Mendoza paused to consider and after a few moments nodded. Stevens wasn’t sure why but figured the man had reached some kind of conclusion. Okay then, Mr. Stevens, I think that will be all.

If you don’t mind my asking, is Jacobs in some sort of trouble?

Frankly, we’re a little suspicious of him.

Hmm, I would’ve never thought that about him.

Well nothing’s certain and we’re not in the business of persecuting innocent people, especially talented folks who contribute to the company’s success.

Mendoza guided Stevens to the door.

One more thing, what do you know of Project Shangri-La? Mendoza asked innocently.

Never heard of it.

I see. Thank you.

That wasn’t too bad, Stevens thought, as he rode the elevator down, enjoying the ocean view.

*     *

Stevens walked into the Press Room anxious for a drink and an update on the latest gossip swirling around campus. The day’s events had obviously riled up Titan’s employees and been the cause of numerous conspiracy theories. The best one floating around the Genetics Division laboratory was that the unfortunate soul who Mendoza shot earlier was really an actor and the whole thing was a charade. The rumor continued to spread until being quashed by the chief of the Cryogen Division, who let it be known that he was, in fact, one scientist short. Stevens wondered which other theories were competing for top prize.

He spotted Mallum, who was already halfway into his beer, and joined him at a table protruding from the wall two-and-a-half feet. A row of flags representing various countries flapped casually above them. They sat underneath Old Union Jack and the Mexican flag while a British pop song from fifty years ago crackled in the background.

Jesus, man, I was afraid something happened to you too.

Stevens looked at him curiously. How many of those did you have?

You scared the hell out of me.

I had to finish that report I mentioned earlier. The security meeting with Mendoza threw my whole afternoon out of whack.

Yeah, well you seem to be holding up much better than your Polish friend, Mallum exclaimed. Stevens cocked an eyebrow and Mallum continued, Nobody’s seen him since he was called into Mendoza’s Locker – I guess the old-timers are right, it is the Operating Room.

He did seem pretty rattled when I saw him.

When was that?

Just before my operation ... but he was by himself.

He was? Which elevator did he take down?

Stevens shrugged and became curious.