Elixir Read online

  Elixir

  Gary Braver

  When biologist Chris Bacon headed for the unspoiled rainforests of Papua New Guinea in search of medicinal plants, he had no idea that he would bring home a rare flower rumored by a tribal shaman to prevent human aging. Driven by fountain-of-youth dreams, he plans to turn the flower into an elixir of youth and health.

  But as Chris begins tampering with the ultimate secret of nature, he unleashes forces that not only threaten his own family, but expose the world to unimaginably horrific consequences.

  ***

  "Elixir has something smart to say, and combines the best of the thriller genre to say it: engrossing story, hot science, interesting characters, stylish prose, and runaway pacing."

  – Robert B. Parker, New York Times

  bestselling author of the Spenser novels

  "Elixir is stylish, finely tuned and terrifying-the best thriller I've curled up with in a long while. If you need a good night's sleep, wait until morning to start this one."

  – Michael Palmer, New York Times

  bestselling author of Miracle Cure

  "Exceeds in the art of storytelling… Taut, fast, bullet-sleek, with that hauntingly persistent question: How far would you be willing to go to obtain immortality, and what price are you willing to pay for it?"

  – The Charleston Post Courier

  "Fast paced and well-plotted… Braver's larger purpose is to explore the moral and ethical dilemmas proposed by anti-aging technologies. He does so with compelling plot twists, as well as down-to-earth writing that brings his characters to life as ordinary yet complex people. The drug itself may produce a fatal addiction, but the story behind its development makes for an intoxicating read."

  – Publishers Weekly

  "A roller-coaster ride… a fascinating story that leads to philosophical pondering as well."

  – The Port St. Lucie News

  "A fast-paced gem of a thriller."

  – The Capital Times, Madison Wisconsin

  "Gary Braver has produced a stimulating mixture of villainy, science and the philosophical and practical issues that underlie the new found ability to create 'immortality' or, at least, a major deferment of the aging process. Along the way, Mr. Braver introduces us to some of the scientific issues underlying the aging process, the role of telomerase and whether aging is in fact inevitable… Enough science to make the narrative plausible, but not too much to paralyze the narrative development… Once started, Elixir could not be easily put down. Elixir should be a deservedly popular read by scientists and non-scientists alike."

  – Pharmaceutical News, Vol. 7, No. 4

  "Elixir delivers all the suspense and excitement you could ask for, and asks a hard question, too: What would you do if you found that you could live forever? Read Elixir and find out."

  – William Martin, New York Times

  bestselling author of Cap Cod and Annapolis

  "Among the best of recent contributions to its genre because of its engaging plot and the issues it addresses, this is an outstanding addition to all fiction collections."

  – Library Journal

  "A terrifying novel… fast-paced, filled with action, twists and turns."

  – Midwest Book Review

  "Engaging prose and plausible character development… Braver's background in physics and his extensive knowledge of the mechanisms of aging, make much of the technical aspects of Elixir ring true."

  – The Arlington Advocate

  "A first-rate biotech thriller that explores the ethical and moral dilemma projected by anti-aging technologies… This is an excellent [book] with a lot of important ideas about the real-life rush to strip the rainforest to find botanical cures, and the agonizing decisions we face as to who should control the finds."

  – Sullivan County Democrat

  "Elixir [is the] new, heady literary thriller by Arlington author Gary Braver… Braver has taped into an American obsession and come up with a relentless page-turner that manages to deal with technical, scientific and medical material while still being entertaining, witty and very unnevering."

  – Watertown Tab Press

  "In Gary Braver's page-turning thriller Elixir, a biologist stumbles across an anti-aging drug that works. Once the secret is out in the open, everyone gets into the act, from the drug lords to corporate management to the FBI… Can biologist Christopher Bacon resist the drug, even if it means that he'll stay young and vibrant while his family ages? Wouldn't want to spoil the fun."

  – The Herald (WA)

  "This novel has some winning twists and even a nostalgic visit with Ronald Reagan… Elixir is really bad science but awfully good fiction."

  – Tampa Tribune Times

  "If you're tired of the Grisham legal drama and the Clancy spy novel, and if you're looking for an exciting, fun, read, pick up Elixir. It is wonderfully written… The characters are beautifully realized… Lots of drama; lots of suspense. This is a great thriller!"

  – Entertainment Tomorrow

  "A fantastic thriller and an intriguing ethical study… A thrilling cascade of drama and paranoia."

  – The Northeastern News

  "A novel of commendable skill and literary craftsmanship."

  – The Armenian Mirror Spectator

  "Braver makes sure that every twist and turn makes sense… He is a master craftsman when it comes to creating characters. There is not a single character major or minor, that feels as if they are two-dimensional, put on the pages as if to serve a purpose… Elixir has all the makings of a great movie… I expect to see it on the silver screen."

  – Shelflife

  "I found myself thinking about this book every time I put it down. And it was very hard to put down. It races to a heart-stopping conclusion but lingers with you long after the last page. This is a great book for that long plane ride or a day at the beach."

  – Kate's Mystery Books Newsletter

  "[Braver] has tapped into an American obsession and come up with a relentless page-turner that manages to deal with technical, scientific, and medical material while still being entertaining, witty, and very unnerving."

  – Metrowest and Community Newspapers

  "Gary Braver's plot is informed by a real-world sensibility in which the heroes may be smart, but are given to blindness and ambition-and the bad guys, while evil, are far from stupid. A breathtaking series of moves and countermoves propels the story toward unforeseeable, tragic consequences, but at its heart the book remains a meditation on the nature of life and its need for family. This is one terrific thriller."

  – Wigglefish.com

  "A fasten-your-seatbelt thriller… with never an obvious or cliched moment… Elixir not only gives us a complex story but also features characters who are complex and richly textured, and who act in ways that surprise but make perfect sense given what we come to know about their personalities… While he has produced an unabashedly commercial page-turner, Braver has also probed, in a profound and often disturbing fashion, some fundamental questions about the ever-expanding role of biotechnology in modern life… Perhaps Elixir is not only entertaining and provocative, but prophetic as well."

  – Northeastern University Magazine

  Gary Braver

  Elixir

  Copyright © 2000 by Gary Goshgarian

  For Kathleen, Nathan, and David, as ever

  And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,

  And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot,

  And thereby hangs a tale.

  – WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE AS YOU LIKE IT

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A special thanks goes out to the following people for providing me with medical and other technical information.

  From Northeastern University's College of Pharmacy and Allied Hea
lth Profession: Robert F. Raffauf, Barbara L. Waszczak, Carol Warner, Robert N. Hanson, Richard C. Deth, Wendy Smith, and Susan Sexton. Also, William J. DeAngelis, Department of Philosophy, and James R. Stellar, Department of Psychology.

  Thanks also to Dr. John Neumeyer and Dr. William White of Research Biochemicals International; Mark Froimowitz, Pharm-Eco Laboratories, Inc.; David Lee-Parritz, New England Regional Primate Research Center; Dr. Changiz Geula of Beth Israel Hospital, Laboratory for Neurodegenerative and Aging Research; Ellen Kearns, Special Agent, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Boston; David Sturges, Professor of Economics, Colgate College; and Kenneth Van Cott, Director of the Pharmacy, Brattleboro Memorial Hospital.

  I am greatly indebted to How and Why We Age, by Leonard Hayflick, Ph.D. (Ballantine Books, NY, 1994) whose own research with human cell tissues has been incorporated into this story.

  A special thanks to William Martin, Charles O'Neill, Barbara Shapiro, Christopher Keane, Kathryn Goodfellow, and Alice Janjigian for their good suggestions. Also, to my terrific editor at Tor Books, Natalia Aponte.

  A final word of appreciation to Susan Crawford who has always been more than an agent and who stood by me all the way.

  PROLOGUE

  OCTOBER 1980

  A RAINFOREST IN PAPUA NEW GUINEA

  There's no good way to die. But this was as bad as it gets.

  Christopher Bacon raised the pistol at a spot in the bush, not certain if anybody was there or if it was all in his mind. What Iwati called "bush bugaboo"-when the tangle of green closed in, and shadows pulsed and shifted like some stalking beast. When mosquitoes buzzed to the core of your brain. And fatigue crossed with claustrophobia. And some damn juju flower filled the air with a cloying stench.

  But Chris could sense movement-some rustling behind that black curtain of vines, whispers hovering at the threshold of awareness. He could see nothing in the dark-just shadows in the firelight. And the only sound was the electric buzz of insects and tree frogs-as if something was about to happen.

  The rain had stopped, but the air was gluey. And he was wet-his shirt plastered to his chest, his pants chafing his legs, his toes gummy in his boots. Wet as he had been for two weeks even when it wasn't raining. So wet that his face felt like an aspic and the soles of his feet were covered with dead white skin that he could scrape off with his fingernails. The ground was a ripe-rot mud. And everything dripped. The rainforest always dripped. A relentless green dripping. And it filled his head.

  Maybe Iwati was right: Thirteen nights had unhinged him, reduced him to spikes of raw nerves, producing phantoms out of nothing.

  Maybe.

  But every instinct said he was not alone, that he was being watched-that just beyond those vines lurked a hungry presence that at any second would explode into the light and gut him.

  For two days he had felt they were being stalked, ever since Iwati and five porters had led Chris into this remote region of the Sepik beyond the West Irian border-a tabu zone that even the Wanebabi tribe had warned them to avoid. But despite his porters' protests, Iwati had insisted on this side trip. So they hacked their way through jungle as dense as fur to this lake under the ancient cone of the Omafeki volcano-and all for that juju flower, the one that stank of apples and rotten flesh. And ever since, they had been on alert, certain that every errant sound was the Okamolu-the elusive highland tribe who stalked intruders with spears and arrows and a craving for "long pig."

  But Iwati was unfazed, puffing his pipe and saying it was just tree kangaroos or bush rats. "Nothing to worry about, my friend. Nobody else here." Chris took refuge in the fact that his old schoolboy chum was shaman of the Tifalmin people and knew these parts. Tree kangaroos, Chris told himself-and an active imagination.

  And where the hell was Iwati? While Chris had made a fire, Iwati led his men to a clearing to set up camp. But that was just down the trail. He had been gone for more than half an hour.

  Chris crouched behind a fallen tree, the pistol gripped in both hands, ready to blast. Behind him the volcano brooded against the fiery sunset. It was nearly night.

  "Iwati!"

  No answer, but Chris's voice passed through the bush like a gunshot, exciting critters to a razor-edged chitter.

  Invisible winged things were eating him alive. His eyes, ears, and lips were swollen, and some tiny boring beetles had gotten inside his boots and filled his feet with poison. During the day he had slathered himself with a repellent Iwati concocted of justica root and pigfat. But his face had been wiped clean, and the stuff was in Iwati's bag. Dozens of creatures in the Papuan bush were capable of killing a man-from black mambas to wild boars to eighteen-foot crocodiles. But it was the goddamn bugs that reduced you to lunacy. Unseen things that ate your blood and flesh. And that syrupy stench clogging his throat.

  Suddenly a nasty thought rose up: What if Okamolus had killed Iwati? A sudden blitz of arrows, and Iwati and his men would be dead without commotion.

  Or what if the porters had mutinied? They had been jumpy since leaving Wanebabi. What if they had put a knife in Iwati's back and fled for the river? Why not? The Okamolu's reputation for savagery was legendary. Chris remembered the war story of a Japanese patrol that had hacked its way out here to coerce locals into building an airstrip and had found themselves surrounded by Okamolu warriors. After a standoff of spears and automatic rifles, the Japanese commander in a gesture of truce dropped his rifle. Following cue, the Okamolu leader stuck his spear into the ground. The crisis was over, so it seemed. That night all but one of the nine men had their throats cut in their sleep and ended up the next day headless and laid out like pigs on mumu fires with yams and tubers. The final memory of the sole survivor was of children gnawing on a charred leg.

  "Iwati!"

  Still nothing.

  Chris pressed himself against the tree, certain that if he survived the night he'd be feverish with malaria by dawn. Bastards! He wished they'd break the spell and get it over with. He had brought the gun for crocs, not a shootout with cannibals. Even if he could blast his way out, he'd never make it to the river on his own. Either he'd get lost or stumble into a pool of quick mud.

  Then it happened. The tangle of vines slowly parted.

  Chris's finger hummed on the trigger. Somebody was moving toward him. No trick of light. No insulin low. No hallucination. The vines were parting. The standoff was about to break. Showdown.

  At the last moment, the image of Wendy rocking their baby son Ricky filled Chris Bacon's mind. And the thought: This is my death.

  It had begun thirteen days ago. They had trekked out from the Tifalmin village gathering flora samples to take back to the States. Chris was a medicinal chemist working for Darby Pharmaceuticals, a Boston laboratory pioneering the synthesis of folk medicines. With the discovery that alkaloids from Catharantus roseus shrunk tumors from Hodgkin's disease, Darby had entered a race with other commercial labs, convinced that miracle drugs grew on trees. Specifically, Chris was testing for plant steroids capable of conversion to animal steroids for contraceptive purposes. Darby's goal was to produce the world's first male birth-control pill-a goal that, once realized, would rocket company stock to high heaven.

  Chris Bacon was the Darby point man because he was their premier researcher and because he knew the Papuan bush. The son of the American ambassador to Australia in the late 1950s, Chris had attended Boys' Royal Academy in Port Moresby where at age fourteen he met Iwati, one of the few highland youths to attend the Academy. In 1943, Iwati's village had helped Australian-American forces build the airstrip near Tifalmin village, giving the Allies an interior foothold and access to the chincona tree whose bark was used to produce quinine, the most effective treatment for malaria. It was the Tifalmin's first contact with men with white skin and steel-a contact that resulted in Iwati growing up speaking English. And because he was bright, an Australian missionary group sponsored his education. Both diabetics, they met at the school's infirmary to have their blood sugar monitored and to receive in
sulin. Over the four years Chris and Iwati became friends-a relationship cemented forever during their last summer when Chris saved Iwati's life. Ironically, the boy was raised on the banks of the Sepik River but had never learned to swim-a fact Chris discovered when another boy pushed him into the deep end of a pool. Iwati went down like a rock and would have drowned had it not been for Chris.

  Like his father before him, Iwati was the Tifalmin medicine man. In spite of the juju trinkets and mumbo-jumbo, he was thoroughly westernized, wearing Bermuda shorts, a Harvard T-shirt, and a new Bulova watch Chris had brought, while his men trudged through the bush naked but for penis gourds. Like his father, Iwati had a genius for telling which plants healed and which killed-a genius that brought Chris halfway around the globe. Iwati had a plant for every ailment-fevers, toothaches, ulcers, snakebites, lesions, malaria, and syphilis. And they pointed to the future of western world medicine.

  For the third time in two years, Darby had sent Chris packing. But this time he managed to bring company money to build a school in the Tifalmin village. A long-term investment in shaman magic. And now it was to end in spears and arrows.

  Chris cocked the gun and held his breath.

  No trick of the light. No paranoid delusion. A figure took form out of the clotted shadows in the vines.

  "Come out, you son-of-a-bitch!" Chris said.

  The figure stopped, and for a moment the jungle turned to still life.

  Suddenly the silence shattered in shrieks from all directions as the figure came rushing down on Chris. On reflex he shot and didn't stop until all six chambers of the Colt were empty and he was clicking at a naked body tied at the feet by vines and twisting in the air.

  From the shoulder scarification marks, he recognized Maku, one of the porters. His chest had been shot open by the bullets, but he was already dead. His head was missing.