The Lazarus Protocol: A Sci-Fi Corporate Technothriller (The SynCorp Saga Book 1)

by Pourteau, Chris

  The aircar shed speed, then landed in front of a military mobile command post not unlike the one Graves had just left in Florida. When the car door slid open, humid warmth washed over his face. He smelled earth and green things and fertilizer mixed with the sharp, plastic odor of temporary buildings. In a way, it made him feel at home.

  Stepping inside the trailer was like passing into another dimension. In the far corner of the building, a technician sat behind a workstation, a vast screen with multiple data sources crowding the space. His right hand, encased in a data-manipulator glove, stabbed and curved through the air.

  “Colonel Graves?” A tall man with dark, curly hair and square shoulders approached. His lips parted to reveal a star-quality smile of perfect teeth. “Anthony Taulke. May I get you a drink, sir?” He guided Graves to a makeshift wet bar. “Wine, maybe?”

  “What? No. Thank you.” If Taulke himself was involved in this effort, Graves hated it already. He had no desire to encourage a rich-man’s Jesus complex about saving the Earth.

  The food smelled wonderful, though, some kind of meat—real meat—simmering in a rich broth. His eyes swept the table. No MREs here. Caviar with toast points, cheese, fresh fruit, and a full bar on the side.

  With a touch on the elbow, Taulke kept Graves moving forward. “May I introduce you to EPA Director Freddy Pinchot and Laura Ellis, Secretary of the Interior?” Graves recognized them both from newsfeeds. He shook hands automatically, before being pivoted by Taulke to a rotund, graying man.

  “Viktor Erkennen, my partner in the Vatican Project.”

  Graves recognized both names from the briefing he’d received in transit. Taulke seemed to be warming up to launch a sales pitch.

  Graves put up his hands. “Mr. Taulke, I’m here on orders. The only thing I know about this project is what I’ve read on the way here. I barely understand the basics. But I know one thing—this idea has failed before.” He had Floridians to save and a city to condemn. No time for pussyfooting around.

  Taulke’s expression faltered. Erkennen elbowed his taller partner in the ribs .

  “Fair enough, Colonel,” Taulke said, a cheaper version of his failed smile back in place. He motioned for the two people from DC to join them. Both held glasses of wine, and gravy spotted the EPA director’s shirt front. Graves tried not to judge, though he didn’t try too hard.

  Taulke clinked his wine glass with a spoon. “Ladies and gentlemen, over a hundred and fifty years ago, the United States embarked on a top-secret effort to end World War Two. The Manhattan Project created a weapon of immense power that was ultimately used to sue for peace with the opposing Japanese forces.”

  Graves blew out a breath. Looked like he was getting the sales pitch after all.

  “Today, we’re fighting a different war: a war for the planet. A war for our very existence on Earth. And that war requires a new weapon, a weapon that can counter the carbon poisoning our atmosphere. Together with the best minds at Erkennen Labs, Taulke Industries has taken the concept of bio-seeding to a whole new level. Today, we’ll show you a proof of concept demonstration that reduces carbon levels in a localized area.”

  “Then what?” the EPA director asked, eyeing the bar. “You don’t have the best track record when it comes to saving the world, Anthony.”

  Taulke snatched the open wine bottle from the bar. He continued speaking as he refilled Pinchot’s empty wine glass.

  “That’s about to change, Freddy. After today’s success, the president intends to ask the United Nations for international support to implement the Vatican Project on a global scale.” Taulke monitored the room as his words sunk in. “That’s a massive effort, with every country contributing resources to launch a fleet of satellites needed to provide planetary dispersal of the agent. Today, we’ll be using a single, high-altitude aircraft to show a localized test.”

  “What about side effects?” Graves asked.

  “Apart from lowering carbon levels? None.” Taulke laughed at this own joke. “In all seriousness, Colonel, you raise a good point. The nuclear weapons developed by the Manhattan Project set off an arms race that consumed our world for well over a century. Those weapons still exist today, in fact, which is why we’ve taken the added precaution of adding a nanite kill switch to the bacteria’s DNA. We can shut down the reaction at will. Total control at the touch of a button.”

  Taulke spread his arms like the ringmaster in a circus. “I’m getting the high-sign from our technician that the deployment of the agent has already begun.” He lit up a wall of the trailer to mirror the technician’s screen. In one corner, there was a vid-feed from a drone showing distant aircraft making a lazy figure eight in the sky. The rest of the screen showed a dynamic graph of atmospheric elements. The carbon line, highlighted in bright red, jittered around the 500 parts-per-million mark.

  Taulke touched the screen. “This shows the carbon-based concentrations, compounds like carbon dioxide and methane, that contribute to our global temperature rise.” As they watched, the line wavered, then began a slow decline.

  Pinchot’s eyes got bigger. “Carbon sequestration in the air?” The EPA director got a distant, thoughtful look on his face. “If this works, Anthony … my God, the economic advantage the United States would have! We could put anything we want in the air and ju st filter it out later. No restrictions on manufacturing due to environmental concerns. That’s brilliant!”

  Taulke turned sharply. “The point of this demonstration is to show that we can reduce atmospheric carbon so we can mitigate the problem of climate change. Humans get a second chance, if you will. I didn’t create this to encourage polluting, Freddy.”

  Pinchot smiled widely. “You just deliver the technology, Anthony. We’ll worry about the policy implications.”

  Taulke shifted on his feet. The look on his face told Graves this was not the reaction he wanted to his demonstration. “Mr. Director, I want to make it clear that we developed this tech to—"

  “You said you had a kill switch?” interrupted Interior Secretary Ellis. “Can you control the reaction any other way?”

  Erkennen stepped forward. “In theory, we can adjust the effectiveness of the nanites to allow for localized control. We will maintain a dedicated, quantum-keyed frequency to stop the reaction at any time. I can demonstrate.”

  Erkennen pulled a slim, silver case from under the table of food. He flipped up the lid to reveal a computer screen and a slim ring of matte-black metal. He slid the ring over his pudgy wrist.

  “The quantum encryption combines with the wearer’s DNA to establish a control link to the nanites. The combination of the two effects results in an unbreakable cryptography. Absolute security. Once the link is established, it cannot be overridden.” He held up his hand to show them the black bracelet. With a flourish he touched the screen. “The nanites are dead.”

  Graves turned to the wall screen. After a moment or two, the carbon line on the graph began to rise again.

  “Very impressive, Dr. Erkennen.” As Secretary Ellis swept her hair behind her ear, Graves did a double take when he glimpsed a Neo tattoo on the fair skin of her neck. He moved closer, but her collar slid over the spot. “But a security question—is that the only key?”

  Erkennen inclined his head and winked. “Madam Secretary, I can assure you, this is the one and only key on the planet.”

  Chapter 15

  Ming Qinlao • Shanghai, China

  It was after midnight when Ming returned to her apartments adjacent to Qinlao HQ. Although she’d barely left her office the entire day, her muscles ached like she’d run a marathon. No, a marathon would at least have provided the benefit of some post-exercise endorphins. With this ache, there was no runner’s high—just the promise of more pain tomorrow.

  With all the effort of maneuvering around Auntie Xi’s corporate intrigue, Ming had neglected her daily regimen of re-building muscle mass. Her lunar routine kept her from suffering as Lily had during her visit, but Ming’s own rehabilitat
ion required constant attention to reacclimatize her to Earth.

  Leaving the lights dim, she collapsed onto a barstool in the kitchen and let the chill of the stone counter seep into her sore forearms.

  Lily .

  Ming had received no word from her since ordering her returned to the Moon. For Lily to be angry with her—or worse, disappointed in her—hurt Ming’s heart. She’d wanted to reach out a hundred times, but she stayed silent. Lily deserved to be left in peace. She turned her arms over, letting the cool stone soothe their other side.

  For all her efforts to secure the contract for the Moon project and prove herself as the leader of Qinlao Manufacturing, Ming still felt like an impostor in her father’s stead, a little girl playing at Papa’s work.

  She’d found refuge in Ito’s teachings—translated them from personal combat to business, encased herself in emotional armor. She approached her outings with Danny Xiao as perfunctory tactics to achieve a larger goal. She endured his fumblings in the bedroom by splitting her emotional self from the physical. Sometimes she imagined herself still on the Moon with Lily, not selling herself to the highest bidder for the sake of the company. If Danny’s reaction was any indication, her acting had gotten better with practice.

  Ming had adopted a similar routine in her daily work life. She didn’t allow herself to feel but simply absorbed knowledge in hope of gaining an edge as CEO. She parried arguments of we can’t do that with facts supporting how it can be done . More facts, better facts.

  And yet she couldn’t escape the feeling that, each day, she drew further away from her goal. Her aunt was winning. It was just a matter of time.

  Ming attempted to exhale the stress from her shoulders. The only answer she knew was to work harder. She had two more briefs to review tonight to prepare for the next board meeting. Popping a stim tablet, she relished the bitter taste on her tongue. She needed to review the briefs before she fell asleep on the sweet, cool surface of the counter.

  Through the open doorway to the office, she spotted the LUNa City rendering on the wall. Her life here on Earth had become a lonely one. Ito was the closest thing Ming had to a friend, and there was always the necessary distance of servant from mistress. Her playacting with Danny served only to accentuate how empty she truly felt. The night with Lily in the water tank had been a bright oasis of intimate sharing. It had also been a stark reminder of what she did not, and could not, have for herself now.

  She often wondered if she’d made the right choice in sending Lily home. Her lover might offer comfort, but not the empathy she craved. Lily had always been a soft, safe place for her to fall after the rigorous routine of directing lunar engineers. Lily was fun. But she was no equal. What Ming desired, truly, was someone who would stand beside her and offer her strength when she needed it. Someone who could match her intellect as well as her passion. When she thought of Danny Xiao permanently in that role—even merely for show to the outside world—her sadness threatened to leap the cliff into depression.

  Ito appeared in the doorway. “You have a visitor,” he said.

  Ming blinked slowly.

  “Who?” If it was Danny Xiao, she’d scream.

  But her bodyguard was already retreating.

  “Ito!” she called, exasperated, then jumped up to follow him to her father’s study. He waited at the door for her to enter, then closed it softly behind her.

  Sying Qinlao, her back to the door, occupied one side of the leather couch in front of the fireplace. She turned from the flames of the faux-fire to greet Ming with a smile.

  “Ah, finally. I was beginning to wonder if you were ever coming home tonight.”

  Ming frowned. “Sying. A … pleasant surprise. Not to be inhospitable, but I have work to do—”

  “Sit.” Sying patted the couch next to her. The gesture seemed friendly, genuine. Ming circled to the front of the couch and sat on the edge of the cushion.

  Sying was dressed casually in an embroidered silk robe with matching slippers. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders, and her makeup softer, less severe than when Ming had last seen her. She’d always regarded Sying as a trophy wife, a China doll in the game of business politics whose job was to demonstrate her husband’s wealth and power. But the Sying sitting beside her was relaxed and radiated an air of strength Ming hadn’t sensed before among the perfect fashion and deferential customs.

  “I like your shoes,” she blurted out. I like your shoes? God, she was tired.

  Sying inclined her head but did not laugh, as Ming expected her to. She slipped them off and tucked her feet under her. Her toenails were painted jade green.

  “They match the robe,” Sying said, “but they’re not very comfortable.”

  Ming laughed, an actual laugh, and the ache in her shoulders diminished. Sying stretched a thin white wrist toward the end table where a bottle waited next to two tumblers. Jameson’s Irish Whiskey: Jie Qinlao’s favorite.

  “Drink? ”

  Ming nodded, watching her pour. It was like she was meeting Sying for the first time. Every movement was elegant, controlled, purposeful. Almost a ballet in banality. She wished she hadn’t taken the stim now. Her knee jiggled with pent up energy. Sying seemed unaware of it when she handed Ming the crystal glass.

  “Why are you here?” Ming asked. It seemed too abrupt and loud for the reskinned space with its flickering fireplace. Must be the stim talking .

  Sying tasted the whiskey. She rolled the liquid around in her mouth before swallowing. The woman even made drinking alcohol look refined. “I’m protecting my investment.”

  Ming sipped and swallowed too soon. She coughed at the burning in her throat, self-conscious at her clumsiness. “I don’t understand,” she said when she could talk.

  Another nip of the Jameson’s. More long moments as Sying savored the smoky taste. “Your performance—or lack of performance, I should say—has exposed my position.” Sying’s voice was matter-of-fact, not accusatory.

  “Is this about Ruben? I promise you, I’ll work with him when I have a spare moment.”

  “It’s not about Ruben.” Sying’s eyes were large and dark, thoughtful and beautiful. To Ming they seemed full of secret knowledge. “Do you play chess?”

  Ming nodded.

  “What is the most powerful piece on the board?”

  “The queen, of course.”

  “Exactly, the queen.” Sying’s eyes flashed. “She can move in any direction, as many spaces as she wants, take any piece she wants.” Another savoring sip. “So tell me: what chess piece do I represent in this game we are playing with my husband’s legacy?”

  Ming sipped her drink again, trying to imitate Sying’s action of rolling the whiskey over her tongue. The alcohol was taking the edge off the stim.

  “A pawn.”

  Sying turned her gaze on the fire. “Chess is a game of strategy, Ming. I was a pawn … once. My family contracted marriage to your father to ensure their company survived. I was sold, in a way. My mother told me I would live out my life like a rare bird in a golden cage. Prized for the joy I brought to others when they looked upon me.” She refreshed her glass and poured another measure into Ming’s. Ming didn’t stop her. This was the most she’d ever talked with this woman who’d displaced her mother. And she was growing more fascinated by the moment with her.

  “Then a strange thing happened. Your father taught me to play chess. He taught me to choose my role in the game, not let it be assigned to me. I choose to be a queen, Ming, not a pawn. Unfortunately, my dear, your amateur moves are fucking up my game.”

  Ming sat back in her chair, stunned by the sudden rebuke from this elegant woman. Sying appraised her with hard, unflinching eyes. Her voice became husky with passion. “You think you can outwork these people, be the smartest person in the room, know every detail of every project so that no one can get the drop on you. But this game we are playing is not business, Ming, it’s politics. You have to outmaneuver your opposition.”

  “But
that’s what I’m doing,” Ming said. “I’m pretending to have a relationship with Danny Xiao to buy time. I need to land a deal that will get the board off my back. If only the goddamned UN oversight committee— ”

  “And how is that going for you? I assume you know it was Xi who sparked that UN investigation. They knew you’d go for the low-hanging fruit and you walked right into their trap. You’re acting like a pawn.”

  Ming turned away, staring into the faux-flames instead of Sying’s harsh eyes.

  “Think, Ming.” Sying’s feet touched the floor, and she leaned across the couch. Her face was only a few inches from her step-daughter’s. “As long as you’re associated with the Xiaos, why would anyone do a deal with you? If Qinlao merges with the Xiaos, they will have the upper hand. Even if you manage to hold on to power, it will only be after months of negotiation. What company wants to do business with the weaker party in a merger?” Her breath painted Ming’s cheek. “You are acting like a pawn.”

  Ming gulped the last of her whiskey. The liquid burned all the way to her empty stomach. Her head felt light, her thoughts unconnected to her body. Everything Sying said made perfect sense.

  “I have a plan.” Sying’s expression was still and composed. “But I need your help.”

  Ming placed her glass on the floor. “Tell me.”

  Sying set her own glass aside. “The damage with the Xiaos is done. Your aunt has what she wanted: a weakened CEO. Now, she can push her own agenda with the board. She doesn’t have the votes to remove you, but she can limit your power and bleed your influence away slowly. Eventually, you’ll be voted out. That’s bad for the company and worse for you. For us.” Sying gripped Ming’s hand in both of hers. Her delicate fingers were warm and surprisingly strong. “You need a bold move. One that upends your aunt’s plans, puts her back on her heels. A move worthy of a queen.”

  “What is it?” Ming asked, returning Sying’s tight grip.

  “You need to get married.”