Godzilla 2000 (18 page)

"What happened?" the first mate cried, picking himself off the tilted deck. But the wheelman did not answer. He clung to the wheel with one limp hand, and the first mate saw a river of blood running across the spotless white floor.

Howard leaped to the wheelman's side and clutched the man by his shoulders. The first mate eased the stricken sailor to the deck as more blood washed over his shoes.

With mounting horror, Howard saw that the sailor had been hit by a shard of glass. The piece, bigger than a carving knife, had struck him in the throat, severing the carotid artery.

The wheelman's eyes slowly closed. He was already dead.

First Mate Howard remembered his duty to the ship. He reached up and pulled the throttle, cutting the power to the huge five-bladed screw propeller. The ship was still listing to port, so Howard grabbed the mike and demanded a damage report.

At that moment, Captain Dingle, in a robe and slippers, dashed onto the bridge. He halted and visibly paled when he saw the sailor lying in a pool of blood.

"Collision?" the captain asked.

First Mate Howard shook his head. "There's nothing on radar," he replied.

"Then what -"

But the captain did not finish the question. He was interrupted by a thunderous, shuddering roar of rage and confusion that echoed throughout the corridors of the ship.

The captain and the first mate exchanged nervous glances.

"Turn on the exterior floodlights," Captain Dingle commanded. The first mate complied.

A moment later, the floodlights snapped on and bathed the entire deck in brilliant light. The captain and the first mate peered through the shattered windows.

Two gigantic eyes, each one the size of a luxury car, stared back at them.

The captain grabbed the radio and contacted the Coast Guard. He informed the authorities that the monster Varan had landed on the deck of his supertanker.

* * *

At that moment, on the opposite side of the United States, F-15 and F-16 fighter planes were being scrambled out of Minot Air Force Base in North Dakota. Rodan was being tracked by military radar stations in the United States and Canada. It was heading across the border at speeds in excess of 450 miles per hour and at an altitude of 20,000 feet.

Elements of the Canadian Air Force had already engaged the
kaiju
, with heavy losses. Now, as Rodan crossed the border, it was the United States Air Force's turn.

* * *

Lori Angelo tossed and turned in her bed inside Project Valkyrie's medical center. She was caught in the throes of another dream.

Lori!
a voice screamed inside her head.

Yes, she replied.

Wake up, daughter. It is time.

Lori opened her eyes. For a moment, she was confused.
Where am I?
she wondered. Then her mind cleared. She sat up and gazed through the glass wall that separated her from the outside world. Lori could see Dr. Markham slumped over her desk. The psychiatrist was asleep, a pen still dangled from her fingers.

Lori crept out of bed and went to the closet. But instead of her everyday overalls, she drew out her flight suit, which she'd hid, days before, in a box on the closet floor.

She quickly stepped into it and loaded on her gear. When she was finished, she crept through the glass doors, across the medical center lab, and out the exit. Then she rushed through the corridors of Project Valkyrie headquarters until she reached the back exit.

Only when the cool desert air hit her did Lori sigh with relief. The she took off in a dead run toward the hangars.

* * *

The battle over North Dakota was short and decisive. Every missile fired at Rodan seemed to bounce right off. The creature was unharmed by the Sidewinders and by the cannon fire from pilots brave or foolhardy enough to get their aircraft close enough to use them.

As the flying monster streaked through the night sky, warplanes continued to press their attack. But in the end, most of the fighters limped back to Minot Air Force Base with little fuel and no ammunition. Five of them - two F-15s and three F-16s - didn't come back at all.

* * *

Each time Varan shifted its weight on the deck, the
Texas Star
shook and threatened to capsize. Captain Dingle ordered the sailors to fill up the hull with ballast to level the ship and keep her steady.

In the glow of the floodlights, Varan looked like a gigantic lizard sunning itself. Its scales gleamed in the harsh white light, and the creature closed its eyes against the glare. Its steady breathing and an occasional twitch of its tail were the only signs that Varan was alive and not a huge museum display.

The mayday call from the stricken tanker brought an instant response. Rescue choppers hovered in the air but kept their distance. A United States Navy destroyer was steaming toward the
Texas Star
and would probably arrive by daybreak.

The Coast Guard suggested that the tanker be abandoned, but Captain Dingle wouldn't hear of it. As long as the
Star
was afloat, he and his men would stay aboard her.

So far, the creature had done no more damage. It rested on the main deck, with crushed pipes and a smashed corporate helicopter beneath its belly, like a fat family dog lying on a child's paper models.

If the situation hadn't been so grave, it would have been funny.

* * *

Klaxons blared throughout Project Valkyrie headquarters. Kip rolled over in his bunk and checked the clock. It was after three in the morning.
This is no drill
, he thought grimly.

After jerking on his overalls, Kip rushed to the tactical command center. He was the second team member to arrive. Pierce Dillard was there before him, and the young pilot was speaking to General Taggart. Colonel Krupp was there, too, but Dr. Birchwood was nowhere to be seen.

He must be on yet another top-secret assignment
, figured Kip.

Then Tobias Nelson, Martin Wong, and Tia Shimura arrived. Toby looked bright-eyed and ready, but Tia looked groggy. She yawned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

When everyone took their seats, the general rose. He was about to speak, but suddenly Dr. Markham rushed into the center and up to the project commander.

She spoke with Taggart for a moment, and the general seemed to explode. He threw a briefing file on the podium and whispered an angry command that sent Dr. Markham scurrying away with Colonel Krupp in tow.

To Kip's surprise, the general's usually calm demeanor was shattered. He was genuinely agitated as he spoke to them.

"Listen up," Taggart said. "We've got a problem...
two
of them, in fact."

* * *

Lori Angelo powered up the Osprey as the klaxons began to blare. For a moment, she thought that an Air Force security team would rush in at any moment and drag her butt out of the cockpit. Then she realized that the alarms were meant for G-Force, and a wave of regret rose up inside of her.

Am I crazy?
she wondered.
Am I doing the right thing?

Lori waited for the voice from her dreams to answer her desperate plea, but there was nothing.

I must be crazy
, she decided.

But crazy or not, nothing was going to stop her now. Lori put the helmet on her head, keyed in the navigational coordinates, and taxied out of the hangar. When the aircraft was ready for take-off, she slid the infrared night-vision goggles over her eyes.

Moments later, the CV-22 Osprey tilt-rotor lifted off in a cloud of blowing sand.

Lori swung the aircraft in a low, tight circle through the desert night and then headed west. She continued flying nap-of-the-earth - and well below the range of search radar - until the Osprey flew across the state line and out over the Mojave Desert of California.

* * *

Ellsworth Air Force Base pilots scrambled near dawn. The base had already been on alert for five hours, so the pilots were ready.

Barely a week after Rodan first appeared, the squadron commander at Ellsworth got the Pentagon's permission to try something completely different.

Up to now, the Air Force had been sending up fighters armed with air-to-air missiles against Rodan.

Unfortunately, Sidewinders and Mavericks were fine for shooting down other aircraft, but their tiny warheads were worthless against a flying
kaiju
. Something bigger was needed, and the base commander thought he had a better mousetrap.

There were several AGM-109 MRASM cruise missiles on the base - each with enough high explosives to sink a warship. Why not configure them to hit a moving, aerial target, mount them on a couple of F-111s, and fire them directly into Rodan's path?

As Rodan flew across North Dakota, the airmen at Ellsworth were loading three F-111 fighter/bombers with six reconfigured missiles.

Minutes later, the F-111s were airborne and heading for a showdown with Rodan.

* * *

Despite the weight of two cruise missiles attached to their wing pylons, the F-111s ambushed Rodan on schedule over the town of Eagle Butte in the Cheyenne River Indian Reservation.

The widely scattered residents of the area were awakened near dawn by the sound of jet fighters screaming overhead. Rodan had descended to an altitude of less than 15,000 feet, and the F-111s dropped down to meet the
kaiju
head-on.

From a distance of five miles, the F-111s released their payload. Five of the six cruise missiles streaked toward the flying monster. The sixth suffered an engine malfunction and crashed in the Little Moreau State Recreational Area.

Seconds later, four of the cruise missiles struck Rodan, one after the other. The fifth did not lock on to the target and flew on until it self-destructed, according to its programming.

Radar trackers whooped with excitement. Because the F-111s had lost the
kaiju
on their scopes, they were given the good news by the base commander at Ellsworth.

Rodan, stunned, had flown on for a few minutes after impact. Then the creature dropped out of the sky like a rock. The carcass landed in Lake Oahe, near the city of Pierre, South Dakota. The force of the creature's impact in the water battered nearby Oahe Dam, but the concrete structure held firm against the pressure.

While several witnesses watched, Rodan's still form slowly sank beneath the lake. The lead F-111 did a victory roll over Ellsworth as the squadron landed.

"We did it!" the jubilant squadron leader cried as the rest of the aircraft taxied down the runway and onto the flight line. "We took out Big Bird!"

Sunday, June 13, 1999, 6:10 A.M.
Fort Baker Military Reservation
Sausalito, California

Lori Angelo tossed the infrared goggles onto the empty co-pilot seat. The sun had just risen, and she wouldn't be needing them anymore. She double-checked the GPS navigational monitor, which constantly tracked and verified her location with an orbiting geopositioning satellite.

Then she glanced at her fuel gauge.

She was running on empty. Even with the auxiliary drop tanks on her wings, which nearly doubled the Osprey's 500-mile range, Lori's aircraft had just barely covered the distance from Nevada to San Francisco with the fuel aboard.

Now if I only knew why I was here
, she thought.

Lori shifted in her seat. She'd been flying for three-plus hours without a break. The grueling flight time had taken a toll on her sore, tired muscles. So had her misgivings.

Now where do I go?
she wondered.

Suddenly, the joystick moved in her hand.
Or did my hand move the joystick?
she wondered.
The classic Ouija board dilemma!

The Osprey dipped and banked to the right. Then the aircraft began to descend. Ahead of her was a foggy expanse that, according to the computer, should be San Francisco Bay. Occasionally, the clouds seemed to part and she caught a glimpse of garish orange towers - the very top of the Golden Gate Bridge.

Then the tiny hairs on the back of Lori's neck began to tingle. She shivered uncontrollably. Suddenly, mystically, the clouds parted. Below and ahead of her, Lori spied a rugged, windblown cliff that overlooked the fog-shrouded bay.

After another glance at the fuel gauge, Lori reduced speed, and the airplane became a twin-engine helicopter.

She landed on top of the hill with a gentle bump. Then she idled the engines and shut them down. When she was through deactivating all the systems, Lori stared through the windscreen at the bridge, which was still partially obscured by thick fog.

Unstrapping herself from the ejection seat, Lori pulled off her helmet and dropped it on the other seat, next to the night-vision goggles. Then she rose and stretched.

As soon as she cracked the hatch, the cool ocean air revived her. She took a deep breath, smelling the salt-tinged ocean breeze. Lori had been living in the middle of the desert for so long that she'd forgotten what it was like to be near water. The moist air felt good, but it made her shiver again.

The aircraft ticked and cracked as engine parts cooled in the brisk morning air. Lori jumped down from the hatch, turned her back on the Osprey, and walked away. She headed directly to the edge of the cliff, stepping over windblown tree branches. When she reached the abyss, she peered into the fog.

Then Lori sat down on a huge boulder that jutted out of the ground. She fumbled in the pocket of her flight suit until she found a Snickers bar. As Lori began to feast on her favorite treat, she faced the fog-shrouded bay and waited.

* * *

Far below the cliffs, on the opposite side of the bay, a young off-duty San Francisco police patrolman jogged along the shore at the Golden Gate National Recreation Area.

It was a Sunday ritual for Dennis Flynn. Up at five, a quick drive to the shore, then a five-mile run. Followed by a thermos of coffee, a corn muffin, and maybe the Sunday paper.

But today was not like any other Sunday. Dennis Flynn had high hopes for this particular morning.

For the past three weeks, he'd noticed a young woman who also came to the beach, ran a couple of miles, and then sat and sketched in a notebook for a few hours. The Woman always came alone, and left alone, too.