Godzilla at World's End (5 page)

Her father was right. The engine was fine. The heat sensors inside it were not. They would have to be replaced - which meant that engine number six would have to be dismantled and rebuilt. Then it would have to be remounted on the
Destiny Explorer.

Ten days' work ... by the book. But she was sure they could do it in five. Shelly knew that the people working on the
Explorer
were that good.

Well
, she thought, sighing.
At least it wasn't the engine itself. It would take weeks to build and test another one of those.

When the time clock hit fifteen minutes, engine number six automatically shut down. As the high-pitched whine slowly died, the noise seemed to echo through the vast structure. A few seconds later, the hangar fell completely silent. Shelly pulled off her ear protectors and shook out her hair when the door to the soundproof booth swung open.

Her father walked toward her. His helmet and ear protectors were off, and his steel-gray ponytail hung down his back.

"How did it go?" he asked, pointing at the engine.

Shelly brushed her own wheat-colored hair away from her face. "You were right, Dad," she replied. "The heat sensors inside the engine are defective, not the engine itself."

"Fine." Her father sighed. "That means only forty more hours of work for me, instead of a hundred ..."

Shelly could tell her father was agitated. But then, he usually was after a phone call from Mycroft E. Endicott.

"Trouble?" she probed gently.

Her father shook his head. "Mycroft Endicott is concerned that everything stay exactly on schedule. He heard about the engine test tonight and -"

"How did he hear about the engine test?" Shelly interrupted.

"Captain Dolan mentioned it," Simon Townsend replied. "Mycroft called him at home an hour ago and ... well, you know ..." The engineer's voice trailed off as he stared across the hangar at the massive aircraft shrouded in shadow. Even when it was invisible, the
Destiny Explorer
was so large he could feel its presence.

And why not
, she thought.
He's been living with his vision of this airship longer than any of us ...

Then Simon Townsend shrugged his narrow shoulders. "I guess the problem is that I wanted to do some good for the world. I tried to create a portable scientific-research platform that could bring all the benefits of the modern world to the most remote regions."

Shelly studied her father carefully. As he spoke, his eyes seemed to gaze into the future at something only he could see.

"Imagine bringing a fully equipped hospital and disease research laboratory to the middle of equatorial Africa in
days
, not months or even weeks. Imagine bringing a state-of-the-art laboratory to the scientist in the field."

Simon Townsend frowned and brushed his hands through his long hair, loosening the ponytail he'd worn since before Shelly was born. "Unfortunately, the man who paid to build my dream sees the whole project a little ... differently."

"What do you mean, Dad?" Shelly asked, knowing full well where this familiar conversation was leading.

"Mycroft Endicott doesn't care about scientific research or helping anybody. He wants to turn the maiden voyage of the
Destiny Explorer
into a giant publicity stunt," her father replied glumly. "He's got something to prove ... and he's got twenty million dollars and a whole lot of emotional baggage tied up in this ship."

"And
you
don't?" Shelly added slyly.

"Point taken, kiddo," her father replied. "I care about the
Destiny Explorer
and her mission. But I think that Mycroft Endicott is in this for the money, not for the good of humanity!"

"Are you so sure about him, Dad?" Shelly argued.

Her father sighed. "Mycroft E. Endicott was born rich and got richer. People that have everything think about nothing."

For a while Shelly remained silent, pondering her father's statement. But the more she thought about it, the more she believed that her father was wrong about Endicott's motives for building the
Explorer.

Shelly had met Mr. Endicott only once, but her gut feelings told her that Mycroft E. Endicott was no ordinary businessman.

"Maybe you're not being fair, Dad," Shelly announced finally. "Maybe Endicott wants to do some good, too. Maybe he wants to show everyone in America that the future can still be bright, despite all the troubles in the world right now."

Shelly looked up and saw that her father was smiling down at her.

"You're so naive, kid," he quipped, smoothing his daughter's hair affectionately. "You're just like your mother," he said, watching her out of the corner of his eye. "She thought the best about everyone, too, and look what it got her."

"She found
you
, didn't she?" Shelly shot back with a laugh.

Her father laughed, too. "I was a loser in those days, Shelly - a crazy nut who wanted to build an airship like no one else had ever envisioned, let alone ever tried to build." Simon Townsend shook his head, remembering those times.

"Hell," he chuckled, remembering back. "Everyone thought I was nuts - everyone except maybe Jack Dolan. Only a woman as good as your mother could have loved me in those days."

"Well, look at you now, Dad," Shelly replied. "Mom wasn't wrong. Look at all you've accomplished since you left Virgin Lightships Company and went out on your own. You've created something incredible - a new wonder of the world - and it's the start of something good, too. You know it is."

Shelly paused.

"And I'll just bet that that's all Mr. Endicott wants to do," she concluded. "Create something good, I mean."

Simon Townsend was filled with pride, and his heart swelled with love for his daughter. He was suddenly sad, too, because his child so reminded him of her mother.

"I only wish that people
were
as good and kind as you think they are, Shelly," her father replied. "The world would certainly be a better place."

Sunday, November 12, 2000, 11:05 A.M.
Bridge of the patrol ship
Ordog
50° north latitude, 150° east longitude
Sea of Okhotsk

The sea was gray. So were the waves, the horizon, the sky, and the patrol ship itself. All was a flat slate gray.

Captain Yuri Korsov's narrow eyes scanned the murky horizon through German-made binoculars, searching for other signs of humanity in the vast expanse of water north of the Sea of Japan.

The flesh on the Russian captain's thin, skeletal face was weathered, and there were pronounced wrinkles around Korsov's eyes from hours of peering at distant ocean horizons just like this one.

There was nothing out there. No ships, military or commercial - though he didn't expect many of the latter. No sign of an airplane or helicopter, either. There was absolutely no sign of life at all.

Which was fine with Captain Yuri Korsov. He wanted this part of the world to himself for the hazardous work he had to perform on this day. If no one was around, there would be no awkward questions asked of him or his men.

Questions like, "Why was the
Ordog
here?" or "What was his business in this most inhospitable bit of the world?" Or, finally, "Why did the men of the
Ordog
need so many unorthodox and unusual weapons to hunt whales?"

These were all questions the captain of the
Ordog
couldn't answer ... not if he wanted to avoid an international incident. So it was best that Korsov's patrol craft steer clear of any other ships - Russian or Japanese - that happened to be cruising near the coasts of the hotly disputed Kuril Islands.

It was just simpler that way. Simpler for him, for his men, and for his employers.

The captain pulled the collar of his wool coat up around his ears. Though it was almost midday, the air was still cold and damp, and there was little heat reaching the
Ordog
's enclosed bridge.

In truth, Korsov did not much mind the cold. It made him suddenly nostalgic. It was more like the weather he had experienced decades before, on his tours of duty in the North Atlantic as chief political officer aboard a Soviet
Typhoon
-class nuclear submarine.

"Captain," First Mate Podynov announced, appearing unexpectedly at Korsov's elbow and interrupting his reminiscences.

"What is it?" Korsov demanded curtly.

"We have just activated the sonar," the man replied, ignoring his commander's glum mood. Captain Korsov lowered his binoculars and faced his second-in-command. As usual, the man was smiling. The dour Korsov did not trust men who smiled too much.

When Captain Korsov faced the first mate, he had to lower his eyes because Adrian Podynov was a short man. And a fat man, too. He was almost as wide as he was tall, in fact.

Korsov did not trust fat men, either.

Podynov, an affable Georgian, seemed not to notice his commander's distaste. Indeed, Podynov was not Korsov's choice for this post, or this mission. Unfortunately, the decision was not his to make. Years before, in the Soviet navy, Yuri Korsov had some control over the choice of men in his command.

Not anymore.

Now he had new masters -
businessmen
, Korsov thought with disgust - and they did not consult him before making decisions. It was a situation that bothered Captain Korsov very much, but he had to accept it.

Things were very different in Mother Russia these days.

"Anything on the sonar yet, Podynov?" the captain asked gruffly, forgetting his misgivings for a moment.

"Not yet, sir," Podynov replied, still grinning. Korsov returned to his task of scanning the horizon. He noted that the seas were getting rougher, and recalled the weather reports he'd picked up from a remote Russian military outpost on the Kuril Islands.

A better-than-even chance for a major storm ...

"The sea is getting rougher, sir," Podynov observed, as if reading his commander's mind. Korsov grunted, but said nothing.

"I'm not worried," Podynov continued to prattle. "The
Ordog
is a good ship. It will hold together and bring us the prize we seek."

It had better
, Korsov thought,
because we have more than a storm at sea to worry about on this particular day.

Suddenly, for the hundredth time, Korsov bemoaned his fate - a fate that had taken him from his post as an officer aboard a nuclear submarine to his current command - as captain of nothing more than a high-speed, high-tech
fishing boat!

Then Korsov recalled the dangerous prey they hunted this day, and a trace of a smile touched his thin lips.

If we are successful, we will make history
, he mused.
And I will end up a very rich man ...

***

Forty minutes later, the sonar technician spotted
something
.

Captain Korsov grunted when Podynov delivered the news, then followed the portly man to the cramped sonar room. Korsov studied the blip on the screen for a moment. Then he took the headphones from the sonar technician and placed them over his ears.

For three minutes he strained his highly trained ears, listening to the sound made by the mysterious blip on the sonar screen. Then he pulled off the headphones and handed them back to the young man at the sonar station.

Korsov faced Podynov, a grim realization written on his thin face.

"We have company," the captain announced. "A Japanese
Yuushio
-class submarine ... Curious about us, no doubt."

Korsov was not happy about their visitor, but he was pleased to see the grin disappear from Podynov's chubby face.

"Do you think the Japanese suspect something?" the first mate asked fearfully.

"Of course they do," Korsov replied with a thin smile.

"Captain!" the sonar operator cried excitedly. "The Japanese submarine is leaving the area."

Korsov leaned over the man's shoulder and watched the blip slowly withdraw to the east - toward Onekotan Island. Finally, after an eternity, the submarine moved out of the range of their sonar.

Korsov grunted and stood erect. "Continue to scan the area for our prey," he commanded. "I will be in my quarters."

Without another word, Captain Korsov departed. Podynov and the young sonar technician exchanged uneasy glances.

"Do you think we will find it?" the youth asked.

"Of course," Podynov replied, smiling wanly. But the first mate's answer was no comfort.

***

On the bridge of the SS-597 Japanese
Yuushio
-class submarine
Takashio
, Captain Sendai was bent over an illuminated map table. As he plotted a course toward the Kuril Islands, Sendai wondered once again about the strange ship he had spotted earlier.

Because of his extensive training in vessel recognition, the captain of the
Takashio
knew that the type of ship was familiar, but try as he might, he could not place it. Sendai would have preferred to pace the ship and spy on its activities awhile, but it was not to be. He was ordered to meet a supply ship in three hours, and he had already tarried long enough in these waters. Unless he met his resupply ship soon, Sendai's diesel-electric submarine would be out of fuel.

But he could not forget the familiar outlines of the ship he'd seen earlier. And then it hit him. Crossing the bridge, the captain pulled down a volume of ship recognition patterns - specifically, the volume that included Russian patrol ships. He leafed through the pages quickly, until he discovered a match.

Captain Sendai cursed softly. It
was
a Russian ship ...

In fact, the vessel he had spotted was a
Stenka
-class fast patrol craft. Sendai had not recognized it before now because this type of ship usually only patrolled waters around Russian ports. According to the vessel recognition book, the
Stenka
-class ships were operated almost exclusively by the Maritime Border Directorate of the KGB - in the bad old days before the disintegration of the Soviet Union and the disbanding of the Russian intelligence community, including the KGB.

Sendai closed the volume and stared into space.