Godzilla At World's End Part 10

Usually he threw up until there was nothing left in his stomach - then he threw up some more. That's exactly what happened on the Explorer. Finally, Nick relented and went to Dr. Grace, the onboard physician.

The doctor chuckled knowingly as Nick described his symptoms. Suddenly, just as Nick was suggesting that he might need some kind of psychological counseling - speculating that his problem stemmed from some trauma of youth - Dr. Grace pressed a hypodermic gun to the reporter's arm and pulled the trigger.

"Ouch!" Nick cried. "What did you do that for?"

The woman smiled at him. "I just administered a large dose of a new type of antiemetic drug."

"Huh?" Nick replied.

"I just treated you for motion sickness," Dr. Grace explained.

"But I'm not suffering from motion sickness," he argued. "I'm suffering from a fear of flying!"

"Any heart palpitations? Difficulty breathing? Sweaty palms?" the doctor demanded in rapid fire. Nick shook his head each time.

The doc shrugged her shoulders. "Then you have motion sickness," she announced. She went to an aluminum cupboard and unlocked it. "I'll give you a patch behind your ear," she informed him. "The patch will let the antiemetics into your system in a controlled dosage. Your 'fear of flying' should pa.s.s in a few days."

And so it did, Nick thought happily. He rose from his computer and stretched his stiff muscles. Then he walked to the window in his stateroom and looked out into the darkening sky and the black ocean below.

I think I'll take a walk on the observation deck, he decided happily ...

"Hand me that wrench, Peter," Ned Landson asked, his dirty hand thrust in front of the youth's nose. Peter Blackwater sighed and lifted the heavy tool from a chest at his feet. He set it in Ned's palm.

"Thanks," Ned mumbled, turning a bolt that anch.o.r.ed the vertical stabilizer to the fuselage of the partially a.s.sembled Messerschmitt-XYB.

Though Peter's field of interest was botany and Ned's was oceanography, both young men fell in love with the concept behind this s.e.xy flying machine. Built by the Germans, the XYB combined the vertical takeoff and, landing properties of a Harrier jump jet with the pa.s.senger capacity of a helicopter. The result was a small, compact craft that had a wide body and short, stubby wings, and could carry eight people and a pilot.

The XYB's task was to carry pa.s.sengers from the hangar built into the airs.h.i.+p's central hull to the ground below without the airs.h.i.+p having to dock. On this trip, the experimental VTOL - vertical takeoff and landing aircraft - was to be used as a glorified elevator.

But the Messerschmitt-XYB had a top speed of 200 miles an hour, and a range of about 200 miles! Unfortunately, the XYB was so horrendously fuel-gobbling that it could be used only in certain conditions, and not for long-distance flying.

In fact, the XYB hadn't been used on this trip; like many other things aboard the Destiny Explorer, it was not yet finished. And anyway, the XYB was being saved for the Antarctic, where ground crews and landing towers would not always be available.

"There," Ned announced, sitting up and wiping some grease off his face. "I think the left rear stabilizer has been installed."

Peter Blackwater only partially understood what Ned was doing, but he enjoyed working with the kid from Florida. Ned, on the other hand, was used to working on boat engines and even aircraft - his father's deep-sea salvage facility owned two Bell helicopters. Ned saw the XYB as a chance to mess with new machinery.

Peter saw it as a chance to work near Sh.e.l.ly Townsend. She had joined them the other day as they began work on the XYB. The young Native American was smitten. He had never met anyone like the Destiny Explorer's first mate. She was cute and nice and she knew all about science - and she even knew how to fly this ma.s.sive airs.h.i.+p! Sh.e.l.ly was older than Peter, and totally unlike the girls he knew back in his tiny village in Alaska.

Deep in his heart of hearts, Peter knew that his crush on Sh.e.l.ly was pointless and absurd, but for now he was content to be near her whenever he had the chance. In fact, Peter was disappointed that Sh.e.l.ly hadn't shown up at the hangar tonight.

He wondered where she was - and what she was doing.

"Well," Ned announced, wiping his hands on his coverall, "I guess I'll call it a day and take a shower. What are you doing, Pete?"

"I dunno," Peter replied with a shrug, knowing that it was unlikely he would see Sh.e.l.ly tonight. "Maybe I'll check on my plants. The test seeds I planted in the lab are just beginning to sprout."

Captain Jack Dolan closed the battered journal in his lap. He tossed it on top of several others, which were spread across his desk along with some hand-marked maps of the Wilkes Land region of Antarctica.

Then Jack Dolan wearily snapped off the desk lamp and rubbed his tired eyes. He didn't bother to fold up the maps - he could do it in the morning. But there was one last duty he had to perform before sleep.

As Dolan stroked his beard, he keyed the intercom on the table by his bunk.

"Bridge, Givers here," Second Mate Gil Givers replied promptly.

"Anything I should know about?" Dolan asked.

"Jackson International Airport asked us to take her up to four thousand feet," Givers replied. "And we're about to pa.s.s Mayport Naval Air Station - the navy was kind enough to give us full clearance."

"Okay, Gil," Dolan said. "Have a good night. I'll relieve you at oh-six hundred hours."

"Good night, Captain," Givers said, signing off.

But as tired as he was, Jack Dolan could not sleep that night. He tossed and turned on the narrow bunk, charting the course over Antarctica in his mind, wondering what he would find.

And if they would get there in time.

Then, with a sigh, Dolan rose from his bunk and sat down at his desk again. He switched on the light, and his hand caressed the handwritten t.i.tle on the cover of one of the battered journals.

In the clear, precise hand of his long-lost brother-in-law were written the words.

"The Scientific Journal of Dr. Alexander Kemmering."

Sat.u.r.day, December 2, 2000, 1:15 P.M.

Deck of the freighter Dingo's Luck.

Sea of j.a.pan.

55 miles off the coast of Kilchu, North Korea.

"The captain is restless this fine afternoon," the grizzled old man nicknamed "China Bill" noted, squinting up at the deck that encircled the bridge of the ancient, battered freighter.

"That he is," Singh agreed. The small man with the white turban barely glanced up from his task. He continued to wash the deck with a mop that had seen better days.

Swabbing the deck along with the others, the youth known as Kelly listened to his s.h.i.+pmates, still trying to fit in. He was not yet accustomed to the job he had been forced by circ.u.mstances to accept, nor the hard-bitten men he sailed with.

The young man pushed his brown hair away from his eyes and loosened his wool pea coat, as the day was uncommonly warm for December. He peered up at Captain Willowby. The s.h.i.+p's master was pacing back and forth along the raised deck, scanning the slate-gray sea around them with binoculars.

China Bill watched the captain, too, before returning to the task at hand. His mop flew across the deck with careless ease. "The captain's got a lot to worry about," the old man muttered in his beard.

Singh nodded. "Yes, yes," the little man agreed. "He does, oh yes, he does."

"What's he worried about?" Kelly asked, his American accent p.r.o.nounced among the mostly Australian crew. China Bill smiled and exchanged a knowing glance with the Indian man, but the old man did not reply.

"Come on, China Bill," the youth persisted. "What's up? Why are we anch.o.r.ed here, in the middle of nowhere?"

But it was another sailor, a man called Crispin, who finally replied.

"It's the cargo, boy," Crispin announced. "The captain is waiting for a chance to deliver his cargo."

Kelly just nodded, as if the man's enigmatic words answered all of his questions. Which, in a sense, they did.

The Dingo's Luck was a cargo s.h.i.+p. That much Kelly knew when he signed on. But in the two weeks he'd been aboard the rusty, run-down s.h.i.+p, the Dingo had never docked at any port. And, strange for a cargo s.h.i.+p, the hold was nearly empty. It contained only five large, unmarked wooden boxes.

It was a mystery, to be sure. But one that Kelly was not certain he wanted answered. Since joining the crew of the Dingo's Luck, Kelly had kept his mouth shut and done his job. He figured he was lucky to have work - so many others did not. When he came to Australia from Boston a little over a year ago, "Kelly" - whose real name was Sean Brennan - had searched long and hard for honest work. He heard all the talk back in the United States about how Australia was the new land of opportunity, with jobs for everyone.

Kelly had learned the hard way that it was not.

For months he had worked as a day laborer, a dockhand, and at whatever odd jobs turned up. He moved from place to place, searching for work, sticking to the big cities mostly. But he soon discovered that Australians were not pleased to see so many foreigners arriving on their sh.o.r.es. And though he possessed a stolen Australian pa.s.sport, Kelly's American accent branded him an outsider.

Work became harder and harder to find as the Australian economy began to slide downhill along with the rest of the world's.

Finally, without money or a place to live, Kelly was forced to take a last-minute job aboard Dingo's Luck - a s.h.i.+p with a bad reputation and an unsavory crew to match. So far, the men had been decent enough, though Kelly was certain that the s.h.i.+p and its captain were up to no good.

Two hours ago, the captain had ordered the s.h.i.+p to anchor here, in the middle of a stretch of ocean near the sh.o.r.e of North Korea. No reason was given, and most of the crew didn't care. As long as they got paid, the captain was free to go about his business as far as they were concerned.

But Kelly was curious. From what he knew, the North Korean government was not very friendly, and few s.h.i.+ps ventured this close to the coast.

And anyway, Kelly thought, if they were going to make a stop in North Korea, why not just go into the nearest port? Why stop in the middle of the ocean?

"We've got us some company, mates," China Bill declared, interrupting the youth's train of thought. Kelly scanned the waters around the freighter until he spotted a tiny s.h.i.+p approaching them from the direction of the Korean coast. As the vessel got closer, Kelly realized that it was a North Korean Navy patrol boat, and his heart began to race.

But Captain Willowby grabbed the signal light from the first mate and flashed the approaching s.h.i.+p a message. A message was quickly flashed back, and minutes later the North Korean vessel moved into position alongside the Dingo's Luck.

"Open up the cargo hold!" the first mate called from the bridge deck. Singh and China Bill dropped their mops and moved to the hold. A minute later, the gigantic doors opened and the s.h.i.+p's cargo crane swung into action.

Aboard the North Korean vessel, sailors in brown uniforms scrambled to make room on the narrow deck as the first of the large wooden crates was lowered onto the tossing deck of the patrol boat.

Kelly, still mopping, casually began to scrub the deck near the North Korean s.h.i.+p. He caught the eye of one of the officers aboard the patrol s.h.i.+p and smiled.

The man glared back at Kelly with cold, emotionless eyes. The youth averted his gaze, then turned to watch the activity on the Dingo's deck.

A second and third crate were soon lowered onto the North Korean s.h.i.+p. The tiny patrol boat rode low in the rough water now. Finally, a fourth crate was dragged from the hold and lifted high over the deck. But this time, China Bill had failed to properly secure the wooden box to the hook. With a loud snap, the cable twisted and the wooden box shattered, spilling the contents onto the Dingo's deck.

Crispin and Singh leaped aside, narrowly avoiding being crushed.

With the outer wooden crate shattered, Kelly, who was closest to the accident, got a good look at the contents. The wooden crate contained a single lead box that was roughly the size of a coffin. Partially obliterated, but still visible on the metal surface, was the familiar round radioactive warning symbol. On the lid of the box were the words DANGER! HIGHLY RADIOACTIVE. Under that was a single word that froze Kelly in his tracks.

PLUTONIUM.

Oh, G.o.d, Kelly gasped, unable to hide his shock and surprise. The captain is smuggling weapons-grade plutonium to the Communists in North Korea!

Suddenly, Kelly felt eyes watching him. He turned and spotted the North Korean officer with cold eyes staring at him. The youth quickly moved away from the debris as China Bill and several others tried to hook the lead box onto the crane again.

Finally, the lead box was lowered onto the North Korean patrol s.h.i.+p, followed by the last crate in the cargo hold. With the cargo secured on his s.h.i.+p, the North Korean officer climbed aboard the Dingo's Luck. He carried a canvas bag that looked stuffed and heavy. The smiling first mate welcomed the soldier aboard and then escorted the man to the bridge.

Twice the North Korean officer stared directly at Kelly. The youth moved to the far end of the deck, wis.h.i.+ng himself invisible. He noticed that China Bill, Singh, and Crispin suddenly gave him a wide berth.

Kelly mopped the deck, one eye trained on the bridge, where the North Korean officer and Captain Willowby were obviously concluding their business transaction.

As the youth dumped the bucket of dirty water overboard, he noticed both the captain and the North Korean officer watching him intently. The first mate climbed down the ladder and approached Kelly.

"Hey, mate," he said with an ingratiating smile. "The cap'n would like to see ya on the bridge."

"What for?" Kelly demanded.

"He likes the job yer doin', kid," the mate said. "Yer up for a promotion."

Kelly looked up to the bridge again. The North Korean officer was signaling some of his men. They climbed aboard the Dingo's Luck. Each man was armed. The North Korean officer smiled thinly and pointed Kelly out to his men.

"Captain Willowby!" a voice cried out, shattering the stillness of the scene. The man called from the watchtower. All eyes turned as the man pointed to the ocean.

Kelly looked, too.

Amazingly, a section of the ocean rose up in a gigantic swell, rocking the two s.h.i.+ps, which were still secured together. From the center of that swell, two gigantic, gleaming red eyes peered at the bobbing s.h.i.+ps.

"It's G.o.dzilla!" the man on the watchtower cried.

As the stunned crews watched, an immense, almost feline, head emerged from the ocean waves. The monster narrowed its eyes as it focused on the two s.h.i.+ps.

"He's coming right at us!" the first mate cried in alarm. Suddenly, the deck of the Dingo's Luck exploded with activity. The North Korean soldiers who had come for Kelly aimed their rifles at the oncoming monster. Small-arms fire echoed across the water.

The cacophony was drowned out by G.o.dzilla's angry bellow. The sound of the creature's roar echoed throughout the s.h.i.+p and battered their ears.

For an instant, Kelly's fear of the North Korean soldiers was replaced with a sense of wonder and awe. He'd never before seen anything like this creature.

The films and pictures he had seen of G.o.dzilla did not do him justice. In the flesh, G.o.dzilla was extraordinary to behold.

It's the radioactive material! Kelly realized. G.o.dzilla is after the plutonium.

He recalled how G.o.dzilla had destroyed a nuclear reactor in Syracuse, New York, the year before, in order to absorb the nuclear materials.

The volley of small-arms fire intensified as G.o.dzilla moved closer to the two s.h.i.+ps, obviously looking for a nuclear breakfast after his undersea hibernation.

For Kelly, however, G.o.dzilla was not nearly as terrifying as the North Korean officer, who was down on the deck and coming right for him.

As another terrible roar filled his ears, Kelly searched for a way out. Then, suddenly, he saw it. As the North Korean drew his sidearm, Kelly dived over the side of the Dingo's Luck, right into one of the s.h.i.+p's two lifeboats.

Kelly landed hard on his back. The wind was knocked out of him, but he had no time to rest. He kicked out with his foot, hitting the handle that released the lifeboat from its moorings. The wooden boat plunged into the ocean, landing so hard that Kelly's teeth rattled.