But all of those readouts were normal.
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."
3
THE HUNT
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," Firs
t 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.
He doubted that the ship was operated by a Russian intelligence agency now - though it was possible. But such ships were easily purchased from the cash-starved Russian government these days. A private business consortium might own it. Or just an individual entrepreneur. The ship might not even be manned by Russians, but Sendai's well-honed instincts told him it was.
Captain Sendai approached the video monitor. With the flick of a switch he pulled up the images he had taken of the ship a few hours before. He studied the outline, noting that the forward thirty-millimeter twin antiaircraft guns had been replaced by a single-tube weapon of uncertain origin. He increased the magnification ... The weapon looked like a harpoon gun.
Is it possible that the patrol ship was modified to serve as a whaler? Sendai wondered for a moment before quickly dismissing the notion. There was no place to cook or store whale blubber on such a small craft.
Sendai increased the magnification once again. Suddenly, the Cyrillic script on the side of the vessel became clear. Sendai could read Russian - he had learned while patrolling the Kuril Islands, which both Japan and Russia claimed as their own.
"Ordog," he muttered aloud - the Russian word for "devil."
Well, Captain Sendai thought. Something is very wrong with this ship, but there is nothing I can do about it now. After the submarine is refueled and resupplied, I will go hunting for it again, however.
Sendai was suddenly certain that the patrol vessel was looking for Godzilla. The creature had been spotted in these waters in the last several weeks, which explained why this part of the sea was all but deserted.
But what do the Russians want with Godzilla? the Japanese captain wondered. Whatever the reason, Captain Sendai was certain that the crew of that ship was up to no good ...
***
"Captain Korsov! Captain Korsov!" Podynov cried frantically through the thin wooden door of the captain's quarters. "We have located the creature."
The door flew open. "Are you sure?" Korsov demanded. The first mate nodded.
"It is too big to be anything else," he replied.
"Put the ship on red alert!" Korsov ordered. A moment later, alarms echoed throughout the Ordog as the eighteen-man crew took up battle stations.
A moment after he entered the bridge, Korsov had assessed the situation. The blip on the sonar was unmistaka
ble, and the Geiger counters also indicated an unnaturally high level of radiation emanating from the shape ahead of them.
Korsov scanned the horizon with his binoculars. The surface of the sea did not hint at what swam beneath it.
Silently, a huge man in a sealskin parka approached the captain. His bronze skin gleamed in the red lights of the bridge. The man's head was shaved, and he wore a whalebone loop in his nose. Korsov turned and faced the man.
"Take over the harpoon," Korsov commanded. The man nodded once and quickly left the bridge. Silently, he moved out onto the bow, toward the huge harpoon gun mounted there.
"Where is the creature?" Korsov demanded of his sonar man.
"Five hundred meters ahead of us," the young technician replied. "And twenty meters down."
"We'll bring him to the surface soon enough," Korsov stated. Turning to his first mate, he gave the command to launch depth charges.
***
With the impact of the first explosion, Godzilla opened his huge maw and roared angrily. Bubbles burst from the creature's mouth, churning the sea around him into a froth.
A second and third explosion quickly followed. None of them were near enough to harm the monster, but Godzilla became as curious as he was annoyed.
The creature raised his reptilian eyes and headed for the ocean surface ...
***
"There he is!" Podynov cried, stepping away from the depth charge launcher even as another explosive metal cylinder rolled onto the launch cradle.
All heads on the Ordog turned as Godzilla's three rows of dorsal spikes broke the surface. The sea seemed to roil, bulging into a huge dome right before the monster's head rose above the white-tipped waves.
Godzilla scanned the horizon, his feral eyes narrowing when he spotted the gray ship floating in the distance.
But to the crew's surprise, Godzilla was not up for a fight that day. Instead of approaching the Ordog, Godzilla turned and swam in the opposite direction.
"Full speed ahead!" Korsov commanded, his narrow, predatory smile looking like a scar on his skull-like face.
Everyone on the bridge felt the tension emanating from Captain Korsov as the chase began. They knew their commander was a warrior, a hunter. This was his element.
Godzilla at World's End Page 4