With a speed and agility that belied its bulk, Manda circled its body around G.o.dzilla's bull neck. The dragon dug its sharp claws into the thick, ridged hide and hung on.

In an attempt to dislodge the creature, G.o.dzilla thrashed about in the sea, sending torrents of water washing over the barges and commercial ships docked at the wharves, flooding the warehouses full of raw materials and manufactured goods. G.o.dzilla reached up and tugged futilely at Manda's serpentine body. The dragon's wedge-shaped head bobbed in front of G.o.dzilla's own.

But as the King of the Monsters opened his mouth, and blue lights danced along his spines once again, Manda began to constrict its coils tighter, choking the King of the Monsters ...

On the sh.o.r.es of the Caspian Sea ...

It took only a few minutes for the airplanes to appear in the blue morning sky above him. To his surprise, Craig Weedie recognized the aircraft from countless visits to Russian military installations during his trip through the former Soviet Union - they were MiG-27 ground-attack aircraft.

The twin t.i.tans still wrestled in the ruins of Peliograd, oblivious to the attack to come. Anguirus lashed out with his spiked tail, slamming it against Gigan's body again and again.

As he watched, Craig slipped behind a tumble of rocks. Half a kilometer suddenly did not feel like a safe distance from an impending air attack.

With graceful precision, the MiGs banked and, with their variable wings swept forward and wide, pointed their duck noses at the monsters on the ground. In a blasting stream of exhaust and fire, tactical air-to-ground missiles leaped from each wing. Craig lowered the camera and covered his ears as the first missiles struck home.

Explosions rippled across the distance, shaking the ground and loosening pebbles and dust from the ledges around him. The first two blasts, from missiles fired by the lead plane, blossomed on the ground. They were quickly followed by others.

Many others.

As explosion after explosion sundered the Earth, the two monsters continued to do battle. Soon their gigantic forms were all but obscured by smoke and fire.

In the chaos, Craig would see a flash of Anguirus's tail, or a silvery reflection off one of Gigan's metallic claws - but nothing more. The attack seemed to last forever, and by the time it ended, the Backpack Adventurer was hugging the ground and covering his head with his hands as dust and small rocks rained down on him almost constantly.

Soon the entire area was filled with smoke and dust. The wind, which was blowing toward the observer, smelled of cordite and burning wood. Craig coughed and choked. Through it all, he could still hear the roars and bellows of the struggling monsters.

Finally, the explosions died away. The sounds of the jet engines receded. Cautiously, Craig lifted his head. Gigan's shrill cries pierced the air, but it was Anguirus who was in control of the battle now.

As Craig snapped photo after photo, Anguirus dragged the thrashing Gigan down onto the sh.o.r.e. Gigan struggled and kicked, its red eye glowing evilly. But Anguirus continued to drag the creature into the lapping waves of the Caspian Sea, even as black blood poured out of a dozen wounds.

The four-legged beast had Gigan by the throat and would not let go. One of Gigan's metal claws slammed repeatedly against Anguirus's hard sh.e.l.l. A noise like a clanging bell echoed across the waters, but it looked as if Anguirus hardly felt the blows.

Gigan's other claw was missing its tip. The monster waved its useless stunted arm as a silver stream of internal fluids poured out of the soft center of the shattered claw. Gigan's roars seemed to weaken with each pa.s.sing minute, as Anguirus inexorably dragged the wounded cyborg into the sea.

Finally, after many long moments, the struggle ended. Anguirus backed into the waves, until the green waters completely covered the creature. Gigan, its arms waving weakly, its beaklike mouth opening and closing silently, was dragged beneath the water headfirst as if it were a dying mouse in the mouth of a tomcat.

The Caspian Sea churned for a few more minutes, then stilled. Of the monsters' pa.s.sing there was no sign.

Craig Weedie stood up, peering across the water. He found himself powerfully affected by the primeval contest he had just witnessed. He wondered if Anguirus had survived the struggle. He was almost certain Gigan had not.

As he stared out over the sea, the sound of approaching helicopters beat against his ears. Vaguely, Craig Weedie realized he would soon be rescued ...

In the East China Sea ...

G.o.dzilla struggled against the coils that threatened to strangle him. Manda's head bobbed in front of his eyes, which seemed to dim and cloud over with each pa.s.sing second. G.o.dzilla tried to summon his fiery breath, but it somehow stuck in his throat.

Red foam flecked the edges of his ma.s.sive jaws, staining the double row of teeth crimson. G.o.dzilla's jaws opened and closed spasmodically as he gasped for air.

Finally, G.o.dzilla managed to hook one of his huge, tearing claws around Manda's own neck. G.o.dzilla's ma.s.sive hand dug into the woolly hair around the dragon's head.

G.o.dzilla began to squeeze. Manda stubbornly clung to G.o.dzilla's throat and would not budge. But G.o.dzilla reached up with his other claw and grabbed one of Manda's stubby legs.

Now, with both of G.o.dzilla's mighty forearms dragging at Manda's coiled body, the dragon began to weaken. Suddenly, Manda's grip was broken. The creature tried to slip into the sea and escape, but G.o.dzilla would not let it go.

Instead, the King of the Monsters lifted the dragon out of the water and held it at arm's length. G.o.dzilla opened his eyes and stared into Manda's own.

Manda hissed and spat as G.o.dzilla unleashed the full fury of his radioactive breath. The hot, burning rays washed over the dragon. Manda seemed to shrink back from the force of the blast, but G.o.dzilla still gripped its neck tightly.

Manda's tail flailed wildly as it began to burn, and suddenly G.o.dzilla released the creature from his grip. Manda struck the water with a huge splash and a boiling hiss. A wave of superheated seawater flooded sections of the docks once more. G.o.dzilla, his arms spread wide, his tail churning up the waters behind him, turned his eyes to the sky above.

G.o.dzilla's feral head tilted upward. Then the King of the Monsters opened his mouth and let loose a ringing, ear-shattering bellow of victory.

Manda, limp and perhaps dead, disappeared beneath the waves of the East China Sea ...

Thursday, December 14, 2000, 12:25 A.M.

Aboard the Destiny Explorer.

Off the coast of Chile.

Leena Sims closed the battered handwritten journal and lay back in her bunk. Her mind was whirling with a hundred ideas. She'd been reading the journals of Alexander Kemmering for days now.

She decided that Kemmering was probably a scientific genius. But Leena was certain that he was also an egotistical megalomaniac determined to prove to the world that it was wrong and he was right.

Though Leena was still suffering from her fear of flying, some of the sheer panic had fled. It was worst when she tried to go to sleep. As she nodded off, she would experience a sudden surge of panic - like a fear of falling, only a hundred times worse. She found that if she worked hard enough, the fears vanished. And if she worked to the point of exhaustion, she could sometimes fall asleep without those disturbing incidents.

Leena was surprised to learn that she found some peace in knowing that the world was falling apart. It made her feel strangely free. Suddenly it didn't matter if her microchip process worked or not - or if Intel, Apple, or IBM made the bigger bid on the copyright to her process. The knowledge that she was helpless, trapped aboard an airship that was probably heading for certain doom was, in the end, comforting.

Free of the ghosts of her past and the memories of her father - a computer genius who died two years ago, before Leena achieved her success - Leena joined in with the others to try to solve the mystery of Alexander Kemmering's journals.

But as she waded through the obscure references to everything from the Bible to Hindu scriptures with unp.r.o.nounceable names, Leena couldn't help thinking of Zoe Kemmering. The daughter of the vanished genius was hardly mentioned in these journals - and only as someone who found some obscure fact, or cleaned up a lab, or set up a camp. The dead archaeologist seemed to have used his own daughter as an unpaid a.s.sistant, surrounding her with all of his theories and scientific pursuits.

Once, in the third journal, Kemmering referred to his daughter as a genius. Leena suspected this was only because she believed in the theories he was putting forth.

For some reason Leena Sims felt a bond with the vanished girl, who was surely dead. Alexander Kemmering had dragged his daughter all over the world, making her live through his own obsessions. Perhaps, Leena realized in a moment of self-awareness, her situation was the same as Zoe Kemmering's. Leena's father had pushed her mercilessly, teaching her the basics of the inner workings of computers when she was just a child.

Leena idolized her father. She often acknowledged his help when she made her breakthrough. Sometimes, in early negotiations with the chip manufacturers, Leena referred to her new chip as "our invention" and something "we came up with," referring to her dead father's help in the research.

Finally, one of Leena's lawyers pulled her aside and asked her to stop using the plural. "These corporate types will think you can't do the work, Leena. They'll think it was your father's idea, not yours."

Leena understood the man's argument, but she had to fight not to use the plural when talking about "her" new process.

As her eyes closed and she lay back on her pillow, Leena wondered if Zoe had felt the same way about her father ...

14.

FIRE AND RAIN.

Tuesday, December 19, 2000, 3:25 P.M.

Aboard the Destiny Explorer.

Off the coast of central Chile.

"We're coming up on Concepcion," Captain Dolan announced to the others on the bridge. "We'll be over the city in about forty minutes."

This was not a revelation to the people on the bridge - they could clearly see the smoke rising from the city for the past hour. Despite its beautiful and sacred name, Concepcion would be just like the other cities they had pa.s.sed over.

As they neared the Chilean metropolis of more than 300,000 people, everyone on the bridge grew tense, recalling their experiences near Santiago two days before.

Like almost every coastal city they'd pa.s.sed since the communications blackout, Santiago was torn by war and civil strife. But unfortunately, the capital city of Chile was also a scheduled fueling and provisions stop for the Destiny Explorer. An arrangement had been made weeks before to provide the airship with food and water. Staples like that were not a problem now: the soldiers had brought aboard enough MREs - meals ready to eat - to feed three times their number for months to come. But the Destiny Explorer needed fuel.

The Petramco Oil Company had promised to deliver the fuel at a remote tank farm outside of Santiago. While the range of the super-efficient turbofan engines on the Explorer was phenomenal, and the tanks of the Explorer held thousands of gallons of jet fuel, without the stop in Santiago they might make it to Antarctica but not back again.

And if they met any obstacles along the way, such as harsh weather or katabatic winds, which could blow them off course, the whole mission was jeopardized.

While they approached Santiago, Dolan, Sh.e.l.ly, and Corporal Brennan argued the wisdom of trying to make the rendezvous at the fuel yard. It was apparent that things were in chaos almost everywhere in South America. Without communications, there was no way to know if it was safe to make the rendezvous or not.

Sh.e.l.ly argued that if it was possible, her father would find a way to make the rendezvous. Even now, she speculated hopefully, he could be at the fueling station waiting for them. Sean Brennan liked that idea. If Simon Townsend was there, then Colonel Briteis and his men would be there, too. Sean could turn over his command to an officer.

But Sean had to be realistic. The chaos they'd seen from their airship indicated to him that travel through South America was probably horrendously dangerous. Overland travel was impossible, and air travel was risky because of sudden hostilities between nations, or civil strife.

Three times in the last several days the airship had been buzzed by fighter jets. The first time, a Chilean Mirage fighter made a pa.s.s. The second time, the aircraft stayed too far away from them to make a positive identification, but Dolan swore it was a British Harrier.

The third time, they were attacked.

An A-37A Dragonfly with no markings opened up on them with machine guns. Johnny Rocco climbed to the top of the hull, where he'd mounted a Stinger antiaircraft missile two days before. Rocco aimed and fired.

The missile streaked up the tailpipe of the Dragonfly when it made a second pa.s.s. In a spreading fireball, the plane burst apart, its burning debris tumbling into the Pacific.

There were no parachutes. There was no time.

One crewman on the airship was killed, but damage was minimal and easily repaired.

Then yesterday, as they descended low over the Chilean coast, gunmen hidden in the jungles shot at them as well. Everyone on board got the message: Yanqui, go home. Or, as Jim Cirelli quipped, "Don't get out of the boat."

But they still needed that fuel. Finally, Captain Dolan, Sh.e.l.ly Townsend, and Sean Brennan formulated a desperate plan to get it. Since they didn't know who controlled Santiago, or who might have taken control of the fuel yards, it was decided that Brennan and his Airborne troops would grab the tank farm in a night raid.

If the legitimate owners were still in possession, no harm done. The Destiny Explorer would simply ask for the fuel, which was bought and paid for. If not, then the Rangers would just take it - if it was there. The biggest fear was that the remote tank farm outside the city had been destroyed.

In the dark of night, the Messerschmitt-XYB - piloted by Sh.e.l.ly herself - inserted six of the Airborne Rangers, led by Corporal Brennan, on a dirt road two kilometers away from the tank farm. The troopers hoofed it from there and approached the complex warily.

It turned out that the tank farm was intact, but it had been seized by a violent group of anti-government rebels. In a decisive, lightning-fast attack, Brennan and his men took the base with no casualties to their own forces. A few of the rebels were killed; many more fled into the jungle believing they were being attacked by a much larger force.

Hours later, as the sun rose, the Destiny Explorer flew away from the smoking city of Santiago with thousands of gallons of jet fuel pumped into its hull. Later, it stopped at a reservoir in the hills to pump in thousands more gallons of water.

At least the operation went smoothly, Brennan thought with a flood of relief. I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost one of my men ...

But suddenly, as they neared what looked like another disaster area, this time at Concepcion, the airship's automatic collision alarms began to blare - shocking Sean out of his troubled thoughts.

"What's that?" he demanded, instantly tense.

"Collision alarm," Sh.e.l.ly announced, turning to the short-range radar screen. Captain Dolan, on the helm, activated his HUD and scanned the area.

"Something is moving parallel to us! Something very large," Dolan said.

Just then, the intercom on the bridge crackled to life. "This is Ned, on the observation deck," the young scientist cried excitedly. "Take a look out the starboard window ... at two o'clock. We have company."

Sh.e.l.ly and Sean peered out of the starboard-side window, looking up past the curved hull of the airship.

"Look!" she cried, pointing.

"Oh, my G.o.d!" Captain Dolan said, without letting go of the control shaft.

"It's Rodan!" Sh.e.l.ly called to the others. Michael Sullivan's mouth dropped open, then he smiled with delight.

"Or one of them, anyway," Captain Dolan added. "There are a few Rodans, I think."

"Yeah," Michael said. "I remembering reading that an egg on the top of Mount Rushmore hatched, and a young Rodan was born."

"Or maybe two," Sh.e.l.ly added, trying to recall the details.

"He does look young," Sean Brennan observed as he watched the graceful creature glide alongside the floating airship - fortunately at a respectable distance. "The horns on his head are short, and he seems a little smaller than the one that nested on Rushmore."

"How do you know so much about Rodan, Corporal?" Dolan asked. It was a question, not a challenge.

"Well, sir," he replied, "they taught us kaiju recognition in basic."

"It's beautiful," Sh.e.l.ly exclaimed as she watched the creature flap his ma.s.sive brown wings almost lazily in the blue summer sky. For some reason she could not explain, Sh.e.l.ly Townsend felt comforted by the flying creature's company.

Wednesday, December 20, 2000, 3:25 P.M.

Kita-Ku, Osaka.