Godzilla Lives!
A Godzilla fanfiction by Travis J. DeSantis
Chapter Eleven
The Pacific Ocean is full of countless island chains. It would be nigh-impossible to find just one unless you knew the exact coordinates. On just such an island, there is a paramilitary installation hidden in the lush tropical forest. Each structure of the complex has been carefully camouflaged and there is minimal activity visible from the outside. Truth be told, there is little in the way of permanent personnel at this small base. But today, Red Bamboo's Special Operations Strike Team was receiving new orders.
<Have you heard about Patterson yet?> a gray-haired man asked, shuffling various papers on his desk in the way someone does when trying to appear busy though not actually doing anything. He was obviously a bureaucrat, but the strong build beneath his pinstripe business suit betrayed a more physically active past.
<I have, sir,> came the crisp reply.
On the other side of the desk stood the strike team commander. He was very tall for an Asian, but his exact nationality could not be easily discerned. A hawk-eyed man, one got the impression the commander never missed an important detail. Beside the captain stood a middle-aged foreign woman with a tight bun of midnight black hair. Though reasonably attractive, her full lips seemed to be set in a permanent frown.
<And your thoughts?> the gray-haired man inquired.
<I always said he'd never amount to anything, sir.>
<Now now, commander,> the older man said with a crooked smile. <Let's not speak ill of the dead. Whatever his flaws, Patterson did accomplish something. He proved that Godzilla is not a singular phenomenon.>
<But his methods certainly leave something to be desired,> the woman interjected, speaking in an unmistakably Russian accent.
<That goes without saying, Dr. Ninushenka. Which is why you've been called away from your current project to succeed our dearly departed.> The gray-haired man turned back to the soldier. <Commander, I decided to enlist your team for this assignment over any other, not for your history with Patterson, but for your ability to be unobtrusive. For us to learn anything from Patterson's little experiments, we'll need a viable gene sample. You understand the mission?>
The hawk-eyed soldier saluted mechanically. <Yes, sir. I'll round up my team immediately.>
<Excellent. Use whatever means necessary.>
The captain made his exit, the sound-proofed door sliding shut behind him with barely a whisper. Dr. Ninushenka now perched on the edge of the older man's desk, murmuring to herself and writing something down on her omnipresent clipboard.
<Have you taken up poetry, my dear?> the man asked.
The Russian woman pursed her lips, returning the clipboard back under her arm. <Just writing down my thoughts. Genius comes in many forms, Kenneth, and I've learned not to dismiss anything that comes out of this brain. Now, about this project?>
Kenny--or so the Japanophile Brit was called by his friends--nodded. <Everything is in order and the research team are on their way with the sample. Unfortunately, the high-ups got nervous and demanded we move it. Godzilla's scale will be waiting for you at Krasnodar upon your return.>
<Couldn't you have just called me, then?> said Dr. Ninushenka sighed. <I don't handle jet lag very well.>
The man spread his hands. <Orders had already been sent through.> He leaned forward now, favoring the Russian woman with a crooked smile. <Besides, I thought it would be nice to see each other again.>
<You thought wrong,> Dr. Ninushenka responded coldly. <Good bye, Kenneth.>
She strode from the room, not bothering to look back. Ken chuckled, going back to shuffling his papers.
<Good bye, indeed.>
