Godzilla vs. Kong by Greg Keyes (read people like a book .txt) 📕

of his grandmother, telling him the stories about the abasy who lived below the world, the spirits of darkness, and their chief, a huge giant with iron skin…

Two fireballs appeared in the sky, where a pair of his helicopters had been. A jet shrieked overhead.

“Take that down,” he told his men, before returning his gaze to Godzilla. The gas was clinging to the Titan, as predicted. Only his back was visible now, and to Manch’s eye, Godzilla appeared to be sinking as the remaining helicopters dumped more of the virulent stuff onto the surface of the water. He grinned in satisfaction as a missile took out the Monarch jet. The first of the two burning helicopters hit the water, igniting the oil, and the sea was suddenly aflame as Godzilla sank from sight.

“We got him,” Manch said. “Deploy the other net.”

“That will take a few minutes,” Procter said.

“Quickly,” Manch said. “Who knows how long it will take him to recover?”

“I’m on it.” Proctor started down the ladder.

Manch stared at the burning sea below. It was beautiful to him, and for the first time since coming here, the wind was warm.

“Screw you, Grandmother,” he muttered. “And your scary stories.”

Then the light of the burning sea was suddenly overshadowed by a blue-white glow. That, too was beautiful, but Manch felt his heart clot inside of him as he turned.

From the center of the rig, a pillar of blue light stabbed into the heavens like a beacon.

“Ah, shit,” Manch said, as the rig exploded, heaving him and everything else skyward. He had a single searing glimpse of the demon from the deep, rising amidst the ruin, and then the past and future closed in on him, and he winked out like a candle flame.

Apex Offices

Pensacola, Florida, Two Years Ago

“I’m impressed,” the man said, once he was in Walter Simmons’s office and the door was closed. “I didn’t think you would meet with me in person.”

The man didn’t look impressed. He looked hard, his dark eyes cold. The wrinkles on his face had not gotten there from smiling or laughing. Not a pleasant fellow, surely. But he was here to do business, and Simmons understood business.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Simmons said. “I have no reason to suspect you mean me harm, and if you do, my security detail is, I assure you, very efficient. May I get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” the man said.

Simmons stood and walked over to the window of his Pensacola office, turning his back on his guest.

“The view isn’t as nice as that from my Hong Kong office,” he said. “Yet I find it pleasing. Have you been here before? Seen the local sights?”

“I haven’t much use for local sights,” the man said. “I’ve seen about as much as I want to, over the years.”

“That’s too bad, I—Wait, what the hell is that?”

There was a ship in the docks, drawn up right behind one of his, with a bunch of people, half of them in tie-dye, lined up at the rails. And now that he was looking, there were a bunch of them on land, too, with signs and banners.

“I should say those are environmental crusaders,” the man said. “I passed through them coming in.”

“These guys,” Simmons muttered. “A thorn in my side.” Then he brightened. “Well, not so much a thorn as a little stitch, or maybe a mosquito bite. You didn’t come here with them, did you?”

“God, no. They’re a bit feeble for my taste.”

“So I understand. And speaking of that, you are really the one at risk coming here, aren’t you? Wanted by Interpol and at least twenty governments?”

“I’m not counting anymore,” the man said. “But as you say. I am, let us say, outside of my comfort zone. Can we get down to it?”

“Of course,” Simmons said. “What do you have to offer me? I know something of your history, but I must warn you, I have my own sources for the sort of things you deal in.”

“You don’t have a source for this,” the dangerous man said. He laid what looked like a photograph on the table.

“Seriously?” Simmons said. “Is that an instant camera picture? You contact me on the dark web, and then you show up in person with a cheap photo? Why didn’t you just draw it out on a clay tablet?”

The man didn’t answer.

Simmons reached for the photograph and turned it over. He picked it up and held it closer.

“Is this really what I think it is?” he said.

“Yes,” the man said. “It is.”

Simmons sat down, still staring at the image, and he knew. He could see the circuits in his head, already, or some of them, anyway. It was the missing piece. Or a missing piece.

“Astonishing,” he said. “And yet, what would I do with such a thing?”

“Don’t play games.” The man spoke quietly, without apparent emotion. The hiss of a viper.

“Well,” Simmons said. “It would be better—”

“—if I had two?” the man said.

“Now that you mention it.”

“I have two.”

“What?” Simmons said. “Not all three?”

“Just the two,” the man said.

“And for this you want…?”

“Money. A lot of money.”

“Really? I should think a man like you—”

“You don’t know what a man like me is,” the man said. “You will never know.” He pulled a bit of paper from his shirt pocket.

“The money goes to these three accounts,” he said.

“I have to hear your price first,” Simmons told him.

“You don’t, actually,” the man said. “Send the money. If it is enough, I will deliver. If not, I have other options.”

“No, hang on,” Simmons began, but the man stood up, took the photograph, and left the office. Simmons watched him go, following his progress out on the security cameras. Then he took out his phone and tapped a number.

“Yes,” he said, when he got an answer. “I need you to see how much money we can come up with. Completely off the books, you understand?” He stood and went to the window as he listened to the reply. He looked out