Scourge of the Super-saurs
By C. L. Werner
Part IV:
San Francisco
The cable car operator gazed lazily at the smoggy, brown-hued sky. A slight breeze drifted from the harbor, but it did little to offset the loathsome heat that seared upwards from the asphalt. It was another day of transporting tourists up and down the hilly streets of San Francisco. Caesare Ramirez has tired of his job, tired of the monotony and tedium, tired of the long hours and poor pay. Just once, the Californian wished something different would happen.
Suddenly, the streets began to shudder and shake. Tourists bolted for cover, but the native Californians paid the slight tremor little heed. Earthquakes were a common occurrence, and it would take more than a slight jostle to alarm them. But the slight trembler continued, growing in intensity. When the glass panes in the windows of buildings began to cringe from the shaking, the inhabitants of San Francisco joined their tourist guests in racing for the imagined security of doorways and the undersides of tables. Still the quake grew in power. It was unusual, increasing slowly rather than swiftly. Almost as if some great beast were burrowing its way to the surface.
The sound of a million shrieking harpies seemed to fill the air as countless windows shattered under the unremitting trembler. Shards of glass fell from towering skyscrapers, becoming deadly projectiles as they plummeted from the heights to skewer unfortunate pedestrians who had not yet gained shelter from the earthquake. Screams and cries of agony rose above the tinkling crash of glass. And still it was not the end. Manhole covers flew into the sky as streets buckled and warped. Stone facades cracked and crumbled, chunks of masonry burrowing their way into the ground as they fell, flattening man and machine alike in their violent descent. Gas mains erupted into spouting geysers of flame. Lights flickered and died as subterranean power lines were sundered.
San Francisco had become a madman's vision of Hell in only a few short minutes. Caesare Ramirez muttered to himself, not daring to bring his trolley car to a stop. The tremor continued to increase, the devastation and carnage all around him grow more and more horrible. The little trolley car seemed like some sort of sanctuary in the midst of the havoc. It was to prove a very temporary sanctuary.
As the trolley car crested a one hill the slope beneath it burst open like a pustulent sore. Slabs of asphalt flew in all directions and a huge armored shape clawed its way into the sunlight. Anguirus howled his low-pitched cry and shook the dirt and rubble from his spiky carapace. He did not notice the little trolley car or its screaming conductor as the vehicle slammed into his scaly chest. Anguirus paid even less attention to the mass of twisted metal he crushed beneath his feet as he crawled from the tunnel. There was only the urge filling him now. An urge to destroy. An urge Anguirus would satisfy.
David Latos snarled at the technicians. They were moving far too slowly to suit him. News had already reached the San Francisco headquarters of MARS that the monster Anguirus had appeared in the city. He knew that it was up to MARS to defend itself, the United States armed forces would not arrive until long after Mafune's monster had succeeded in its mission.
The veiled threat his father had made to him at the meeting in New York had been clear, it was time for David to impress John Latos, or remove himself from the possibility of succeeding the old man as head of the MARS corporation. It was just the sort of thing the old arms manufacturer would do, testing his sons to make sure that they were worthy of his esteem. David's brother Keith had succeeded only slightly and now was a simple project head of a weapons project in Africa. David's other brother had failed. Robert Latos was now occupying some mass grave in Cambodia. But David would not fail, and someday he would succeed his father, and spit on the old tyrant's grave.
The weapon the men were hurrying to ready had been designed for a foreign government, but just now David Latos felt that MARS needed it more than the dictator who had commissioned it did. An electronic cannon, drawing its destructive energies from a plutonium power cell, all housed in a chassis as innocuous as any satellite dish. David had had the weapon mounted atop the San Francisco Warhawk tower upon his return from New York. If the rest of MARS would not put its resources to the tower's defense, then it would be David Latos' task to do so.
David Latos peered down from the lofty height. He could see the Sears Tower away to his left, the only building in the entire city to rival the Warhawk's stature. He could see Oakland in the distance, Alcatraz Island and the Golden Gate Bridge. The University of Berkley momentarily drew his attention. He had toyed with the notion of roasting the college with his weapon, ridding the world of the swarming mass of neo-hippies who gathered there to perpetuate the myth of peace and love as a viable form of government. In the end, David Latos had decided that such an action would draw too much attention to MARS and its unlicensed defenses. Still, with the monster now here, the possibility for some constructive destruction was again making itself appealing.
'Is the cannon ready?' David Latos said over his shoulder as he watched the monster trampling through the narrow streets on its way toward the tower. He watched as Anguirus made short work of a police cordon meant to drive him back. The armored vehicles and automatic weapons of the SFPD had done nothing to slow the monster's frenzied pace. It had kicked the blue-painted armored cars away from it as if they had been toys. David Latos shook his head and clucked his tongue. Perhaps this little display would show the great cities of the world how to protect themselves from such a threat. Perhaps MARS would even turn a profit as a result of his initiative in defending the Warhawk tower.
'That thing isn't stopping,' David Latos warned the technicians.
'We are ready now, sir,' one of the gray uniformed engineers declared.
'Then get a bead on that beast and blast a hole right between his goddamn eyes!' David Latos snarled.
Anguirus tore through the streets, gouging holes in the sides of the buildings he passed with the sides of his armored shell. Nothing seemed capable of stopping the monster's assault. The meager arsenal of the police had done nothing to hinder the beast's progress, and the few National Guard tanks which had lumbered into Anguirus' path had fared just as poorly. Ahead, the giant dinosaur could see his target and a bark of triumph sounded from his scaly throat, shattering the windows of the buildings to either side of him.
The cry of triumph became a bellow of pain as an arcing beam of crackling blue light slammed into the dinosaur's head. The impact drove Anguirus backwards, the fierce energy knocking the brute onto his back. Anguirus writhed in agony as the blue light continued to lash his body, stabbing him with a thousand burning lashes of synthetic lightning. Anguirus rolled, crashing through a line of old Victorian homes, the debris shielding him slightly from the crackling assault. The monster forced himself upright, taking two awkward steps toward his attacker before dropping back to all fours as the artificial lightning slammed into him once more. Again, Anguirus howled, but this time there was rage and frustration mixed in with the pain. The lightning was oblivious to the dinosaur's cry and again lashed out at him.
'We are driving the beast back!' cried one of the technicians jubilantly. The small group of men assembled on the roof of the MARS headquarters joined the man in cheering.
It is working, David Latos thought to himself. But would simply driving the beast off be enough? How much grander the glory, and potential profit, should he actually kill the monster? Perhaps he would not have to wait for old John Latos' long deferred death to assume control of the MARS corporation. The death of Anguirus would impress the board of directors, perhaps enough to rise up against the tyrant who had kept them in silence for so very long.
'Increase the current,' David Latos said coldly. 'I want maximum power.' The technical crew stared at their boss with looks of bewilderment.
'Sir, we are driving it off,' one of the men pointed out.
'I don't want it driven off, I want it dead!' snapped David Latos. The executive marched over to the operator's chair and pushed the technician aside. He levered the power switch to its lowest level, far beyond the red zone.
'Sir, the plutonium core!' one of the technicians shouted. Most of the men on the rooftop scrambled away from the electronic cannon and the steadily rising whine emanating from it.
The dark blue lightning sizzled against Anguirus' back once again, the intense power warping several of his spines. The mutant dinosaur howled in agony, thick red blood dribbling from between his fangs. Electricity swirled about the monster, ravaging his body, blackening his scales. Blood sizzled as it trickled from his nose, yet still the monster would not retreat. Dimly, some instinct told Anguirus that he was dying, but the monster ignored his instincts. There was only the urge now. The urge and a brutal desire to rend and claw the foe who continued to smite him from afar.
David Latos laughed. It was working. He could see the electronic cannon beginning to kill the monster. A few more seconds, just a few moments more would be all he would need to kill Anguirus. If the electronic cannon would only remain functional for a few more seconds….
The explosion could be seen as far away as Sacramento and Oregon as a dim flash on the horizon. In San Francisco, those who were looking at the Warhawk tower were blinded when its upper floors disappeared in a billowing atomic cloud, their corneas flash-burned by the intense light. Radioactive fallout would poison the city for years, leaving it a semi-inhabited desolation.
In the shocking aftermath of the electronic cannon's overload, it was something of a cruel trick of fate when the monster that had been the weapon's target returned to his burrow.
Murakoshi moved closer toward the stucco wall. At his side were another Interpol officer and a pair of Colombian soldiers. The men watched and waited for Murakoshi to give them the signal to act. Murakoshi was waiting for the sound of General Alcazar's assault on the outer wall of the compound to begin his much more selective attack on the inside.
Juan Pedro Rodriguez Salazar was one of the most notorious of the drug lords commonly referred to as the Colombian cartels. Recent information provided by the Colombian government explained why. It was believed that Salazar's cocaine was an engineered strain, far hardier than natural coca plants and capable of producing many more leaves. The implication was clear. At some point, Salazar had been the patron of Dr. Shinji Mafune, the most hunted man in the world.
Fear of an attack by Mafune's monsters on Bogota had probably served as the inspiration for the Colombians' sudden desire to bring down the notorious drug lord. It was not hard for Murakoshi to imagine corrupt bureaucrats deciding that Mafune's monsters were more terrifying than the wrath of the cartels and the shrinking of their own bank accounts.
The sound of explosions and small arms fire suddenly shattered the quiet night air. Murakoshi looked over at the men with him and nodded. Almost as one man they rose from the cover of Salazar's garden. Murakoshi could see a man wearing a red shirt standing only a few feet away. The guard had a long-barreled AK-47 in his hands and a puzzled look on his face. Clearly, the guard did not know what he was supposed to do if the estate was attacked. He would never learn. A spray of bullets from on of the soldier's sub-machine guns tore through the red shirt and the man underneath, freezing the puzzled look on his dying features.
The next guards Murakoshi's command encountered were neither so disoriented, nor so easily dealt with. As they raced up the steps leading into Salazar's palatial home, two men burst from the cover of the building's doorway. One bullet clipped Murakoshi's partner, spinning the man into the dirt. Murakoshi and the two Colombians dove over the side of the stairway. Murakoshi's pistol was already aimed even as he finished tumbling. As he had anticipated, the ambushers raced forward, intending to spray bullets into the men behind the stair. As they reached the lip of the stone banister, Murakoshi fired, his bullet speeding through the gunman's jaw. The dead man toppled down, his corpse almost landing ontop of the Interpol agent. The other guard retreated. Heedless of the possibility of innocent bystanders, one of the soldiers drew a grenade from his vest and hurled the explosive over the top of the stair. A moment later there was an explosion and the guard's body was sent flying over the heads of his adversaries to lie smoking and charred on the drug lord's lawn.
Murakoshi and the two soldiers raced into the manor house, the Interpol agent sparing a moment to assure himself that his partner had crawled into some cover. The foyer was a shambles, shattered furniture everywhere. Another gunman came barreling down a flight of stairs at the rear of the room, but his shots went wide. The accuracy of the two soldiers was much more precise, and the guard sank against the floor, mortally wounded. Murakoshi gestured to the flight of stairs and the three men quickly ascended them, taking the steps two or three at a time. Another gunman was waiting for them at the top, but the man hesitated a moment before shooting. The soldiers did not and the guard's head exploded across a white-paneled grand piano.
A sound alerted Murakoshi to the man charging across the music room towards him. Clad in swimming trunks and a mass of gold necklaces, the huge machete in the man's hand seemed ridiculous in this battle of guns and grenades. The Interpol agent almost shot the charging lunatic before he recognized the man. It was Juan Salazar. The soldiers had already recognized the drug lord and were holding their fire. It would be up to Murakoshi to subdue the criminal without killing him.
Screaming obscenities, Salazar swiped at Murakoshi, almost taking off the agent's ear. Murakoshi dodged to the side and pulled his body backwards as Salazar attempted to disembowel the Japanese with a swipe of the machete. The drug lord would not get another chance. Murakoshi slammed his pistol against the side of the man's head, metal crashing against Salazar's skull. The stunned Colombian dropped his weapon, sagging to the floor. Murakoshi glared down at the man. Now he would get some answers.
Salazar sat, tied to the back of one of his own ornately carved dining room chairs. Murakoshi and General Alcazar stood to either side of the villain. Once again, the Interpol agent questioned the drug lord.
'We know that you hired Dr. Shinji Mafune to develop your coca plants. He is the one behind all of the monster attacks in the last few months. Millions will die if he is not stopped.' Murakoshi shook his head, unable to understand a man who was not capable of being concerned with helping to prevent so many deaths. 'Tell us where Mafune is, how you contact him.'
Salazar sneered at the man he had tried to kill. 'You think I am hiding him?' The drug lord snorted his contempt. 'Yes, Mafune worked for me, and I paid him well for what he did. But he is not here. I haven't seen him in five years, or even heard where he might be found.' Salazar grew agitated by the unconvinced look on Murakoshi's face. 'You think I would protect him! How would that help me? How many times do I have to tell you that I do not know where he is? You want I should just make something up? Would that make you happy?'
Murakoshi turned away from the bound drug lord. He spoke in a low voice to General Alcazar. The mustachioed general kept his eyes on the drug lord as he listened to the Interpol agent's words.
'This has been a waste of time. He doesn't know anything. If he did, he would be trying to cut some sort of deal with us.' Murakoshi walked away, leaving the general with their prisoner.
Murakoshi stared at one of the excellent paintings hanging in Salazar's billiard room when a raised voice shouted from the kitchen 'Stop where you are, or I shoot!' Murakoshi ran back toward the room, hearing a single report sound before he had taken even a few steps. He arrived to see General Alcazar wiping blood from his tunic. Behind the general, Salazar's body sagged in the chair.
'I fear you must look elsewhere for this madman,' General Alcazar said regretfully. 'This lead has come to a dead end.'