Godzilla Returns by Marc Cerasini

Nobeyama and Admiral Willis exchanged glances once again, but neither of them spoke.
    * * *
    The little INN meeting continued into the evening. At nine o'clock, Admiral Willis rose. "I think that about wraps things up for now," he announced, stifling a yawn.
    "Tomorrow morning my assistant will arrive and supply you with some additional material on Godzilla," Dr. Nobeyama added. "I hope you can spare her some facilities - a videotape machine, an overhead projector, tape recorders."
    "That can easily be arranged, Doctor," Endicott said. "Ms. McGovern will set up a conference room for your assistant's exclusive use."
    "That's fine, Mr. Endicott." Admiral Willis added, "I think it's important for these young people to be brought up to speed." The Admiral turned to Nick, Brian, and Yoshi. "Pack your bags, boys. Tomorrow you'll take a helicopter to the Sea of Japan and link up with the Japanese forces. We'll bunk you on our research vessel tomorrow night. That'll give you twenty-four hours to get your sea legs."
    As the meeting broke up, Admiral Willis approached Brian and slapped his nephew on the back. "Excited, boy?" he said with a smile.
    "Something like that," Brian said nervously. He couldn't believe what was happening. This morning he'd woken up an unimportant intern at a small news network, and now he was in the middle of the biggest news story since World War II!
    "It's the chance of a lifetime," the older man said.
    Brian smiled. "And I thank you for it, Uncle Maxwell," he replied gratefully.
    "Don't mention it, Brian," the admiral said. "I... I wanted to make it up to you. I'm just sorry about what happened... and I'm sorry I couldn't make it back for your mother's funeral. She was a great lady..."
    Brian felt a rush of affection for his gruff gaijin uncle. "Thanks." he simply replied.
    * * *
    On the other side of the office, Nick cornered May.
    "You almost sounded like a real journalist for a minute there," he said. "Not some secretary who arranges conference rooms and makes coffee for the big boys."
    May glared at Nick but did not reply to his barbed comments.
    "Oh, I understand," Nick continued boldly. "If you suck up enough, someday you'll get a corner office with the parent company. You might even make CEO - but it's a waste!"
    "Why?" May snapped back. "What's wrong with having a little ambition? I've told you over and over again, I don't want to get down in the mud and grope for stories anymore."
    "And I remember that quote by Shakespeare," Nick said with a smile. "Something about a woman protesting too much -"
    "Don't forget your air-sickness pills," May said with a nasty sneer on her pretty face. "Remember the last time you were in a helicopter."
    Nick quaked, nearly turning green from the mere memory as May quickly left the office.
    * * *
    The next morning, Brian was awakened by a knock at the door. When he answered it, one of the Japanese interns handed him a box. Brian thanked the man, then closed the door and opened the package.
    Inside, he found a note from Uncle Maxwell.
    Brian,
Here are a couple of things to look at before Lieutenant Takado arrives for your briefing.
    Brian found a hardcover book, three videocassettes, and an ancient issue of Life magazine inside a clear plastic envelope. The magazine, dated 1955, featured a black-and-white photo of Godzilla on the cover. It was an eerie image of the creature's head photographed through a gigantic cage filled with wildly panicked birds. Brian actually shivered when he looked at the strange, powerful photograph.
    The book, of course, was famous. Brian already had a copy in his bedroom back in Los Angeles: This Is Tokyo was written by Chicago journalist Stephen Martin, an eyewitness to Godzilla's 1954 attack on Japan's capital city.
    Like John Hersey's Hiroshima and Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein's All the President's Men , Martin's book was a standard volume for journalism students to study. Brian had read it when he was twelve years old. He still