The Loch

Chapter 28

It'll be the most extensive search and capture ever undertaken, and when it's done, the monster will be locked safely in her pen."

David Caldwell stood at the podium of the outdoor sound stage, Brandy at his side, as he addressed members of the Highland Council. Upward of a thousand locals and tourists listened, along with scores of reporters, news personalities, and their camera crews.

"Would you break down this plan for us, Dr. Caldwell?"

"That's why we're here. As you can see, the pontoon bridge has been completed in record time. What you can't see is below the waterline, where two-thirds of the steel fencing is now in place. The remaining third, located close to the northern shore, is purposely being left open."

David pointed to the Nessie III and the Nothosaur, both vessels now positioned inside the perimeter of the arcing pontoon bridge. "The first phase of our plan was to ready the pen while using our active sonar to keep Nessie within her lair. Lives saved, mission accomplished. Now it's time for phase two, actually capturing the monster. Now that she's good and hungry, we'll set our trap. Once it gets dark, we'll be lowering one more buoy into the water — only this one will be located in the middle of Urquhart Bay, well inside the pen. Attached to it will be loads of juicy bait. Once the monster enters, the crew of the Nothosaur will net the creature while our construction team lowers the remaining fence into position, sealing off the pen."

I stood near the back of the grandstand and listened as dozens of reporters yelled out their questions over one another, David focusing on the few he hoped he could answer.

"Dr. Caldwell, assuming you do capture the monster, what's going to prevent it from simply escaping by land?"

"Eventually we'll be adding perimeter fencing. For now, we're in the process of lining the shoreline with underwater speakers. I've discovered Nessie avoids loud sounds. Once the monster's captured, we'll turn up the volume along the shoreline's speakers and that'll be that."

"Won't that aggravate the creature?"

"Nah. We'll play Mozart or something mellow, like "Auld Lang Syne.'"

The crowd laughed, David basking in their adoration.

"Dr. Caldwell, once she's inside, how long will it take to seal off the pen?"

"According to the crane operator and his team, they'll be able to complete the job in less than fifteen minutes."

"What happens after you capture her?"

"First we'll make sure her pen's good and tight, then we'll use remotely operated submersibles to get a good look at her. Once she gets used to her new habitat, we'll open it up to the public."

"Don't you mean the paying public?"

"Hey, you pay to get into the zoo, don't you? That's what this'll be, only like no other zoo in the world."

There were a hundred questions I wanted to shout, but what was the point? Besides, I had no stomach for it; the revelation of my father's crime eating me up inside.

Mentally, I felt fried, and if I hadn't sent True on an errand to his oil rig in the North Sea, I'd have probably been on the next flight back to Miami.

But before I could leave with a clear conscience, there was one last thing I had to do.

Grabbing my cane, I limped away from the fairgrounds, making my way through the growing throng. The hillsides surrounding Urquhart Bay were already packed with hundreds of people staking out their vantage for the evening's spectacle-to-come. There were blankets and chairs, sleeping bags and tents, barbecues and spits, and folding tables covered with food. Vendors hocked their wares, and musicians dressed in minstrel costumes played, their tunes in sharp contrast to the heavy metal music coming from boom boxes and CD players across the main lawn.

It was the event of the year, perhaps of the century if the guest of honor chose tonight to make her appearance, but I had other plans.

Climbing aboard my motorcycle, I gunned the engine, heading south toward Invermoriston.

Despite my father's "confession," there was still an undercurrent of lies, deceit, and secrecy surrounding the Loch Ness predator that prevented me from just walking away. And when it came to keeping secrets in the Highlands, one need look no farther than the Clans.

While the ancient Scottish lowlands were ruled by its border chiefs and lords, the Highland geography, with its mountains and glens, lochs and islands, forced populations to congregate in smaller clusters, known as Clans. Clan is a Gaelic word that translates to "children" or more appropriately, "family." Each Highland "family" was run by a chief, whose name his followers took. The chief served as supreme leader and lawgiver and all clansmen swore their allegiance as "kin." Each clan had a coat of arms and tartan, which distinguished rank, not by the plaid, but by the number of colors in the weave. In the harsh environment of the Highlands, the clan represented solidarity, a form of government, and protection against enemies.

Over the centuries, the size of the clan chief's estate grew, and he'd often sublet the land to his clansmen for farming, a practice later known as crofting.

The clans' rule came to an abrupt end in 1746 with the last Jacobite uprising and the defeat of Bonnie Prince Charlie at the Battle of Culloden. King George's "Disarming Act" outlawed the tartan and the clans' system of government, paving the way for a Highland central authority. Crofters, tenants of the land, lost their stability, although subsequent crofting acts were eventually established to protect the rights of rural farmers. Still, the once-powerful clans and their centuries-old ways gradually faded into the shadows.

The Black Knights of the Templar were operating in these shadows, and from what I surmised, their members had come from the most established of the old clans.

The question I needed answered: What was their objective?

Calum Forrest was kin to both Clan Stewart and Clan MacDonald, two of Scotland's most powerful families, a fact further made evident by the location of the water bailiff's croft. The nearest crofting community was in Grotaig, set high above the Loch through dense Scots pine, but Calum's scenic ten hectares, like the land my father had sold to John Cialino, were located right on the Ness's banks, just south of Invermoristion.

It took me twenty minutes before I finally found the single lane dirt access road that led me to Calum's lakeside croft. Barbed-wire fencing marked the property, and its one-story farmhouse and barn were set far back from the water's edge. Six hundred sheep, all congregating close to the dwellings, dotted the fenced-off grassland.

As I rode closer, I noticed a small wooden pier jutting out into the Loch. The water bailiff's boat was nowhere in sight.

Following the unpaved road into the Forrest's driveway, I parked next to an old tractor re-painted lime green, which had seen better days, and walked over to the farmhouse.

I knocked on the door. No answer. I walked around back and peeked in the kitchen door window, but it was dark inside, no one home.

Wind blew off the Loch, whistling through the farm's fence. The wooden posts that supported the barbed wire were gray and rotting, in desperate need of repair.

Most crofters were poor, the land never intended to provide locals with a living. Crofters had to find additional employment in order to support their families, in Calum Forrest's case, it meant working as water bailiff. Still, it helped that he was raising sheep. Highland sheep farms were subsidized by the government. Without these monies most farmers would go bankrupt, a reality blamed on poor soil conditions, harsh weather, and the distance to major markets.

Leaving the farmhouse, I walked to the nearest gate of the grazing fence, staring out at the magnificent view. A late-afternoon storm was brewing, kicking lather off the surface, and even at this distance, I could feel its spray on my face. It must have bothered the sheep, for the animals remained huddled in the near corner of the acreage.

And then I noticed something bizarre.

All the grass nearest the farmhouse had been heavily grazed upon, much of it exposing bare earth, yet the grass closest to the Loch remained high and untouched.

And yet the herd refused to venture away from the farmhouse.

Curious, I unbolted the gate and entered the grazing area. The heavy scent of farm animals filled my nostrils as I moved past the sheep and across the untouched grassland, heading for the far fence that bordered Loch Ness's shoreline.

Arriving at the opposite gate, I immediately noticed several things.

Unlike the fencing near the farmhouse, the wood and wire along the Loch side was brand-new and far sturdier, its gate heavily chained. More curious were coils of barbed wire set along the outside of the fence, creating a barrier that separated the grazing area from the Loch's fifteen-foot drop-off.

But the mental alarm bells truly sounded when I spotted the aluminum shed housing a portable generator and the half dozen bundles of wire that fed into Loch Ness!

Desiring a better vantage, I scaled the bolted fence, then maneuvered down a tight, twisting foot path bordered by barbed wire which led to the boating dock. Walking out on the pier, I lay down on my belly and scanned the water's edge.

There were eight underwater floodlights, set in pairs and all facing out toward the Loch.

Now I knew why the sheep were huddled away from the water— they were afraid! Calum was afraid, too, but he'd chosen to adopt new defenses rather than expose the creature to the rest of the world.

Why?

Wind whipped at my face, the once-clear sky growing overcast and gray. Feeling more than a bit uneasy on the dock, I walked back to the gate, scaled it, then returned to my motorcycle just as it began to rain. The barn door was unlocked, so I pushed the Harley inside, then lay back against a bale of hay while I awaited the return of Calum Forrest.

Wind whipped across Loch Ness, rattling the pilothouse windshield while churning the dark surface into three-foot swells.

Brandy Townson stood steady at the wheel, her mind preoccupied with keeping the Nessie III clear of Urquhart Bay's unforgiving shoreline.

Michael Newman sat behind her at the sonar array, his head in his hands, his stomach queasy from the constant rocking. Being stuck inside the pilothouse was only compounding the engineer's seasickness, and he desperately needed to get off the water and back into his dry, warm hotel room.

"I can't take this anymore, I'm going to be sick!"

"No' in here," Brandy yelled. "Use the head."

Hand over mouth, Newman took off down the steps, barely making it to the bathroom in time.

David emerged from below, not bothered by the motion. Slipping behind Brandy, he nuzzled her neck.

"David, stop. That tickles."

"David stop, David stop. That's all I've been hearing from you over the last week. What's the problem?"

"If ye don't mind, I'm tryin' tae keep us off the rocks."

"You know what I mean. That first night in the bar, you were all over me. Now you act like I have a disease."

"I'm just feelin' a wee bit vulnerable. I'm comin' out o' a bad marriage, ye know."

"That's not it. If you remember, you came onto me, obviously so I'd choose your boat to lead this hunt. You used me."

"Oh, please! Like you're so innocent. I needed the job, an' ye've never hesitated paradin' me around in skimpy outfits, usin' me as Highland arm candy. Business is business."

"If that's the way you want to play it, fine. Just so you know, I met with a very wealthy woman earlier today who offered me use of her boat. It's about three times the size of this piece of driftwood, and the press'll eat her up just as much as they do you."

"Ye're lyin'."

"Her name's Theresa Cialino."

"Johnny C.'s widow?"

"You got it. So you'd better start making nice again or …"

Michael Newman stumbled back into the pilothouse, his face pale. "Caldwell, I can't handle much more of this. We either do this now, or you drop me off somewhere."

"Relax, I just spoke with Hoagland. The buoy with the bait's in the water. You can reset the array from active to passive."

"Thank Christ." Using the mouse, Newman clicked on a command, then typed in PASSIVE.

Across Loch Ness, thirty-four pinging sonar buoys went silent.

I opened my eyes, enveloped by darkness. Thunder echoed in the distance, and for a frightening moment, I'd forgotten where I was.

The barn.

I must've dozed off, but something had woken me.

The storm?

The wind?

No, it was a beeping sound, coming from my laptop.

I fumbled for the machine and opened the monitor, its luminescent screen bathing my surroundings in blue light. The GPS real-time image of Loch Ness gradually came into focus, highlighted by thirty- four green dots representing the sonar buoys.

The word ACTIVE had changed to PASSIVE in the upper-right corner of the screen.

The beeping sound was coming from a sonar alert. Heart pounding, I typed in a command, isolating the object's location.

The screen changed, focusing in on the middle third of the array. A tiny red blip was moving south, following Loch Ness's eastern shoreline.

I typed in IDENTIFY OBJECT and pressed ENTER. BIOLOGIC. Length: 15.75 meters.

Speed: 13 knots.

Direction: South by southwest.

Location: 2.48 kilometers south of Foyers.

Almost sixteen meters? That made it over fifty feet long!

As I watched the screen, the red blip suddenly altered its course and crossed the Loch, heading toward the opposite shore.

Jesus… It's moving in this direction.

I pushed open the barn door, shocked at what I was now seeing.

It was night, a nasty one, the dark shoreline directly behind the perimeter fence bathed in an artificial white light. Calum's boat was docked at the pier. Two sheep were baaing in a small clearing outside of the fence, the animals tied off to stakes located close to the water. The patch of grass was made visible in the darkness by a red light coming from a lamp post situated atop the perimeter fencing.

Then I saw Calum. The water bailiff was dragging a third sheep to the clearing. The petrified animal was on a short leash, and it was bucking against him furiously.

Calum knelt in the grass and attached the free end of the leash to something unseen on the ground. Reentering the grazing area, he secured the gate, then hurried toward a corner post and pulled a lever on an electrical box.

The shoreline's lights were extinguished, leaving the land and Loch enveloped in blackness save for the red patch of light where the three sheep huddled together, bawling into the night.

I glanced at the laptop. The red blip had crossed over to our western shoreline and was continuing its approach, the object now less than a mile from Invermoriston.

This is insane. He's… he's actually feeding it!

Patches of lightning flashed overhead, revealing storm clouds, mountains, and Calum, still at his post. Sweat poured from my body. My flesh tingled.

The blip grew nearer.

Trembling, yet needing to get closer, I slipped out of the barn and crept toward the fence.

The three sheep fought their collars, their cries becoming more desperate.

I crept along the outside of the fence, close to where the rest of the herd huddled and snorted.

The blip passed Invermoriston, erasing any doubts.

I continued along the perimeter until I was within forty yards of the water's edge. Deciding I was close enough, I knelt in the mud and waited.

The sheep continued mounting and gnawing at one another in fear.

And then they froze.

I never saw the monster as it approached the shoreline, I only saw a dark mass, its upper torso as large as a school bus, as it emerged like a shadow, and then its wide, serpentlike head became bathed in the red pool of light, and its immense jaws snapped, lightning-quick, upon two of the sheep. One disappeared into the night, the other flipped up into the air, then landed awkwardly on its back, its hind legs fractured, yet still kicking. While the injured animal flopped on the ground, its surviving companion wrenched and twisted its head, finally freeing itself of the leash's collar.

The sheep darted away.

The heavens ignited in a blaze of white and navy, revealing the silhouette of a towering head and neck which lashed sideways across the patch of red light with impossible, heart-stopping quickness.

The open jowls snatched the fleeing sheep, the monster flinging its head back, engulfing the farm animal in one whole, sickening motion.

It was brutal and frightening and startling to behold, yet I looked on, paralyzed, my eyes as wide as saucers as the heavens darkened again and the monster morphed once more into the shadows.

Before the creature could advance, the shoreline suddenly reappeared, bathed in its brilliant white light, driving the devil back into its watery domain.

Shaking, I forced myself to take deep breaths. The creature I had just witnessed was as cold and cruel as the Loch itself, as violent as nature could be. It was pure animal, pure evolution, existing solely on instinct. It was magnificent in its primal beauty, and frightening in the ruthlessness of its attack.

I needed to see more. I needed to know more.

Regaining my feet, I grabbed my laptop and hurried around to the front of the gate, quietly letting myself in the grazing area.

Calum stood over the remaining sheep, then shot the injured beast with a revolver. Dragging the dead animal to the water, he pushed the bleeding carcass over the edge. He reentered the grazing area, then saw me as he approached the back of the farmhouse, stopping dead in his tracks. "Ye saw?"

"Everything." Lightning flashed overhead. "Let's talk inside."

He thought for a long moment, then I followed him up the stoop of his back porch and into the farmhouse.

Michael Newman pointed at the screen, too excited to remain seasick. "We lost it after it passed Invermoriston, then it reappeared. See? It's staying deep, hanging out in the middle of the Loch, just south of Invermoriston."

David peered over the engineer's shoulder, high on adrenaline. "Invermoriston? That's like what? Ten miles south? How do we get it to swim up here?"

"Give it time. Maybe it'll smell the bait?"

"And maybe we'll lose it again. The bait's just sitting in the water. If it wanted it, it would have taken it long ago. This thing's not stupid."

David looked out the starboard window. Though the wind had died down, it was still drizzling, thinning out what had been a capacity crowd of more than three thousand. "Brandy, move us closer to the buoy, I have an idea."

I sat at Calum's kitchen table, my pulse beating in rhythm to a grandfather clock ticking somewhere in the darkened living room.

The water bailiff set out two cups of coffee, then added a shot of whisky to each. "Aye takes me a nip or three afore my nerves calm doon. My wife, God rest her soul, often had tae dae it for me."

"How long have you been feeding it?"

"Since afore ye were born, an' long afore that, but only in winters. Come summer, there's plenty o' fish."

"But not this summer?"

He glanced at my injured foot. "I think ye a'ready ken that answer, dae ye no'?"

"This sheep croft, how long has it been in your family?"

"Since the time o' yer kin, Sir Adam Wallace."

"Sir Adam Wallace? Never heard of him."

"Then it's best ye ask yer faither."

"I'm asking you. Was Adam Wallace a Templar Black Knight?"

"He wis the first."

"So the mission of the Black Knights was to feed these creatures?"

"It's a part o' it, an' we call them Guivres. The one they call Nessie's the last."

"Why's she the last?"

"Cannae say."

"Then let me say. From the size of her, there's no way Nature ever intended her or her kind to be permanent inhabitants of a fresh water loch, even one as big as Loch Ness. That means the Black Knights must have cut off her passage to the North Sea… am I right?"

Calum said nothing, but the twinkle in his eye encouraged me to continue.

"Now why would the Black Knights want these monsters stuck in Loch Ness?" I thought a moment. "You were using them! You wanted to keep people away. That's it, isn't it?"

"Sort o'."

"Fine. Forget about the Knights' mission for now I'm more concerned with why this creature's feeding on humans."

"As am I."

"The Anguilla eel that attacked me had lesions in its brain, caused by hydrocarbon poisoning."

"Whit's that?"

"It comes from oil. There's oil leaking somewhere, and it's getting into the Loch. You're the water bailiff, have you—"

"I havenae found any oil."

"Okay. But what if it's coming through the passage that connects the Loch with the North Sea?"

The old man considered this scenario. "Aye, that's possible."

"Then there really is a passage! Tell me where it is."

He shook his head. "I cannae dae that. Besides, the passage collapsed years ago, back when they built the A82. It trapped a few o' the Guivres in Loch Ness, preventin' the rest o' their kind frae enterin'. Nessie's the last o' them. The alpha beast, as Doc Hornsby wid say."

And now she's gone crazy."

"Aye."

"Those underwater lights… when did you install them?"

"No' that long ago."

"Winter? Spring?"

He avoided eye contact. "Maybe winter."

"What happened this winter that you felt a need to install the lights?"

"Ye said it yersel', Nessie went crazy!" He pushed away from the table, obviously agitated. "Whit are ye gonnae dae now that ye ken? Will ye kill her like yer faither wants? Is that why ye're here?"

"My father wants the monster killed?"

"Dinnae play games, I want tae ken whit ye'll dae tae her."

It was Alban MacDonald's words, and I offered the same reply. "I'll free her if I can. Is that what you want?"

I thought that would please him, but instead he turned away, his fists balled, his weathered face turning red.

"Wait a sec… you want her dead, too, don't you?"

"It's past her time an' she's dangerous, but I cannae dae it."

"Because of your oath as a Black Knight?"

"Aye."

Suddenly remembering the laptop, I yanked open the lid, checking for the blip. "Oh shit."

The monster was heading north, closing fast on Urquhart Bay.