The Loch

Chapter 20

The research vessel, Nothosaur, drifted in 730 feet of water, adding to the picturesque backdrop of Urquhart Castle. The banks of the ruins were lined with tourists, the scene recorded by a half dozen TV camera crews, the footage destined to be used in news reports around the globe as B-role.

Michael Hoagland remained on deck to shout imaginary orders to his crew until the last camera was finally lowered, then he hurried inside to the control room and the ship's sonar system.

Sonar systems function by emitting ultrasonic pulses from an acoustic projector. Hydrophones then analyze these reflected signals to determine if an obstacle or object is present within the field.

There are two basic types of sonar: passive and active. Passive sonar, used aboard submarines, analyzes incoming noises without creating its own sounds so as not to give away the vessel's location. Active sonar emits loud "pings" that can be set at different frequencies, bearings, or angles. Pings travel at a speed of approximately fifteen hundred meters per second. If an object lies in the beam's path, it will be detected on echo-ranging sonar.

While more aggressive, the limitation of active sonar is that it takes time to adjust the projector, emit a ping, and listen for an echo. To combat this challenge, engineers developed the sonar buoy, a free- floating unit that emits its own system of pings, allowing operators to detect objects moving through its acoustical field.

The Portable Acoustic Measurement System, known as PAMS, consists of an array of sonar buoys, distributed along the surface in a preset pattern. PAMS signals are linked to an acoustic data acquisition system, a GPS receiver, and a radio telemetry sub system. Positional data is then transmitted by way of a UHF radio link to the analysis station where signals are evaluated.

Over the last nine hours, the Nothosaur's crew had deployed sonar buoys every two kilometers, beginning in the waters off Fort Augustus. Consisting of two parallel rows, the array ran north to Tor Point, where the Loch's width narrowed and the field was reduced to a single row of buoys which concluded at Lochend and the Bona Narrows.

Now it was time to reap the fruits of their labor.

Hoagland stalked the control room while his sonar expert, Victor Cellers, finished checking the Nothosaur's buoy field. Victor was Hoagland's brother-in-law and the Nessie Hunter felt fortunate to have him on board. The forty-two-year-old American with cystic fibrosis was strictly "on loan" to him from his sister, Deborah, who expected the former Navy man back at his Seattle-based video company in two weeks… and in one piece.

"So, Victor, the field is operational, yes?"

"Operational and reliable are two different things. The buoys are pinging and I'm receiving data, but the signal's loaded with tons of garbage."

"Garbage?"

"Noise interference." Victor pointed to his main monitor, displaying a GPS image of Loch Ness and the Nothosaur's sonar buoys. "Everything from Foyers south to Fort Augustus is congested with pinging sounds. I'm picking up signals from at least two other active sonar buoy fields, and they're positioned too close to ours to allow an undistorted signal analysis. It's the equivalent of trying to peer at the stars using a telescope in the middle of Manhattan. Face it, Michael, we're not the only game in town. There's just too much interference to acquire an accurate reading."

Hoagland muttered a string of curses in German.

"The good news is, if they're interfering with us, then we're interfering with them as well."

"Then all of us are wasting our time and money."

"In a nutshell, yes."

"Victor, contact the other vessel's captains. Organize a sit-down at the Clansman Hotel for later tonight to discuss the situation. Either the Highland Council resolves this matter, or we're all leaving."

It was a ten-mile hike from Inverfarigaig to Dores, another two if I were to meet Brandy and True at Tor Point. Added to the eight miles I had already logged earlier that day, I was exhausted by the time I reached Dores Beach, a pebbled shoreline that stretched back to grassy, wide-open knolls and General Wade's Military Road.

The area was packed with locals, tourists, and media. Limping up the gravel beach to the grass, I dropped my backpack and collapsed, careful to keep my head low so as not to be recognized. The moment I sat down, I realized the last hour of walking on pebbled beaches had done me in.

The village of Dores sits on the easternmost corner of Loch Ness where the lake suddenly narrows to half its mile width. Follow the shoreline west and you reach Tor Point. From there, the Loch runs north again until it bleeds into the River Ness.

Tourists and locals alike had gathered on Dores Beach to watch two dozen daring windsurfers, their sailboards whipping across the Loch's windblown surface. Powerful gusts were coming in from the southwest and were harshest inland, forcing the daredevils to keep a dangerous distance from shore.

I wondered if they'd be so brave had they seen Justin Wagner's remains.

From Dores Beach, the Loch ran south as far as the eye could see. Mountainous walls bordered her on either side, and the sun was just beginning to dip behind the peaks to the west.

Behind me, a large contingent had gathered by the roadside to listen to the exploits of famed Nessie watcher Steve Feltham. Years earlier, Feltham had sold his home in England to stalk the monster on film. Now he lived in a converted van, his dedication making him a legend of sorts, though his toil, while adding to the monster lore, had proven nothing.

Feeling my back muscles stiffen, I gathered my belongings and left the beach, limping up the hill to the Dores Pub, hoping a quick beer might lessen my pain.

Big mistake.

"Look, there he is!" A petite blonde dressed in a hideous blue blazer ran towards me with her microphone, dragging her inebriated cameraman with her. "Dr. Wallace, hi! Shar Bonanno, for the BBC. Can we get your reaction to today's Highland Council meeting?"

"I wasn't there, so I have no idea what—"

"They're talking about rescinding the law that protects Nessie. You think it's true?"

"Do I think what's true?"

"That the Council wants to capture the monster."

No comment."

"The Council's also hired an American scientist to organize the search. He's en route as we speak."

"Good for him. Look, I just came in for a quick beer."

"You look like you've hiked quite a ways. Have you been tracking the monster?"

I pushed her microphone out of my face and entered the bar. "A Guinness, cold as you've got."

An older, inebriated Scot who looked like he'd been sitting on his bar stool all day looked me up and down, then smelled the air. "Heh, neebr, goat a deid an'mal in yer bac'pac, or iz it ye tha' bloody stinks?"

My brain took a moment to translate. "Actually, yes, there is a dead animal in my backpack, but I probably stink, too."

He waved at the air, then moved aside for two police officers. "Dr. Wallace?"

"I know, I know, I'm dropping them off at the lab."

They looked at one another, momentarily confused. "Sir, Sheriff Holmstrom sent us. We're tae escort ye back tae Inverness Castle."

"Now what for? Is the judge locking me up again?"

"No, sir. It's yer faither. Seems there's been an accident."

The dungeon had been transformed into a Hollywood movie set, portable lighting lining the back corner of the ancient cellblock, removing every "annoying" shadow from Angus's chamber. Two film crews were packing up their equipment as I arrived, along with what remained of an Emergency Medical Team.

The star of the show was propped up in bed in his T-shirt. An IV dripped into his left arm, a cardiac monitor hooked to his right. At his side was a doting nurse, an Asian woman with dark brown wavy hair and infatuation in her eyes, though she was no more than half his age.

"Ah, there's my laddie! Zachary, say hello to Nurse Kosa."

"Kasa. Francesca Kasa."

"Whit's the diff'rence? Me Kasa is su Kasa, eh, son."

"And why do you need a private nurse?"

"Your father had heart problems earlier this afternoon."

"Heart problems?"

"Aye, son. Had trouble breathin'. Felt like an elephant wis squat- tin' on my chest. Barely dodged the Grim Reaper, I did. Imagine Johnny C. wis lookin' doon at me an' smilin'. But I pulled through, so no tears, lad."

"I'll try not to get too emotional. By the way, nurse, what's his EKG say?"

"It's normal now, but we're still doing blood tests. The guard found him slumped over, unconscious."

"Uh-huh. So why isn't he in a hospital?"

Angus winked. "Since it wis jist a mild attack, the judge, bein' the wise man that he is, felt it better I stay here, oot o' sight of the media, though I think Maxie might have accidentally invited them a' in."

"Right. Well, I've got work to do. Try not to die on us while I'm gone."

"Wait, lad. Guard, I need tae talk in private wi' my son. Wid ye mind escortin' everyone oot?" He turned to his nurse, patting her lightly on her derriere. "You too, darlin'. Jist make sure yer back here in an hour for my sponge bath."

She blushed, checked his IV drip, then followed the others out, the guard locking Angus's cell door behind her.

We were alone.

"Son, wid ye mind fetchin' me another pillow?"

"Fetch it yourself. You pulled that old heart attack stunt on mom when I was seven."

He grinned sheepishly. "Did I? Lord knows, it still gets them every time."

"Where'd all this food come from?"

"Local hotels sent it ower. Business is soarin', an' they're grateful, as they should be. Even got yer room comp'ed. Order whatever ye like, rent some dirty movies, it's a' on yer auld man." He took a deep breath, then made a face. "Whit's that foul stench? Smells worse than an anchovy's twat."

"They're specimens, collected from around the Loch. A few dead birds and a squirrel."

"Birds an' squirrels? Christ, lad, why dae they no' jist hang me now an' get it ower wi'." He tore the IV drip from his arm. "Listen, Nature Boy, I need ye oot on the water, no' strollin' the woods like some pixie."

"That's what scientists do, Angus. We look for real clues, not the ones published in the World Weekly News. The animal that bit me is obviously a predator, and it's overcome its fear of man, assuming it ever had one."

"Well now, I see ye finally admit tae bein' bitten. Thought ye looked mair focused. Danger'll dae that tae the mind. So then, how dae ye plan on findin' it?"

"First, I have to know what it is I'm looking for. Then—"

"Then ye'll need a boat, equipment too. I can get ye a' ye need."

"How?"

"Go see Theresa. She'll be in her summer hoose, in the hills above Foyers."

"And why would Johnny C.'s widow want to help me?"

"She'd be helpin' me."

"God, you're pathetic." I shook my head and left, wondering why I was wasting my time with him.

It was almost midnight by the time I tracked down Sheriff Holmstrom in his office. "Sheriff, I need your lab to perform some blood work on these animal specimens. Any word yet about the swatches I gave you earlier?"

"We're workin' on it." He looked through my backpack. "Dead birds… a squirrel? Is this really necessary? Looks tae me like ye're shootin' in the dark."

"Maybe. But we have to… " I paused, as speakers squawked to life from outside his window. "What's going on?"

"Highland Council hired an American scientist tae organize things at Loch Ness. They're bringin' him straight from the airport, press conference's scheduled tae take place on the castle lawn the moment he arrives. Leave the specimens wi' me, I'll see the crime lab gets them."

"Thanks." I shook his hand, then headed outside, curious.

A small sound stage had been set up for the cameras, with Inverness Castle lit majestically in the background. Everywhere I looked were reporters and film crews, the whole catered affair organized by the Highland Council's Division of Tourism.

A buzz rose from the crowd, which squeezed in tighter to the stage as Owen Hollifield stepped to the podium.

"Good evenin', an' welcome tae Inverness, gateway tae the Scottish Highlands. My name is Owen Hollifield an' I am Provost o' the Highland Council, the governin' body that presides over Loch Ness. Over the last forty-eight hours, the Council's been reviewin' progress in our ongoin' investigation tae resolve the mystery o' Loch Ness an' how it relates tae the tragic deaths o' several tourists. Wi' three research teams now combin' the Loch an' several dozen smaller parties staked out on land, the Council felt it imperative that we appoint an expert tae organize our search an' resolve disputes among the, uh… monster hunters, if ye will. We searched worldwide, and while there were at least a dozen candidates we considered, one name stuck out among the rest."

Hollifield paused to read from a three-by-five card. "The scientist of whom I speak has earned a reputation for organizin' research teams an' locatin' their objective. In January o' this year, his team succeeded in doin' somethin' no other research group had ever done, track down and film a giant squid."

"Huh?" I pushed through the crowd to take a closer look. "Ladies an' gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure tae introduce tae ye, Dr. David Caldwell o' Boca Raton, Florida."

Had I been hooked to Angus's EKG monitor, my thundering heart would have exploded the graph. There was David, waving from behind the podium like some conquering hero, using my accomplishments as his proverbial pedestal.

"Thank you, thank you… my God, what a nice welcome. It's truly an honor to be here in Scotland, working with the Highland Council, and… well, what can I say, I'll do everything in my power to resolve this mystery, once and for all."

"We'll take a few questions, an' then Dr. Caldwell's off tae his hotel."

"Dr. Caldwell, wasn't it, in fact, Dr. Zachary Wallace who caught the giant squid on film?"

"Damn straight," I mumbled, pumping my fists.

David grinned his Cheshire cat smile. "Certainly my former colleague played a role on our team, but I was head of the mission, the one responsible for its success. Dr. Wallace, unfortunately, was more responsible for sinking our submersible."

You son of a—

"Yes, the young lady in that attractive blue blazer."

"Dr. Caldwell, have ye ever even been tae Loch Ness?"

"Not per se, but hey, water's water. If we can find a giant squid in the Sargasso Sea, then we should have no problem finding your plesiosaur."

Idiot …

"How do you know it's a plesiosaur?"

"Well, I—"

"What proof do you have?"

The provost took over before David could shove his other foot in his mouth. "We'll, ah, hold yer questions there. Dr. Caldwell's had a long flight an' needs his rest. Tomorrow mornin', Council will be meetin' tae discuss what we'll do wi' Nessie once we—"

"Hey, David!" My body trembled as I pushed toward the front of the stage.

The crowd encircled me, their cameras still rolling.

David looked down from the podium. "Zack? Jesus, what, uh, what're you doing here? Ladies and gentlemen, my, uh, my colleague and good friend, Dr. Zachary Wallace."

I leaped onto the stage in one adrenaline-enhanced bound. "You mean former colleague, don't you, asshole?" Before he could respond, my right cross smashed him squarely in the face, dropping him like a sack of potatoes.

Camera strobes lit the night as I stood over him, my teeth grinding my father's grin. "Welcome tae the Highlands, ye bastard."