The Loch

Chapter 25

Two days passed. I spent most of that time alone in my hotel room, icing my foot and researching eels on my laptop.

What I learned about the creatures was eye-opening.

There were eight known species of conger, with Anguilla anguilla, the European version, considered the largest and most fearsome of the lot. Females could reach ten feet and weigh more than 250 pounds. Unlike common eels, the Anguilla could use its pectoral fins to venture on land. Their muscular bodies were enveloped in sheets of slime and their broad heads had protruding lower jaws and long needlelike teeth which, as I could attest, made for a devastating bite. Shy unless provoked, the Anguilla preferred deep water, burrowing in the muddy bottom, which would make them undetectable to sonar. Living in darkness, it would venture on land almost exclusively at night.

But it was their migration pattern that sent my mind reeling.

Anguilla eels that inhabited Loch Ness were notoriously slow to mature, taking fifteen years or more before they were old enough to spawn. When ready, the adult females abandoned the Loch, traveling up the River Ness under cover of darkness for the North Sea. Upon leaving Britain's coast, the eels followed scent trails, swimming thousands of miles west against the currents to reach the deeper waters of the mid-Atlantic. This amazing journey triggered some dramatic physiological changes in the animals' bodies. Upon descending to depths beyond 10,000 feet, the serpents suddenly stopped feeding and began losing their teeth. Their guts quickly degenerated, and their gonads became greatly enlarged. Upon finally reaching their ancient breeding site, the adults would spawn, then die almost immediately, each female leaving behind some 8 million eggs. The eggs that were fertilized developed into clear-colored larvae, called elvers. Over time, the young then rode the Gulf Stream thousands of miles east back to Europe, continuing the conger eels' bizarre circle of life.

And where did the adult Anguilla eels of Loch Ness journey to spawn?

The Sargasso Sea.

With no monster sightings in days, and nothing significant appearing on David's sonar array, the Highland Council was beginning to get concerned. They had invested a lot of money in penning off Urquhart Bay, and the entire world was watching and waiting… and forming opinions.

Despite the deaths of five people, there was still no real proof directly linking any of the killings to a lake monster. No creature had been sighted and no bodies recovered, save for Justin Wagners, and there were rumors spreading that in fact, his injuries had been a result of being run over by the Zodiac's propeller. Ron Casey was recovering in Raigmore Hospital, but the crime scene photographer could remember nothing about the boating incident that had led to the drownings of his two friends and the vessel's captain, and never claimed having seen a water beast.

The pressure was mounting, and most of it was on David Caldwell and my father, whose trial was set to reconvene in the next twenty-four hours.

My hotel phone rang on the eve of Angus's continuance, chasing me from a catnap. "Hello?"

"Zachary? Mary Tidwell. I just got the results back from the lab."

I sat up in bed. "Go on."

"Two things. First, traces of beta blocking chemicals were found in the eel's blood."

"Beta blockers? As in heart medication?"

"Yes. Most likely ingested from feeding on Ferox trout, which come in contact with the chemicals near industrial areas before entering Loch Ness."

"And the brain lesions?"

"Those were caused by PCB's… hydrocarbon poisoning. Somewhere out there, oil's leaking into the Great Glen."

True and I waited until the waitress set down our drinks and left before continuing our conversation.

"So," I pressed, "do you think there's a pipeline leak or not?"

"Shh, lower yer voice. There's a million bloody reporters snoopin' roond the Highlands these days." He drained half his beer, then belched. "Jist 'cause ye find an eel wi' lesions, disnae mean it wis exposed tae oil in Loch Ness. First off, they're aye doin' water tests. Second, crude floats, people wouldae seen it."

"And what if it's not even getting into Loch Ness? What if it's coming through the remains of an underwater passage that connects the Loch with the North Sea?"

"Whit passage? That's a' theory."

"Just humor me, True. Where are the closest oil fields to Loch Ness?"

"There's two o' them, baith located jist offshore in the Moray Firth. The Beatrice Field's twenty kilometers off the coast in the inner firth. Big field, wi' three platforms. The Cialino Field's smaller, belongin' tae you know who. Johnny C. bought it for pennies on the pound frae Talisman Energy."

"Talisman Energy? Now why does that name sound familiar?"

"They've been in the news. A few years back, Talisman wis implicated in a lawsuit that accused the company o' collaboratin' wi' the Sudanese government, jist after yer President Bush declared it a terrorist state. The country wis run by mair o' thae Islamic extremists who used profits frae Talisman's oil wells tae buy weapons… weapons they used tae commit genocide against their Christian population. Word is, close tae two million people died."

"Lovely. No wonder Johnny C. got himself such a bargain."

"Aye."

"These fields in the Moray Firth, what happens to the oil after it's pumped?"

"The crude's stabilized, then sent through export pipes to the Nigg Oil terminal for processin' an' export. Niggs wis also owned by Talisman, an' it's had its share o' problems, too. No' long ago the EPA found leaks in the pipelines at the tanker terminal carryin' supplies frae Beatrice. Pipes are aye corrodin'. Problem is, companies like Talisman an' Cialino drill closer an' closer tae shore every year."

"Any supply lines feeding into the Great Glen?"

"A few, but they're heavily monitored."

"Any chance of getting hold of a map that shows the buried distribution lines?"

"Hmm… maybe. Got a few muckers at Niggs who might help. If no', I can aye hitch a ride back oot tae my last rig an' borrow a few things, if ye ken whit I mean."

True's cell phone rang. "MacDonald. Hey, sweets. Jings, no shyte! Sure, he's right here. Okay, I'll tell him."

He hung up. "That wis Brandy. David Caldwell wants tae meet wi' ye right now, doon at Urquhart Castle. Alone."

The steel-gray modular bridge stretched end to end across the mouth of Urquhart Bay, each of its free-floating prefabricated platforms twenty-eight feet long and fourteen feet wide. Lightweight and portable, the newly completed expanse had been designed to support army and commercial vehicles, though its use on Loch Ness would be limited to pedestrian traffic only.

A construction pontoon stood a quarter mile offshore, the boom of its three-hundred-ton capacity Shearleg Derrick rising 250 feet into the mouse gray sky. The crane was supporting a spool that fed fourteen foot wide, 750-foot long lengths of chain-link fencing down through the modular's precut slots. Each length was weighed down by a five-ton concrete weight, which served to anchor the steel barrier to the bottom.

David Caldwell, wearing a yellow hard hat and mirrored sunglasses, stood on the southern shoreline of the bay, the ruins of Urquhart Castle at his back. The area was fenced off, preventing the public from accessing the bridge. Still, the tourists and media were out in droves, snapping pictures of "Nessie's new habitat" and David Caldwell, too, as if he were the monster hunter, Carl Denham, about to capture King Kong.

I gave my name to a security guard, who allowed me to enter. "David?"

He signaled me to approach.

"David, why're you wearing a hard hat?"

"Hello? We're standing in a construction site."

"Construction's in the bay. The only thing that hat'll protect you from are birds as they shit on your head."

"More sarcasm. What happened to us, Zack? I thought you and I were a team?"

"Some team. My brains and your mouth."

"Say what you will but it worked. We were the first to catch a giant squid on film."

"We? You took all the credit and blamed me for losing a sub." He turned to me, feigning sincerity. "I was wrong in doing that. I'm sorry."

I ignored his offered hand. "What is it you want?"

"Brandy told me about your offer. You still interested in gaining access to our sonar array?"

"Go on."

"I can't allow you access into the system, but I am willing to let you monitor the array from your laptop… in exchange for telling us why we still can't track the monster."

"I want it in writing, authorized by Provost Hollifield."

"Whatever." He reached into his pants pocket, handing me a folded piece of paper. "That's a Web link my engineer just set up for you. It'll connect you to the array.'

"Fax the agreement to my hotel. Meanwhile, I'll check out the link. If it suits my needs, I'll call you on your cell phone and tell you everything you need to know."

"Do it soon. That provost guy's getting on my nerves."

"What'd you expect? You're spending their money, they want results."

"Results? The creature's been around for fifteen hundred years. All of a sudden they're in a rush?"

"They certainly rushed getting that bridge pieced together. How much they end up spending?"

"About a million dollars or pounds, I forget which. Either way, it's nothing. They'll make that back in crossing fees alone during the first few months."

"You're not actually going to allow people out there?"

"Damn straight. We'll have guardrails up, separating the tourists from the plesiosaur. It'll be safe."

I could have spouted off then, lecturing him about dinosaurs and timelines and how a deepwater feeder, whatever was out there, wasn't about to surface during the day just to please a bunch of humans with cameras.

Instead I only shook my head and walked away.