The Loch Ness Legacy

THIRTY-ONE

Upon arrival in Edinburgh, Brielle was immediately taken back to her college days. As she walked out of Waverley station, the brisk wind nipped at her thin jacket, but the cold, cloudy day was nothing unusual for June. Despite the frigid weather and his worsening condition, Grant wouldn’t hear of hailing a taxi, insisting that he could make the ten-minute walk to the National Museum of Scotland.

Alexa and Tyler, having checked all the bags at the left-luggage stand, joined them outside and bundled up against the breeze. All four cradled steaming cups of coffee, trying not only to ward off the chill but to wake up from a long night on the train. Brielle had been worn out from the events in Versailles and went to sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, waking only grudgingly. From the groggy looks that greeted her when the train pulled into the station, she assumed the other three had as well.

Brielle led the way across the bridge spanning the park and tracks nestled within the ravine that separated the old town from the main shopping district. Above the forested gorge, Edinburgh Castle dominated the city from its perch atop craggy Castle Rock, a steep volcanic outcrop that provided unobstructed views of the city in all directions. Brielle knew the castle had been attacked on many occasions during its nine hundred years of existence, but she could imagine the trepidation of attackers contemplating going up against such a formidable bastion.

Alexa fell into step alongside, and Brielle nodded to her. Because they’d been so tired, they hadn’t spoken much in the train berth other than to situate their luggage and turn out the lights. Tyler and Grant kept pace behind them, their conversation inaudible in the blowing wind.

“Beautiful city,” Alexa said. “I wish I had time to explore it.”

“You’ve never been?”

“I’ve flown into the airport, but we went straight to the Highlands. I understand you went to school here.”

“Me and Darwin.”

“I’m sorry about last night,” Alexa said with an rueful smile. “I didn’t mean to blow up about that. The subject of evolution just gets me riled.”

Brielle waved her hand. “No worries.”

Alexa cleared her throat in a way that made Brielle wonder if something uncomfortable was coming.

“I heard about your friend, Wade Plymouth. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. He was a mensch.” Brielle’s throat tightened at the thought of her friend now gone. “We went to school together here. We made this walk a dozen times when we’d travel back to London to see our families on holiday.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“I’m an only child.”

“Are you close to your parents?”

“Very.”

“I wish I had that. Our father is a retired Air Force officer, commanding but distant. I don’t see him much now. Our mother left us when we were young, so we were essentially raised by our grandmother. She passed away ten years ago.”

Brielle saw where this was going. “You and Tyler seem to get on well.”

“Always have. We don’t visit as much as I’d like, but we talk a lot on the phone, especially since Karen died.”

“And you don’t want me to hurt him.”

Alexa snorted. “Please. Tyler’s not going to get hurt.”

Brielle was unexpectedly miffed, interpreting the response as a suggestion that she meant nothing to him. “What do you mean by that? I’m not good enough for him?”

Alexa looked at her in confusion and then her eyes widened. “Oh! No, that’s not where I was going. No, I’ve seen the way Tyler looks at you. He likes you, but I know about your religious incompatibility. I just meant…well, Tyler’s a resilient guy. After what he’s already been through in his life, I think he can handle anything. He’s the strongest man I know.”

Brielle’s hackles lowered. “And I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He’s a proud big brother. There’s one thing that would destroy him, and that would be losing you.”

“How much farther?” Tyler yelled out. They’d fallen behind the fast pace that Brielle had set, so she and Alexa waited for them to catch up. She could see Grant pushing himself. The Nazi poison was taking its toll.

“Just a few more blocks.”

They turned onto the Royal Mile, the inclined road that connects Edinburgh Castle at the top of the hill to Holyroodhouse, the palace that serves as the UK monarch’s official residence during stays in the Scottish capital. After a short walk, they made another left and arrived at the National Museum of Scotland.

The museum wasn’t yet open for visitors, but Brielle had pulled a few strings with a professor she knew and arranged an audience with the keeper, or head curator, of the department of Scottish history and archaeology.

A tiny woman with gray hair and an angular face met them at the door.

“Ms. Cohen?” she asked in a chirpy voice that crammed Brielle’s last name into one syllable.

Brielle nodded and introduced the rest of the group.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Audrey MacNeil, keeper of the Scottish historical collections. Do come in. When Professor Campbell called and mentioned that you had an emergency, I was only too happy to help.”

She led them through several galleries and onto a lift.

“The nineteenth-century artifacts are located on level three.”

“Dr. MacNeil,” Tyler said, “what do you know about John Edmonstone’s relationship with Charles Darwin?”

MacNeil raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s an interesting question. Edmonstone lived very close to Charles Darwin and his brother Erasmus while Charles was here at the medical college. We believe Darwin may have learned some of his methods for preserving specimens from Edmonstone.”

“Do you know if they ever went to Loch Ness together?”

The door opened and she ushered them out. “What an odd thought,” she said as she walked. “Why would you ask that?”

Alexa jumped in. “We have reason to believe that Mr. Edmonstone wrote a journal about a trip he took with Darwin. It’s possible the trip took them all the way to the Scottish Highlands.”

“I don’t know of any journal like that. Where did you say you saw it mentioned?”

They walked into an airy gallery labeled Kingdom of the Scots and stopped just inside.

“We haven’t seen it yet,” Brielle said. “You acquired two stag heads three months ago from an estate sale in Glasgow.”

MacNeil brightened at that. “Oh, yes. Magnificent pieces. Both ten-point bucks. Although we haven’t been able to confirm it, we suspect John Edmonstone mounted them.”

Grant snickered at that but quieted when he realized no one else was laughing.

“How do you know?” Brielle said.

“A small plaque on the back of the trophy mount is etched with his initials.”

“Would he have had these in his home?” Tyler asked.

“We don’t know, but I wouldn’t think so. Trophies such as these would be quite expensive in the early eighteen hundreds. Whoever shot the deer might have hired him to stuff them, but it’s unlikely the owners would have given them to him.”

“They would make good advertisements, though,” Grant said. “What if he bagged them himself?”

“I suppose it’s possible, but that meant he would have poached them. Why all these questions about the stag heads?”

“Because we think Edmonstone may have hidden something inside one of them,” Tyler said. “Did you take them apart when you restored them?”

“There was no reason to. They were maintained in excellent condition, and the wooden mounting board showed no rot. A thorough cleaning was all that was required. If there were some kind of secret panel, I assure you we would have seen it.”

“I know this is asking a lot,” Alexa said, “but may we take a look at them?”

MacNeil frowned. “You certainly are asking a lot. Those trophies are artifacts of great historical significance, both because of the possible connection to Edmonstone and because of the royal ownership. I would need more evidence than simply your theory before I allowed you to inspect them.”

“Dr. MacNeil,” Tyler said, “this is truly a matter of life and death.”

“How so?”

“That’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

“Please. We won’t touch them. We just want to see them. Maybe we’ll notice something you overlooked. If we do spot anything, we’ll point it out to you and let you decide how to proceed.”

MacNeil tapped her finger against her lips. “Since this is a favor for Professor Campbell, all right. But it will take a few days to arrange.”

Brielle choked. “A few days? We need to see them right now.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“Why?” Tyler asked, putting his hand on Brielle’s shoulder in a calming gesture.

“Because they aren’t here. We moved them last week to temporary exhibits.”

“Plural? Where?”

“We’re putting on two special exhibitions as promotions to get the tourists who might not otherwise know about us to visit the museum, and we thought the stag heads would be spectacular additions. One exhibition is at Holyroodhouse. The other is at Edinburgh Castle.”

THIRTY-TWO

Thanks to the extensive research she’d done for Laroche, Dunham knew exactly where to find the two stag heads. At the time she had done the research, she had no idea why the old man was so interested in the trophies. She figured he was hoping to add another odd display to his menagerie, but he knew all along that they were the key to finding the Loch Ness monster and the antidote to the Altwaffe chemical.

On the drive up, Zim proposed separating into two teams to destroy the contents of the trophies within minutes of each other. Once one of the exhibits was tampered with, the other location would be on alert, making the task much more difficult.

The unique settings required different approaches. Zim would take two men and go for the one at Edinburgh Castle, while she and a man whom she now knew as Cooper, posing as her boyfriend, would go to Holyrood Palace. Since the tourist attractions both opened at 9:30 in the morning, their operations could be synchronized.

Parking in the Old Town section of Edinburgh was a nightmare, so Dunham and Cooper, whose scruffy beard and long stringy hair made her feel as if she were slumming it with a reject from a grunge band, were dropped at the entrance to the palace by Hank Pryor. He would be in charge of the six men in reserve in case anything went wrong at either location.

The entry building at the front of the palace served as the gift shop, café, and gallery for traveling exhibitions. The gallery was currently closed in preparation for a new exhibit, so the stag head had to be somewhere in the palace itself.

She and Cooper would have brought weapons with them, but some vandalism incident at Windsor Castle had tightened security at all royal installations. Before they were allowed in, they were frisked by attendants looking for spray paint cans.

Once they were cleared, they stood in line with the early birds waiting to be the first people inside that day. As they paid for their tickets, Dunham asked the woman, “I understand you have some items from the National Museum of Scotland on display. I hear they have some fascinating objects. Where would we find those?”

“In the Great Gallery. It’s a long hall toward the end of the self-guided palace tour. You can’t miss it. Here’s a map. Would you like an audio guide?”

“No, thanks. The map will do fine.”

Dunham took Cooper by the arm and led him out of the building into the vast open-air forecourt, where she got her first good view of the palace. The weathered stone façade was flanked by two turrets on either side. The ruins of an abbey abutted the left edge of the square building, which wrapped around a central quadrangle. Though she imagined that the pomp and circumstance of a royal visit would give the building a certain majesty, Dunham recognized the pragmatic Scottish temperament in its design.

They crossed the forecourt and entered through the door at the center. Numbered placards indicated the direction of the tour. Dunham consulted her map and saw that the gallery was located on the left side of the building. With the security personnel situated in every room, there would be no hurrying there directly. They had to seem as if they were simply tourists taking in the grand appointments of the palace.

She pretended to gawk at the furniture and décor, prompting Cooper to do likewise. As they strolled, she rehearsed the plan in her head.

Once they reached the gallery, they would see how the stag head was displayed. They’d step aside and pretend to look for something in her purse while they decided on the final details of the plan. In addition, she would be handing him one of the two small bottles she was carrying. Although the liquid was clear and in disposable water bottles, it was actually a highly flammable form of alcohol they had bought at a local pharmacy.

When they were ready, Cooper would wander away from her in the gallery and place his open bottle on the floor in a location far away from the trophy. Then he would knock over the bottle so that the liquid spread across the floor. He would drop a lighter on it to ignite it, sending the security people running for a fire extinguisher.

While they were distracted, Dunham would search for the latch on the stag head. Failing that, she’d cut it open with the ceramic knife she had hidden in the lining of her purse. If she found the journal and it was small enough, she would pocket it and leave. If it was too large to carry inconspicuously, she’d have no other choice but to destroy it right then, no matter how curious she was to see what the journal’s contents revealed. Dunham would douse it with her bottle of alcohol and burn it, incinerating any chance of ever finding the monster.

After Zim was patted down, a pretty attendant pointed him to Edinburgh Castle’s outdoor ticket counter, but it was obvious where to go by the crowd shuffling ahead of him. Two of his men, Smith and Creel, were ahead of him in line. Both were medium height and build, though Smith was blond and wore glasses while Creel had a thick brown mop and a mustache. He would keep an eye on them, but the three of them wouldn’t interact until they put their plan into motion.

Zim got his ticket and map and walked past the gift shop through the portcullis gate, its spikes aimed ominously downward. His two men lagged until he passed, and then trailed him discreetly.

The castle was actually a mighty citadel, containing a huge complex of stone buildings surrounded by a series of stout walls. The grounds consisted of a church, barracks, the governor’s house, a prison, the National War Memorial, the crown jewels, royal residences, administrative offices, and museums. A central driveway wound through the complex until it ended atop the plateau where the oldest buildings were situated.

There was no need to stop and ask anyone where the stag head was being displayed. Smith and Creel had done reconnaissance in Edinburgh before Zim and the rest of them arrived. Holyrood turned out to be too small for the more elegant tactic they’d be using at Edinburgh Castle. In preparation for today, the two men had followed one of the male employees to his flat after the castle closed the previous night.

He turned out to be a Spaniard, one of the many foreigners the castle hired to interact with tourists from other countries. It didn’t take much persuasion at all to get him to reveal that Edmonstone’s trophy was on display inside the Great Hall on the castle complex’s top plateau. More importantly, he also provided them with information about the operation of the castle and the names of key managers.

The Spaniard also had several uniforms to borrow, black pants and sweaters with the castle’s logo, plus name tags that could be altered easily. Zim was too muscular to fit into the outfits, but Smith and Creel matched his size. The sweaters were on underneath their zipped jackets.

When they had all the information they needed, Creel smothered the Spaniard with a pillow while Smith held him down. Although the castle might wonder about the absence of the missing employee, Zim was sure the body wouldn’t be found until after their mission was complete.

Zim followed the path as it curled through the massive complex, impervious to the breeze whipping flags atop several of the buildings. Tourists posed for photos next to ancient cannons lined up along one of the outer defenses. Next to an outdoor café was a modern howitzer pointed at the northern part of the city. According to the map, its gun was fired at one o’clock every day except Sunday. One less soldier to worry about today.

The operation wasn’t without risk. The castle was one of the few in Britain that still maintained a military garrison, although it was largely ceremonial. However, the presence of the crown jewels of Scotland made security at the castle a prime concern. The Great Hall was positioned adjacent to the old Royal Palace, which housed the jewels. They’d have to complete the operation quickly before anyone realized what was happening.

On the castle ground’s top plateau Zim passed the National War Memorial and walked into Crown Square. He stopped in the center and acted like he was checking his map. Smith and Creel wandered past without looking at him. They headed to the bathroom next to the café, where they would dispose of their jackets and come back out in the guise of employees.

Zim strolled into the Great Hall’s antechamber, then into a long room with a vaulted hammerbeam ceiling high above. Chandeliers hanging from the timber crossbeams lit up the dazzling array of weaponry and armor lining the walls. Swords, knives, pikes, axes, and flintlock pistols hung from the ornate carved paneling that ended at a huge stone fireplace illuminated with the fiery red glow of an electric simulation.

Two employees, a man and a woman, stood behind a velvet rope, chatting and observing the visitors to make sure they didn’t touch the displays.

The stag head was to their left. It was among a dozen items supported by pedestals and identified by placards stamped with the National Museum of Scotland logo. The deer peered forward with a glassy stare, as if it were still on the lookout for the hunter who had felled it, the rack of antlers at the ready to defend itself.

Zim dawdled at the midpoint of the hall and saw Smith and Creel enter wearing their uniforms. They headed straight for the two employees, and Zim could overhear their conversation.

“Douglas,” Smith said, using the man’s name, “Mr. Cobham wants to see you at the information desk.” He used the name of a manager that the Spaniard had told them. The “Canada” label under Smith’s tag meant his American accent wouldn’t seem strange.

“Me?” Douglas said, nonplussed. “What for?”

“Not just you. He wants both you and Mary down there now. He said he may be a few minutes, so you should wait for him if he’s not there when you arrive.”

“That’s odd,” Mary said. “Did he say why?”

“No,” Smith said. “But he asked us to cover for you while you’re gone.”

“This can’t be good,” Douglas said. “All right.” He and Mary hurried away, never questioning the fact that they hadn’t seen Smith and Creel before. Zim had counted on the castle being big enough that the employees wouldn’t all know each other.

Smith and Creel stepped behind the rope. They needed to give Douglas and Mary a little time to clear the square. Then they could start herding the tourists out, claiming the hall was being closed for maintenance. A “Closed” sign that they’d purchased would keep the curious at bay long enough for Zim to tear open their prize.

And if Douglas and Mary did return early, they wouldn’t get a second chance. Given how easily Smith and Creel had dealt with the Spaniard, Zim had no doubt that the two of them could kill a couple of lowly security guards with their bare hands.

THIRTY-THREE

Grant was glad Brielle had finally talked him into taking a taxi. He leaned his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes for the short ride to Holyrood Palace.

Although Dr. MacNeil was making inquiries about getting access to the stag heads after hours that evening, Tyler thought they should split up to see if they could spot anything unusual about the trophies with a visual inspection. Tyler didn’t want to separate from Alexa, so he took her to Edinburgh Castle while Grant and Brielle paired up to explore Holyrood.

Even though MacNeil told them that no one else had inquired about the stag heads, they were worried that Zim and Dunham had some inside knowledge that they weren’t aware of. It would be bold of them to try anything in such well-trod and protected places, but boldness hadn’t been a problem for those two so far. All Grant and his group could hope to do was scare them off until they could see if there was anything to the taxidermy book’s tale.

The cab came to a stop and Grant opened his eyes.

“We’re here,” Brielle said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather check into a hotel and get some rest?”

Grant straightened up and forced himself to keep from yawning. “Why? I’m fine.”

“Bollocks. You don’t have to pretend with me. I know what’s going on. I’ve noticed you creaking around like an old man when you think no one’s looking.”

“I’ve felt worse.” Which was true to a point. During his wrestling days, he once wrenched his back so hard that he couldn’t move for three days. This pain was a slightly lower grade, but it was attacking every joint in his body, as if he’d been stretched out on a rack. He knew it was the advanced symptoms of arthritis, another indication that the Altwaffe was doing its work, aging his body beyond his years and making every movement a chore. No one had mentioned the gray hairs he was shaving from his chin and scalp every day. Combined with the constant fatigue, muscle weakness, blurring of vision, loss of hearing, and inability to focus on a task for longer than a few minutes, he could tell that he didn’t have much time before he wouldn’t be able to power through it any longer.

When he saw Brielle staring at him, he said, “Really. It’s not as bad as you think.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re certainly not a kvetch, as my mother would say. All right. Let’s see if we can find this thing.”

They made their way inside the palace, and every step Grant took required concentration so that he could keep up with Brielle’s pace. The rooms were numbered, leading them in a counterclockwise path to the gallery where MacNeil had told them they would find the trophy.

They passed through ornately decorated dining rooms, drawing rooms, and bedchambers, not even pausing to give the appearance that they were interested in the splendor of royal accoutrements. They exited the King’s Closet and entered the Great Gallery.

A few tourists wandered along the red carpet splayed across the length of the gallery, which featured over a hundred portraits of what Grant thought of as “men in tights.” Light filtered in from windows along the inner courtyard, but each of them was obscured by a display set up to show off a distinct part of Scottish history. A TV at the other end was playing a video where several people watched.

The stag head was at the far end of the hall, its antlers reaching toward the ceiling.

“There it is,” Brielle said and walked toward it. Grant followed for a moment, then stopped.

A solo man turned away as Grant had passed, his long hair obscuring his face. Something about him seemed familiar, and suddenly Grant recognized him as the man driving the Range Rover in Cambridge. He turned and saw the man crouch on the ground as if tying a shoe.

Liquid flowed from his hand onto the carpet. The man had a lighter in his hand.

He was going to set the room ablaze. With the amount of wood in the room, half the palace could go up in no time.

“Fire!” Grant shouted. His reaction time felt like it had slowed to a glacial rate, he ran at the man and tackled him just as the lighter flicked on. He caught the guy in the back, sending the lighter flying before it touched the liquid.

As Grant rolled on the carpet, his face pressed against his adversary’s jacket, the smell of alcohol stung his nose. The arsonist hadn’t finished pouring the solution from his flask, and Grant’s tackle had caused the remainder to soak the man’s clothes.

An elbow caught Grant in the solar plexus, causing him to double over in pain. Grant lashed out with a fist but hit only air as the man dodged the weak thrust. The guy twisted away and sprang to his feet.

Grant wasn’t as quick to get up, but he managed to block a kick before it smacked his head. A roundhouse punch did get him in the temple, and Grant realized that he was about to endure something that had never happened before.

For the first time ever, he was going to lose a fight against a single opponent.

Brielle was already halfway down the gallery when she realized that one of the women watching the video was Marlo Dunham, dressed in trousers instead of a skirt, but otherwise looking exactly the same as when they’d last seen each other in Laroche’s mansion.

Then Brielle heard Grant shout “Fire!” She whipped around and saw him launch himself at another man. In a split second, they were on the floor throwing fists at each other.

She’d seen Grant wade into a fight with three other men and come out without a scratch, but it was obvious he wasn’t himself, taking hits left and right. She was about to go help him when he struggled to his feet and seized his foe in a headlock.

“Get…her!” Grant yelled.

Brielle turned back around to see Dunham fumbling with the bottom of the stag head where it was mounted to the pedestal, searching for the secret latch.

Brielle sprinted toward her. Dunham threw open the latch, and the stag head swung to the side on hidden hinges. Before she could extract anything from the interior, she saw Brielle approaching and took a bottle from her purse, upending the contents onto the floor in an arc between them. She flicked open a lighter and threw it onto the rug.

Flames leapt into the air in a wall that spanned two-thirds of the gallery, and Brielle had to jump back to keep from getting burned. The two other visitors who’d been staring dumbfounded at the events in the room ran screaming. It gave Dunham enough time to stick her hand into the trophy and withdraw a small notebook from its cavity. Her eyes went from Brielle to the notebook and back as if she were deciding what to do next.

Brielle wasn’t going to wait to find out. She went around the inferno intending to give chase, but Dunham hurled the journal past Brielle into the fire.

Brielle wanted Dunham badly, but the journal was more important. If it were destroyed, then Zim would win. She couldn’t let that happen.

Brielle turned and raced toward the fire.

Grant was just about spent. He’d managed to stop the long-haired man from going to Dunham’s aid, but the effort was sapping his strength rapidly.

His opponent finally slipped from his grasp and ran toward the flames that were now spreading across the carpet. A fire klaxon shrieked overhead, but it would take a minute for the emergency crews to get there.

Grant mustered every reserve he had and gave chase. He saw something sail out of the fire and then Brielle followed in a tuck, rolling to put out the flames that licked at her coat. She popped to her feet and stamped on the burning object, smothering the flames.

She was oblivious to the man headed right for her.

Grant forced himself into another gear he didn’t know he had and barreled toward the fire. Just as the man reached Brielle and was about to launch a vicious kick to her head, Grant caught up to him and shoved him from behind.

The momentum carried Dunham’s accomplice stumbling past Brielle and into the fire. His clothes, soaked with the flammable liquid, erupted in flames, and the man lurched around shrieking in agony as he sought to put out the blaze that enveloped him.

Brielle snatched up the charred notebook with her sleeve and put her other shoulder under Grant, who was now almost too weak to carry on.

“Come on, Sergeant,” she said, calling him by the rank he’d had in the Army. “We need to get out of here before they start asking questions.”

As they tottered away, employees with fire extinguishers charging into the room, Grant said, “The journal—”

“We won’t know until we look at it, but I think the outside got the worst of it.”

Grant didn’t say more, trying to stay upright and maintain the impression of a panicky tourist until he could get outside the palace and curl up in the fetal position.

THIRTY-FOUR

Alexa was subdued as she and Tyler reached the top of the Edinburgh Castle grounds, as if her enthusiasm for the quest they were on had been dunked in an ice bucket. During the walk from the museum, she had tweaked Tyler about his relationship with Brielle.

“We’re not serious,” he’d said.

“I know,” Alexa replied. “Ever think about converting to Judaism?”

“Come on, Alexa. I’ve known her for a total of two weeks.”

“How long did you know Karen before you were exclusive?” Alexa knew the answer. Tyler and the woman who would become his wife had three dates over the course of a single weekend while he was at MIT. Neither of them dated anyone else after a night watching the Red Sox beat the Yankees at Fenway Park.

“That was different,” Tyler said.

“Why?”

“For one, Brielle’s British and I’m American. I’m not up for a long distance thing. I tried it with Dilara, and that didn’t work out so well.”

“Maybe she would move to the US.”

“And she’s made it very clear that her parents wouldn’t approve of their little girl marrying a gentile.”

“Tyler, you’re a genius in many ways, but you are really thick-headed sometimes. Don’t you think it’s possible that she’s using that as an excuse? I mean, you haven’t actually met her parents have you?”

“No. So you’re saying she doesn’t actually like me?”

Alexa shook her head. “Boy, you need me around more than I thought. I’m saying she might like you too much. I don’t know her history, but I know yours. You don’t want to get hurt again, and it’s quite possible she doesn’t want to either. I can tell she’s got some stuff going on underneath just like you do.”

Tyler smiled. “Since when did my little sister become my shrink?”

“Since you became a confirmed bachelor.”

“You sound like Grant. He’s always trying to play matchmaker, which is rich coming from the original confirmed bachelor.”

“You don’t think he’ll ever settle down.”

Tyler laughed loudly, drawing the attention of some tourists as they walked toward the castle entrance. “Grant? Do you know how many women he’s dated in the last five years?”

Alexa shrugged. “Maybe he’s still looking for the right person.”

Tyler stopped smiling and his eyes took on a tinge of sadness. “He did find one woman he cared for.”

“Who?”

“Someone who was a great fit for him.”

“What happened to her?”

He sighed. “She was killed. Grant saw it happen.”

“That’s terrible.”

“He took it pretty hard. I think he’s been a little gun shy about relationships ever since.”

“He seems like a great guy,” Alexa said. “He’ll find someone.” She didn’t mention that the someone might be her.

The sadness on Tyler’s face deepened. “I hope he has the chance.”

“What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer as they waited in line for tickets. Once they were through, Alexa asked again. “What’s wrong with Grant? He won’t tell me anything.”

“He didn’t want you to know, but the symptoms are getting too noticeable.”

“You mean the aches and pains? The tired look that seems to be getting worse?” Alexa felt her stomach roil with nervousness. A serious face from Tyler wasn’t to be taken lightly. “What’s going on, Tyler? Tell me right now.”

Tyler paused as if searching for the right words. His expression was pained as he finally spoke.

“Grant’s been poisoned. It happened last week at the Eiffel Tower when all of the leaders who have been getting sick and dying were exposed.”

She stared at him, dumbstruck for a moment. “I can’t believe it.”

“You’ve seen how sick he’s been getting over the last couple of days. It’s worse than he’s letting on.”

“This is…it’s horrible. How long has he got?”

“Days maybe. We don’t know for sure.”

“My God! He should be in a hospital!”

“I told him the same thing, but he wouldn’t do it. You think I’m stubborn.”

“What can we do?” Alexa asked.

“We’re doing it. The toxicologists are working on an antidote, but without a better understanding of the poison’s chemical structure, I’m not convinced they can create one in time. If that Nazi notebook is right, finding the Loch Ness monster and getting a sample of it might be his only chance.”

Alexa could see the toll Grant’s illness was taking on Tyler. She hadn’t seen him this distressed since the aftermath of Karen’s funeral. “How long will it take them to synthesize an antidote?”

“Once they have the sample? I spoke to Agent Harris yesterday. She said the toxicologists think it will only take a matter of hours to manufacture the antidote. If the Nazi formula is correct, that is.”

“Does she believe Laroche now?”

“She’s still pretty skeptical, but they’re getting desperate enough to try it if we come up with the goods.”

“Desperate enough to get the British authorities to crack open the stag heads?”

“We’ll see,” Tyler said.

“And even if we find something that helps us track down Nessie, do we have the resources to do it?”

“Miles gave us carte blanche. The Sedna passed through the Caledonian Canal from the North Sea last night, and they’ve begun a grid pattern search from the midpoint of the loch. But with nothing else to go on, the search could take weeks and still not find a trace of the creature.”

“Then John Edmonstone is our best chance.”

“No,” Tyler said, “he’s our only chance.”

The rest of the walk through the castle grounds had been silent, Alexa’s hugged her jacket close to her body to fend off the wind. She thought about all the teasing she’d done with Grant and now felt guilty about it. He’d known all that time that he was dying and didn’t say a word.

They crossed the courtyard to the Great Hall, but she stopped when she saw a CLOSED sign on the door.

“That’s odd,” she said. “Are they still setting up the exhibit?”

“Doesn’t seem likely. Dr. MacNeil said that they installed it last week.”

“Then why would it be closed?”

“I don’t know. Dammit. We need to get in there now.” Tyler turned and pointed to a man crossing the courtyard. “There’s an employee. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

He made a beeline for the worker. Alexa pressed her ear to the door. She heard voices inside.

“Wait, Tyler,” she called to him. “Someone’s in there. Let’s ask them.” He turned and jogged back toward her.

She pushed the door and found that it wasn’t locked. She eased it open and saw two men in employee’s uniforms.

“Excuse me,” she said, entering the antechamber.

One of the men, a humorless blond with glasses, put up his hands and rushed over to her. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re closed for renovations.”

“I just wanted to look at one of the exhibits—”

“You’ll have to come back later.” He made a shooing motion with his hand.

“Well, when are you reopening?” By this time, Tyler had joined her, the door closing behind him.

“I don’t know, ma’am. You have to leave.” He put his hand on her shoulder and turned her forcefully while the other man moved to the door.

“Hey! You don’t have to shove me.”

She ran into Tyler, unyielding as granite. He was fixated on the interior of the Great Hall, his eyes filled with a rage she’d never before seen in her brother.

“Zim,” he whispered.

THIRTY-FIVE

During the milliseconds it took Tyler to process that Zim was in the empty Great Hall prying apart the stag head trophy, he assessed his predicament. Not only was he outnumbered three to one, but Alexa was now in harm’s way. But if he simply ran out with her in tow, he’d leave Zim to destroy possibly the only chance to find Grant’s cure.

Alexa’s immediate safety won. Tyler turned and punched the blond man who had pushed Alexa, breaking his glasses and sending him sprawling. He grabbed Alexa’s hand and went for the door, but the blond guy’s partner was already there. The man tackled Tyler, and they went tumbling through the archway into the cavernous Great Hall. Tyler went down hard on his recovering arm, but the rush of adrenaline helped him ignore the sudden stab of pain.

He rolled and sprang to his feet next to a suit of armor. He plucked the helmet from its stand and swung it around, connecting with the guy’s skull. The glancing blow sent him to his knees.

Alexa was tripped by the blond and scrabbled her way into the hall, the man tugging at her pant leg in an attempt to stop her. She threw a kick at his face, hard enough for him to release her. She ran for Tyler, and he placed her protectively behind him.

Zim was paying scant attention to the fight. He dug into the neck of the deer and extracted a cylindrical object, letting the crumpled paper around it fall to hardwood. Zim looked puzzled as he drew the object out, obviously not the journal they’d been looking for.

It was a clear glass jar. There seemed to be something floating in a liquid.

Zim stared at it in confusion, then a look of comprehension came over his face and he smiled at Tyler, a sinister grin that sent a chill down his spine. He needed a better weapon than the helmet if he and Alexa were going to survive this.

That’s when Tyler noticed the hall was literally brimming with blades. He nearly let out a whoop of joy when he realized that they had a fighting chance. It wasn’t great, but he was elated to have any chance at all.

He snatched a five-foot-long halberd from its clamp on the wall and shoved it into Alexa’s hands. With a spear on the end, a spike on one side and a cleaver-shaped blade on the other, it was a menacing weapon. Although Alexa looked terrified, she stuck it out in front of her. He hoped she didn’t actually use it as anything but a bluff. An errant swing would slice him just as easily as it would the bad guys.

Tyler drew a saber from the rack and took a defensive posture next to her. He’d never fought with a sword in his life, but he was betting Zim and his men hadn’t either.

The blond grabbed two short swords and criss-crossed them like he was sharpening knives. The mustached man selected a huge claymore, a two-handed broadsword that lent its name to a type of explosive mine. Zim picked a saber of his own, the jar held gingerly in his other hand. They circled around Tyler and Alexa.

“Zim,” Tyler said as calmly as he could, “why don’t you put that specimen down and leave?”

“Because it’s three to one and a half.”

Alexa sounded peeved. “I’m supposed to be half?”

“Besides, why would I give up my best chance to take care of you both at the same time?”

“Because we’re not out on some isolated country estate,” Tyler said. “There’s no way you’re getting out of here without being caught.”

“Oh, you’re wrong about that,” Zim said, then barked at his men. “Kill them.”

Blond and mustache rushed at them.

Tyler thought this would be a good time to raise the alarm. He howled with his best battle cry as he steeled himself for the assault. Alexa followed suit with a guttural scream. No one in the courtyard outside would fail to hear them. They had to hope the cavalry would arrive before there was nothing to do but mop up their remains.

Either through miscommunication or not taking Alexa seriously as a threat, both men went after Tyler. The blond’s short swords swirled, but his aim was off due to his missing glasses. Metal clanged against Tyler’s saber. He had to leap back to avoid a swipe from the second sword, and then sidestepped an overhead chop of the mustached man’s claymore, which took a massive chunk out of the floor.

Tyler was hoping Alexa would take the opportunity to make a run for it, but he should have known she wouldn’t leave him to be slaughtered. Gripping the handle of the halberd like the bat she’d used in college softball, she swung the weapon around, her eyes locked onto her distracted target.

The spike pierced the blond man’s ribs, and his swords clattered to the floor. He collapsed backward, wrenching the halberd from Alexa’s hands. She stood there staring at what she’d done, mute.

The mustached man sprang back to action. He reared back for another strike of the claymore. It was only when he experienced the inertia involved with the backswing of such a huge weapon, though, that his face registered he might have selected not only an intimidating weapon, but also one that was unwieldy.

Before the man could swing the claymore on its down stroke, Tyler thrust forward and stabbed the saber through his heart. The mustached man looked down in surprise at the blood soaking his shirt and then fell backward, motionless as soon as he hit the floor, the claymore clattering to the ground next to him.

Zim stalked toward them, a menacing sneer on his face, and Tyler honestly didn’t know whether he could win. He was already huffing from the battle so far, while Zim was fresh. And by the looks of her, Alexa wasn’t going to be able to repeat her prowess with the blade. Tyler not only was on his own, but he had to protect her as well.

Zim slashed his sword toward Tyler, who blocked it with the saber. He grabbed Zim’s wrist, drawing him into a clinch, Zim’s fetid breath hot on Tyler’s face.

In the brief glimpse Tyler got, he could see two things: an organic piece of skin and flesh floated in the clear liquid, and a label on the jar clearly spelled out “Loch Ness.”

Zim might be holding the only known tissue sample from the Loch Ness monster, hidden by John Edmonstone two hundred years ago. If Tyler could get it from him, their search would be over.

“This isn’t going to get your brother back, Zim,” Tyler said. “Either one of them.”

“This isn’t about getting them back. It’s about justice.”

“You mean revenge.”

Zim’s lips spread in a vile grin. “Semantics.”

The door to the hall flew open. Four men rushed through holding batons, their radios cackling.

“Gotta go,” Zim said and heaved Tyler back. Still gripping the jar, he ran for the door, swinging the sword wildly, creating a wide path through the outmatched rescuers.

“Stay here,” Tyler shouted to Alexa and took off in pursuit.

He exploded out of the door. Instead of the exit, Zim was angling toward the café. Tyler sprinted after him, the saber still in his hand.

He burst through the café door and saw another door closing inside. Tyler gave chase and flung the door open, his weapon at the ready.

As he entered, he realized it was the men’s lavatory. He found Zim inside, the jar poised above the toilet. Zim turned it over, and the contents splashed into the bowl.

“No!” Tyler yelled, but he couldn’t stop Zim as he flushed the last known bit of the Loch Ness monster into the sewer.

“You bastard!” Tyler shouted, and raised his saber for the final battle. The only thing that stopped him was the pump action of two shotguns.

“Police!” one of the men called out. “Drop your weapons!”

Tyler grimaced and dropped the saber only after Zim let go of his sword. They each put up their hands and were thrown against the wall.

As handcuffs were laced around his wrists, Tyler was face to face with Zim. The former prisoner didn’t seem to have a care in the world as he smiled at Tyler with undisguised glee.

THIRTY-SIX

Brielle was able to get Grant out of Holyrood Palace and into a taxi before they could be detained by the police. Tyler’s phone hadn’t yet been replaced, so she tried Alexa repeatedly, but the call kept going to voicemail. No reason to panic yet, but troubling nonetheless.

With Edmonstone’s journal in hand, they had to head straight to Loch Ness, so she and Grant went to the nearest rental facility and hired the only standard sedan in the lot. She raced over to the train station to retrieve their bags and purchased a disposable mobile phone from a kiosk.

For the next fifteen minutes, they tried calling Alexa and got no answer. By that time, Grant was feeling well enough to drive, so he let Brielle out as close to the castle as he could and went off to find a place to wait for her call.

She walked the block to the esplanade in front of the castle and was stopped by a cadre of armed policemen. Tourists streamed out of the castle, and none were being let inside.

She waved to a policeman. “Sir, why can’t we go in?”

“There’s been a death inside the castle.”

Brielle’s stomach dropped. “Who was it?”

“We don’t know yet. Please step back.”

She called Grant, her heart hammering.

“Did you find them?” he asked.

“No. The castle’s closed off because of a death inside.”

“Are Tyler and Alexa okay?”

“I don’t know. They won’t let anybody in or answer any questions.”

“Dammit! I’ll be right there. I have to make a call.”

He hung up. The policemen pushed the crowd back, allowing a convoy of three patrol cars to pass out of the castle, their sirens wailing. Brielle strained to see who was inside, but they flashed by too quickly to get a good look. They were followed by two ambulances, leaving a dozen emergency vehicles at the entrance.

Brielle dashed back to where Grant dropped her off, arriving just as he did. He hopped out and got in the passenger seat.

“You know how to drive here better than I do,” he said. “And I have to navigate.”

“Why?” she asked as she got in and stepped on the gas.

“After we thought Alexa went missing in Seattle, Tyler got her permission to track her phone, and Aiden set it up. He transferred the software to my phone.” He showed her a map of Edinburgh with a moving green dot.

“Is she on foot?”

“It’s moving too fast,” Grant said. “She must be in a vehicle. I got them pulling away right after you called me. Did you see anything?”

“My God! I saw police cars and ambulances coming out of the castle.”

“I saw two ambulances pass me on my way to pick you up, but Alexa wasn’t in them. Or at least her phone wasn’t.”

“But what about Tyler?”

He pressed his lips together.

“Where do I go?” she asked.

“You’re on the right route. They’ve turned onto a road called A700. Make the next right.”

Brielle turned onto King’s Stables Road. They both were quiet as they contemplated what could have happened to Tyler and Alexa. Since she and Grant had come across Marlo Dunham, it was very likely that Tyler and Alexa had a run-in with Victor Zim. If that were the case, then someone was killed in the encounter.

Brielle could barely keep her hands from shaking on the steering wheel. Of course, she had gone through Tyler being injured before, but that was after the fact, when she knew he would be all right. For the first time she was really afraid of Tyler dying.

She sped past dawdling vehicles, yelling obscenities at each putz slowing her down. She wanted to be there as soon as Alexa arrived at wherever she was headed.

Grant guided her onto another road and then through an interchange to Queensferry Street.

“They’ve stopped,” Grant said with a confused look.

“They’re at the station?”

“No. That’s strange. The map says they’re in the middle of a bridge.”

“Where?”

“Just up ahead.”

She rounded a crescent of buildings and saw lights flashing on the road in front of her. The unmistakable sound of automatic weapons shattered the air.

“What the hell?”

“Ambush!” Grant yelled. “They’ve got the police in a crossfire.”

The police cars were sprawled across the road, boxed in by two SUVs blocking their path in either direction. Two ski-masked men on each end poured withering gunfire into the policemen, who were dropping right and left.

Instead of putting the car in reverse, Brielle jammed her foot on the accelerator.

She went up on the sidewalk and around the stopped cars, their drivers ducking as low as they could to avoid stray rounds. The police seemed to have been finished off, so the gunmen by the Range Rover closest to her lowered their weapons and walked around the vehicle to mop up. They were so focused on their targets that they didn’t notice her coming.

At the last moment, the gunmen heard the roaring engine behind them. They turned in time to face her as she plowed into them. One of the men went flying over the side of the bridge. The other sailed into the boot of the rear police car and didn’t get up.

Screeching to a halt, she jumped out and grabbed the weapon from the downed gunman, the habits from her service in the Israeli Army coming back instantaneously. The gun was an Enfield L85 assault rifle used by the British military and Ministry of Defence. She took cover behind the bonnet of her car and lifted the weapon to her eye, aiming with the red dot sight. She shot twice at the attackers behind the vehicle at the other end, but they took cover while replying with errant potshots that kept her down.

She heard two people banging on the back window of the rearmost police car. Brielle took a quick peek, and to her surprise and relief she saw Tyler and Alexa, both in handcuffs.

“They can’t get out!” Grant yelled to her.

“Did you get the other weapon?”

“No. It went over the side with Peter Pan.”

“You get them! I’ll cover you!”

She laid down suppressing fire as Grant crabbed his way to the police car. He opened the door, and Tyler and Alexa scrambled out. They got back to the cover of the SUV just as they were bombarded with fire from up ahead.

She didn’t take time for greetings, although she wanted to throw her arms around Tyler.

“Are you both all right?” she asked them.

“We’re fine,” Tyler replied.

“We have the journal,” Grant said as he unlocked their cuffs with a key he’d plucked from a dead policemen.

“Then we need to get out of here.”

One of the gunmen at the other end of the bridge ducked low to get to the first police car. He opened the rear door, and someone got out. He poked his head up once to look and then dropped again, but it was enough for her to see that it was Victor Zim.

Brielle was about to debate the wisdom of leaving the scene of a police ambush when more shots pelted the Range Rover, from three weapons this time. Zim was now armed, and she had to be down to the bottom of her magazine. Continuing with a gunfight when outgunned wasn’t a smart strategy.

“Tyler’s right,” Alexa said. “If the police take us in, we’ll be questioned for days. We’ll never get the antidote in time.”

Brielle nodded reluctantly. “Okay. Let’s go.”

They jumped into the sedan and peeled away. Brielle was still hopped up on adrenaline, but the rest of them slumped in their seats from exhaustion. In the rearview mirror, she could see Zim’s car tear off as the sound of more sirens headed their way.

Now all of them were fugitives from the law.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Getting out of the Edinburgh metro area was a challenge for Zim and Dunham. Zim ditched the Range Rover that was pocked with bullet holes from the gun battle with the police, and they piled into the one Pryor was driving, with Dunham in the passenger seat. Zim certainly wasn’t going to sit in the back, so he made Pryor switch.

The only advantage they had was that the police were overwhelmed with three extensive crime scenes — Holyrood Palace, Edinburgh Castle, and the bridge. Few were left over to throw up any roadblocks on the myriad highways and back roads leading out of the city. Still, they prepared themselves to fight the few times they spotted a police car.

By the time they got to Stirling, an hour’s drive west of Edinburgh, Zim felt confident that they were out of immediate danger of being caught. He and Dunham would have to wear their disguises in public from now on knowing sketch artists would soon be blasting their faces out to the world.

Zim was glad that he’d taken the precaution of having Pryor monitoring the police bands. As soon as Pryor heard that a muscle-bound caucasian man had been taken into custody and would be transferred to the Lothian and Borders Police headquarters, he had quickly drawn up the likely route that would be followed and sent the Scottish part of his team to ambush the convoy.

What Zim wasn’t happy about was losing men one after the other. Five more were either dead or injured because of Tyler Locke and his group. Their persistence was infuriating.

Dunham’s whining was almost as bad.

“Why are we still going to Loch Ness?” she asked. “I burned up the journal.”

“Did you see it burn?” Zim countered.

“I saw it start to char, yes.”

“Start to char…Did you see it finish charring?”

“Well, no.”

“Then they might have it. Even if they don’t, Locke won’t give up. I saw him get away.”

“You should have—”

Zim raised a fist. “So help me God,” he growled, “if you say I should have killed him when I had the chance, I will kill you right now.”

For the first time, Dunham looked meek. She swallowed and licked her lips. “Fine. We both could have done better. And you did well to get rid of the sample from the other deer trophy. That was quick thinking. You must have been shocked to see it.”

“Thank you. See? A little compliment doesn’t hurt anyone now and then.”

Pryor got a phone call.

“Yeah? Uh huh. Okay, hold on.” He looked at Zim. “It’s the captain of the Aegir. They want to know where they should meet us.”

“Send him the GPS coordinates I gave you. Tell him to send the Zodiac to pick us up.”

Pryor conveyed the plans and told the captain they’d be there in two hours. Before he hung up, Zim asked another question.

“Have they been keeping an eye on the other ship?” The Aegir had two men in the Zodiac observing an odd ship that had entered the loch the day before.

Pryor relayed the question and after a long pause said, “They’ve kept their distance like you told them, watching with binoculars all morning, but they haven’t been able to figure out what they’re doing.”

“Is it a fishing vessel?”

“No. It’s like no boat the captain has ever seen.”

“Have them record some video of the ship. I want to see it when I arrive.”

Pryor gave the instructions and signed off.

“What do you think Locke is up to?” Pryor asked.

“He’s going to have to assume Nessie is real and alive, just like we do. If he’s got Edmonstone’s journal, he has to be coming up with a plan for capturing the creature.”

“I think it’s about time I hear your plan for destroying the creature,” Dunham said.

“I thought you trusted me to spend the money wisely.”

“I did. Now I want the rest of the story.”

She already knew that Zim had paid a Norwegian crew more than a year’s wages to bring their whaling vessel over to Loch Ness disguised as a regular fishing boat. For that much money, the captain hadn’t asked any questions, even when he took on the remainder of Zim’s men as additional crew. Hunting minke whales in the Arctic Ocean was not only a rough business with hot and cold streaks, but because Norway was one of the only countries in the world still whaling, frequent run-ins with protesting ships made it even harder to catch their quota.

The hundred-foot-long ship was small enough to get through the locks into Loch Ness. The Caledonian Canal, built almost two centuries ago, slices all the way from the North Sea through the four lochs making up the Great Glen — Loch Dochfour, Loch Ness, Loch Oich, and Loch Lochy — to its outlet just above the Irish Sea. Built as a bypass around the rough waters off the aptly named Cape Wrath, the canal could handle vessels up to 150 feet long, making it no problem to bring the Aegir through.

“The whaling vessel was a nice idea,” Dunham continued. “But if we find the Loch Ness monster, how are we going to destroy it?”

“We’re not going to destroy it.”

Dunham was flabbergasted. “What? All they need is a few ounces of flesh, and they can synthesize the antidote.”

“I know,” Zim said.

“We have to make it so they can’t recover any part of the creature.”

“I know.”

“If we don’t kill it, all of this has been for nothing!”

“Calm down. I didn’t say we weren’t going to kill it.”

“So we’re going to haul it up onto the Aegir and sneak it out of Loch Ness? That’s insane.”

Zim was rather enjoying egging her on like this. They still had a long drive ahead of them, so he may as well be entertained.

“You’re correct. If Alexa Locke’s video is accurate, then Nessie is at least thirty feet long. I think it would be difficult to smuggle something that big out of the area.”

“Then what are we going to do? Just leave it there?”

Zim smiled and nodded. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

Alexa was nauseated. Trying to read John Edmonstone’s jagged handwriting while swooping through the curves on the road to Loch Ness finally ended up being too much. When they reached the broad Glen Coe valley, she asked Tyler to stop the car at a scenic overlook so that she could decipher the journal without losing her lunch.

She still felt guilty for freezing up back at Edinburgh Castle. Just yesterday morning, Alexa had never even seen someone die before, let alone killed anyone. Now that seemed so long ago. First, she’d watched the two men killed on the go-karts, contributing to the death of one of them. Then she’d actually done the deed herself. The sickening feel of the blade sinking into flesh made it seem like she’d crossed some unseen threshold that she could never step back over again. The responsibility of ending a life was more than she had been ready to bear, even if it had been in self-defense. All those thoughts overwhelmed her so much that she couldn’t finish Zim when she’d had the chance, and the remorse gnawed at her.

Now Tyler’s reluctance to talk about his experiences in war made sense to her. In abstract, killing someone to save your own life or someone else’s might be a heroic deed, but reliving the carnage and celebrating the event wasn’t a prospect she would relish. If there were a pill she could take to completely forget that moment, she would swallow it in a heartbeat.

She stepped out of the car to get some fresh air. Tyler and Brielle followed suit, while Grant stayed in the car to rest. Alexa walked over to a fence and leaned against it for support as she tried to calm her queasy stomach.

Unlike cloudy Edinburgh, the canyon was awash with sunlight. The sloping valley walls, hollowed out by a glacier millennia ago, were painted green with grass and a handful of trees. The scent of earth and flora on the mild breeze bathed her in a revitalizing medley, spoiled only by the tinge of car exhaust from the multitude of vehicles traversing the pass through the rugged highland mountains.

Tyler sidled up and leaned on the fence next to her. “How are you doing?”

“The sandwich Brielle got me at that convenience store will remain consumed.”

“I meant about the castle. I thought I’d lost you there.”

Alexa massaged her temples to fend off a nausea-induced headache. “Do you ever get used to it?”

Tyler shook his head, knowing what she was referring to. “Getting used to it implies it becomes routine. Killing someone is never routine. Not for me, at least.”

“How many people have you killed?” she asked and then immediately regretted the question when she saw the pained look on Tyler’s face.

“More than I want to think about. I’m sorry you have to think about it now.”

“But you do it anyway. You chose to go into the Army knowing you might have to kill people. Why?”

Tyler was silent a long time before responding. “It was my job, my duty to a greater cause than myself. I guess the real answer is that I went into the Army despite knowing I might have to kill someone. Some of the soldiers under my command went into the military with a different attitude. They wanted to get into battle as soon as they graduated from boot camp. For everyone except the very few sociopathic recruits, that eagerness lasted until the first firefight. It was nothing like they’d expected it to be. Confusion, terror, and remorse had never been part of their idealized mental image of battle. After that initial experience, most of them just wanted their buddies and themselves to get back alive.”

Alexa shuddered. “It sounds horrible.”

“It is. Bloody, messy, and brutal. As you’ve seen first hand.”

“I’ve always bragged about you to my friends as a hero, but I never really understood what that meant until now. You’re a hero for putting that uniform on in the first place, knowing the piece of yourself you’d have to give up.”

“I’m lucky. Lots of guys I knew couldn’t let it go. For some reason, I can compartmentalize. I think that’s why I could eventually go on after Karen died.”

“I hope I can do that, too. Compartmentalize it.”

Tyler turned to face her. “I think you will. I don’t see the thousand-yard stare or the jitteriness that doomed some of my guys.”

“Must be our Locke genes.”

“You’ll be all right. But remember I’m always around to talk if you need to.”

“Thanks.” She gave him a hug. “You, too.” She felt like they had closed a distance between them, as if Tyler now trusted her with something she didn’t understand before. She couldn’t imagine him talking like this with Grant. Their way of communicating was more subtle, the jokes and macho posturing easier for guys like them to deal with.

She stood up. “Let’s see what Edmonstone has to say.”

They all got back in the car, and the others dozed or contemplated quietly while Alexa laboriously read through the journal looking for the relevant passages, carefully turning the singed and yellowed pages so as not to tear them. After thirty minutes of scanning, she finally found it.

“Listen to this,” she said, her heart pounding as she read Edmonstone’s notes to them.

Mr. Darwin and I returned from Loch Ness, and I hardly believe myself what happened. I’ve never been scared like that, not even when I was set free and had to fend for myself.

We were camping on the east shore of the loch where Mr. Darwin was collecting specimens. I spent my time hunting for animals to add to my taxidermy collection and fishing for our dinner. I caught some big salmon using the Guyana blue shark saltfish my cousin sent me as bait, and I think that’s what did it.

We were coming back across the loch to start the journey back to Edinburgh. I was trolling for one last fish for the trip home while I rowed, and that’s when we spotted the beast for the first time. The wake it left behind was bigger than ours, and it slapped against the bottom of our boat to give me the biggest fright.

I rowed with all my strength, but we couldn’t outrun it. Just in sight of Urquhart, it rose from the water like some great ghost haunting the dark waters. I only saw shadows until the beast attacked and Mr. Darwin fought back. Using his ax, he hacked off a piece of the creature’s tail. I stabbed it with the only thing I had by my hand, a gaff hook, and lost it in the combat.

The creature went under never to be seen again, and we made it to shore while I thought my chest would burst. The only thing we had to prove what happened was the fleshy bit Mr. Darwin kept.

On the trip back, we agreed never to speak of it — Mr. Darwin to protect the wretched creature and me to keep my business. I didn’t think anyone would believe us even though Mr. Darwin let me keep a piece of the beast. I knew it was the spawn of the devil as it wouldn’t die, but I kept it safe all the same because Mr. Darwin asked me to.

I don’t abide ever going to Loch Ness again, but if I do, I know what would bring the beast calling. This demon craved the taste of shark.

Alexa looked up and saw Grant gaping at her.

“Could it be that simple?” he asked. “Shark is like catnip to the Loch Ness monster?”

Tyler borrowed Brielle’s new phone to use its Web browser. “According to this site, saltfish is a salt-cured and dried dish and was commonly eaten by slaves in the Caribbean in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries because it was cheap and easy to preserve and transport.”

“Why would a freshwater animal like shark?” Brielle asked.

“The Loch Ness monster may not be a strictly freshwater species,” Alexa said, “although it’s now stranded in the loch. Shark may be one of its favorite foods, but it makes do with fish like salmon.”

Grant looked dubious. “Don’t you think someone would have come across this affinity by now?”

Alexa shook her head. “Not necessarily. I would never think of using shark as bait, and I’m sure few highlanders would either. The uncommon scent of shark meat might have been irresistible to Nessie. Sharks themselves can detect a few drops of blood in the water from miles away. Edmonstone’s trolling might have acted like an underwater beacon.”

“Then it’s pretty apparent what we need to do,” Tyler said. “We have to find us some pickled shark.”

He called Aiden and laid out the unusual request. Aiden said he’d call back as soon as he had an answer.

“This journal entry verifies everything,” Brielle said. “Darwin did come away with a sample of the Loch Ness monster. His portion somehow ended up in the hands of the Nazis over a hundred years later, while Edmonstone’s half was flushed away by Zim today.”

Alexa nodded. “If we can find Nessie again, an antidote is truly possible.” She squeezed Grant’s shoulder. He looked at her in confusion and then read her eyes and knew that she was aware of his plight. He took her hand and laced his fingers with hers in a reassuring gesture.

“How big did you say Nessie is?” Brielle asked.

“At least thirty feet long,” Alexa said. “If the mass is commensurate, maybe over two tons.”

“Are we able to catch something that big?”

“We don’t have to catch it,” Tyler said. “We only need a piece of it.”

“And we can do that?”

“We’ve got just the thing. I’ll show you when we get to Loch Ness.”

“What did Edmonstone mean when he said that the ‘spawn of the devil’ wouldn’t die?” Grant asked. “Is it immortal?”

Alexa scrunched her brow and looked at the relevant passage again. “You said that the Altwaffe acts by aging people prematurely,” she said to Tyler.

He nodded. “I’ve seen the effects myself.”

“That can’t be a coincidence.”

“Why not?”

“The weapon must attack the telomeres in some way.” When she saw blank looks, she continued. “Telomeres are nucleotide sequences at the end of each chromosome. As cells divide, these telomeres get shorter and shorter until they disappear, which means the chromosomes can no longer duplicate. That’s what happens when we get older. The telomeres deteriorate. If the Altwaffe destroyed the telomeres, it would replicate the effect of rapid aging.”

“Biology was a long time ago for me,” Brielle said. “How does that relate to Edmonstone’s observation about it not dying?”

“If he saw something unusual in the tissue sample that he had — say tissue repair — then the Loch Ness monster’s body might have some way of regenerating its telomeres. Lizards and starfish can grow new tails and limbs after they’ve been amputated, so the Loch Ness monster may have a similar ability. Essentially, it wouldn’t age. The Nazis could have figured out how to reverse the process using the tissue sample from Darwin.”

“Bastards,” Brielle spat. “They had something that could help mankind, and instead all they did with it is create another way to kill.”

“Except they were more interested in poison gasses for battlefield use or the extermination camps,” Alexa said. “Altwaffe may have worked too slowly for their purposes, and that’s why they never used it.”

“And all it took from the monster itself was a bit of flesh it probably re-grew in a few days,” Grant said. “A week later you probably wouldn’t even see any scars. I have to say I like mine. They’re good reminders of what I’ve been through.”

Grant’s words struck a chord with Alexa. They’re good reminders.

Brielle’s phone rang. Tyler answered with, “What have you got, Aiden?”

“Grant,” Alexa said, waving her hands at him, “let me see your phone.”

“Sure,” he said, handing it to her. “What’s up?”

“I have to check something.”

She brought up her YouTube video and fast forwarded to the sighting of the monster. She played it three times, holding it as close to her eye as she could until she was sure she wasn’t hallucinating. She dropped the phone to her lap and stared at Tyler.

“You’re the man,” Tyler said into the phone. “Ship the package to Inverness airport. Brielle will pick it up there since I’m a known fugitive. I’m hoping the police don’t realize yet that she’s an accomplice.” He hung up.

“What package?” Brielle asked.

“Aiden found a market in London that specializes in food from around the world. They have twenty pounds of Caribbean blue shark saltfish. He’s getting an expedited shipment of the whole thing to Inverness in the next two hours. Then we’ll see if Edmonstone’s theory is correct or if we—” He paused when he saw Alexa staring at him. “What’s the matter?”

“I think the cell regeneration theory is right,” she said. “Look at this.”

They huddled around the phone as best they could. Alexa played the video, which showed the surfacing flipper.

“What are we supposed to be looking for?” Grant asked.

“The glint of light. It’s faint, but once you notice it, the outline becomes obvious.”

Brielle squinted and then gaped as it was replayed.

“Is that what I think it is?” she gasped.

Alexa nodded. “That’s a gaff hook embedded in the flipper.”

She shook her head in disbelief at the revelation. They weren’t searching for a descendant of the creature that Darwin and Edmonstone had encountered. There was only one Loch Ness monster, and it was over two hundred years old.