The Assassin's Gift

by C. P. IRVINE, IAN

  “So you believe in her?”

  “Belief implies doubt. I have no doubts.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve met her. Several times, in fact.”

  “There’s only one?”

  Angus cocked his head to one side and studied the woman in front of him.

  “I mean, I’ve met the Lassie of the Loch on more than one occasion. And to be precise, as I can see you’re keen for me to be, no, I canna be certain that she was the same one. The second one was larger than the first, but maybe she’d grown. I don’t know. But to be fair to her I would have looked different as well, it being thirty years later an 'all.”

  Alessandra smiled at the man.

  “How old are you now, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “That I don’t. I’m eighty-nine years old.”

  Alessandra blinked and leant forward.

  “Eighty nine? Good grief, what have you been drinking!”

  “Drum Dregg. All my life.”

  She smiled and began to feel herself warming to the old man.

  “Will you tell me about your meetings? When you saw her? Or them?”

  The old man nodded, then closed his eyes. When he started to talk again, his eyes remained shut.

  “I was sixteen years old, the first time. It was 1944. A dark night. There was a curfew. No lights for miles. The loch was quiet and still. Everyone was at home. It was late.”

  The old man opened his eyes and looked towards the fire in the centre of the pub, and for a second his thoughts were lost in the flames.

  Alessandra studied his worn and lined face. It was like he was seeing back into the past, reliving the experience second by second.

  "So, what happened?"

  "We didn't have cars then... hardly anyone did, and I was too young to drive. If you wanted to get anywhere in those days, you had to row. I had been visiting my friend Dougie, - he lived on the other side o' the Loch -, and when his parents kicked me out and sent me home, I got in my wee boat and started to row. It was a mile from his house to mine. I'd done it many times. 'Twas no bother. Anyway, like I was saying, I was in the wee boat, rowing away, my thoughts lost in other things, when ahead of me I heard some splashing. I looked up and saw some fish jumping out o' the water. They wernie flying fish, or anything o' the like. Just fish in a hurry, as if they were trying to escape something chasing them."

  He coughed, lifted his glass and took another small sip of the amber nectar.

  "It was then that I saw it for the first time. Just ahead of me. There was a mist hanging over the cold water... nothing unusual like, just the same mist you often seen floating out there on the waters... but frae oot o' the swirling mists I saw this long neck rise up, and two eyes slowly turned towards me and fixed a stare on me. The head slowly turned towards me. I froze. For a second I thought it was going to come for me. I almost wet my pants, I can tell you. I was that scared," he admitted, before his eyes glazed over again and he seemed to just stop talking.

  "And what happened?" Alessandra prodded, "What happened next?"

  "Slowly... very slowly, almost like as if time itself had stood still, the neck lowered itself and the head sank back into the mist. I had stopped breathing by that time, I think. I was just sitting there. Staring. Then suddenly I found myself breathing out loudly and gulping for breath. I stood up in the boat and crept forward. I wanted to see if the beast was still there or not. Then the boat began to rock..."

  "Oh dear, .... you didn't fall in, did you?"

  Young Angus laughed.

  "Dinnie be daft lassie. I've never fallen oot o' my boat in my life. If I had, the beast would have swallowed me for sure, and I wuddnie be here today to tell you the tale now, would I?"

  "So what happened?"

  "She'd gone. Slipped back down into the loch. I sat there for a few moments, and then I started to row. Faster. Then faster. By the time I got back to my cove, I was probably going fast enough to win the Olympics!"

  Alessandra laughed.

  "How big was it? The monster... the 'Beast' that you saw?"

  "I couldn't tell. It wasn't huge. I think its neck was about six feet long, and its head about one foot long. I didn't see any more of it though. Not then, anyway."

  "Did you tell you anyone about it?"

  "Everyone. Anyone who would listen to me. I spent the next few years learning everything I could about the beast, talking to everyone else who had ever seen her. In those days, people saw her more than now, and it turned out that lots of people had seen her, but few people talked about it. After a while, I also talked less and less about it. But it changed my life. I ended up going to Edinburgh, to the University, and studying to become a vet. Seeing the beast on the loch fired up an interest in me for animals. I became fascinated with them. And I spent the next thirty years of my life learning everything I could about the Loch, the beast, and what she was."

  "So, what is she then?"

  "Best I can tell, she's a plesiosaurus. A dinosaur of sorts. I was probably one o' the first to make the connection, and nowadays everyone will tell you the same. But back then, it was quite an idea."

  "So, you said you saw it again? When?"

  " 'Twas 1974. Down the other end o' the loch. For years and years I'd been standing around the loch shore staring oot o'er the water hoping to see her, or rowing up and doon the loch trying to catch a glimpse o' her again, all tae no avail. And then one day, after we'd paid our last respects to my friend Dougie who died young and was buried at Dun Gell, beside the wee Kirk on the side of the loch, I was just taking myself for a wee walk along the shore to gather my thoughts and calm down after the burial service, when I turned a corner into a wee inlet and there she was, standing proud oot o' the water on the shore, just staring at me."

  "You saw all of her?"

  "True as my word, she was standing about forty feet from me. Towering above me, just looking down."

  "Were you scared?"

  "The funny thing was, this time around I wasn't at all. She saw me, cocked her head to one side, and it was if she blinked at me. Her eyes closed, slowly, then opened, and her neck bowed, then lifted up again. It was really strange. It felt like she was saying something to me. And the fact that it was just after Dougie's funeral, the same lad who I had seen on the night the first time I had seen her, was uncanny."

  "How big was she?"

  "Big. About thirty feet from the ground to the top o' her head. And she was long. About sixty feet."

  "It wasn't the same one then. I mean this one was huge, and the last time you saw her she was small."

  "Listen lassie, the last time I saw her I was small too. I was only a wee lad. But now I was a man. In my prime. And she was too. She'd grown. We'd both grown."

  "Perhaps it was another one from the colony..."

  "Aye, perhaps it was, but in my reckoning, she was the same beast. The very same. And grand she was too. Beautiful."

  Young Angus smiled, then emptied the rest of the glass of whisky.

  "Here's to ye, lassie!" he smiled.

  "And before you ask, she turned then, slowly, and returned to the loch. I watched her glide slowly away as her head sank down into the waters. And then she was gone."

  "Wow..."

  "Sounds incredible, doesn't it? And I bet you think that it's all just a wee story that the old man in the pub tells to get himself a few wee drams for free? That I'm half mad, and a bit of a fool. The local fool."

  Alessandra felt moved. She reached across to the old man and touched him gently on the back of the hand.

  "No. Not at all. I told you, I saw something myself too. It wasn't like what you saw, but it was something very strange."

  Alessandra described to him what she had seen, omitting the fact she was in the process of killing a few people at the time she saw it. She described the three large hoops she saw rising out of the water. How it made her feel. And how she couldn't stop thinking about it. She needed to know more about what she had seen.


  "I dinnae want to disappoint you, lassie, but a lot of people see what you have seen, and only a few of them have ever really seen the beast herself. Lots of sightings of the beast turn out to have perfectly logical explanations. Have you been down to the Loch Ness Visitor Centre in Fort Augustus? They've a whole museum dedicated to 'Nessie', and you can see hundreds of photographs taken by people who claim to have seen her over the years. Maybe you'll see something similar to what you saw that can explain it."

  "So you don't think I've seen her then?"

  "I never said that lassie. Only you can tell what you saw or not. But, you never saw the head or the neck, only the body, which to be honest, doesn't sound like a plesiosaurus to me. Which is what 'Nessie' definitely is. She confirmed it herself when she stood before me and revealed herself in all her glory."

  Alessandra was silent for a moment, thinking, and for the first time doubting what she had actually seen.

  Young Angus sensed her thoughts. He lifted his hand from under hers and rested his palm on her hand.

  "Listen, wee Lassie. Sometimes we see things, or think we see things for a reason. There's always a reason. For me, seeing the beast for the first time, led me to a life of caring for animals. Helping the poor wee sick animals who canna help themselves. For you, there will be a reason too. Whether you truly saw the beast, the 'Lady o' the Loch', or not, there will be a reason for thinking you saw what you did. Whatever that thing truly was."

  He smiled at her then, and she felt a sudden warmth for him.

  "Go to Fort Augustus, and perhaps you'll find the truth there. Remember what I said, for those who think they see her, the beast appears to us all for a reason. Go find that reason, whatever it is."

  Alessandra nodded. It made sense. The old 'young' man was more of a philosopher than he probably realised.

  For the first time in her life, as the old man spoke those words, Alessandra felt a hollowness within her.

  Day to day, she lived without feeling. She believed in very little. She existed more than lived. Whatever life she did live, was led on the outskirts of society.

  She suddenly felt an overpowering longing to belong. To something. To somebody.

  To believe in the monster. To experience something unusual, something supernatural.

  "And you? Do you hope to see the 'lady' again?"

  Young Angus laughed. At first there was a twinkle in his eye, but then Alessandra noticed it quickly extinguish to be replaced by a darkness. A sadness.

  "Lassie, I would give everything I had to see the Lady one more time. To say goodbye to her. But I canna. Sadly, my days are numbered now, and the effort to make it to the loch is far too much for my old body."

  "Never say never, Angus. Remember, they call you Young Angus for a reason."

  "Aye, but soon they'll be calling me Dead Angus. The doctor says that I'll be lucky to last till winter. Cancer of the liver. Too many years of Drum Dregg, probably. Or perhaps not enough of it."

  Alessandra felt a sadness creep up on her.

  "If I were to offer to take you, would you come?"

  Angus looked at her and squeezed her hand. The twinkle had returned to his eye.

  "No, lassie. 'Tis kind of you. And I appreciate it, but I probably wouldn't survive the trip. I spend my days now in my cottage, or here. This is my world now. And up here." He said, tapping on his head. "Memories."

  A voice from behind interrupted them.

  "Angus, shall I take you home now? You're looking tired."

  It was Mrs Gilmarton, standing behind a wheelchair.

  Alessandra looked at the wheelchair, and then back at Young Angus.

  She'd only just met this man, but he had touched her, and the sight of the wheelchair affected her.

  She stood up, leant forward, and without asking, placed a soft kiss on the man's cheek.

  "I'll go to Loch Ness, and I'll find her for both of us. And when I see her, I'll give her your love."

  "Aye, lassie. You do that. But dinnae forget my words. The beast appears to us all for a reason. Go find that reason, - before that reason finds you..."

  Chapter 7

  Scotland

  The Promenade

  Portobello Beach

  Edinburgh

  Thursday

  11.00 p.m.

  DCI Campbell McKenzie parked his car at the bottom of Bath Road and walked down across the promenade onto the beach.

  As usual, the sand grooming machines had been out and the beach was wonderfully clean and smooth.

  He loved Portobello beach, the wide expanse of sand that swept round the bay as far as the eye could see, and which edged the outskirts of Edinburgh.

  When Campbell had been a small boy, package holidays were just taking off and although some people were beginning to fly all over the world in search of the sun, a lot of people still came down to the beach for their holidays, staying in guest houses or caravans dotted along the coast. The promenade had been a hive of activity then, full of life, with people lying on the beach and sunbathing, the sea full of screaming, excited children.

  That was then. This was now.

  Thanks to Easyjet and Ryanair, the sea at Portobello was just too cold to swim in, - unless you wore a wetsuit, and for some reason, people never seemed to lie on the sand anymore.

  Sun snobbery.

  Once you've been to Greece, or Spain, somehow Portobello, in spite of its name, didn't seem to compare.

  Campbell however was not a turncoat. He had loved Porty as a boy, and he still loved it now, all these years later.

  It was where he came to think.

  At this time of night it was mostly deserted.

  Apart from the occasional dog walker, and maybe a few students who sometimes came down to light a wee fire and sit around drinking cans of lager under clear night skies, Campbell was always surrounded and hemmed in by nothingness...

  Crossing the sand and reaching the edge of the sea, now out, he took off his shoes and socks and splashed his way gently along the foreshore. As he walked, he looked out across the bay towards North Berwick, then stopped and turned, looking back towards Fife across the wide expanse of the Firth of Forth, the river estuary where the river Forth mixed with the North Sea.

  Surprisingly, across the distant hills, he could still see the last vestiges of day light, the faint tinge of orange barely visible somewhere above Elie.

  Above him, the clouds had all but gone, and Campbell could see a good selection of stars. He quickly found the Plough, and looked northwards to the Pole Star.

  There was hardly any wind, and it occurred to Campbell that the almost perfect night could only be made better if he were to now catch a glimpse of a shooting star, perhaps a harbinger of good luck for the days ahead and what must be done.

  He scanned the skies in hope and expectation, but found none.

  His heart skipped a beat, and the reality of his situation hit home once again.

  He was fucked.

  Truly, truly fucked.

  He would have to confess everything to his wife tonight, tomorrow at the latest. He couldn't run the risk of the news being printed on Saturday and her reading it over coffee before he got the chance to explain it to her himself.

  Shit.

  So what should he tell her? And when? And how?

  Campbell's feet were getting cold.

  He turned and walked back onto the sand, found a spot to sit down, and crossed his legs. He stared out past the now redundant oil-rigs moored up in the bay and let his mind wander over all the different possibilities.

  He knew how she would react. That was almost certain.

  She would cry at first. Then question him. Then go quiet.

  Almost definitely she would then grab a coat and leave the house.

  She'd walk for hours, then come home, and start to throw a few things at him.

  Nothing big. Nothing meant to harm him. Just a symbolic gesture of the pain she would be feeling.

  Then she would ask him to leave.<
br />
  Fidelity was everything to Fiona. Everything.

  Over all the years, whenever he said he was working late, she never complained, never ever questioned where he was going or why. She just accepted that in his job, a life together was not predictable. Maybe he would come home on time, maybe he wouldn’t. But never ever would Fiona suspect that he was sleeping... fucking... another woman.

  Campbell swallowed hard, and looked upwards at the stars again, fighting back a single, stupid, idiotic tear.

  Fuck.

  He was going to lose her. He knew it.

  He'd been an idiot. A massive prat.

  At some point she would ask him, 'Would you have done it again? Given the chance?' and she would see that moment of hesitation in his eyes as he tried once again to think how to answer that question.

  Shit, if he still couldn't answer it himself now, after all those months of asking himself that same question, over and over again, what could he tell her?

  Perhaps. Yes, maybe I would have. I don't know.

  He would try to tell her the truth, though, that he still loved her, his wife, and that he'd never stopped.

  She would laugh. He could already hear her in his mind.

  She wouldn't even then say the obvious, 'So, why did you do it then?'

  She would just shake her head, half smile, and start to die inside of herself.

  Betrayal is a terrible thing.

  Campbell had betrayed his wife.

  He deserved everything that was coming to him, and he knew it.

  --------------------

  Scotland

  Friday

  Fort Augustus, Loch Ness

  2 p.m.

  Alessandra stepped out of her car and stretched, taking a moment to look around and check for anyone looking at her, and to see if she recognised any faces.

  For Alessandra, constantly keeping an eye out to make sure no one was following her, or was showing too much interest, was second nature. Her photographic memory could easily register a face that she had seen recently or before, and if she did, she would take a moment to remember where that person had last been seen: to figure out whether it could be healthy coincidence or if she was perhaps being followed.