Loch Ness

by Donovan Galway

  “New tie?” John ventured in guess.

  “Well… yes. But what about the shirt? Pretty wild, Eh?” He puffed out his chest as if it helped his argument.

  John was puzzled but truly wanted to move on. “Um. I like it. Good color for you, Horace. Brings out your eyes. So what do you think the board is thinking about my funding?”

  Horace adjusted his jacket and escorted John into the building. “There’s good and bad, John. The worst of it is that they’ve only so much funding for exotic exploration. It has to go toward the good of the university and the science department.”

  “So where do I land in that mindset?”

  “Not at the top, I’m afraid. They’re looking for something tangible. Something the trustees and investors can identify with. Are you following me?”

  “So they want something between a T-rex and a space program. Right?” He followed Horace slowly down the broad, empty corridor.

  “That may be a bit of a dramatization. But the fact is that the Loch Ness Monster is simply not the draw it was fifty years ago. The legend has lost its mystique with the public and let’s face it, John; the board is the public nowadays.”

  “It sounds pretty grim. If there’s a good part, I could use it right about now.”

  “It’s Saturday.”

  John looked at him in feigned anguish. “You mean we didn’t have to come to school today? Dang it.”

  “Joke away, my underfunded friend. The fact is that the board is mostly reluctant to meet on weekends. That’s why I called it. You’ve only got to convince a simple majority of five instead of twelve. You’ve already got me.”

  “Thanks, Horace.”

  Horace grinned humbly. “Ed Mantese has always had a soft spot for the program. He shouldn’t be too hard to sway. That leaves us with just one out of the remaining three.”

  John looked ahead of them. A light shone through two frosted glass doors at the end of the hall. The ominous glow beaconed with foreboding silence. “So who are the remaining three?”

  “You remember Amanda Ravenstone?”

  “Uh huh. She pretty much butchered Gestalt at his lecture two years ago.”

  “That’s her. She’s tough but loves irrefutable results in any field. Convince her you’ve got some or will get some and she’ll fall your way. Then you’ve got Martin Gustafson. Don’t expect him to vote any way but along with…”

  John stopped cold. “Don’t tell me he’s still here.”

  “Where else would he go? Richard Blackwell was the youngest director in our history. That buys him respect here that he can’t get anywhere else on the planet. He stays because he likes the power and you and I know he’ll use the power.”

  “So we need to focus on Ravenstone.”

  “You work on her. Blackwell seems to like me. He’s young and we seem to be connecting on that level.”

  “What level is that?”

  “You know. The young thing.” Horace opens his coat to remind John of the radically ordinary shirt. “You don’t think this is too much, do you? I have a white one in my office.”

  “Oh, I don’t think you’re in any danger of being dubbed the town hippie. So are we ready?”

  His plump cheeks rose to nearly cover his eyes as Horace smiled and squeezed John’s arm with confidence. “Let’s go kick some booty. Shall we?”

  John sat before the imposing structure of the board and tried to look their equal as he braced himself for the pummeling of questions and verbal assaults on his research. Blackwell sat in the center of the long table with two board members on each flank. Martin Gustafson sat on his right and whispered to him as they prepared. Horace sat on his left and winked assuredly at John. To the left of Horace, Amanda Ravenstone sat, perfectly poised and ready. She stared at John in such a way that he already felt accepted to the point of awkwardness. Her subtle smile may have been the unmovable result of a recent face-lift and Botox injections as she peered at him from over the brim of her reading glasses. The gray business suit she wore seemed tight and a bit too low-cut to be considered appropriate for a college or for a professional woman in her mid-forties. But it was Saturday so John swallowed his nervousness and assumed he was overreacting.

  They were all reading the briefs he’d provided to establish the worth of his work and justify another season of funding. Amanda leaned back and adjusted her blazer as she read. Her eyes darted up to be sure John was watching and she made sure to display far too much cleavage for the occasion. He lowered his eyes and accidentally fell on her adjusting her legs, Sharon Stone-like, under the conference table. He shielded himself with his hand and briefly, ever so briefly, contemplated exactly how far he was willing to go to keep his project running.

  Horace looked at Blackwell. “Nice shirt.”

  Richard Blackwell looked up from the brief and lowered his brow at Horace. “Excuse me?”

  “Your shirt,” Horace explained, pointing to Blackwell’s lavender colored dress shirt with the matching patterned tie. “I said I liked it. Very hip.”

  The only emotion Blackwell allowed was a trace of confusion with the reference. “Thank you, I suppose.”

  “Like mine,” Horace added.

  “Yours is blue,” Blackwell dryly responded.

  “Well yes but it’s still… you know. Is it new?”

  “What mine? I’m not really sure. A year or so old, I guess,” Blackwell commented before returning his attention to the papers.

  Horace looked out to John and gave him a confident thumbs-up followed by an oddly accurate gang sign though John had trouble lifting his head from his hand to acknowledge.

  Edward Mantese broke the silence with a pleasant tone. “So how is Scotland treating you, Dr. Nagle?”

  “Great, great. Surely one of the most beautiful places on earth. I love it there.”

  Amanda spoke up next. “So this is sort of a sight-seeing excursion? Is that what we’re being asked to fund?”

  “I’ve seen the sights. If you haven’t I strongly recommend it. But personally I’m there to work.”

  She nodded approvingly at his answer.

  “So what work are you doing at present?” Blackwell asked.

  “Charting the basin. A complete three-dimensional and compositional map of the loch will make it immeasurably easier to analyze the validity of reports and sightings. We also know that the bottom is close to a hundred feet of loose shale. The possibility of nests, caves or concealed tunnel access to the sea could be—”

  “What sightings, Dr. Nagle?” Gustafson interrupted. “When has anyone actually seen the monster?”

  “There have actually been a number of sightings that can’t be disproved.”

  “But what evidence have you uncovered, John?” Horace interjected, hoping to give John a chance to take charge.

  “Evidence?” John seemed confounded by the query.

  “Yes, evidence,” Gustafson said. “We’ve seen the evidence on the myth.”

  “And so far,” Blackwell concluded, “all evidence points to hoax. Nothing more.”

  “Not all,” John said defensively.

  Blackwell held up a print of the famous surgeon’s photo. “Would you call this evidence?”

  John dropped his head in frustration. “No. We’ve all seen that one.”

  “Are you aware of the fact that the whole of the free world considers this the most compelling bit of evidence ever produced?”

  Amanda spoke calmly. “Have you read the research suggesting it’s nothing more than a circus elephant taking a swim? That certainly makes more sense than a prehistoric monster. Don’t you think?”

  “I’ve heard about the Pepperdine elephant. That isn’t it. That model is provably no more than twelve inches tall.”

  Ravenstone looked perplexed. She crossed her legs in exaggerated fashion and cocked her head slightly. “Really? I rather liked the elephant theory.”

  “But you’re reputed to like the provable truth much better. That photo is a fake, as evidence
d both by the ripples in the water and the photographer’s deathbed confession. The Pepperdine elephant is similar but no more compelling.”

  Ed Mantese leaned forward. “You realize you’re making our argument for us?”

  “No. I’m trying to explain what it is I’m doing. I’m not chasing ghosts or monsters. This thing is too good at hiding for that to be the best way to go about it. I’m going after it by process of elimination. By being an expert at spotting the lies.”

  Horace again tried to help by guiding the probing in a direction John could defend. “What we’re looking for, John, is some assurance that we’ll get something in return for the funding.”

  “What are we paying for?” Ravenstone added.

  “And please don’t argue that the legend needs to be explored,” Blackwell added. “The truth is that no one really cares about the legend anymore. No one buys into it and certainly none of the trustees wants their money going after it. The board feels that grant money is better spent on research that might turn a profit by producing something new or useful.”

  “Wouldn’t that include isolating and identifying a new species?”

  “Plesiosaurs aren’t new.”

  “What if it’s not a Plesiosaur? That’s what I mean. When the species is so totally unique and rare the return is almost guaranteed. In this case, the likelihood of such a species is higher than anywhere else. Most of the reported sightings are hoax or hysteria. The trick is to filter out the facts and go from there. The legend started somewhere and there has been some credible evidence.”

  “So why can we not track the thing with sonar?” asked Gustafson.

  “Because it’s not there.”

  “You just said it is.”

  “I said it was. Was. It’s migratory. Look.” He pulled a wad of notes from his coat pocket and spread them out over the table. “It’s right here. Every reported sighting over the past two centuries.”

  “And ninety percent of them are provably crap.” Blackwell blew back at him.

  “Ninety-nine,” John argued.

  “Not just wrong, John. Provably crap. You want us to pay you to research crap?”

  Horace attempted to quell the rising tumult. “All right. Let’s just cool it, dudes.”

  “Thank you, Professor,” John said to Horace in a calmer, less provocative tone. “No. To know when to look past it. It’s that one percent that isn’t crap that I care about because when you filter out all the crap, what you’re left with is… well, not crap.”

  The board collectively shifted uneasily in their seats. John knew he was losing them.

  “Look. No one is better than me at recognizing the bullshit and media hype. I went through it just like you would. Looking for holes and gaps. Reasons to throw it out the window. I devoted my life and my professional career to recognizing the lies, fantasies and hoaxes. The only ones I skipped were the ones that couldn’t be disproved. What I found was an unexplainable pattern of sightings. Look. There’s one, then nothing for thirteen years. Then another. Then four years of bupkis and there’s another. Thirteen, four, thirteen, four, thirteen—it’s as consistent as clockwork all the way up to three years ago.”

  “That’s not a pattern, John. You just picked out the dates that…”

  “No. I just eliminated the ones that I could. I looked past the crap. These are all that’s left and no one can prove them false. Not only is the pattern repeating, the descriptions are virtually identical. That’s where I am now and there’s nowhere left to go but forward.”

  “How do you propose to do that, Dr. Nagle?” Ravenstone asked smugly. She dangled one of her shoes nonchalantly from her toe.

  “My team is already up there scanning—” John stopped with the sudden turn in all five heads. It was as if none of them wanted to be the one to say it. “What? My team?”

  “They’ve all been re-assigned, John,” Horace said uneasily. “Johnson and Quinn have been emailing us for months. Billikin has already applied for a grant to go to Galapagos. It was bound to happen.”

  “My team is gone? Andy? James? Well, I’m not too upset about Davis but the others were really good. What am I supposed to do now? Start from scratch?”

  “No, John,” Mantese said in as friendly a tone as the room would allow. “You’re supposed to quit.”

  “Quit? And do what?”

  “Try getting a real job,” Gustafson said rudely.

  John scanned the faces along the board table, looking for any hope to exploit. Even Horace looked down to avoid eye contact. Amanda Ravenstone crossed her legs the opposite way under the table and put her shoe back on as though the meeting was soon to conclude. Only Blackwell had the conviction to look him in the eye. He decided to make his stand there.

  “Listen. There’s only one reason for scientific research. Knowledge. This question has been swimming around for centuries but we never had the technology to go after it. It was just over a century ago that someone got an expedition together to go after another myth. This one was a fantastic story about a giant man-beast that lived in the jungle. It was reported to be a ferocious man with huge fangs and the strength of ten men. It was easy to dismiss the stories as myth and superstition and most did. But those with the gumption to look past the myth and seek the truth found it. They found the lowland gorilla. This creature, whatever it is, has found a way to elude man and survive for centuries. However it did it, we can learn from it. I’m not looking for a new exhibit for the San Diego Zoo. I’m looking for the same thing this university was founded on. I’m searching for knowledge. I’m looking for the truth. Some can play it safe and learn from what’s already in your library. But if some of us don’t commit to putting new facts in there, we’ll run out of truth.”

  He looked across the faces, new with interest. Gustafson looked to Blackwell to decide how to feel. Mantese looked sternly at him and Amanda again let her stylish black pump dangle. Horace looked at him and smiled.

  John was asked to leave the room so that they could deliberate. He retired to an empty office to await their decision. Even though he had never before seen the inside of this office, when the phone rang, he knew it was for him and grabbed it on the first ring. It was his friend Horace who delivered the news.

  John sat at the big wooden desk with his head in his hands as if trying to split his face. The wad of crumpled notes was spread out before him as if he were the only one who loved them. They stared back at him but said nothing, except for one. He flattened it onto the desk and read the phone number. Then, as if by instinct, he picked up the phone and dialed.

  “They’re idiots.”

  “Are they?” Louisa asked calmly.

  “You know I honestly don’t care anymore. We don’t need them.”

  “I think you do.”

  “Not really. All we need is something tangible. I was too patient. That’s all. I wanted all or nothing. They want bones or eggs or disputable pictures? We’ll get them.”

  “John. Listen.”

  “We can sell off some of the equipment. We don’t need the sub. The drone can get—”

  “John.” Louisa’s tone was still quiet but notably firm enough to stop him. “We need to talk about ‘we’. We need to talk about us.”

  After a pause, “That sounds… very in keeping with the kind of day I’m having.”

  “I’m sorry, John. I’m going to stay down here and work for a season.”

  “A season?”

  “Maybe two. It depends.”

  Once she had his attention, John was rarely slow on the uptake. He drew a long cleansing breath. “Depends?”

  “Spencer has money and backing and everything you want but never really pushed for. I think I can do some real work down here.”

  “The work? Is that it? I thought it was all about my work. Our work. It’s what brought us together. I loved your drive and determination. Your passion. I envied it.”

  “You imagined it. I loved the project. Don’t get me wrong. But eating out of tin cans
and sleeping with my forehead pressed against a monitor waiting for a blip to turn into a bloop is not where I saw myself five years ago.”

  “Five years ago it was always us. We had plans. We were going to show ‘em. We were about to open up a can of—”

  “And what have we got to show for it? I mean really, John. If you had to stand in front of someone and justify five years of research, what could you show them?”

  He forced himself not to ask her if she knew what he’d been doing for the past hour. “We’re close, Lou. You know it as well as I do. It’s right there.”

  “Then show me. When we have something to look for, I’ll be there for you. Find that breakthrough and then, if you still want me, I’ll help you make it a reality.”

  “I see.” John was drained. He had come for a fight, been knocked down and then kicked. The fight was out of him. “So I’ll call you… when I find it. Keep in touch. Okay?”

  “Okay. So what will you do?”

  “Don’t worry about me. This stuff is all I know but nobody knows it better.”

  “I didn’t plan to leave you hanging, John. I’m so…”

  “I’ll be fine. Really. I’ve already had a few offers. There’s always work for the world’s foremost authority in the field.”

  * * * * *

  One month later, a crowd gasped at the enormous reptile moving lithely through the water. John stepped out and threw a raw chicken at it and the alligator snapped hungrily at it and anxiously awaited another. The spectators commented, cheered, got bored and finally moved away from the alligator exhibit at the Florida wildlife park.

  John stood in an enormous pair of safari shorts and ridiculous looking pith helmet with another chicken in his hand waiting for the next group to gather. His lifeless gaze told of his attitude to all but the nineteen-year-old supervisor standing near him.

  “Watch it, Johnny,” Eugene warned him in a squeaky voice. “These things can bite if you’re not careful.”

  “Really? I should probably write that down.”