Loch Ness

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Loch Ness Page 5

by Donovan Galway


  “You still have the probe?” he demanded.

  “It’s scheduled to go to the Mediterranean for some treasure hunting next month. We have it until then.”

  “The grapple working?”

  “I’ve got Shawn Miller and Abby Talerocco. He’s the best there is with remotes if you can stand him. And she’s… well, she can stand him.”

  “Okay. Take these coordinates. We’re looking for a cave or shallow spot within a few hundred feet of this spot.”

  “And what’s in the cave, Spencer?”

  “If I’m right, a mound.”

  “A mound?”

  “A nest, Carl. Look for a nest.”

  Chapter Five

  John maxed out the last credit card his grant had allowed him to gain passage to New Zealand. The low cost flight was grueling. Five hours from Orlando to Los Angeles. Then he sat in the airport for six hours before his connection was ready. He spent the next twelve hours and thirty minutes crunched between a snoring woman who only woke up to eat and a hyper-nervous smoker. This man was large enough to take up more than his share of the seat as it was. They were only just off the ground when he began talking about how unfair it was that they could no longer smoke on flights. He wanted a smoke and he was not sure how all these people could sit so quietly for twelve hours and not complain. Surely three-fourths of these wimps were smokers. Why didn’t they all just put their foot down and demand their rights? Who decided that—?

  “Do you mind if I…?” John interrupted, holding up his headphones and pointing at the movie already playing. The smoker seemed angered by this but nodded, as if there were any other options. John put the headphones on but kept the volume down low. Trapped between the borderline psychotic smoker and a Sarah Jessica Parker movie, he stared at the flickering light of the monitor and prayed for merciful sleep.

  The twelve-hour flight seemed like days. The meals were atrocious and the hour it took to serve them was an hour that all the aisles were blocked and no one could get to the restrooms. Once able to move, John the gentleman nearly wet himself as every woman on the plane lined up with the less chivalrous men pushing in as well. It came as no surprise that his smoker friend set off the smoke alarm in the restroom. He assumed the others were all doing it and this was why they were not losing their minds as he was.

  The Auckland International Airport was not as backward as some he had seen in much bigger cities. His hopes were almost raised until he boarded the no-frills final leg of the flight. The nearly two-hour hop south to Queenstown sapped what little strength he had left. The concept of no-frills was erroneous, he thought. This airline was actually negative frills. They actually managed to have less-than-zero luxury in that his seat, while assured somewhere on the plane, was only acquired after a mad, chaotic group dash across the runway. He stopped to help an elderly woman a businessman had shoved aside to race for the plane. This cost him as the only seat left him was between a woman with a screaming child on her lap and another smoker. This fellow not only reeked of cigarettes; he was actually still smoking. He did not have a lit cigarette. Smoke was actually emanating from his shirt and beard. After the twelve-hour hell and a brief breath of air, John figured he could endure the screaming child and the smoldering man for a bit longer.

  He arrived in Queenstown to no one. He had so looked forward to Louisa meeting him there but he found only a stocky, dark man with a cardboard sign reading: Docter Nager. With his luck being as it was, this fellow had to be waiting for him.

  “Excuse me. I’m Dr. John Nagle.”

  The man flipped the sign and read it again, moving his lips and thinking hard. Then he shrugged and folded the sign. “Welcome to New Zealand, doctor. I’m to take you to the hotel.”

  “Thank you…”

  “Peter. Call me Peter. Let’s get your luggage.”

  He seemed competent enough, though John had hoped for a warmer reception. The man went to the baggage carrousel and sported a smile as he waited patiently. John had three bags, two of which came out damaged and partially opened. Flying standby meant his were the last pieces to go on and were rushed in, then piled on during unloading. This coupled with the bargain basement suitcases meant he was fortunate to get the handles back. But Peter wrestled the cumbersome bags onto a trolley and out to the waiting car.

  The forty-minute ride from Queenstown to the hotel was possibly the highlight of John’s entire journey. Peter was an enthusiastic guide and seemed to genuinely love his island.

  The hotel was not the best in town, but certainly out of his price range. A page greeted them and went to the trunk to assist Peter with the luggage. John had to express his concern.

  “Um. Peter? Are you sure we’re at the right place?”

  “Sure, sure. This is the place. Got it written down up there.”

  “Okay. It’s just that I was expecting something a bit less… comfortable.”

  Peter handed the third bag and John’s carry-on tote to the page, who stacked them on a shining cart and started toward the lobby. Peter stepped close to John to discreetly whisper, “Your friend paid for the week. Don’t worry, mate.”

  Peter left John in the lobby with a handshake and acceptance of John’s gratitude, but no tip. Once checked in, he was assisted to his room and the bellhop left his luggage and exited, again with no gratuity. John regretted the budget restraints but had traveled economy before. This was work, he told himself. Tips are for vacations.

  He tossed one of the damaged suitcases onto the bed and the final working latch released at the last second. His clothes burst out but most of them landed on the bed. He chose to see this as the bright side and was gathering them when there came a knock on his door. The bellhop or some other holiday tradesman was looking for a tip. He readied his excuse and opened the door.

  Louisa looked back at him with a smile of genuine pleasure. “You better look gladder to see me than that, buster.”

  “Lou!” He scooped her up in a fond embrace and squeezed her for all the weeks spent apart. “God, it’s great to see you again.”

  “Really?” The male voice from the doorway behind her had a sarcastic lilt to it. John dropped Louisa as Beau Spencer sauntered in. “Last time you saw me you were far less pleased as I recall.”

  As John’s smile immediately dissipated, Louisa broke the tension before it could build. “John. You remember Beau Spencer, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” John said, regaining just enough of his smile to satisfy courtesy. “How long has it been?”

  “Last time you applied for the Singleton Grant. Wasn’t it?”

  “Oh yeah. What was it you needed the funding for that time? Researching what tunas eat instead of the other way around?”

  Beau snickered. “Something equally dull, I’m sure. How was your flight, John?”

  “Well, it got me here. That’s about it.”

  Beau looked past him to the luggage disaster on the bed. “So I see. When they say no frills they should be more specific.”

  “John has always been a light traveler,” Louisa said. “Haven’t you John?”

  John escorted them into the suite. The table and chairs served well for guests and the plastic tea service was set up so he offered.

  “We’ll have a quick cup, John. I just wanted to make sure you got in all right and were settled. You’re bound to be exhausted.”

  “A little. But I’m really not too bad.”

  “Well, rest up, Nagle,” Beau said. “Louisa wants to do something frivolous to commemorate your arrival.”

  “There’s no need for that,” John objected.

  “Don’t deny me this, John,” she said sternly. “I need a break and I’m using you as my excuse. Got it?” Her smile told him she was pleased to insist on this outing.

  The kettle came to boil and John poured the tea, as he’d become accustomed to in Scotland. Americans rarely offered tea to guests but John had spent more time out of than in the States for five years and was comfortable with the formalit
y. He was also aware most Euros preferred milk in their tea and none seemed available.

  “Oh sorry, Beau. I don’t seem to have any milk. How do you take yours?”

  Beau got to his feet. “Relax, mate. I saw a matron’s cart down the hall. There’s bound to be something on it. I’ll be right back.”

  Louisa smiled her thanks to him as Spencer hurried out. As soon as he was out of the room she spun back to John in a whisper. “He’s watching me like a hawk.”

  “What? Why?” His tone was soft, nearly a whisper though he wasn’t sure why.

  “He’s got some recordings we need to compare to yours. I found out where he got them.”

  “At sea? You’re sure it’s not whales?”

  “No. He bought them from a local. A traveling merchant. We’re going to see him tomorrow but don’t breathe a word while Beau’s around.” She looked at him for acceptance, but her eyes gave him so much more.

  John saw too much in her eyes to answer to. He returned her stare with his own affectionate look and nodded. Spencer returned as they completed the non-verbal pact.

  “Got some powdered whitener. It’ll have to do. So are we set for tomorrow then?”

  “He’s still jet-lagged,” Louisa answered. “But we’ll drag him along anyway. It’ll be fun.”

  John slept the next ten hours. A refreshing shower and a generously laid out breakfast buffet had him awake and ready. His coffee was just down when Louisa came into the lounge.

  “Come on, John. We’re all waiting.”

  “We? Who’s we?” he said as he left the table.

  She led John to the front of the hotel where Beau sat behind the wheel of a large SUV. She had already claimed the front seat and held the back door open for him. He had almost put his head in when he was greeted by three men all in the back two bench seats. They sang their greeting in barbershop quartet type harmony.

  “Hellooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.”

  “Helloooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.”

  “HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.”

  All then gave him a cheerful “Hello,” in unison as a well-rehearsed Three Stooges introduction.

  John was more amused than surprised by three grown men behaving thus. The man in the middle seat extended his hand. “Dr. Nagle, I presume. I’m Maclean Gould. Mac to my friends.”

  “If he had any,” said the younger, bearded man seated behind Mac.

  “The two idiots I’m forced to put up with are Frank Inness and Kyle Murphy. Murph to his friends but that’s pretty much Frank since I don’t like him anymore.”

  Frank extended his hand over the back of the seat. “Glad to meet you, doctor.”

  John lowered his brow. “Wait a minute. Are you pulling my leg?”

  “What?” Frank asked.

  John pointed to them one at a time. “Gould, Frank Inness and Murph?” He let his amusement with the word play show.

  “Say. He’s sharp,” Murph commented to Louisa displaying a trace of Russian accent. “Some people never catch on to that.”

  “What? That you’re named like Jesus’ gifts?”

  “Yeah,” Mac said. “From the three wise guys.” Mac was a comical little man. Senior to his partners in years, the slightly balding, lean fellow gave the initial impression of a serious type though the impression was usually surrendered the instant he spoke. Still he was always good-natured and generally pleasant company despite his many idiosyncrasies. His Japanese descendancy showed in the facial features he’d inherited from his mother but his manner was purely of the most flippant American style.

  Only Spencer did not appreciate the humor. “Sorry about them, John. They think that sort of adolescent humor is amusing.” He started the car as John climbed in next to Gould and buckled in. “I hate to say this right in front of them but I’d have fired them all long ago if they weren’t so good at what they do. Everybody ready?”

  “I have to pee,” Frank said.

  “I’m hungry,” Kyle whined.

  Mac added his own, “Are we there yet?” before the tires turned a full revolution. “Actually they are quite annoying. I’m the mature one of the team.”

  “Are not,” Frank said.

  “Am too.”

  “Are not.”

  “Am too.”

  “Are not, not not not.”

  “Am too to infinity… plus one.”

  Mac’s victory was ignored and the trio quickly turned their attention to the new blood. The three wise guys were anxious to hear where John has been and what he had found. Taken from Louisa’s cryptic warning the day before, John offered only the most basic, superficial details about his work.

  The drive was long and scenic, like all ventures through New Zealand. The lush mountains teamed with birds and sheep. John enjoyed the ride and scenery so much he didn’t feel the need to press Louisa about their destination. He found out soon enough.

  Autumn in Queenstown meant festivals. Every weekend a new fair opened at a new site but they were never hard to find. The fairgrounds were alive day and night with carnival rides, games and food booths, street performers and throngs of public spenders. Beau had promised Louisa a night she was owed for her commitment over the past four years. Inviting John along was not an imposition in his eyes. Nagle’s presence made it perfect. The other three were tag-alongs but they went their own way at the front gate.

  John had yet to settle in and was more interested in getting some private time with Louisa than socializing. Beau had been all too anxious to keep him company to the point of invoking suspicion. John couldn’t help but feel Beau was deliberately keeping an eye on him.

  So they walked arm-in-arm did the three as Louisa, with a man on each arm, took in all that was going on around her. It was more than the intoxicatingly festive atmosphere. She was feeling uncharacteristically feminine. She felt like a girl for the first time since high school. She’d never missed the feeling and had deliberately shunned it long ago. But this felt good. It was part of what was missing in her life. The rest she could get through her natural assertiveness and zeal and was fully confident she would. But this form of attention had to be given and she had forgotten until that moment how welcome and even essential it was to her life.

  The late afternoon was warm and the sky was clear but each breeze carried with it a chill that promised a change of season coming to the south island. Beau seemed totally indifferent to the weather or the time of day while John walked in stark contradiction. Everything bothered him. The foreboding weather, the encroachment of evening, the fact that they were just walking around and no one was doing anything remotely work-related bothered him very much. He felt they should be doing something but there was nothing to do until Beau allowed him some precious alone time with Louisa and their research. Until then, he had to practice doing nothing.

  “So how are you coping with the jet lag, John?” Spencer asked politely.

  “Well, I wasn’t really in the Eastern Time Zone long enough to adjust to it so I’m really all right. At least I should be. I have to admit I feel a bit off somehow.”

  “It’s the polar shift. It can be a little unsettling at first.”

  “So it’s still daytime but upside-down?”

  “Think of it like this,” Louisa interjected. “The shift from that hemisphere to this is enough to make draining water spin the opposite direction. It’s bound to upset your system a little. It only takes a few days to feel natural again.”

  Beau stopped at a shooting gallery. “Think I’ll try my luck. Are you game, John?”

  John was disinterested. “Nah. You go ahead. These things are always rigged.”

  “That’s the fun of it. Come on. It’s on me.” He handed the attendant two dollars.

  “Go ahead, John,” Louisa urged.

  John reluctantly picked up the air rifle and examined the potential targets. Mechanical kangaroos hopped across the range while ducks flew by over their heads. Cows, squirrels, koalas and bulls-eyes were scat
tered all around and mostly stationary. Each of the targets had a point value relative to the degree of difficulty of hitting the target.

  After a silent confirmation of readiness, both men shouldered the air rifles. Beau went after the elusive ducks flying past. John opted for the more stationary targets. These yielded fewer points but promised a higher success ratio. When they had both spent their five shots, John had cleanly hit four out of five targets and earned a plastic, violet haired doll which he proudly presented to Louisa.

  Beau had hit two out of five ducks and, while scoring higher in total points than John, earned only a shrug from the attendant, which he accepted with a smile. “Better luck next time.”

  John could not resist the opportunity to gloat. “See that was your mistake. You aimed too high. I got a sure prize by plinking the koalas.”

  “Well, I like the gamble. The risk is higher but so are the rewards.” He held his smile as he handed the attendant another dollar and turned again to the range. Beau fired five shots in rapid succession and turned back with a broadened grin. As the attendant handed Louisa a plush koala toy, Beau said, “Go ahead and play it safe, John. Aim for the little prize if you can be happy with it. I admire that in a way.”

  Louisa diplomatically held both prizes together as she led them all from the contest. “I’ll get over the fact that nobody asked me to shoot stuff.”

  “So speaking of aiming high,” John said to Beau. “What are you guys working on now?”

  “Oh. Now see work is different. There you have to aim at a moderate, achievable target. I don’t have the luxury of gambling with other people’s money.”

  “So the prize is smaller but guaranteed.”

  “The prize is predetermined by my benefactors. I find out what they want and what they’ll pay to get it. Then I decide if it’s obtainable at that price and convince them I’m the guy to go get it.”

 

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