Loch, The

by Steve Alten

  This time it pounded the just-completed northern end of the bar­ricade, its head bulldozing the underwater barrier. The strike severed the cables connecting the last platform to its concrete land anchor, collapsing the entire expanse.

  Protesting metal rent the night as twenty-eight-foot sections of bridge buckled and broke free from one another like a derailed loco­motive.

  The monster kept at it, driving its enormous head through two wobbling sections of fence until it managed to thrash itself free.

  As the animal escaped into open water, the bait line snapped, leaving behind an entanglement of fishing net and the lifeless body of David James Caldwell II.

  Chapter 30 Quotes

  « ^ »

  I’m guessing it was around 4:15 in the afternoon on July 30 that Sue and I noticed a dark shape appear and disappear three times very quickly. Whatever it was, it was about 150 meters from shore, moving into Urquhart Bay. The object then appeared to churn about in a left turn and surface a little farther away.

  —ALASTAIR BOYD, ART TEACHER

  It looked like the top of a huge tire inner tube, at least six meters (approximately twenty feet) long. It was only visible about five seconds, but it was definitely an animal of some sort.

  —SUE BOYD, ART TEACHER

  Chapter 30

  « ^ »

  Inverness

  BRANDY MOVED IN WITH ME that night. Having lost her home, all her worldly possessions, and her livelihood, she had nothing left.

  She said it didn’t matter, as long as she had me.

  It was nearly 3:00 A.M., the summer sun already gray in the east­ern horizon by the time we squirmed together between the crisp hotel sheets, our entwined naked bodies creating all the heat we’d need. Too exhausted to make love, I simply held her until she fell asleep, then I slipped out of bed and sat at the desk with my laptop.

  I was exhausted. Sleep tugged at my brain, but I was too afraid to doze. The intensity of my night terrors had been increasing, and after what had just happened on Urquhart Bay, I was simply too exhausted to face them again. Images of my childhood drowning had now been replaced by something else, and this vision was even more terrifying because it was not of my past. In truth, I feared it was my destiny.

  Stay awake until dawn. You’ll rest easier in the daylight.

  I forced myself to focus through the fatigue.

  The last forty-eight hours had revealed new pieces of the Loch Ness puzzle, but they were swirling in my head, and I was too tired to think.

  Organize your thoughts. Write them out so you can see them.

  Activating the laptop, I began typing.

  Angus and Theresa.

  Anguilla eels and the Sargasso Sea.

  Calum Forrest feeding the monster every winter. The mission of the Black Knights.

  Adam Wallace.

  The collapse of the North Sea aquifer in the early 1930s.

  Calum Forrest erecting underwater lights last winter.

  Oil seeping into Loch Ness.

  Beta blockers found in eel’s bloodstream.

  John Cialino’s death.

  Angus deliberately lying about the salmon.

  I stared at the screen, then cut and pasted, reorganizing my notes in what I surmised to be a chronological order.

  Adam Wallace.

  Calum had said Adam Wallace was the first Black Knight. Strange that my father had never mentioned him. Whatever the Knights’ pri­mary mission, it had obviously included feeding the species referred to by both Calum and my father as Guivres.

  Fast-forward to the construction of the A82 in the early 1930s. According to Calum and my own unpublished theories, dynamiting the basin had collapsed an underground river that served as a North Sea access way, trapping a few of the creatures within Loch Ness. Both Alban and Calum confirmed Nessie was the last of her kind in the Loch. Calum said he and his late wife fed the beast during winters. That made sense, since the fish population of Loch Ness in winter would not be enough to sustain such a large predator. Of course, it was also possible that the beast had adapted to Loch Ness winters by hibernating.

  Since Loch Ness was not teeming with 60-foot creatures, the ani­mal my father had called a Guivre was most likely a mutant. Under nor­mal conditions, mutations can occur in one of every 100,000 creatures. Beta-blockers in the eel’s bloodstream would decrease the animal’s sex drive. If the Guivre was a mutant, it was most likely sterile, explaining why there was not a breeding population of its kind in the Loch.

  Whatever Nessie was, she obviously preferred to inhabit the Loch’s deepest waters—

  —until last winter.

  Somewhere in the Great Glen, oil was leaking, and it was finding its way into Loch Ness. Though still undiscovered by the water bailiff and Scotland’s EPA, it had nevertheless altered an entire season’s migration of fish. Since the spawning fish could only enter Loch Ness from the River Ness, that meant the oil was most likely deterring them before they reached the Bona Narrows.

  The oil had also altered the disposition of the eel population and the Loch’s last Guivre. The Black Knights were patrolling the shorelines at night, trying to keep the tourists safe from the agitated Anguilla—and Nessie? Was that their mission?

  No, it had to be more than that.

  Last winter, as a precaution, Calum Forrest had reinforced his croft’s fencing and installed underwater lights, along with ...

  Stop!

  I stared at the computer screen, reworking the last assumption in my head.

  Yes, Calum’s lights were designed to scare off the creature, but that fence was still kindling to something as huge as Nessie. I had assumed the fence had been reinforced, but maybe ... maybe it was just newer than the rest of the perimeter.

  Maybe Calum had been forced to replace the rear fence last winter after the creature had attacked his herd of sheep?

  But Calum was filled with rage. He not only wanted to keep Nessie away, he wanted it dead.

  “My wife, God rest her soul, often had tae feed it for me.”

  His wife? Had the monster killed his wife?

  A shiver ran down my spine as I typed out: Investigate Mrs. Forrest’s cause of death.

  Calum could have killed Nessie himself. He could have poisoned one of the sheep offerings, or lured the beast in close to shoot it, but he hadn’t. The oath of the Black Knights had kept him from seeking revenge.

  What mission could be so important?

  And what had my father done to remove himself from the Order? So it was possible Tiani Brueggart wasn’t Nessie’s first victim, there was a good chance the monster had killed last winter. Angus was close friends with Calum Forrest. Fiercely loyal, the death of his friend’s wife, if true, must have surely upset him. Was that the reason he’d been banished from the Templar? Had Angus attempted to kill Nessie against Alban MacDonald’s orders?

  Angus and Theresa.

  I stared at the clue, and then, suddenly, everything hit me at once.

  Johnny C.’s death was no accident, Angus had killed him to be with Theresa! But instead of pleading guilty to involuntary manslaughter, my wily father had gone for broke. Knowing the creature was out there, knowing it would probably kill again, Angus had created his “Nessie defense,” making himself a local legend while forcing the Black Knights to destroy the creature that had killed his best friend’s wife.

  It was a clever plan in its own sordid way, filled with risk and rewards. If Angus could prove the monster was out there, then he’d be found innocent and have Theresa Cialino, sharing in her inheritance. The two lovers would live happily ever after, while Angus still main­tained his blood oath as a Black Knight.

  All my father needed was to make sure a jury would find him innocent. To do that, he needed an expert on the case, one who not only could convince a jury that the monster really did exist, but some­one who could even track it down.

  And so, after seventeen years of silence, my father had reached out ... and used me again!


  Anger surged in my veins, tempered only by the fact that it had been my testimony that had exposed his lie.

  I stared at my notes, still seething.

  Anguilla eels and the Sargasso Sea.

  One monster was on the loose, the other was sitting in an Inverness jail cell, waiting to be released so he could spend the rest of his days with his mistress.

  Anguilla eels and the Sargasso Sea.

  Angus had counted on using the scars of my childhood to play out his charade, but it had been my research, my testimony that might end up burying him!

  Anguilla eels and the Sargasso Sea.

  And what would my role be in the rest of this unholy mess? With David dead, the Highland Council would most likely approach me again for help, but I had no interest in capturing the beast. As far as I was concerned, it was already captured, in a lake twenty-three miles long. The key was to find the oil leak, shut it down, and return the biology of the Loch to its normal state.

  Anguilla eels and the Sargasso Sea.

  I kept staring at the words.

  Anguilla eels and the Sargasso Sea.

  Anguilla eels and the Sargasso Sea.

  The left side of my brain finally took over, allowing the mental gear to tumble into place.

  “Jesus, how could I have been so fucking blind!”

  I clicked on the sonar array program, rewinding to the system’s passive sonar recordings. The computer must have captured the monster’s sonar signature earlier that evening, but I’d been too preoc­cupied to listen.

  Locating the recording, I turned up the volume.

  Blee-bloop ... Blee-bloop ... Blee-bloop ... Blee-bloop ...

  My heart raced, my head swimming with the implications.

  Blee-bloop ... Blee-bloop ... Blee-bloop ... Blee-bloop ...

  “It is ... it’s the Bloop! How could I not see it? It was there, it was right there in front of me the whole time!”

  Brandy stirred. “Zack? What’s wrong?”

  I leaped onto the bed. “I know, Brandy! I know what Nessie is! She’s not a plesiosaur, she’s not a dinosaur, she’s not a sturgeon or a myth or even an ancestor of modern-day whales, but she is a precursor!”

  “A precursor?” Brandy sat up in bed. “A precursor of what?”

  “The Anguilla eel!”

  “An Anguilla? Nah ... how can that be? She’s so big.”

  “It’s Nature’s way. The ancestors are always larger. Then evolu­tion takes over, it adapts, it makes adjustments, based on environment and competition, and the availability of prey. Anguillas and these ... these Guivres, for lack of a better name—they’re both born in the Sargasso Sea.”

  “How dae ye know that?”

  “Because Nessie’s not the last Guivre, and she’s not a mutant, her kind’s not extinct! Her species still inhabits the Sargasso. The Navy tracked them on sonar, called them bloops, but no one knew what they were. It was the bloops, I mean the Guivres, that attacked the giant squid. Like Anguilla, they spawn in the Sargasso Sea, then the young drift on ocean currents back to Britain and the rest of Europe. Being smaller, Anguilla could follow the Ness River into the Loch every spring. The larger females leave in autumn when they’re old enough to spawn, but their big cousins, these Guivres, they were always too large to access the Loch through the river, instead they followed the Ness Aquifer—an undiscovered, underground river that flows from Loch Ness into the North Sea. But the passage collapsed seventy years ago when the A82 was dynamited—”

  “Trappin’ Nessie?”

  “Yes!” I paced the room, my mind on fire. “She must be a female. Female Anguilla grow really big, much bigger than the males, so the same probably holds true for Guivres. They leave Loch Ness when they’re ready to spawn, returning to the Sargasso Sea. But Nessie’s trapped, it’s screwed up her biological clock. She can’t spawn in fresh­water, her DNA won’t allow that, so instead, she just kept growing, getting larger and larger. She’s a mutant, Brandy, and now she’s become dangerous, her brain filled with lesions caused by an oil leak.”

  “Oil? I dinnae understand?”

  “There’s oil leaking somewhere into Loch Ness. My guess is it’s seeping into the aquifer, which is why no one’s discovered it. The eel that attacked me had lesions on its brain. It’s not lethal, but it affects the animal’s disposition. The oil’s also preventing salmon and other fish from entering the Loch. It’s affected the food chain, altering Nessie’s diet!”

  “Sweet Mary. Zack, how long will she live? How much bigger will she get?”

  “I don’t know. Anguilla die after they spawn, it’s sort of a biologi­cal termination device. Who knows with these Guivres?”

  “Geez, Zachary, ye really did it! Ye solved the mystery, everyone said ye would. But calm down, ye’re makin’ me crazy. Come an’ sit by me.”

  I took several deep breaths, then crawled into bed with her, cud­dling under the sheets.

  “What are ye gonnae do then? Call a press conference?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure what good it would do at this point.

  Science is one thing, but we’ve got a berserk animal on the loose. And it’s ... complicated.”

  “What do ye mean?”

  “Angus lied. Nessie never killed Johnny C. Angus knew about the creature and used it as an alibi.”

  “Then he did murder Cialino?”

  “Yes, and it was premeditated. If I don’t produce this evidence, Angus walks away, Scot-free, as they say.”

  “But if ye tell the truth, yer father’ll be found guilty.”

  “And most likely hanged.”

  She pulled me closer. “We’re both exhausted. Get some sleep before ye decide anythin’, a tired mind cannae think straight.”

  “I’m too pumped up to sleep.”

  She rolled over, her eyes seducing me as she climbed on top of me, pulling me into her warmth.

  Our lovemaking soothed my brain fever, at least for the moment. When we were through, Brandy curled her back and buttocks against my chest and fell asleep. I put my arm around her and closed my eyes, comforted by her warmth and the arriving dawn.

  * * *

  Soaring through a watery graveyard. A flash of light. I am in a cavern. Alone. Enveloped by darkness. Not alone! Death whispers at me, growling in my brain. Stop! Stop! Stop!

  I shot up in bed, bathed in sweat.

  Brandy stood over me, trying to shake me awake.

  “Zack! Zachary, look at me! Look at me, Zack, it was just another nightmare.”

  I turned and looked at her, consumed by fear, unable to find my voice.

  “What was it then? What did ye dream?”

  “I was in the monster’s lair. It was dark and cold ... cold like death. It seeped into my bones. It surrounded me, whispering into my brain. I couldn’t see them, but something was out there, creeping in on me, and my flesh and my mind crawled in their presence. They encircled me ... no escape—”

  “Gees, yer whole body’s tremblin’.” She pulled me next to her and held me. “It was just a bad dream, Zack. It was just a nightmare.” She was wrong, of course, for I knew what it was.

  As True would say, it was my destiny.

  Chapter 31 Quotes

  « ^ »

  It was in mid-March and I was working on the banks of Loch Ness. I’m the area manager for an insurance company, and I cover a large part of the Highlands. Anyway, I was finishing some paperwork when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw this black hump come out of the water. I thought, “heavens” and looked at it again, and sure enough, it went back into the water and came back out again, and then back down. I thought, “I’ve seen it ... after all these years, I’ve actually seen it!”

  It’s just typical of these things that I didn’t have a camera with me and no one else to corroborate. But on the hump, I would say it was black, sort of a dark black color, and it had water coursing off of it, and it was just big ... I think that’s the best way to put it. It certainly wasn’t a seal, it certainly
wasn’t a fish. All I can say is that, looking at the Loch, that somewhere in there is the Loch Ness monster. And as far as I’m concerned, I’ve seen it.”

  —GARY CAMPBELL, INVERNESS RESIDENT, 14 MARCH 1996

  Chapter 31

  « ^ »

  Upper Foyers, Loch Ness

  HAVING BARELY SLEPT, I found myself racing the Harley-Davidson south on General Wade’s Military Road, climbing the hills toward Upper Foyers with the rising sun.

  I had called Max earlier, requesting a private meeting with Theresa Cialino at Inverness Castle. He told me the prosecution had decided not to call her as a witness, believing her testimony might dis­suade the jury from seeking the death penalty, in the likely event they found Angus guilty. Max told me I could reach her at her summer estate in Upper Foyers, but asked that I return to Inverness in time for the barristers’ closing remarks.

  I turned onto the B852, a single-track road with sharp twists and turns, following the highway to Upper Foyers.

  The Cialino’s summer home was an estate that had once belonged to John Charles Cuninghame, the seventeenth and last Laird of Craigends, a powerful family dating back to the fourteenth century. The residence had horse stables and acreage for grazing, along with a spectacular view of Loch Ness and Foyers Falls.

  I parked the Harley, then knocked on the huge double doors. Expecting a servant, I was a bit surprised when Theresa Cialino answered her own door. “Hello, Zachary. Do you want to come inside?”

  “Not really.”

  “You don’t like me, do you? I can understand why. I don’t blame your father for what happened, I blame my husband. Money changes a person. It changed John. He became a control freak.”

  “Lady, I really don’t—”

  “When he drank, he became a bully. I know you can’t relate to these things, but—”

  “I can relate. More than you know. It still doesn’t make things right.”

  “Zachary, I only slept with your father the one time. Back when John and I had briefly separated. I know what we did was wrong, but—”

  “I’m not here to judge you.”

  “I love your father. His friendship ... it got me through a difficult time.”