by Steve Alten
The sight caused me to gag.
There was no lower torso. Whatever had bitten Justin Wagner had consumed his hips, buttocks, and legs in one devastating bite, its teeth leaving behind puncture marks along the circumference of the jagged wound. A trail of unraveled waterlogged intestines drifted back and forth in the wash, the rest of the victim's internal organs having fallen away long ago from the void where Wagner's waist had once been.
I staggered back, the scene sending the blood rushing from my face. Holmstrom signaled for the tarp to be lowered, then followed me up the embankment. "Are ye okay?"
I shook my head. "I'm about a million miles from okay."
"Those teeth marks?"
I nodded, feeling nauseous. "Yes, Sheriff, the pattern's identical to the scars around my waist. And no, I have no clue why I'm still alive."
"Ye'll help us find it then?"
I nodded, sucking in several deep breaths, fighting to keep my breakfast down. "I'll help you, only let's keep it between us for now. Folklore's one thing, but you've got an apex predator that's gone on a rampage."
'Agreed."
Waves pounded the shoreline, causing us to turn. Another research vessel was slowly rumbling by, three tourist boats following in its wake.
Holmstrom spit. "This place is turnin' intae a bloody zoo. The A82's backed up from Drumnadrochit tae Inverness wi' campers, an' God knows whit it'll be like when word of this latest killin' spreads."
I nodded. "Worse, the Loch's becoming jammed with sonar buoys."
"The judge gave ye the opportunity tae run things. It's no' too late."
"It's not my style."
"Whit's yer plan then?"
"First, I need to finish my own investigation of the Loch. You can help by giving me access to your crime lab."
"Crime lab? Whit for?"
I reached into my backpack, handing him the plastic bags holding the swabs of blood. "Have these analyzed. I need to know if they're animal or human."
"Done. How can I reach ye?"
"I'll reach you. Give me your cell number.
He handed me a business card. "My mobile phone's on the back, it's always on." He gazed out at the Loch, then looked me in the eye. "Guess I wis one o' those that laughed… ye know, after hearin' you were afraid tae get near the water an' all. But after seein' that body, well… I can't say I blame ye."
"Analyze those samples, Sheriff. I'll be in touch."
* * *
True showed up thirty minutes later, cursing up a storm about all the traffic around Loch Ness. The good news was the lodge was booked solid, the bad being his father now needed him back in Drumnadrochit by early evening. He agreed to accompany me along the eastern bank until his sister picked him up later by boat.
Things were looking up for Brandy as well. She had doubled her tours and tripled her prices, and still the Nessie III was sold out for the remainder of the week.
The monster craze was alive and well, and the Highland locals were cashing in on what was shaping up to be a record-setting tourist season.
By noon, word of the latest attack had spread across Great Britain like wildfire. By then, True and I had arrived in Inverfarigaig, a village of homes scattered among managed forests of spruce and Douglas fir. As in Foyers, the rocky embankments of Inverfarigaig were clogged with thrill-seekers, their cameras and zoom lenses mounted on tripods, their camcorders and binoculars scanning every wave and shadow that skirted the surface of Loch Ness. Vans and campers, parked along General Wade's Military Road, lined the single lane tarmac clear to Dores, and many a tourist could be seen standing on their car roofs to gain a better vantage.
It was a "braw day" on the Loch, the sky high and blue, free of cloud cover, and the approaching summer beat down upon us unmercifully.
Seeking a break from the sun, we followed a footpath into the Farigaig Forest, its heavy canopy embracing us in cooler temperatures. Diverting from the path, we followed the twisting banks of a brook as it trickled down the mountain side. A carpet of moss was spotted with bluebells, foxgloves, and other wildflowers, and the scents and sounds soothed my spent nerves.
I didn't see the squirrel as much as I tripped over it.
The forests of the Great Glen are populated with red squirrels, fast creatures that feed on seeds, chestnuts, and pine nuts. This one was lying on its side by the creek, its tiny chest heaving as it gasped each labored breath.
As we watched, the suffering animal seized and died.
True bent down to give it a nudge. "Poor wee thing—"
"Don't touch it!" Setting down my backpack, I retrieved a pair of rubber gloves, a jar, and a plastic specimen bag. "Remember what I said yesterday about the Loch's food chain? This might be an important clue. Take this jar and fill it with water from the brook, while I bag our little friend here."
We collected the specimens, then continued following the stream as it backtracked up a steep terrain slick with vegetation and heavy in jagged rocks. Along the way we found more dead animals, including a half dozen osprey and a peregrine. True stumbled upon a burrow and was immediately attacked by a fox, the agitated creature circling and growling as it snapped at his boots. We managed to chase it away, but only after resorting to striking it several times with a stick.
"I've never seen a fox act like that before. Dae ye think it wis rabid?"
"Maybe. But I suspect there's something else going on, something that's affecting this whole ecosystem. Come on, let's keep climbing."
Another half mile's ascent and the forest opened up below us, revealing a breathtaking view of Loch Ness. We climbed up to the summit, then took a well-earned respite on a public bench.
"Zack, can I ask ye a question?"
"Ask."
"Whit made ye change yer mind aboot goin' after the creature?"
Reaching down, I picked a wildflower, absentmindedly pulling apart its petals. "When Brandy was hurting herself, why do you think she was doing it?"
"Doctor said it wis 'cause she wis angry."
"Maybe I'm angry too."
"Angry at whit?"
"For the longest time, I was angry at Angus. It was because of him that I took off in that rowboat. Now I'm more angry at myself, at having to deal with this whole damn thing."
"It's no' your fault ye were attacked. That wis fate."
"I don't believe in fate. Fate's like folklore, it's an excuse for an unexplainable circumstance. I believe in science, in dealing with reality. It's why I'm angry with myself. Had I dealt with my own reality seventeen years ago, I wouldn't be in this mess today."
"Ye were only nine, how can ye blame yersel'? Look at whit ye've been through. Two drownings now, an' still ye've survived."
"You call this surviving? I'm afraid of the water, and I wake up every night screaming."
"Dreams or no', ye're still alive, which is mair than that laddie back there can say. It wis fate that saved ye seventeen years ago, jist like it wis fate that led ye tae become a marine biologist."
"Meaning what?"
"Meanin', if anyone's destined tae figure oot whit this ancient creature is, it's you, Zachary Wallace."
"Well, I don't know about fate, but I do know about science, and science tells me this monster's not an ancient creature, at least not a plesiosaur. I think it's something else entirely, most likely a hybrid of a species that's been inhabiting Loch Ness for a long time."
"Like Angus's Guivre?"
"I don't know, but I know someone who does."
"Zack, please, dinnae start in again on my auld man."
"Just listen. This morning I saw three men, all cloaked in dark tunics, and they were carrying something in a burlap sack, something that was bleeding. I collected swaths of the blood, the sheriff's having them analyzed."
"Good. Then we can ease yer suspicions aboot my faither, once an' for a'."
The sound of a boat's horn drifted up to us from below.
"That'll be Brandy. How aboot I talk her intae picking ye up on the return trip.
If ye ask me, I think it's yer destiny tae get back intae her guid graces."
"I hope I live that long."
"She usually circles back past Tor Point around dusk. Try tae make it there by then."
He waved, then bounded down the path.
I watched him disappear into the forest, my mind drifting back to the image of Justin Wagner's remains.
Seventeen years ago I had survived a similar attack. Had I done something to lure the creature up from the depths? And what had I done, consciously or unconsciously, to prevent it from devouring me?
Alban MacDonald had rescued me, perhaps he knew. But old Crabbit was concealing his own secrets.
Who were the Black Knights? What were they doing out at night? And what, if anything, did all this have to do with the attacks on the Loch?
I gathered my belongings and headed down the mountain path, determined to find out.
The Diary of Sir Adam Wallace
Translated by Logan W. Wallace
Entry: 25 October 1330
I scrawl these words by ember's glow, as hours pass like days, an' my sanity remains lost in this hellhole.
At some point sleep must have taken me, for when next I opened my eyes, the gate was nearly finished. Tis an enormous structure, weighin' no less than fifty stone, its width conformin' tae the size o' the river narrow that allows the Loch tae escape tae the sea. Sir Iain has sharpened the bottom flanges intae fierce points. They are meant tae be driven intae the river's bed, an' once set afore the openin', MacDonald claims the current alone should keep the gate frae movin'.
When the last bolts were tightened, MacDonald gathered us in a circle, then brought me taae its center. "Ecce quam bonum et quam lucundum habitare fratres in unum—Behold how good an' how pleasant it is for brethren tae dwell together in unity. Adam Zachary Wallace, dae ye believe in God, who hasnae died an' will never die?"
"Aye."
"Dae ye, through fear o' the flames of Hell, swear total obedience tae oor Master, Jesus Christ?"
"Aye."
"Dae ye gie up yer ain free will as a soldier o' Christ?"
"Aye."
"The soldier o' Christ kills safely; he dies the mair safely. He serves his ain interests in dyin', an' Christ's interests in killin'. The warrior is gentler than lambs an' fiercer than lions, bearin' the mildness o' the monk an' the valor o' the knight. Oor Order adorned the Temple o' Solomon wi' weapons instead o' gems, wi' shields instead o' crowns o' gold. Oors is eager for victory, no' fame, for battle no' pomp. We abhor wasteful speech, unnecessary action, unmeasured laughter, gossip an' chatter.
We despise a' things vain, an' live in one house accordin' tae one rule, wi' one soul an' one heart."
Reachin' oot, he took my hand, then opened my flesh wi' his sword. "Adam Zachary Wallace, wi' this blood oath, dae ye swear allegiance tae the Order o' the Knight?"
"Aye."
"Brethren o' the Templar, are there any objections tae acceptin' this novice intae the Order?"
None responded.
MacDonald reviewed the rules o' the Order, then asked whether I had a wife an' family, debts or disease, or if I owed allegiance tae any other master. "None," I replied.
As prompted, I knelt, askin' tae become a servant an' slave of the Temple, swearin' obedience tae God an' the Virgin Mary.
MacDonald recited Psalm 133, then said, "Arise, Sir Adam, for as o' this day an' forever mair, ye are a Templar Knight. Noo, my bretren, as we stand here by the Gate o' Hell, fashioned by oor ain hands, there is one mair allegiance which a' o' us must make."
MacDonald removed the silver casket frae roond my neck an' held it up in the light. "In the name o' Robert the Bruce, oor one an' true Ring, we take this blood oath. Like those who came afore us, sworn in secrecy tae protect the Ark o' the Covenant, so too must we keep the contents o' this silver casket safe. Tae dae so, we willfully join leagues wi' the De'il, usin' evil tae stand guard against evil, so that we may preserve the guid. By this heinous coven, the white tunic shall be replaced by the black, the cross o' Sir Galahad wi' the Braveheart, an X symbolizin' oor contract wi' Satan. Oor followers shall be few, o' noble birth an' born only tae oor Clans, an' we shall take oor secrets tae the grave an' beyond."
An' so, in the depths o' the earth, on the threshold o' Hell, oor blood wis shared an' oor coven wis made, the coven o' the Black Knights.
I ken noo that I shall ne'er again see the light o' day …
Chapter 20 Quotes
The modern theory of evolution does not require gradual change. A new species can arise when a small segment of the ancestral population is isolated at the periphery of the ancestral range. Large, stable central populations exert a strong homogenizing influence. New and favorable mutations are diluted by the sheer bulk of the population through which they must spread. They may build slowly in frequency, but changing environments usually cancel their selective value long before they reach fixation. But small, peripherally isolated groups are cut off from their parental stock. They live as tiny populations in geographic corners of the ancestral range. Small peripheral isolates are a laboratory of evolutionary change.
—STEPHEN JAY GOULD, "THE EPISODIC NATURE OF EVOLUTIONARY CHANGE," THE PANDA'S THUMB: REFLECTIONS IN NATURAL HISTORY, 1980
Chapter 20
Urquhart Bay, Loch Ness
The research vessel, Nothosaur, drifted in 730 feet of water, adding to the picturesque backdrop of Urquhart Castle. The banks of the ruins were lined with tourists, the scene recorded by a half dozen TV camera crews, the footage destined to be used in news reports around the globe as B-role.
Michael Hoagland remained on deck to shout imaginary orders to his crew until the last camera was finally lowered, then he hurried inside to the control room and the ship's sonar system.
* * *
Sonar systems function by emitting ultrasonic pulses from an acoustic projector. Hydrophones then analyze these reflected signals to determine if an obstacle or object is present within the field.
There are two basic types of sonar: passive and active. Passive sonar, used aboard submarines, analyzes incoming noises without creating its own sounds so as not to give away the vessel's location. Active sonar emits loud "pings" that can be set at different frequencies, bearings, or angles. Pings travel at a speed of approximately fifteen hundred meters per second. If an object lies in the beam's path, it will be detected on echo-ranging sonar.
While more aggressive, the limitation of active sonar is that it takes time to adjust the projector, emit a ping, and listen for an echo. To combat this challenge, engineers developed the sonar buoy, a free- floating unit that emits its own system of pings, allowing operators to detect objects moving through its acoustical field.
The Portable Acoustic Measurement System, known as PAMS, consists of an array of sonar buoys, distributed along the surface in a preset pattern. PAMS signals are linked to an acoustic data acquisition system, a GPS receiver, and a radio telemetry sub system. Positional data is then transmitted by way of a UHF radio link to the analysis station where signals are evaluated.
* * *
Over the last nine hours, the Nothosaur's crew had deployed sonar buoys every two kilometers, beginning in the waters off Fort Augustus. Consisting of two parallel rows, the array ran north to Tor Point, where the Loch's width narrowed and the field was reduced to a single row of buoys which concluded at Lochend and the Bona Narrows.
Now it was time to reap the fruits of their labor.
Hoagland stalked the control room while his sonar expert, Victor Cellers, finished checking the Nothosaur's buoy field. Victor was Hoagland's brother-in-law and the Nessie Hunter felt fortunate to have him on board. The forty-two-year-old American with cystic fibrosis was strictly "on loan" to him from his sister, Deborah, who expected the former Navy man back at his Seattle-based video company in two weeks… and in one piece.
"So, Victor, the field is operational, yes?"
"Operational and reliable are two different things. The buo
ys are pinging and I'm receiving data, but the signal's loaded with tons of garbage."
"Garbage?"
"Noise interference." Victor pointed to his main monitor, displaying a GPS image of Loch Ness and the Nothosaur's sonar buoys. "Everything from Foyers south to Fort Augustus is congested with pinging sounds. I'm picking up signals from at least two other active sonar buoy fields, and they're positioned too close to ours to allow an undistorted signal analysis. It's the equivalent of trying to peer at the stars using a telescope in the middle of Manhattan. Face it, Michael, we're not the only game in town. There's just too much interference to acquire an accurate reading."
Hoagland muttered a string of curses in German.
"The good news is, if they're interfering with us, then we're interfering with them as well."
"Then all of us are wasting our time and money."
"In a nutshell, yes."
"Victor, contact the other vessel's captains. Organize a sit-down at the Clansman Hotel for later tonight to discuss the situation. Either the Highland Council resolves this matter, or we're all leaving."
Dores
It was a ten-mile hike from Inverfarigaig to Dores, another two if I were to meet Brandy and True at Tor Point. Added to the eight miles I had already logged earlier that day, I was exhausted by the time I reached Dores Beach, a pebbled shoreline that stretched back to grassy, wide-open knolls and General Wade's Military Road.
The area was packed with locals, tourists, and media. Limping up the gravel beach to the grass, I dropped my backpack and collapsed, careful to keep my head low so as not to be recognized. The moment I sat down, I realized the last hour of walking on pebbled beaches had done me in.
The village of Dores sits on the easternmost corner of Loch Ness where the lake suddenly narrows to half its mile width. Follow the shoreline west and you reach Tor Point. From there, the Loch runs north again until it bleeds into the River Ness.