The Loch (35 page)

"What about the water bailiff? That guy definitely knows more than he's saying. I think we should recall him. Let's find out why all these mysterious Loch Ness drownings never made the papers? Maybe the bailiff knew exactly what they were and told Angus?"

"Again, how do you prove it? Calum Forrest is old Clan. He'd sooner die than speak out against his own." Obrecht paused, absorbed in thought. "Wait a second… "

"What?"

"The weak link… it isn't Angus or Theresa or this water bailiff, it's the son… Zachary."

"What do you mean?"

"The kid's no dummy. He's still out there searching."

"If you call walking around the Loch searching."

"Don't underestimate him. If something's really happening out there, my bet is he'll find it. And when he does, he won't hide the truth, not even to save his old man."

"Okay, so what do you want me to do?"

"Contact your private investigator. Tell him to shadow Zachary Wallace. Whatever the good doctor learns, I want to know, too."

Glenmoriston
1:45 A.M.

"Huh!"

I shot up in my sleeping bag in pitch blackness, my T-shirt soaked in perspiration, my flesh covered in goose bumps. My muscles trembled with fear, but it was not from the night terror.

There's something outside the tent!

I stifled my breathing and listened to the forest, the sound of my pounding heart throbbing in my ears.

Sounds… on my left! Something's leaving the river, moving along the rocks—moving toward me!

Get the light!

I grabbed my flashlight, a sixty-five-thousand candlepower waterproof lantern I had purchased the previous morning in Inverness. Clicking on the beacon, I slipped on my hiking boots and peered outside the tent.

The boulders? Nothing.

The tent grounds? Nothing.

Had I dreamed it?
The hairs standing along the back of my neck assured me no.

"Ahhh… shiiiiiit!"

I hurled backwards into the tent in searing pain, the light flailing from my grip, my body sent writhing in spasms, an immense beast upon me, its stiletto-sharp teeth tearing into my left boot and ankle as if I'd stepped into a bear trap!

I thrashed about on my back in the darkness, kicking the unseen, gnashing brute with my free leg, while my right hand strained to reach my light.

Grabbing it, I turned the beacon upon the source of pain.

The beast released me and froze, its round, opaque eyes turning luminescent silver in the light, its chocolate brown head poised to strike again, its mouth, filled with bared fangs, dripping with my blood.

My brain churned data, even as my body remained paralyzed in fear.

Anguilla eel.

Seven footer.

Hundred and fifty pounds.

A high-pitched growl emanated from its open mouth, caused by its gurgling bloody spittle. It was a Mexican standoff, the animal held at bay, mesmerized by my light, me by its jaws and their proximity to my more vital organs.

And then I heard something else… something bigger, and it was approaching quickly through the woods.

The eel heard it, too, its growls intensifying as it grew more agitated.

The second beast was right outside the tent, circling!

I blinked back sweat, coiling my injured body to move, when the canvass was suddenly lifted away as if caught in a tornado's updraft, my light glinting off a gold-plated sword as the ancient weapon lashed across the flashlight's beam, its deadly blade lopping off the head of the startled eel.

"Jesus Christ!"

I was up on my haunches, my entire leg throbbing in pain, my free hand shielding my eyes from the three lights that cloaked the identities of my rescuers.

"He's been bitten."

"Aye, looks bad. He'll need medical attention."

Their voices muffled by hoods.

"Can ye walk, lad?"

I stood, trying my weight on my injured ankle. "Ahh. It's too sore, it might be broken."

"You two take him, I'll grab the Anguilla."

The beams lowered, revealing the three Templar Knights, all cloaked in black tunics from hood to boots. Two of the men, one on each side, shouldered my weight while the third collected the gushing remains of the Anguilla eel, stuffing it into a heavy burlap sack.

We hurried through darkness along an unseen path, the Knights' flashlights continuously searching the brush.

"The eel… why did it attack me?"

No reply.

"How did you know I was out here?"

No reply.

I saw lights up ahead. We were approaching a village.

"Why are the Black Knights guarding Loch Ness? What's their mission?"

The three Templars stopped dead in their tracks.

The leader turned and approached, raising his bloodied sword to my face. "Ye think ye ken somethin', Dr. Wallace?"

"I… I know there's something affecting the wildlife inhabiting the Glen. I also know the Templar care deeply about the land. But what you're doing… patrolling the forests… it's not going to change anything."

"Whit's done is done. We'll dae whit we must."

"It may not be too late. Maybe I can help."

"How?"

"Leave the remains of the eel with me. I'll take it to a lab, I'll do an autopsy myself. Whatever caused that eel to attack might be affecting the monster in the same way."

"No."

"Let him try," urged the Knight on my left.

"I said no. If word got oot—"

"I'll tell no one, I promise."

"I dinnae trust him," spat the Knight on my right. "Remember, he's Angus's kin."

"Aye. Enough said."

We continued on.

"Forget my father," I called out. "Do you think I trust him? Don't you remember what happened to me when I was nine? Believe me, I'm nothing like him."

The leader slowed, coming to the edge of the woods, but I could tell he was listening.

"One bad egg shouldn't destroy an entire clan. I swear, on the soul of my kin, Sir William Wallace, that I won't speak of what I find. Ever!"

We left the woods and hurried down a cobbled path, eventually coming to the Glenmoriston Arms Hotel.

My escorts left me on the porch stoop. One of them banged on the front door, then they disappeared into the night.

A yellow porch light flicked on. The front door creaked open, revealing an elderly man wearing a bathrobe. "We're filled beyond capacity, go away."

"Wait, I'm injured. Could you phone a doctor?"

The old man stepped out onto the porch and inspected my bleeding foot. "Whit happened tae ye?"

"A wild dog… it came out of nowhere."

"Hmm. There's a doctor stayin' wi' us. Wait here, an' dinnae bleed a' ower my porch."

He went back inside, leaving the outside light on.

That's when I noticed the burlap sack.

The Diary of Sir Adam Wallace

Translated by Logan W. Wallace

Entry: 25 October 1330

For hours the Knights hammered away at the cavern walls, fittin' an iron framework meant tae support the gate intae the timeless rock. At first I thought the noise wid bring another beast, but the sounds apparently kept them at bay.

MacDonald had designed the gate so that it could be raised an' lowered within its framework by chain. We are close tae finishin', an' for that, I am relieved. Still, I've had time tae ponder the repercussions o' oor actions against nature, an' have pushed MacDonald for answers.

"We arenae violatin' nature, Sir Adam, as much as usin' her. Since the time o' Saint Columba the monsters' numbers have diminished. Noo, at each summer's end, the gate shall be lowered intae the river's path, preventin' the ripe females frae escapin' tae the sea tae spawn. At the start o' each spring, we shall again return, this time tae raise the gate, allowin' the young Guivre entry. In this way, the beasts' numbers shall multiply again at Loch Ness, while keepin' Scotland's Grail safe for all time."

"An' whit if the females refuse tae spawn in Loch Ness?" I asked.

"Dinnae be sae stupid. A ripe female has tae lay her eggs somewhere. Better it be here, where they shall serve oor purpose than oot at sea."

"An' whit if Loch ness cannae handle sae many of the creatures? Perhaps God intended their numbers tae dwindle? Perhaps the food supply cannae—"

"Enough! Ye think it wis God who created these monsters? 'Twis Satan for sure, an' noo they shall dae oor biddin'. Hand me the Bruce's casket."

MacDonald had widened a fissure in the rock face jist above the entry that had brought us tae this hellhole. Gently, he placed the silver container ontae the newly-crafted shelf, then covered it wi' Templar Cloth. "May the Bruce's divine spirit keep Satan at bay, and may his Holy Grail be returned to the light when God so determines Scotland shall again be free."

I pause noo frae writin' this entry. Sir Keef has announced the gate is ready tae be lowered intae its frame, a task that will require oor combined strength.

God willin', my next entry shall be made by light o' day.

My friend, James Cameron, and I were fishing in a small boat about two hundred meters off Tor Point, close to Aldourie Castle. It was about 10:00 PM. when the boat started rocking on calm water. Suddenly, the head and neck of a large animal reared from the Loch, not more than 30 meters from us. A moment later it descended, leaving much commotion in the water. The head I saw was wide and ugly and continuous with the curve of the neck, and it looked like it had a brown-black mane.

—
D
AN
M
C
I
NTOSH,
D
ORES,
J
ULY 1963

My brother-in-law, James, and I went our from Inverness that evening, our intention—to walk from Dores to Tor Point. And then we saw it! Paddling across the Loch was this black creature. There was almost no commotion in the water and it made great speed.

—
M
ISS
E
.
M
.
J
.
K
EITH,
H
EADMISTRESS,
R
OTHIENORMAN
S
CHOOL,
A
BERDEENSHIRE, 30
M
ARCH 1965

The head was similar to that of a python, the neck was elongated and thickened as it tapered back. I could not see the body, but whatever moved it through the water was a strong method of propulsion. I was fascinated and thrilled… and, at the same time, frightened.

—
J
AMES
B
ALLANTYNE (BROTHER-IN-LAW), 30
M
ARCH 1965

M
y left ankle ached as I rode the Harley-Davidson north on the A82, heading for Inverness. X-rays had revealed no broken bones, but the ankle was badly bruised and swollen, and required more than forty stitches to close wounds inflicted by the Anguilla's barbed vomerine teeth. My bandaged foot was now immobilized in a walking boot, a contraption consisting of sacs filled with compressed air and a series of Velcro straps.

True had left a half dozen messages on my cell phone, but I was avoiding his calls. The Black Knights had found me too easily the night before, and while I was grateful for being rescued, I felt sure it had been True who had tipped them off to look for me.

I thought of Calum Forrest's words:
Be fair warned, Young Wallace, when it comes tae Loch Ness trust nae one, for there's far mair at stake than ye can possibly imagine.

I trusted True with my life, but decided to keep him in the dark about my new plans, beginning with the autopsy and toxicology report on the eel's remains.

Bypassing the sheriff's department left me few choices in regards to locating a lab. Forensic pathology in Scotland is usually contracted out through universities. The Northern Constabulary used Aberdeen University's toxicology department, while the Grampian Police sent samples to their lab in Aberdeen. In both cases, results still had to cross the sheriff's desk. Raigmore Hospital had a lab, but the chances of gaining access without calling attention to myself were slim to none.

That left me one last option.

Tidwell Animal Center was a small redbrick building located on Perth Road, not far from Raigmore Hospital. Earlier that morning I had phoned the proprietor and head veterinarian, a woman named Mary Tidwell. I described myself as visiting pathologist, hired by my cousin, a local farmer, to investigate the slaughter of one of his prized sheep. As it was a Sunday, she agreed to rent me use of her lab for a few hours, then send out for blood work on Monday.

Parking the Harley around back, I removed the bloodied burlap sack and my cane from the motorcycle's boot, tucked my baseball cap over my head, and hobbled to the side entrance.

Mary Tidwell greeted me at the door. A transplanted American in her late forties, her accent revealed a Midwestern upbringing.

"Dr. Botchin?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said, nearly forgetting my alias. "Really appreciate this. And please, call me Spencer."

"Anything for a fellow American, Spencer. My, what happened to your foot?"

"Dog bite. Damn pit bulls. Once they get hold of you… well, you know."

"The sheep remains are in that bag?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"It seems rather heavy and quite bloody. May I see it?"

"Wish I could, because personally, I'd love your opinion, but I gave my cousin my word about keeping things quiet."

"I respect that. Come in."

She led me through a linoleum-floored hallway reeking of animal feces, then to a green-tiled surgical chamber. "That'll be forty pounds for use of the lab and another thirty for the blood toxicology report." I dug through my pocket, handing her a wad of bills.

"Of course, Spencer, if there's any chance the sheep has contracted anthrax—"

"No, ma'am, I assure you, it's nothing like that."

"Still, Dr. Wallace, I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist on examining whatever's in the bag."