by Steve Alten
"I have no idea," I muttered through the pain.
"In fact, Dr. Wallace, the record shows that a new layby was being blasted at Urquhart Castle, expanding the parking lot from twelve spaces to its present forty-seven. Did you not know that?"
I bit my tongue and swallowed, fighting to keep the bile from rising up my throat.
"Dynamite, Dr. Wallace. By your own theory, an agitator to large predators living in …"
Had God granted me one wish at that moment, I'd have requested a gun. My first shot would have struck Maxie between the eyes, stifling his incessant voice, the second and third bullets reserved for Angus and that pompous judge. The rest of the clip would be dedicated to my throbbing head, ending my misery, once and for all.
But I had no gun, all I had was intense pain and anger.
Judge Hannam was about to add humiliation to the list. "Dr. Wallace, we'll take a recess and get you some medical attention in just one minute, but first, I'm going to ask you to lower your trousers, just a bit, for the jury."
"What?"
The jury leaned forward, mentally salivating, the visitors hunching up in their seats.
I swallowed hard. "Your honor, this is absurd!"
"You're wearing boxers, yes?"
"Yes, but—"
"I agree it's unorthodox, but I mean to put an end to Mr. Rael's antics before this murder trial turns into a search for the Loch Ness monster."
The shadow ascends beneath me, homing in on the trail of blood. It rises higher, I can feel its presence around my knees, I can hear it growling in my ears… oh, Jesus, get to the light, Zachary! Get to the light!
"Clear the courtroom," said the judge, turning to his Court Macer. "Everyone but the jury, the accused, and the prosecutors."
The migraine was skewering my eyes, the Macer moving too damn slow. No one wanted to leave, and I was beyond desperate, the images and the migraine causing my entire body to tremble.
To hell with them!
Standing upon my chair on quivering legs, I unbuckled my trousers, then ceremoniously yanked my pants and boxers down six inches, allowing the High Court of Inverness to ogle my waistline, revealing to one and all, the hideous line of two-inch purple scars that encircled the fleshy upper region of my buttocks.
The Diary of Sir Adam Wallace
Translated by Logan W. Wallace
Entry: 23 October 1330
Whit have I done, whit course err'd that has led me to this evil place an' oor impossible task? I try tae write, but is it night or day, I dinnae ken… I canna think, my mind overcome by darkness an' the madness o' oor mission.
We had set off again at dawn, or close tae it, as the valley remained hidden in clouds. Each Knight bore a heavy pack on his back, mysel' included, though I didnae ken the contents, only enough no' tae ask. MacDonald seemed sullen, but determined, as we followed the eastern bank o' Loch Ness, movin' steadily south.
An hour later, we arrived at oor intended destination… or so I thought.
It wis a hillock o' rock, its location set back a bit frae the shoreline, at a place jist north o' where the waters doubled in breadth. MacDonald ordered six o' us tae roll one o' its boulders, revealin' a hole in the ground. It wis the entrance to a cave, its mooth only wide enough tae allow one man at a time tae descend intae its darkness.
Where it led tae? I wid soon find oot.
MacDonald assigned oor formation, keepin' me between himsel' an' Sir Iain Stewart. We secured oorselves in this single file by lengths o' rope, then lit oor torches an' lowered oorselves backwards, one by one, intae the darkness o' mother earth.
Havin' ne'er been in a cave, I wis quite excited, but quickly, the ground beneath my feet dropped away, becomin' a narrow crevice. Twis as if God had cut a jagged slice in the earth wi' his sword. Every treacherous step took us away frae the day until it finally disappeared, each o' us kent only by his tug an' the light o' his torch. I fell several times frae dizziness an' fatigue, but MacDonald an' Stewart were aye there tae catch me, assurin' me that as long as the torches remained lit, we'd be a'right.
I cannae say how long we journeyed, nor how deep, but quickly the ravine widened too far an' plunged at too harsh an angle for us tae walk, so that noo we had tae lower oorselves by rope, one by one, tae the next crags below. Fortunately, MacDonald had appointed two fine guides tae lead us, Reef Cook an' his younger brother, Alex, an' it wis obvious that baith o' them had followed oor intended route many a time.
We continued on like this for many hours, descendin' doon this jagged elope intae Hell, oor heavy satchels threatenin' tae cast us ower an unseen ledge intae oblivion.
Jist when it seemed my bloodied hands couldnae grapple any mair, we dropped doon tae a level plateau… at the bottom o' the gorge.
We rested, MacDonald pullin' me aside. "Listen noo, Adam Wallace, can ye hear it?"
I could hear a dull roar, like distant thunder, comin' frae the darkness tae my left. "Whit is it?"
"Loch Ness's belly."
After a brief respite, the brothers led us west through the darkness until we arrived at the entrance o' a narrow tunnel, gusts o' cold air howlin' frae its mooth. One by one we entered, forced tae crawl on hands an' knees. Mair than a dozen times I banged my heid against rock, the walls o' the tunnel damp, the echo o' rushin' water growin' louder wi' each passin' minute.
An' then, finally, we arrived.
It wis a massive subterranean chamber, harborin' an underground river, black an' cold, its depths impossible tae fathom by the light o' our torches. Thoosands o' pointed rocks hung like fangs frae its vaulted ceilin', an' a steep wall along the opposite shoreline wis alive wi' bats. The hideous animals scurried ower one another like winged vermin, wi' several occasionally flyin' off intae the darkness.
MacDonald offered answers afore I could organize my thoughts intae words. "The river flows frae the belly o' the Loch tae the northeast for four leagues afore emptyin' intae the sea."
"An' the cavern?'
"Forged by ice long afore men came tae these parts. This juncture marks the river's narrowest point, an' we shall use it tae complete our mission."
"MacDonald, if we can access this passage, then the English can, too. An' who among us wid remain in this Hellhole tae guard the Bruce's keep?"
"Ah, but that is the beauty o' the plan. We shall use the Guivre as oor appointed minions, an' none, no' even Longshanks, shall challenge them."
"An' whit are the Guivre?"
"Some folk say they're sea serpents, others describe them as dragons. Me, I call them the De'il himsel'. The head is that o' a great gargoyle, wi' teeth that can carve a man doon tae his bones. The females are feared the most as they grow the largest, as long as a belfry is high. Nasty creatures they are, but born intae darkness, they prefer the depths, away frae God-an' man's light."
"An' how are we tae use these creatures tae safeguard that which belonged tae the Bruce, an object the English King wid gie half his treasure tae capture?"
"This is the passage the young Guivre must traverse when they enter Loch Ness frae the Moray Firth. When they reach maturity, the adults must again follow the river and return tae the sea. By blockin' the passage, we'll keep the largest o' the creatures frae leavin', an' Scotland's Holy Grail shall be protected."
As he spoke, the Templar Knights began unpackin' their satchels, removin' heavy lengths o' flat irons, the kind used tae gate drawbridges.
MacDonald smiled at me, the madness aglow in his eyes.
An hour has past, an' I rest noo by the fire, my body still weary frae oor descent. As others toil, boltin' together the iron gate, I ponder the repercussions of MacDonald's plan. Assumin' these dragons even existed, whit wrath wid Nature bring doon upon our heads …
Chapter 13 Quotes
My husband and I had just arrived at Strone Holiday Chalet near Urquhart Castle, overlooking the bay. We parked at the rear of the chalet and my husband paused from unloading the car to admire the view. That's when he saw it! It was a long,
dark object, its skin very slick. The two of us watched the object for about 30-45 seconds, until it slipped gently beneath the surface and disappeared.
Both my husband and I have seen seals and dolphins in the wild, and this object didn't look like either. This was not a boat wake nor wind slick or any other dark shape often mistaken for Nessie. It was simply a very large, black animal.
—MRS. ROBERT CARTER, RESIDENT, MARSDEN, WEST YORKSHIRE, 19 SEPTEMBER 1998
Chapter 13
Inverness Castle, Scottish Highlands
Scotland
Keeping his word, Judge Hannam ordered me medicated, then held in contempt, his "official" excuse for sequestering me away from the descending hordes of media, to which I was eternally grateful. I quickly found myself in a holding cell across from my father's, the castle's dense walls isolating me from the screams and shouts of reporters demanding answers to their questions.
Within minutes, the physician's medication knocked me out.
It was dark when I finally awoke.
For several wonderful moments, I simply remained on my back, staring at the details of the ancient jail cell's stone ceiling, luxuriating in the blessed relief of having been pardoned from the pain.
The migraine's passed, eh?"
I sat up slowly and looked across the darkened corridor into Angus's cell.
"I'd see a doctor aboot those if I wis you." Angus said, pressing his face between the iron bars. "I wis boffin a Welsh woman for a time, an' she suffered the same ailment. Said it wis brought on by her menstrual cycle. Naturally, I avoided her time o' the month after that. Ye're no' on the rag, are ye, Lassie?"
"I knew better than to come back, I knew you'd never change. You really set me up good this time, didn't you, Angus?"
"Och! Ye set yersel' up. How long were ye plannin' on livin' wi' yer wee secret anyway? Another seventeen years?"
"What secret? Wake up, old man, there never was a monster, not then, not now. Putting me on the witness stand won't change the fact that you killed a man, whether by accident or choice."
"Ye're still too feart tae remember, is that it?" He glared at me from his cell, his blue eyes aglitter in the florescent light. "These migraines are yer brain's way o' avoidin' the past. Same thing happened after the first accident. Headaches anytime ye tried tae talk aboot whit happened. 'Course, they were nothin' compared tae yer nightmares."
"Nightmares?" I sat up in bed, my heart racing. "I had night terrors back then, too?"
"Aye. Ye used tae wake up, screamin' bloody murder. Thank Jesus yer mother finally took ye tae America, it wis a' I could dae tae get a guid night's rest. When that creature bit ye—"
"Nothing bit me! These aren't teeth marks, Angus, they're puncture wounds, scars from the barbed wire. I must've swam right through its coils as I surfaced."
He shook his head sadly. "As a bairn ye could hide frae the truth, it's no' sae easy as an adult. This Sargasso drownin', it's forcin' back the memories, isn't it? Dinnae deny it, lad, I can see it in yer eyes. This time roond, ye've got tae face yer demons."
"You're one to give advice."
"Frae where I'm standin', we're baith in prison, only yours is up here," he said, tapping his head.
"As you said, I'm not a child any more, so keep playing your mind games, I'm immune. As for your doubts about the barbed wire, try reading the damn medical report. The doctor who stitched me up—"
"Doctor?" Angus bellowed a laugh. "Ye call Ryan Hornsby a doctor? Hornsby's a vet'rinarian, he worked on farm animals. Highlanders like us used him 'cause we couldnae afford tae pay real doctors."
"He was still a medical professional."
"Open yer eyes, laddie. The only reason Alban MacDonald brought ye tae Hornsby was 'cause he's kin, an', o' course, he's Templar, which means he'd take the truth tae the grave wi' him… or a'ready did, seein' as he croaked last year."
"Save your breath, Angus. I'm not buying into it."
"What still gets me is how ye managed tae escape. I mean, sweet Jesus, look at them scars, it's like the De'il tasted ye an' spat ye back oot."
"I saw the medical report, Angus. It said barbed wire."
"Aye. Hornsby wrote whit he was telt."
"Enough already! Even if he was a veterinarian, why would Hornsby listen to a water bailiff and risk losing his license?"
"Because, Judy, Alban MacDonald wisnae jist a water bailiff, he's also Priest Knight o' the Templar."
"I don't understand?"
"Ye've never heard o' the Knights Templar?"
"I've heard of them, sure, but what do they have to do with Loch Ness?"
Angus shook his head. "A genius when it comes tae sea creatures, but ye're lost when it comes tae yer ain folk, are ye no'?" He moved away from the bars, sitting on the edge of his mattress. "Pay attention, Gracie, an' jist maybe yer auld man'll teach ye somethin'. The Order o' the Knights wis officially founded in Jerusalem back in the early 1100s, roond the end o' the First Crusade. I say officially, 'cause they'd been roond long afore that, goin' back tae the days o' Saint Columba hi'sel'. They were part-warrior, part-monk, an' a' chivalrous, dedicated tae protecting Christians makin' the pilgrimage tae the Temple o' Solomon. King Baldwin II o' Jerusalem offered them a hame in the temple, an' livin' on alms, they became kent as the Poor Knights o' the Temple."
"What does any of this have to do with—"
"Patience, Sally, patience. Now some ten years after he formed the Knights, Hughes de Paynes traveled tae Europe, seekin' new recruits. In France, he joined forces wi' another monk, Bernard de Clairvaux, an' his Cistercian brotherhood. Vowin' tae fight in Christ's name against evil, the Knights successfully recruited thoosands intae the Order, a' donnin' the white vestments, now adorned wi' the Knighthood's red cross. Now in 1139, the Pope, Innocent II, he decides it's best if he took control o' the Templars. First thing he does is exclude them frae taxation, which allowed them tae accumulate great wealth. Bein' clever sorts, the Knights adopted the practice o' lendin' money usin' interest terms, practically inventin' modern-day bankin' in the process. The order became rich an' quite powerful, an' their numbers swelled, neither o' which wis appreciated by France's King Phillip the Fair, an ambitious bastard if ever there wis one. Phillip coveted the Knights' accumulated wealth, an' it wis he who gave Friday the thirteenth its true infamy, for on that day in October o' 1307, he ordered a' Knights residin' in France tae be arrested for heresy. Three thoosand innocent Templars were imprisoned an' tortured, their property seized by the king. Under Phillip's pressure, the Pope then ordered the arrest o' a' Templar Knights. Fifteen thoosand mair monks were jailed an' brutally beaten, effectively dissolvin' the Order. The Knights' Grand Master, Jacques de Molay, wis coerced intae a false confession, then burned at the stake. Legend says that Molay recanted his confession as he burned, an' placed a curse on the king an' the Pope, baith o' whom died within seven months."
And what does all this have to do with True's father?"
"I'm gettin' tae that. Fleein' France, the survivin' Templars branched oot intae two successful Orders, the Sovereign Military Order o' the Temple o' Jerusalem an' the Freemasons. Many o' the Fraternal Order came tae Scotland, which had been a stronghold for the Templars back in the day o' Hughes de Paynes, him havin' worked oot a deal wi' King David of Scotland for the lands of Ballatradoch. Robert the Bruce an' the Stewart Clan were all born into the Order, which eventually became kent as the Masonic Templar. Thus, the Scots Royal line wis established, linkin' us tae the bloodline o' King David o' Jerusalem an' his son, Solomon, who commissioned his Temple be built by a Master Mason. Remember, it wis Solomon's Temple that held the Arc of the Covenant an' its wealth o' secrets. Many believe the Knights were the ones left to guard it, and when a Templar guards somethin', it stays guarded.
"Anyway, after Bonnie Prince Charlie fell at Culloden, the Masons continued their attempts tae re-establish oor bloodlines an' adopt the Templar laws intae Scotland's crown. This movement became kent as the Scottish Rite, an' it wis very
popular in the Colonies durin' the American Revolution. Fact is, both George Washington an' Benjamin Franklin were Knights, an' they based much o' America's Declaration o' Independence on the teachings o' the Masonic Temple."
I listened intently, this, the first serious conversation I could recall ever having with my father. I was amazed at his depth of knowledge, but suspected he was again setting me up for something.
"… the Puritans, being a narrow-minded an' superstitious lot, were aye accusin' folk o' witchcraft, while the Masons encouraged scientific discoveries; the law of gravity, the invention o' the reflectin' telescope, an' the list goes on."
"You're a Templar Knight, too, aren't you?"
He paused then, thinking it over. "Wis, Gracie, I wis, 'til that bastard, Alban MacDonald, removed me frae the Order. Can ye believe it? Me, a direct descendant frae Sir William Wallace himsel', kicked oot o' the Masonry? The Wallace clan's aye given oor all for Scotland. It wis a descendent o' Wallace that spilt blood at Bannockburn wi' the Bruce. An' when the Bruce died, a Wallace went tae the Holy Land, only tae find oor entourage outnumbered by the Moors at Teba. There, in Calavatra—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know the story, and stop exaggerating! It was there that the Black Douglas, Sir James the Good, flung the Bruce's heart into the Moorish lines and proclaimed, 'Go Braveheart and we, your Knights will follow,' and that's where the name, Braveheart, was really coined."
He shook his head. "Why dae I waste my time?"
"Just answer me this, Angus. If you were such a chivalrous Templar, why did Alban MacDonald expel you."
"Politics. The auld fart refuses tae change wi' the times. The Knights guard the ancient ways, see, but there are those among us who prefer tae live in the twenty-first century. Alban's a Priest-Knight o' the highest order, so what he says goes. He an' a few o' the senior cooncil members didnae like me sellin' my ancestor's land tae Johnny C., though it's okay for the hypocrites' sons tae work for Cialino Ventures, includin' one True MacDonald."
