The Loch

by Steve Alten

  "Great. Look, Angus said you had a boat you could lend me."

  "Your father didn't kill Johnny. What happened out there was an accident."

  "Tell it to the judge."

  "Zachary, Angus is your father, and he loves you."

  "Our definition of love probably differs. Angus tosses around the word to use people."

  "You're wrong. Yes, he needed you in court, but there were other motives. He's been worried about you."

  "He'd better worry about himself. Now can I borrow the boat or not?"

  She shook her head, exasperated. "It's the Brooklyn-224, you'll find it docked at the Clansman Wharf. Keys are in the master suite, under the pillow. Take it, take whatever the hell you need, I don't care anymore."

  It was the first thing she said we agreed on.

  Inverness Castle

  I was late getting back. Having missed Max's closing remarks, I managed to slip inside the courthouse, finding my seat next to Brandy just as Mitchell Obrecht was concluding his final speech to the jury.

  "Remember, ladies and gentlemen, it is not the Loch Ness monster that is on trial here, but the man who used the monster as an excuse to commit premeditated murder… murder in the first degree. What is happening in Loch Ness today has no bearing on the heinous events that took place on February 15. More than a dozen eyewitnesses testified that Angus Wallace struck John Cialino, Jr. on the bluff overlooking Loch Ness. The defendant's own son testified that Angus Wallace was lying when he said a school of salmon lured a water creature to the surface.

  "Facts, ladies and gentlemen, not folklore. There was no monster attacking John Cialino on February 15, there was only Angus Wallace and his lust for Theresa Cialino. Premeditated murder… murder in the first degree. Your verdict will do more than send this monster away, it will send a message throughout Great Britain and the world that Scotland will not accept such unscrupulous behavior in our society, that we are a nation of law, not an unwitting sideshow. Now is the time of reckoning. Now justice must be served."

  The judge gave his final thanks and instructions to the jury, then they were led out of the courtroom.

  I turned to Brandy. "I need to speak with my father."

  "Go on. I'll meet ye back at the hotel.

  * * *

  By the time the guards let me pass, Angus had changed back into his prison uniform and was back in his cell.

  "Ye missed yer brother's speech. It wis quite movin'."

  "I met with Theresa."

  "So I heard. Whit're yer intentions then?"

  "Who was Adam Wallace?"

  He sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his face, which seemed to have aged ten years in the last two weeks. "I see ye've been talkin' tae my guid pal, Calum, aye?"

  "Answer the question."

  "Adam wis first cousin tae Sir William Wallace, an' he wis jist as brave a soul. In Spring o' the year 1330, he accompanied Sir James the Good, commonly kent as the Black Douglas, on a mission o' great importance, tae take Robert the Bruce's heart tae the Holy Land."

  "Yeah, yeah, I know the story of the Braveheart. What I don't know is the story of the Black Knights."

  "Dae ye ken whit a blood oath is?"

  "Does that mean you won't tell me?"

  "No' unless ye wish tae become a Knight."

  "I don't have time for this nonsense."

  "Nor dae I. Now whit are yer intentions wi' the monster?"

  "Why do you want it dead?"

  "Why? Because it's dangerous."

  "It killed Calum's wife, didn't it?"

  "That, I cannae say. But it went after you. An' that's enough for me."

  "That was an accident. It was lured up by the salmon, real salmon, not the kind you used in your alibi."

  "My guilt or innocence has no bearin' on this. Whit's important now is that this monster is dealt wi', once an' for a', afore it kills again."

  "Interesting how the jury's deliberating upon the same thing."

  I turned and left, knowing that might well be the last time I'd see him alive.

  Clansman Wharf

  True met me an hour later in the Clansman parking lot. I was surprised to see the media had vacated the wharf.

  "A'right, Zack, I got yer message an' brought ye a' that ye wanted an' mair," True said, pointing to a rental truck. "But I'll expect an explanation afore we make way."

  "I told you, there's crude oil leaking into Loch Ness. You and I are going to find it."

  "Ye want tae find an oil leak, call the EPA. This deep divin' suit ye had me fetch is for somethin' else entirely."

  "The oil will guide us to the monster's lair. I mean to descend into the passage and reopen it, releasing the Guivre to the North Sea."

  "Free the Guivre? Dae ye work for bloody PETA then? Bloody hell, Zachary, first ye're too feart o' even gettin' on a docked boat, now ye want tae go swimmin' wi' Nessie? An' whit makes ye think I'll help ye wi' this crazy plan?"

  "If you won't help me, I'll find someone who will. I'm sure those monster hunters are game."

  "Thae arseholes?" True shook his head. "Why dae ye want tae dae this, Zack? My sister loves ye. Take her away frae this dreary place an' live oot yer lives. Ye dinnae need this tae be happy."

  "It's not like I have a choice. You said so yourself, it's my destiny to deal with this animal."

  "Dinnae listen tae whit I said, listen tae whit I'm sayin' now! Fuck this destiny crap."

  "Destiny aside, I can't live anymore with these night terrors."

  "An' ye think by doin' this crazy stunt, the dreams'll go away?"

  "I don't know. Maybe. All I know is I keep waking up every night, screaming like a lunatic."

  "Better than the monster chewin' on yer bones."

  "The underwater lights will keep it away, at least long enough for me to reopen the passageway and release it."

  "Ye're still crazy."

  "Not yet, pal, but I'm getting there. Think about it. If I do nothing and these night terrors continue to worsen, how long do you think it'll be before I really end up in a padded cell? Think that'll help my relationship with your sister? No, I've thought long and hard about this, and it's better I face the devil now, than deal with it in a mental ward."

  True mulled it over. "I see yer point. Guess ye cannae keep livin' like this."

  "Anymore than you and the rest of the Black Knights can spend all your nights patrolling the Loch."

  "Black Knights? Whit're ye talkin' aboot?"

  I slapped him on his rock-hard shoulder. "Come on, big guy, did you really think I wouldn't recognize that physique of yours bulging beneath that black tunic? Or that bilge water you call cologne? You're the one who killed that Anguilla eel and saved my life, and I'm grateful. You did what you had to do, now let me do the same."

  He shook his shaggy head. "Shouldae let that eel eat its way up tae yer bollocks, that's whit I shouldae done. Come on then, help me wheel this gear tae yer boat."

  True unlocked the back of the rental truck and pulled up the aluminum slide door. Secured inside were a half dozen wooden crates and what looked like an oversized bright orange space suit, supported on a heavy steel frame.

  "There she is, the Newt Suit. Best damn atmospheric divin' suit we got."

  "How'd you manage to borrow it?"

  "Told the boss I wanted tae service it afore I dive the rig next week. These things need lots o' attention, the better they build them, the mair complicated they get. Still, it beats a' hell oot o' the auld JIM suits."

  I pointed to the crates. "And the detector and demolitions?"

  True winked. "Them I stole."

  * * *

  With the Newt Suit's rig on wheels, it took us less than twenty minutes to secure everything onboard the Cialino's yacht.

  The Brooklyn-224 was a fifty-seven-foot twin-screw diesel trawler, with an eighteen-foot beam and wide-open bow and stern decks. Its interior was tastefully decorated, its lavish furnishings done in maroons and creams, its woods polished teak and mahogany. Th
e aft saloon's master quarters was luxurious to a fault, complete with a king-size bed, plasma screen television, steam room, and black onyx marble whirlpool.

  I paused to gaze at a framed photo in the master suite. The image was of a young John Cialino in his early twenties standing with a group of firefighters in a New York City firehouse, a sign reading Brooklyn Heights Engine 224.

  "This guy was a fireman?"

  "Guess that explains the boat's name." True looked around and whistled. "Ye ken whit, Zack? I say screw the monster. Let's you an' me get Brandy an' a few o' her friends an' take this barge oot on the Moray Firth. A week or three an' ye'll forget a' aboot thae nightmares, that I promise."

  "No." I reached under the bed's silk pillows, found the yacht's keys, then headed for the wheelhouse.

  True followed me up to the main deck, then peered out the open venetian blinds. "Ye sure aboot no wantin' tae take that cruise?"

  I looked out the window.

  Brandy had just exited a cab and was heading for our berth. "Damn. Wait here."

  I hurried outside, meeting her halfway up the dock. "Hey. What're you doing here?"

  "I've been lookin' all over for ye. The jury came back, they delivered their verdict less than an hour ago."

  "Already?" No wonder the media had vacated the wharf "What did they rule?"

  "Guilty. Murder one." She looked up at me, tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Zack."

  She hugged me and I held her close, not sure how to react. "Murder one? Jesus, I guess I was hoping they'd give him involuntary manslaughter."

  "Angus needs tae see ye right away. He sent me tae fetch ye."

  "He'll have to wait."

  "Zack, there's talk o' the judge renderin' the death penalty. Ye need tae go see yer father. Ye need tae tell the judge what ye know."

  "I will. Later."

  "What're ye up tae then?" She pushed past me, heading for the trawler yacht. "This is Johnny C.'s yacht, isn't it? Come out, True MacDonald, I see ye in there!" She climbed aboard before I could stop her, then she pulled back the gray tarp that covered the Dive Suit.

  "Bloody hell. Finley True MacDonald, I hope ye're no' plannin' on goin' down in this thing."

  "Not me."

  "Zachary? Oh no… no way."

  "I'll be fine."

  "Fine? Against that monster? How will ye be fine?"

  "Its eyes are sensitive to bright lights. I'll be surrounded by them."

  "An' what are ye intendin' tae do down there? Fit it for glasses?"

  "He wants tae free it tae the sea," blurted out True. "I telt him he wis crazy."

  "Crazy? He should be committed."

  "I'll be okay."

  "I'll say, "cause ye're no' goin', an' that's final!"

  I turned to True. "Start the boat."

  "Don't ye dare."

  True looked at us, then ducked inside the wheelhouse. "Damn ye, Zack—"

  "Brandy, I love you, and I want to be with you forever, which is exactly why I have to do this. That night terror I had this morning, I've been having them almost every night since the Sargasso thing, and they're getting worse. I know it sounds crazy, but going down into the Loch and freeing this creature is the only way to end the nightmares."

  "It'll end yer nightmares… an' yer life. Dinnae do this, Zack. Please dinnae put us both through this pain."

  The twin engines growled to life.

  "I love you, Brandy. Forgive me." In one motion I picked her up over my shoulder—

  "Let me go!"

  —and tossed her over the starboard rail.

  I released the stern line, yelling, "True, get us out of here!"

  Brandy surfaced, gasping from the cold water. "Bastard!"

  The boat lurched forward, its tea-colored wake washing over Brandy's head.

  The Diary of Sir Adam Wallace

  Translated by Logan W. Wallace

  Entry: 8 November 1330

  Ten days. Ten long days have passed since I wis carried, half-deid, back tae Inverness. I am far frae whole, yet I am alive, spared by God, cursed by fate… my mind still lost in the bowels o' Hell. But finish this entry I must, if only for those that must one day carry on my anointed task.

  When last I wrote, Sir Keef had announced his work on the iron framework an' pulley system had been completed. Sure enough, the slides that wid support the massive gate were mounted in place along the tunnel's narrowest point, along with two single pulleys and ropes.

  Noo "twis time tae set the iron gate intae position within the frame.

  Like the gate o' a drawbridge, oor iron barrier wis designed tae slide up an' doon within its housin', lowered an' raised by the two ropes looped on pulleys. The task afore us required we raise the gate above the mooth o' the river by its ropes, so it could be fed, bottom end first, intae its slide, then lowered within its frame.

  Bein' the maist nimble, Sir Keef an' his brother, Alex mounted the frame so as tae thread the gate's heavy ropes through their pulleys first. Three o' oor rank then joined Sir Keef along the opposite bank wi' his rope, while MacDonald, mysel', an' Sir Alex worked the rope on the near shore.

  Gruntin' an' groanin', the seven o' us managed tae raise an' swing the gate ower the surface o' that dark roarin' river. As it neared the arched ceilin', the two brothers reached oot an' guided it intae position within its heavy frame.

  Sir Keef had used oil tae lubricate the sides o' the metal, an' we let oot a great cheer as the gate slid easily an' straight doon through the framework an' intae the stream, the iron grid preventin' anythin' larger than a weel dug frae passin' through its borders.

  An' then Sir Keef lost his footin' an' he tumbled intae the ragin' water.

  The current drove him intae the lowered gate, but oor barrier stood the test. Sir Keef holdin' on, we pulled on the ropes an' raised baith gate an' Knight frae the torrent. I reached oot for him, helpin' him tae the rocky embankment an' safety while MacDonald secured the ends o' baith ropes tae a metal spike anchored along the base o' the tunnel's arch.

  It wis then that the Guivre struck.

  Never have I seen a creature sae large move sae fast. Its first attack tore Sir Keef frae my grip, its horrible jaws strippin' flesh frae his bones afore releasin' him—deid an' bloodied—intae the river.

  Lookin' doon, I saw the Guivre's young circlin' in the current, attackin' Sir Keef's remains, an' I realized we were greatly ootnumbered. As I ran tae retrieve my sword, the adult creature struck again, this time takin' Sir Alex.

  The two Knights on the opposite bank were trapped. MacDonald could only watch as they were snatched, shaken nearly tae death, then released, one after the next, the monster's tactic— tae render its prey defenseless for its young.

  The two wounded Knights screamed as the juvenile serpents attacked, feastin' and quarrelin' amongst themselves as they gnashed through oor comrades flesh an' limbs like rabid dugs.

  MacDonald drew me back against the far wall, raspin' intae my ear. "Go! Return tae Inverness! Carry the Knight's mission!"

  "I'm no' goin' wi'oot ye!"

  "I'll follow, but first I must re-lower the gate. Take this torch. Distract the demon." Afore I could object, MacDonald ran for the anchored ropes.

  But the adult Guivre wis too fast, snatchin' MacDonald, shakin' him within its terrible jaws until the life gushed frae his mooth.

  I wis the last one left. Torch in one hand, William's sword in the other, I crept in the shadows toward the gate's set o' ropes, intent on trappin'g the cursed beast.

  The adult Guivre rose oot o' the river ontae the embankment, revealin' its entire girth tae me. Its terrible stench burned in my nostrils, an' the flame frae my torch danced in its rounded eyes, yet it didnae attack… wary o' either my light or my cousin's deadly sword.

  I crept backward, keepin' my eyes on the monster. The ropes were close now, beckonin' me tae reach doon an' release them frae their anchor. Choosin' tae preserve the sword, I lowered the torch an' untied them wi' my freed hand.

  The i
ron gate dropped, its sharp ends impalin' several o' the Guivre young circlin' in the river.

  Afore I kent whit happened, I wis taken frae my feet by the adult, my metal battle dress an' torso crushed within its jowls as I lashed at it blindly wi' my sword. I felt the return o' a heavy blow, an' I must have struck deep, for it flung me loose an' I flew through the dimly lit cavern, landin' hard in the darkness.

  The remainin' torch flickered and died. I lay on my side, breathin' heavy an' in great pain, unable tae see my hand afore my face. My sword wis gone, lost somewhere along the rocks. An' then I heard the Guivre young snarlin' an' I got mair terrified as they advanced.

  God came tae me then in the form o' a wisp o' cool air. I wis close tae the tunnel entrance!

  Blind an' on hands an' knees I crawled, feelin' my way until I reached the mooth o' the narrow access tunnel. Movin' on a' fours in the pitch black, I smashed my heid ower an' again, yet continued on through that suffocatin' darkness, each precious second distancin' me frae thae demons.

  In time the sounds o' the roarin' underground river faded an' the tunnel opened tae the great chasm we had descended a lifetime ago. Somewhere, high above me, wis my escape, yet how could I ascend such a dangerous mountain in darkness blacker than night?

  Still, I had tae try, for if I wis tae die, I'd rather it wis frae a fall than the fangs o' the De'il.

  Feelin' my way tae the chasm wall, I climbed, each handhold threatenin' tae cast me intae oblivion, each reach intae the darkness flirtin' wi' unseen ledges. How long I ascended cannae say. At times I paused tae catch a few precious moments o' sleep, at times I wondered if I wis still risin', so confused were my senses.

  I never saw the daylight, but I heard the rush o' the wind. It led me tae the mooth o' the cave where the night's stars greeted me like a long-lost friend. Exhausted as I wis, I continued on, refusin' tae stop until the dawn.

  Even wi' the light, I stayed far frae Loch Ness's bank.

  At some point I must've passed oot, for when I awoke, wis being carried by William Calder's men. His daughter, Helen, cares for me noo, an' soon I will ask for her hand.