Monster: Tale Loch Ness

by Jeffrey Konvitz

  Suddenly, there was silence, though MacPherson's cries still echoed between the building's ramparts. Scotty turned, confused. Mary MacKenzie showed no emotion, no reaction, her attention riveted on the figure who had been haranguing the audience.

  Father MacPherson walked forward, then raised his hands. "Who is the beast?" he cried out.

  "Satan," the congregation replied in unison.

  "The second beast?" he screamed.

  "The false prophet," the congregation replied. "The son of Satan."

  "And the Word," MacPherson declared, "carried by the Rider on the white horse is God's Word. And the Rider is the Son of God, Christ our Lord. And we are his army!"

  An enormous clamor erupted through the church as everyone began banging their pews. "We are his army!" they cried.

  "Will we die if we must at the side of our Lord?"

  "Yes, we will die if we must!"

  Father MacPherson walked back to the pulpit. He waited, watching the exhausted expressions. Then he returned to the Latin of the Mass, reciting a series of prayers and bringing the services to a close with the consecration of the host and wine, the Holy Communion of the faithful and final prayers.

  The formal service completed, he waited for his altar boys and then followed them out of the room.

  Father MacPherson rose from his chair and shook Scotty's hand. "Bruce. King of Scotland. Yes, Bruce! You look like King Robert, and I know, for I saw his visage in a dream as he entered the battle of Bannockbum to fight against the English." He sipped at the steaming cup of tea, then turned to Mary MacKenzie. "And King Robert has a fine lass for an escort. A lass with Christ in her heart." His expression deepened as his eyebrows twisted. "And we must keep Christ in our hearts, for Satan and the false prophet are upon us."

  MacKenzie smiled. "How are you feeling, father?"

  The priest held up his hand. "Steady as a rock. My gout and arthritis have been assuaged by the Lord's kindness. He is preparing me for the great battle, curing my wounds. And I shall not fail him. I shall carry his banner. For I am a soldier of Christ on earth."

  Scotty smiled, amused by the image of a toothless, barking dog. "I take it you've lived here a long time."

  "Ay, you take it right, my son," MacPherson said. "Was born and raised here. I've served the Lord at this very spot for more years than I care to count. I've seen heathens come and heathens go, and I've seen the Word of the Lord cut its swath across the land. Yes, these are hallowed grounds, Mr. Bruce."

  "Father, I noticed there were no young people in the church."

  MacPherson seemed to rise with indignation. "The young have been perverted. They have taken to the beast, to the false prophet. But they shall return. They shall find their way back to the house of the Lord."

  Mary MacKenzie pointed to bound volumes on the book shelves. "Father MacPherson is a scholar. An expert on the history of the region. These shelves are a treasure of folklore and personal chronicles."

  The priest giggled. "All covered with cobwebs and dust, as I am, Mr. Bruce. You must admit, I'm a bit hoary."

  Scotty shook his head. "I heard you speak from the pulpit. You may be hoary, but I don't think they're going to put you out to pasture yet."

  "At least not until I have helped fulfill the prophecy!"

  "What prophecy?"

  "You heard the sermon, young man, the ultimate cataclysm. God's war against Satan. When Christ rides forth against the black host, I shall be there, too!"

  Mary MacKenzie cleared her throat. "Father. Mr. Bruce would like to speak to you about the Loch Ness monster."

  "The beast!" MacPherson cried, face ablaze with confrontation. "It is not a monster. It is the beast itself. Hell's master."

  Scotty moved to the edge of his chair. "So you believe it exists?"

  "Believe? I have seen it! I have felt its breath upon my skin!"

  "You actually saw it?"

  "And touched it! Confronted it! Overcame its overtures! Sent it back into the depths!"

  Scotty was enthralled. "When did this happen?"

  The priest's thoughts seemed to dart rapidly away. "In 1935," he suddenly said.

  "Tell me, father. Tell me what happened."

  MacPherson's voice grew deeper. "Fortunately, senility has not overcome my memory, and the image of what happened stands as vivid as ever, as if my confrontation had occurred just moments ago." He waved his hand, painting a picture. "I remember the feeling. Something came into my heart, carrying the Word of the Lord. The Lord told me to proceed on to the loch's waters. I did not question the Word, though I was filled with trepidation and fear. The midnight hour had already struck. I had feared for a long time that the forces of evil had taken ascendance and might achieve the ultimate destruction of God's kingdom. I had prayed to the Lord, asking him to tell me this was not so. And his call had suddenly come. I knew he was about to show me the truth of his ascendancy."

  Mary MacKenzie settled into a seat next to Scotty. Both were riveted on the priest's animated face, though MacPherson's eyes were ablaze with distance, probing through mists of time.

  "I left the chapel and drove to the loch. There was no one about, and a veil of hell was upon the waters, a fog so thick you could not see the end of your hand. There was a deathlike silence, too. I was afeared. My heart was pounding. But the Word of the Lord in me said go on. So I did. I located a rowboat, and out on to the waters I went, alone, cold, and defenseless. I cannot remember how long I floated aimlessly, but deep into the hours of darkness I asked the Lord for a sign. The Lord said I would soon witness his power and I would know my fears for his ultimate survival were ill founded. So I waited. Then it happened. The loch waters rose, drenching me to the quick. Ay, I was filled with terror as from out of the depths a wild beast appeared with ten horns and seven heads. And on its heads were blasphemous names. I noticed one of the beast's heads seemed to have been mortally wounded, but this mortal wound was healed." He stopped, stared at MacKenzie and Bruce, marveled at their astonished expressions, then continued. "Yes, I was staring at the face of the beast. I did not know what to do, but I stood my ground as its hot breath seared my skin. It moved to me, churning water, then took me up in its mouth and cried into my soul: do you follow the beast and the son of the beast, the false prophet? Or do you curry to the Word of the Lord, God, and his hated son, the Christ? I was afraid to answer. But I felt God give me strength. I defied the beast. He asked me to follow him. I told him I follow the Lord. A red bolt of lightning struck the lake, the sword of the Almighty. The beast shook and fought, trying to destroy me. When he could not, he disgorged me and receded beneath the water. I was nearly sucked down, too, by the undertow, but I managed to swim back to the boat and get the boat back to shore, where I fell upon the land and lay unconscious until the darkness and fog had lifted away and the kiss of the sun hit my face."

  "Did you ever see the monster again?"

  "It is a beast, Mr. Bruce. The beast."

  "Right—the beast. But did you ever. . ."

  "Never," the priest said, interrupting. "I never saw it again. But I will. I am a member of Christ's legion. And the Lord has promised I shall do battle with the beast and the false prophet before I die."

  "Is the false prophet here, too?" Scotty asked.

  "The false prophet's word is everywhere, but his manifestation is also in the loch."

  "I don't understand."

  "The ship!" the priest screamed, awash with anger. "The drill ship! It is the manifestation of the son of the beast, and I have been called to do battle with it."

  Scotty stared. Had Mary MacKenzie told MacPherson he was part of Geminii? He didn't know.

  "How will you battle with the ship, father?"

  The priest raised his fist. "I do not know. But the Lord will show me. I shall battle the ship. The men of the oil company, who are followers of the false prophet. And then the beast itself."

  Scotty glanced at Mary MacKenzie. "What if I told you, father, that I work for the oil company?"r />
  The priest stood. "I would look at you to see if that were true. If I felt you were of the beast, I would try to bring you back to the Lord. If that were not possible, I would smite you dead. But I have watched you carefully. Because I cannot be deceived, I am satisfied. You carry the Word of the Lord, Mr. Bruce."

  "Thank God," Scotty said, relieved.

  Father MacPherson walked around his desk and placed his hand on Scotty's shoulder. Turning to Mary MacKenzie, he said, "This is a good man. He is welcome here at any time. If I did not have to perform another Mass, I would most enjoy talking some more. You bring him back, you hear, lassie."

  Mary MacKenzie smiled. "Absolutely, father."

  They spoke several minutes more; then Father MacPherson led them to the door.

  "May God be with you" were his last words.

  Scotty stood next to the jeep, staring back at the church. Mary MacKenzie moved to his side.

  "What do you think?" she said.

  "I think he's crazy," he replied.

  She nodded noncommittally, then climbed into the jeep. He climbed in, too, and started the engine, heading back toward the Carn Dearg Inn.

  Chapter 10

  The next week was a busy one. A drill-stem test, run on Beauly Highpoint, recorded a significant flow of oil. Excited, the senior staff charted follow-ups, authorizing Beauly delineation wells, additional wildcats, and new cost and revenue projections. A letter was also received from Farquharson. Having read the Columbus report, the undersecretary expressed satisfaction with Geminii's investigation and, although not completely accepting the company's conclusions, at least considered the possibility of sabotage as real, asking to be apprised of further developments.

  Scotty spent most of the week locked in meetings. He did not see Mary MacKenzie again, though they spoke twice on the phone, and he ran into Lefebre only once, passing him without so much as a nod. On Thursday, Whittenfeld asked Scotty to fly to Edinburgh to pay a courtesy call on Farquharson and then to proceed to London to present the new projections to company management. The assignment could not have come at a better time. Michael Wessinghage had called Wednesday night, having located a lead to Lefebre's past in London. Scotty's contact was to be a man named John Leslie Houghton, and a warning accompanied Houghton's phone number. No substantive questions were to be asked over the line, nor was he to ever publicly use Mr. Houghton's name or ask Mr. Houghton anything about himself, his business, or his acquaintances. The entire bent of their forthcoming conversation and possible liaison was to be confined to Lefebre.

  The next day, early afternoon, he called Houghton's number from the privacy of Travis House, spoke to Houghton's secretary, and arranged a meeting for Saturday night at Houghton's office. Informing Mrs. Munro to pack :his suitcase, he drove to Geminii base for the final matter on the weekly

  agenda, an orientation session with the new district organizer of the Transport and General Workers Union. According to the information they'd received, Malcolm Abercrombie, though still a district union official, had been stripped of his senior position, and a man named Hugh Sutherland had been transferred there to fill the void.

  "Mr. Abercrombie was unable to make the meeting," Sutherland began irresolutely moments after Scotty had arrived. "He had some district branch matters to attend to, so he could not do the honors of introduction. That I will have to do myself. But perhaps we're fortunate." He smiled at Whittenfeld. "You've all spent more than enough time with Abercrombie already. Perhaps too much."

  "Abercrombie has been a credit to the union," Whittenfeld said. "It's been a pleasure to do business with him. And we, of course, look forward to his continued friendship as well as a new and fruitful relationship with you."

  "Yes," Sutherland said in an offbeat manner, his callused hands laid on the table, his gaunt face and orbited eyes inactive. "I certainly look forward to a new relationship."

  Whittenfeld smiled; the smile was stilted. "I'm sorry Mr. Fullerheim couldn't be here, either. He's not feeling well. However, I'm sure you'll find him to be one of the more attentive labor relations executives in the business."

  "So I've heard," Sutherland said, examining faces.

  "Is this the first time you've worked in the area?" Foster asked.

  "No," Sutherland replied. "But I haven't been here in a bit. I've concentrated on national duties the last couple of years, though I've committed myself to field work whenever the situation has become nasty enough to warrant special action."

  "There are no nasty problems here," Whittenfeld said. "Isn't that so, Scotty?"

  Scotty massaged his jaw. "No. Our relationship with the union is top notch."

  Sutherland smiled sardonically. "Unfortunately, I'm not of that opinion."

  "Oh?" Whittenfeld remarked.

  "I have a list of grievances," Sutherland said. "And I would like to see if we could work out an accommodation."

  "We're always willing to talk," Whittenfeld said. "Though, as you know, our actions are already governed by the parent agreement as well as by the local contract worked out with Abercrombie, which, I might add, was enthusiastically accepted by the rank and file."

  "Don't hold Abercrombie up to me!" Sutherland said. "Abercrombie is a mouse. A man without strength. A man easily swayed by those he views with awe, which includes the management of Geminii Petroleum and most everyone else with power. Because he is a weak man, he has surrendered the interests of his union membership. We cannot allow that to continue. No, gentlemen, Mr. Abercrombie has been a disappointment. Perhaps a Quisling as well."

  "You're making an inference about our integrity," Whittenfeld said. "And I don't think it's warranted."

  "We'll see," Sutherland remarked, bowing.

  "Did the membership vote out Abercrombie?" Foster asked.

  "No," Sutherland replied. "The National Executive Committee stripped him of his authority."

  "I don't understand," Foster countered. "If Abercrombie had been doing such an inadequate job, then why didn't the district membership act first?"

  "They probably didn't realize they were being short-changed." Sutherland declared.

  "Can we hear your list?" Whittenfeld asked.

  Sutherland smiled. "The first demand is based on a new development. You've put heavily armed men on the Columbus. Vigilantes. We want them off."

  "I'm sorry," Whittenfeld declared. "They have to remain on board."

  "Why? To intimidate the men?"

  "No. To protect them."

  "We had an unfortunate occurrence," Scotty said. "The ship was attacked by a submersible, as you no doubt know. We need the guards to protect her as well as your men."

  "Come now! You don't expect armed guards to shoot and kill a submersible as if it were a herring, do you? So please don't play me for an idiot!"

  Reddington's words exactly, Scotty thought.

  Whittenfeld stood. "The men are aboard to prevent attempts at internal sabotage."

  "Attempts? By whom? Geminii executives and staff?"

  "No."

  "By union members?"

  "Let's say neither."

  Sutherland lit a cigarette, self-rolled. "I will restate our position. The men are to come off the ship. I would also like the safety officer to come off as well. We want to replace him with our own man, someone who will look after the interests of our membership with a more devoted sense of diligence. Since one of our men has already drowned and several have been injured as well, I don't think the request is unreasonable."

  "Not excessively," Whittenfeld said. "But unreasonable enough. We've discussed this matter with the union many times. We reached a consensus long ago."

  "A consensus is not embodied in the general agreement."

  "Correct. But it's been verbally accepted by both sides. And, anyway, there's no compelling reason to open the issue again."

  "On the contrary," Sutherland charged. "There is a strong compulsion. Namely, as I said, casualties."

  Whittenfeld scribbled a note. "Believe me, I s
ympathize. But if I have a union safety rep on board, complaints will be nonstop, and, well, progress will slow. I cannot allow that to happen."

  "Do you prefer dead men to dead dollars?"

  "Of course not," Whittenfeld said. "And I don't understand why you think I don't have the men's interests at heart. Hell, I respect the union and encourage its activities even though my first obligation is to Geminii."

  "Don't make me retch, Whittenfeld. I'm not here to be coddled, conned, or entertained. I'm here to do a job, and I may be the first rep around here in a while who's had such a desire."

  "Mr. Sutherland," Whittenfeld said. "There's no reason to roar in here flinging antagonisms all over the place."

  "I'm just stating our positions as clearly as possible."

  "I said we'll talk."

  "Talk alone is worthless."

  "Talk leads to other things."

  "Like more talk. And if that happens, we'll just have to . . ."

  "Sit down?"

  Sutherland stared noncommittally, then smiled. "We also want a union representative to attend your management meetings."

  Whittenfeld tried to stifle a laugh. "You're not serious, are you?"

  "Yes," Sutherland declared. "And practical. These are very special circumstances. As you said in your own explanation to the union, Geminii suspects the Columbus was attacked. As such, we wish to be privy to security and operational decisions."

  "Out of the question."

  "Let us blaze new territory."