Monster: Tale Loch Ness

by Jeffrey Konvitz

  Fallworth interceded. "Although the protection of installations is the responsibility of the company, there has been a long-standing official and unofficial working relationship with Defence and MI5 operatives in the offshore sector, and even though the Columbus was technicallly onshore, their services were utilized by us in the initial stages of Columbus sector planning."

  "There's also a potential nationalist terrorist element in Scotland," MacGregor said, completing the picture, "whose actions would fall under diverse jurisdictional scrutiny. The Northern Constabulary, the Special Branch, and Scotland Yard would most certainly be involved, as well as MI5, if British national interests were affected." MacGregor tapped his hand against the table for emphasis. "Scotland does have its fringe groups. Though their barks are often bigger than their bites, we've uncovered links to the Provisional IRA, and that raises an inference of real trouble—if not now, then later. There have also been some isolated instances of violence already. The Tartan Army bombed our oil pipelines several years ago. So did the Army of the Provisional Government. And a violent fringe group called the New Jacobite Coalition has been implicated in a handful of political murders. In fact, even the Scottish Nationalist Party, although officially opposed to violence, has its activities monitored by the Special Branch because it stands almost by definition for the breakup of the British state and therefore its activities are technically considered to be subversive. No, Mr. Bruce, each governmental group has a right to have its interests represented because until we know more, I'd be hesitant to exclude any possibilities."

  Whittenfeld's secretary entered carrying a tray of cups, a pot of coffee. She doled out servings, then retreated.

  Whittenfeld stood. His face was a mirror of emotion; his cheeks were burnished. He was in control of his temper for the first time since the disaster, having finally accommodated the shocks.

  "Scotty," he said, "you are to coordinate the salvage operation."

  Scotty just nodded.

  Fallworth glanced through Scotty's dossier. "I was surprised you had asked for the assignment."

  Scotty stiffened. "The Columbus was my responsibility. I will bring her up!"

  "I had no idea," Fallworth continued, digesting Scotty's remark, "that you had amassed so much salvage experience."

  "The opportunities were there."

  "And so much diving expertise."

  "Yes, sir."

  "In addition, Scotty," Whittenfeld declared, "you will coordinate our investigation with the Department of Energy."

  "When will you begin the salvage work?" MacGregor asked as he sipped his coffee.

  "Right away," Fallworth said. "Under international law, we have no choice. We have to bring the derelict off the loch floor as quickly as is practicable."

  Whittenfold turned to the detective. "Do you have any questions for Bruce?"

  MacGregor tipped back his chair, placing his enormous hands on the table edge. "Not now. Though I think Mr. Bruce and I should meet as soon as salvage planning actually begins and as often as possible thereafter. Of course, I expect to be informed of all developments. All findings."

  "Absolutely," Scotty said.

  "One more thing, Mr. Bruce," MacGregor advised. "There's quite a bit of tension about because of this thing. Tread lightly. The Scots have received a shock and they do not react warmly to shocks applied by foreigners. I'm sure you can appreciate that."

  "There'Il be no problems," Scotty. said.

  The police officers smiled. Whittenfeld noted MacKintosh's relation to the Loch Ness enterprise—he had investigated the death of Rolf Kreibel as a junior officer—then escorted MacGregor and MacKintosh through the door, returning moments later, taking a seat.

  "New York management will be here in the morning,"

  Fallworth said. "I'll try to absorb the brunt. If I need either of you, I'll call."

  "I'll be home until noon," Whittenfeld said. "Scotty?"

  "I'll be in my office."

  Fallworth stood. "The Columbus incident monopolized debate in Parliament all day Wednesday. Apart from an outburst by an SNP minister, the debate followed party lines. Energy was put on the spot. So was the Scottish Office. The government agreed to an interbranch inquiry before a select tribunal. There will be representatives from the Scottish Office, Energy, Home, Trade, and the Highland region. It is essential we protect our position within the confines of the law. I want a thorough investigation. If the Columbus was sabotaged, let's know it. If mistakes were made by us, then so be it." He paused, waiting for comment; there was none. "Anything else?"

  Whittenfeld and Scotty shook their heads. And that being the case, the meeting was adjourned.

  Whittenfeld looked through the office window at the loch.

  The vile bitch!

  He could feel anger still surging through his body. Yet he could also feel strength and resolve. He'd had a temporary setback, but he'd never allow Geminii to be stopped.

  No, they would bring the Columbus up. They would start operations again, and he would make sure the infamy would never reoccur.

  Lefebre entered the office carrying a folder. A Gitaries was dangling from his lips. He handed Whittenfeld the folder.

  Whittenfeld examined the two lists inside.

  "Is that all?" he asked.

  "Yes," Lefebre replied. "You've seen the names we pinpointed after the first attack on the ship and the names we added as we looked closer." He pointed to the bottom of the second list. "These are new."

  "Did you meet MacGregor?" Whittenfeld asked, studying the names.

  "Yes."

  "What did you think?"

  "I think he's incompetent and dirty."

  "You think most human beings are incompetent and dirty."

  "They are. This MacGregor is also stupid. He tried to intimidate me by stomping around the room like King Lear. I find him to be pathetic. One doesn't achieve authority with words, nor does one achieve it by attempting to intimidate the nonintimidatible, by underestimating the intelligence of higher intellect. One conquers authority, claims it for his own." He laughed derisively. "MacGregor is a fool."

  Whittenfeld ignored the lecture. "I don't think the police will get anywhere. We'll take it upon ourselves again. Open up everyone on these lists. Tail the most suspicious. Tap phones if you can. Rifle private files. You have some good moles on staff. They're overpaid, too. Put them to work. But concentrate on this Jacobite group."

  "All right."

  "Anything else?"

  "Yes. As you suggested, we did a run on Sutherland, and we've come up with something interesting."

  Whittenfeld's attention perked. "What?"

  "It seems Mr. Sutherland has turned up as the Transport Union representative in the precise locations of and just prior to the last four Jacobite terrorist attacks. We checked with the union national, and we learned in each instance Sutherland requested the assignment because of a real or imagined problem with local union representation. And, in each instance, he did not remain in the area long after the mutinous events."

  "Interesting," Whittenfeld remarked.

  "We also checked with the SNP. Sutherland was an active member in Strathclyde. However, he espoused a more violent line than the SNP membership was willing to accept. They wanted him to tone down the rhetoric. He balked and disappeared, only to reappear in Northern Ireland, organizing secret militant Catholic cells for the IRA. Then he unexplainably returned here three years ago to work with the Transport Union."

  "How'd you get the information?"

  "Stools. Payoffs."

  "Nothing firm? No usable proof?"

  "Not yet."

  "Get it for me. But quietly. I do not want a repetition of the Bruce incident!"

  Lefebre began to laugh.

  Scotty left his office late, descending to the first floor. He doubted anyone remained in the building apart from the night staff. He was wrong. Pierre Lefebre emerged from the security office just as he appeared.

  He had nearly forgotten
the horror of London but Lefebre's presence made it re-emerge. A taste of bile surged up his throat.

  "Men live," Lefebre said cryptically with a mysterious smile, "men die. The cycle continues. When men die, they are forgotten. All men. Including you, Mr. Bruce."

  Scotty stopped and stared. Brilliant, he thought derisively. A philosophical statement and an intimidation all in one breath. What a diseased mind! Christ, he still wanted to bash the bastard's brains all over the place, although he'd promised himself he wouldn't. Hell, he'd gone back on that promise before. After paralyzing the ballplayer, he'd sworn he'd never hit anyone again—intentionally or unintentionally—but, over the years, he had belted a couple deserving bastards. He wasn't a total angel. On the other hand, he was going to try to stick to his pledge of docility right now. The fight with Lefebre had happened some time ago; things had been quiet between them since. More importantly, Reddington and the crew of the Columbus had just been lost. He was not in the frame of mind for a personal confrontation, nor did he think it proper. Then again, he had to admit the truth. The information he'd received from Houghton had been intimidating. Christ, he wasn't a coward, but he was now aware he was dealing with a mass murderer who had killed hundreds without remorse. No matter how brave he thought himself to be, he wasn't a gunman nor did he think he could ever kill anyone. Lefebre could and had! Only a complete imbecile would fail to tread softly.

  "The Columbus tragedy is more important than our feelings. We have to put the project first." He had difficulty getting the words out.

  "Monsieur Bruce. In American baseball, they give the batter three strikes. In my world, I give only one. You have had your strike! I would prefer to have broken your neck, and I would still prefer to do so, but for the time being, I am constrained. I am forced to tolerate your existence. Believe me, monsieur, it is a painful task—made possible only by my ability to deny your existence. I have no reason to talk to you. Nor do I desire to. You are nothing to me. Do I make myself clear?"

  "Yes. Very clear."

  "Good."

  "But let me make something clear to you. I don't like to be threatened or attacked!" So much for treading softly.

  Lefebre stared condescendingly. "Nobody touches me," he finally said. "Ever!"

  Chapter 14

  Stateside management arrived, remained in Inverness several days, then returned to London with John Fallworth for meetings with the secretary of state for energy. A number of salvage experts flew into Inverness. Under Geminii supervision, they analyzed several recovery methods and adopted one after a team from the Department of Energy's Petroleum Engineering Division had joined the deliberations. In addition, they prepared a requisition analysis and drafted a salvage proposal for presentation to the Highland Regional Council and Scottish Office.

  Two days after the disaster, Scotty had called the Cam Dearg Inn. Unable to locate Mary MacKenzie, he had phoned several more times in the interim, speaking to MacKenzie's niece. Twice he was told she was out of town, the third time that she had no desire to speak to him. Angered, he'd decided to wait for the Highland Council-Scottish Office meeting to confront her.

  The meeting took place at the council offices in Inverness behind closed doors. Mary MacKenzie was there, though she did not look directly at him even once. However, the session over, he was able to corner her alone in the council lounge.

  "Why the hell have you been ignoring me?" he asked.

  "Now look, Mr. Bruce—"

  "I thought the name was Scotty."

  "Only during the truce."

  "We're not at truce anymore?"

  She breathed deeply, annoyed at his naïveté "Are we on the same planet, Mr. Bruce? Do we hear, see, and comprehend the same things? Did I not just listen to you present yourself as a senior Geminii executive, the man responsible for Geminii salvage operations? I fought Geminii. I predicted disaster. I was forced to adopt a truce. Forced by politics, Practical considerations. The facts of life. But a disaster has happened. The well has blown out. The loch has been polluted with gas, drilling mud, chemicals. There is the specter of more trouble ahead." She smirked. "So all bets are off, Mr.

  Bruce. The truce is ended. War declared once more."

  "Does the state of war go to me personally, also?"

  "As I said, you are senior Geminii management."

  He faced her squarely. "I think you think I'm putting on an act. That I'm not upset. That all I care about is Geminii. Proving Geminii blameless. Getting Geminii back into operation. Getting a new ship at the wellhead."

  "Perhaps I do."

  "My best friend was on the Columbus!"

  "I'm aware of that!"

  "There were also a lot of other men. Friends. Acquaintances. All dead. How goddamn callous do you think I am?"

  "I'm afraid you have to answer that question. I can't. But I never knew what callous meant until the word oil became more personal to me than a definition scrawled in a dictionary. Yes, I understand how crucial the search for oil has become in this insane world. And yes, I realize the despair the absence of oil creates. I am aware of all the arguments. I am a compendium of rehearsed monologues and convoluted legal presentations."

  "Then you should understand the difference between the corporation and the individual."

  She ran her tongue against her lips. "I've developed a terrible fear for the individual, Mr. Bruce. A premonition he has been swallowed by something far more powerful."

  "The beast?"

  She grinned diabolically. "Perhaps. But perhaps you should admit there are times when corporate policy or your own corporate survival prevents you from saying the things you would like to say. Prevents you from defending the truth until you've become so programmed, you cannot even identify it."

  He bristled. "You've got the wrong guy, lady. And the wrong malady. Hell, I made a career out of fighting corporations. I made a career out of defending the 'so-called' truth. I didn't just turn on the football owners. No way. It accelerated from there. I liked the feel of martyrdom. And I have a whole list of conquests. I rebelled against the oil industry when I felt it was about to endanger restricted areas in the Santa Barbara Channel off the California coast. I sniffed out executives—senior execs—who were taking kickbacks. And to this day I defend those actions. They were worthwhile. With worthwhile rewards. And yes, the accolades poured in from the public. I ate up the tribute. And suddenly, Christ, I found causes everywhere. Good ones. Bad ones. I became a clearing house for crusades. I got to the point where every word spoken and every move made had a sinister motive behind it. There were conspirators and conspiracies everywhere. I smelled rats in all the woodwork. I became a walking blood-hound, even if it meant identifying evils that didn't exist. I was just like a sixties, anti-Vietnam war-flower child, protesting everything that was protestable. And lady, you remind me of me!"

  "But you're no longer you. You've changed! Abandoned your crusades."

  "Right."

  "You let the corporations win."

  "Wrong. I chose to regain my soul. I chose not to remain a cause-spouting zombie. I re-established contact with reality."

  "Reality?" she asked angrily. "Try this reality on for size, A drill ship and a tug lie at the bottom of the loch. Soon, armadas of surface support vessels, loaded with chemicals and dangerous equipment, are going to swarm over the graveyard, desecrating the dead. And I'm not saying that should not be so. The wreckage must come up. The water must be deansed. The precise cause of the disaster must be discovered. But look what has happened. A beautiful loch, a national treasure, has been turned into a grotesque junkyard and battleground, and an important part of our heritage has been stomped on like so many blades of grass."

  "Don't you realize I understand? Why is this so hard for you to accept?"

  "Because I've heard the rhetoric too many times."

  "Well, then. Perhaps you're the one who can't recognize the truth. Perhaps you've so buried yourself in utopian dogma, you've lost the ability to see the forest from the
trees. . . . I did!"

  She tried to walk away; he grabbed her by the arm.

  "Running?" he asked. "Hiding?"

  "No!" she replied. "Trying to leave this room so I can go about my work."

  "You want Geminii out. I want Geminii in." He paused "I know there's a middle ground."

  "You were convinced Geminii was occupying a middle ground before."

  "I might have been wrong. There's a possibility our investigation will prove so, and I'll be the first to admit it. But you should also be aware the investigation may uncover some very incriminating facts. Facts which may point a finger at the Scots. Facts suggesting sabotage and murder."

  "Nonsense."

  He tried to organize his thoughts. "Look, you. Why the hell can't you be a woman for just one goddamn minute?"

  She was indignant. "I am a woman, and because I'm a woman, I have to work that much harder to defend what is right."

  "Yes. I know all about it. I know all about the feminine burden. But no burden should allow a woman to turn herself into a Sherman tank. Christ, let some human warmth get out! Then maybe you'll be able to tell when a man is trying to be a man, not a machine, a corporate number. I'm crying inside because of what's happened! If you'd just look for one minute, you'd see it."

  She stood tall, staring back at him, lowering her voice. "This is a hard country, Mr. Bruce. We've all grown up with a little bit of stone in us. Poverty, war, the climate, the rape of the nation, the usurpation of our identity—all of it has served to petrify a portion of our innards. There is very little left."

  "Christ. I know all this! I'm not asking you to abandon your crusade. I'm the last person who could do that. I'm just asking you to become a little more human, understanding, open."

  "I do not have the right."

  "Says who?"

  "Says the dead men in the loch. Says all that was once Scotland but is no more. We have sworn away the privileges of the unburdened."

  She started to walk again; he followed.

  "So you're going to get in your car once more and speed away," he said, moving close, trying to stick his face in front of hers.