Monster: Tale Loch Ness

by Jeffrey Konvitz

  "Dr. Fiammengo invariably accompanies me in my work," Dr. Rubinstein added.

  "What work is that?" Scotty asked.

  "I represent a privately funded scientific research organization." He handed Scotty a business card. "The Phenomena Research Institute."

  Scotty turned from a gust of biting wind. "Did Furst say anything interesting?"

  "Mr. Furst was a very. intelligent and curious man," Dr. Rubinstein remarked. "He said many valuable things. But it's what he showed me that impressed me most."

  "What was that?"

  Dr. Rubinstein looked around, almost as if he feared they were under surveillance. "Could you possibly invite us inside? I think you'd like to hear what we have to say in private."

  Scotty stared at the woman; she was shivering. His own hands were trembling slightly, too. What the hell had Max Furst shown them?

  "Yes," he said, pointing toward the house. "Please."

  The man and woman thanked him, then followed him through the mansion's front door.

  Mrs. Munro placed a tray of coffee and cakes on the coffee table, then handed out cups. "I don't think I ever heard such a collection of accents in my life," she said. "You Americans have really butchered the language if you ask me."

  Scotty poured coffee for his guests. "We're not asking you, Mrs. Munro."

  "I'd bet you're not," she said indignantly, "because you're the worst of the lot, Mr. Bruce. It's only by the Lord's grace and kindness that I can even understand you. You and that California garble of yours. Let me tell you, you should only speak as well as this gentleman here!"

  Dr. Rubinstein laughed; his feet were straddled over the black suitcase. "That's the first time I've ever heard a New York accent complimented over a Californian."

  "Well, you're hearing it," Mrs. Munro declared. "Mr. Bruce hardly even speaks the Queen's English."

  Scotty shook his head; he doubted whether Mrs. Munro would ever change. And, in a funny way, he was glad for it. As persistently aggravating as she could be, he'd grown quite used to her. In fact, if pressed, he would have had to admit he'd even come to like her. But there were times she was better being neither seen nor heard. Certainly this was one of them.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Munro," he said. "Please close the door on your way out."

  Mrs. Munro stood straight up, her chin held high.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Munro," he repeated.

  "You're welcome, Mr. Bruce," she replied, finally leaving the room and shutting the door.

  Scotty waited, assuring himself Mrs. Munro was gone. Then he turned to Dr. Rubinstein. "Tell me about Max Furst."

  "First, let me tell you about us."

  "You're a phenomena researcher. Which means you're interested in the Loch Ness monster."

  "There are other phenomena in the world."

  "Not around here."

  Dr. Rubinstein laughed between chews at his nails; he was a nervous little man, the type who could rarely sit still or relax. "We stand exposed," he said. "But there are many people interested in the Loch Ness monster, though there are few with sufficient credentials to appreciate it or to engage in

  any kind of properly designed scientific study."

  "But you are."

  "Dr. Fiammengo is an experienced scientist," Dr. Rubinstein declared. "She has undergraduate degrees in zoology from Columbia University and graduate degrees in paleontology and anthropology from Harvard. I did my undergraduate work in electrical engineering and postgraduate studies in physics and marine biology. I am also currently on the faculty of M.I.T. and have been in charge of NASA's hyperbaric experimental program for the last five years. And, of course, I lead the Phenomena Research Institute." He indicated the card in Scotty's hand. "The institute itself undertakes many diverse investigations. The Loch Ness monster being one. We're particularly equipped for a study of the monster. I worked with the Academy of Applied Sciences. I also directed two of our own research expeditions."

  Scotty unwrapped a cigar and lifted it to his mouth. "What were the results?"

  "They were unrewarding, though we did work with some very experienced and talented people like Max Furst."

  "What did Furst do for you?"

  "He set cameras, probes, underwater sensors, the like."

  "And he asked you to come to Inverness after the recovery operation?"

  "No. We were prepared to make the trip, anyhow. This Columbus thing was very intriguing, very exciting. The possibilities and ramifications were enormous."

  Scotty glanced at Dr. Fiammengo again. "You thought a monster bore some of the responsibility for the loss of the ship?"

  Dr. Fiammengo smiled, baring perfect teeth and a pair of attractive dimples. "Yes. And now we're convinced of it."

  "What did Max Furst tell you?"

  Dr. Rubinstein stood. "He said the ship's blowout preventer control hose had been torn apart. Chewed, if you will. Chewed by something alive, something very strong. He also said the hose had been seized by Whittenfeld and no one had seen it since recovery. He suggested I monitor the hearings because the revelations could be very startling. Of course, they were. Max Furst was very possibly eliminated, and Whittenfeld unveiled a preventer hose which was certainly not the hose Max Furst had recovered. Isn't that right, Mr. Bruce?"

  "I have no way of knowing."

  "But you suspect that to be the case."

  Scotty didn't reply.

  Dr. Fiammengo smiled. "We know that to be the case."

  "How?"

  Dr. Rubinstein paced in front of his host. "Max Furst took pictures of the chewed hose with a small, revolutionary, handheld camera." He puffed his chest proudly. "A camera I designed."

  Scotty felt a surge of excitement. "Do you have those pictures?"

  Dr. Rubinstein smirked. "We didn't come here just to titillate you!" He opened the suitcase and removed several pictures, handing them over. "You should find these interesting."

  Scotty carefully examined the prints. They seemed genuine, and the pictured hose had been masticated like a stalk of licorice. However, he cautioned himself that the prints could have been fraudulently prepared.

  "Impressed, Mr. Bruce?" Dr. Fiammengo asked.

  "Yes," Scotty replied.

  "Good," Dr. Rubinstein announced, patting his thighs. "Now we're getting somewhere."

  "What do you think could have done this?" Scotty asked.

  "Something big and strong enough," Dr. Fiammengo an.. swered, "to have moved the marine riser and the drill ship."

  Dr. Rubinstein reached back into the suitcase and pulled out an object covered by a cloth. "Mr. Furst gave us another bit of material which he was able to secretly recover from the loch floor and smuggle ashore." He removed the cloth. Beneath was a two-foot-long section of ship's hull, dented by a row of incisions. "This was part of the Columbus's hull. It was found by Furst, lying in the debris."

  "What are the holes?"

  Dr. Rubinstein brought his nails to his mouth, his eyes excitedly dancing in his skull. "Teeth marks, Mr. Bruce!"

  Stunned, Scotty just stared, then shook his head. "How can you be sure?"

  "We carefully analyzed them and matched the measurements against paleontological controls. The results have left no question. In addition, we found particles of living tissue embedded in the sharp edges of the metal. We analyzed them, too. They're mucous tissue. From gums."

  Dr. Fiammengo interceded. "Of course, the mucous tissue is highly specialized. It belongs to a highly evolved, ancient animal, and as we expected, the tissue does not fall within any one categorizable group of species, though it seems reptitian in derivation."

  Scotty digested the information. "What kind of reptile could it be?" he asked.

  "We're not sure," she said. "There are several possibilities, but it would take some time to cover them all."

  "Which we can do later," Dr. Rubinstein declared, interrupting. "Just be assured this thing is ancient. Unknown as of this moment on the face of the earth. And quite big."

 
"How big?"

  "One hundred feet. One hundred twenty-five. About there."

  Scotty remembered the tug tracings, the dimensions recorded. "It seems impossible."

  "On the contrary. Blue whales reach enormous dimensions. Sometimes eighty feet in length. And then, of course, there are the giant squid."

  "A Jules Verne fantasy."

  "They exist, Mr. Bruce!"

  "Of course. I've even seen some. Up to thirty or forty feet long."

  Dr. Rubinstein corrected him. "The attack-class submarine Montauk was cruising the Mindinao Depths shortly before the Battle of the Coral Sea. The captain lost directional control and stability. He surfaced the sub. The crew found a giant squid wrapped about the sub's superstructure. The crew had to fight the thing hand to hand. Six men were lost. The squid's body itself measured almost seventy feet. But from the end of the largest tentacle to the nose, the squid stretched the entire length of the sub, over two hundred feet. Want more? A South African trawler, the Transvaal, went down in a typhoon in the Indian Ocean in 1951. Two lifeboats were floated. Shortly after the lifeboats had entered the water, a giant squid rose up from the depths and destroyed one of them. The survivors in the other boat witnessed the tragedy. The lifeboats were forty feet long. The survivors testified the squid's body had dwarfed the ill-fated lifeboat by at least three boat lengths."

  "So much for size," Dr. Fiammengo said. "Because size is not in question. There are ample examples among currently accepted marine species to support spectacular dimensions. Only a what is in question."

  Scotty thought for a moment. "You said Furst smuggled the chewed hull piece ashore?"

  "Yes," Dr. Rubinstein said.

  "Why?"

  "Max Furst had an acute interest in the Loch Ness phenomena. He knew we did, too, and he wished to supply us with the material because he considered it so incriminating. He did it secretly because he was convinced others would not share his enthusiasm, particularly the management at Geminii. Subsequent events, of course, seem to have proven him correct.

  "I have some problems with all this," Scotty said, sitting forward. "This thing has been talked about for years, spotted for years. It hasn't lived forever, has it?"

  "Of course not," Dr. Fiammengo declared. "But we believe the continuous sightings suggest a simple conclusion. There is more than one, or at least there has been more than one, and there has certainly been a lineage."

  "Then why isn't the bottom of the loch littered with bones?"

  Dr. Rubinstein explained. "Many species do not die where they spawn. We believe the loch is the creature's spawning ground. The site where the young are born and nurtured, which would explain reported discrepancies in size. We also believe the animals live and die elsewhere, the Arctic Sea, to be exact."

  "How the hell do they get from here to there?"

  Dr. Rubinstein jabbed at the air. "They swim. And we believe they have a means to navigate from the loch to the sea, and vice versa."

  "The loch has no tides. It isn't connected to the sea."

  "We disagree. We believe there is a connecting cavern, much of it above sea level. We believe there's an entrance somewhere in the loch walls and that the cavern rises up beneath the surrounding mountains, heads toward the sea, then descends again."

  "Do you have proof?"

  "No."

  "Then how can you be so sure?"

  Dr. Rubinstein looked at his associate, who wetted her lips. "Simple," he said.

  "Logic," she declared. "A cavern is the only conceivable way an animal could get in and out!"

  Scotty broke into an amused grin. "Let's apply logic across the board, doctor. This creature has always been shy and harmless. Why did it attack the ship when it has never attacked anything in the past?"

  Dr. Rubinstein smiled confidently. "It's become aggressive because Geminii Petroleum has introduced an object the creature, or no creature before it, has ever experienced: a drill ship, equipped with a drill, which grinds irritatingly right into the floor of the loch."

  "You think the drill vibration has attracted this thing?"

  "Yes. And angered it. And these conclusions are supported by history. First, as I'm sure you're aware, the last major incidence of sightings occurred in 1933 when a road was blasted around the loch. Certainly, the dynamite explosions and vibrations might have awakened our quiet friend. And secondly, as a petroleum engineer, you're well aware that the drilling vibration attracts fish by the millions. I've even had a chance to study the phenomena in the Gulf of Mexico, and we once found a drill ship's marine riser literally covered with fish, all brought to the spot by the hypnotic drill vibrations."

  "Christ!" Scotty declared. "The damn ship was drilling several weeks. Yet this thing of yours appeared only two, maybe three, times. Where was it? Swimming in the sea?"

  "Possibly," Dr. Fiammengo said. "But there might be another explanation."

  "It may be the frequency!" Dr. Rubinstein declared.

  "What frequency?"

  "The frequency of the vibration. There might very well be just one vibration pitch that the creature responds to. You do drill with different sizes and types of bits. You do drill through different formations. There are different frequencies attached to each variable. The question is whether we can find a constant."

  "That's why we want your help," Dr. Fiammengo pleaded. "You can help us find this constant by getting us copies of the Columbus's drilling and bit records as well as cutting correlation logs and any cutting samples from the well you might have had on shore."

  "That might be a very difficult thing for me to do."

  "I see," Dr. Fiammengo said.

  "But not impossible," Scotty added, realizing he had to follow this up. "Assuming I do this, what then?"

  Dr. Rubinstein stood, his mood more forceful. "We'd want you to become an ally. I listened to you at the hearings. I saw your reactions. I asked discreet questions about you. I know all about you now. Your NFL experiences. Your engineering career. Your escapades. The Phoenix affair. We think you're the right man to help us."

  "To do what exactly?" Scotty asked.

  Dr. Rubinstein answered coyly. "We suspect Whittenfeld's trying to hide the existence of the creature because he fears the ensuing attention might affect his drilling operations. We're also aware he might have gone to considerable lengths to protect this knowledge. But with you behind us, supporting us, we might be able to convince Whittenfeld that the Magellan is in terrible danger. We might also be able to ultimately convince him to allow us to use the drilling sector to establish the creature's existence beyond dispute."

  "How the hell will we be able to do that?"

  "By threatening to take our information to the authorities!"

  "If you're so concerned about the drill ship, why don't you go to the police right now? Why wait?"

  "Simple. If the police beneve us and shut down the drill ship, we lose our means to attract and positively identify the creature. We will never really know if we were right. If you go to the police with us, you will roughly wind up in the same predicament you faced after the Phoenix affair blew up in your face. But more to the point, if the police don't believe us, if they consider us charlatans, crazy Nessie freaks, then we lose our trump card over Whittenfeld, and you might very well lose another ship."

  Scotty stared, thinking; they'd done one hell of a job researching his background.

  Dr. Fiammengo pressed. "Will you help us? Help us find this creature? Help us save the drill ship and its men?"

  Scotty switched his attention from the woman to the man. "I'll get you the logs and cuttings," he finally said.

  Dr. Rubinstein was ebullient. "Now we're cooking." He was quite a character, bitten nails, sloppy attire, and all. "Yes, let's positively establish the existence of the creature, and then, if you want, we can walk into the constabulary headquarters en masse."

  "Where can I reach you?" Scotty asked.

  "The Claidheamh Mor."

  "You'll hear from me tomo
rrow."

  Dr. Rubinstein suggested he and Dr. Fiammengo return to the hotel. Scotty accompanied them out to the van.

  "It's been a pleasure, Mr. Bruce," Dr. Fiammengo said, shaking Scotty's hand.

  Dr. Rubinstein joined. "Yes, absolutely. There are genuine prospects for some very exciting scientific findings."

  Scotty realized this might be a broad understatement, but he said nothing more as the two researchers climbed into their van and drove down the street.

  Déjà vu!

  It was almost as if the script had been written by the same supernatural hand. The Phoenix! The suspicious death of the project executive. The sudden appearance of the environmentalists along with their damning evidence. His total but careless involvement. Then disaster. And now Loch Ness! The recovery of the suspect hose after the loss of the drill ship. The suspicious death of the divers. The mysterious activities of Whittenfeld and Lefebre. And now the sudden appearance of the concerned scientists along with their own form of damning evidence. Did disaster lay ahead once again? Maybe. But the new crusaders were not asking him to follow them blindly into opposition. They were asking him to help amass unassailable proof. That alone gave them credibility and set them apart from the zealots of Phoenix. But damn if he was going to wander blindly into the valley of death again. No, this time, as he had promised himself before, he was going to be very careful.

  The following day, he telexed the New York office, asking New York to compile profiles on Dr. Rubinstein and Dr. Fiammengo. Before committing himself to action, he had to determine whether the two researchers were oddballs or

  frauds, whether their evidence was fraudulent, too.

  A telex returned that night.

  It painted a brief but satisfying picture.

  It verified Dr. Rubinstein's self-appraisal and that of Dr. Fiammengo. Although it warned that some colleagues regarded Dr. Rubinstein as a bit of a dreamer, he was uniformly considered honest, a genius, an outstanding academician, an aggressive and innovative researcher.

  And most importantly, he was highly regarded by NASA.