Monster: Tale Loch Ness

by Jeffrey Konvitz

  He watched the launch pitch headlong into the breakers. There were six men on board.

  He placed the binoculars back to his eyes.

  The chant of voices melted into the wind as the raft moved ahead. The tiller man frantically held to the rudder; the oarsmen stroked. Father James MacPherson stood upright, his right arm pointed straight toward the drill ship, the confusing stimulus of converging lights on shore nothing more than a momentary distraction.

  "The Lord did anoint His Son to carry the battle to Satan," he was crying. "And the Son did obey, mounting His Father's holy chariot. The chariot did convey Him to the horse. On the horse, He led forth His army. And we are part of His army, for in us, we have the power of the Almighty! We shall destroy the drill ship, for it is foretold in the book of the living."

  The raft turned heavily into a side wash of whitecaps. Water rushed over the sides. The raft spun about.

  "Give us a sign of your power, Lord," MacPherson called. "Show us your sword so my people might not fear for your ascendancy."

  MacPherson beckoned to the black, unanswering sky. Then, suddenly, the raft jerked wildly around, moving back against the current, rocking partway into the water. Terrified, the torchbearers moved to the center.

  "Do not fear," MacPherson cried. "God has given us His sign."

  The raft shifted again. The water around it began to churn and wave into eddies. The raft turned wildly, as if it had been caught in a maelstrom. The water rose even more and parted as if something had surfaced.

  A huge black object moved amid the waves.

  "It is the beast!" MacPherson suddenly thundered.

  Terrified, the torchbearers wailed. The object moved under the raft, pitching it upward. Three men fell into the water. One grabbed to the raft's edge as the raft rocked askew. The other two disappeared beneath a surge of foam.

  "The Lord has brought us face to face with the beast!" MacPherson called. "Praise be His name. He has honored us. He has chosen us to destroy the beast." He pulled an old dagger from a sheath and waved it in the air. "I challenge you, Satan. Summon you forth."

  The water stopped churning. The raft ceased to pitch. The current caught them once more. They waited.

  Then the jolt hit!

  Torches fell. Robes caught fire. The putrid smell of burning flesh spread. People dropped into the water. The churning began again, sucking the living under.

  "Strength!" MacPherson cried, violently pummeled about. "Believe in Him and we shall prevail . . ."

  MacPherson fell on to the wet planks. He looked around. The torchbearers were helpless. A terrible sound split the air. The raft began to rise. Something was lifting it. Up it went, tilting, crashing down; bodies fell into the loch. A black object rose, poised to attack, and then crashed down, smashing the raft into pieces. Survivors held on to the free planks, but the black object came crashing down again and again, vengefully crushing everything below.

  The current pulled the debris down. The survivors screamed, flailed at the water, and then sunk, enveloped by the horrible, wet darkness.

  Trembling, Scotty lowered the binoculars. He did not hear the sirens. Nor did he see the arrival of the police vans. He was too stunned. MacPherson and all the others were gone, sucked down into the loch. But it wasn't just their deaths. He'd seen it all through the infrareds; he had seen the thing. It had come up under the raft and had lifted it from the water. It had thrown its enormous tail into the air and had smashed it down.

  Yes, he'd seen it, highlighted in the torchlight. This huge, black glistening beast, this horror.

  He'd seen it.

  And he was the only one.

  Chapter 24

  Scotty eased the jeep into his parking space in the Geminii base parking complex, killed the engine, and followed Dr. Rubinstein and Dr. Fiammengo out of the vehicle.

  The ground was wet; it had rained early that morning. Although Dr. Rubinstein was wearing a large pair of galoshes, both bottoms of his baggy corduroy pants dragged on the ground, and the sun, which had finally broken through the overcast, reflected brilliantly off the bald spot on the top of his head.

  "This will be a momentous day, Mr. Bruce," he said. He began to move in an awkward, storklike canter toward the main building.

  "Maybe," Scotty remarked, his powerful athletic stride in vivid contrast to Dr. Rubinstein's comic gait.

  They entered the building, checked through reception, and proceeded down the hall toward the elevators.

  Detective Superintendent MacGregor intercepted them.

  "Mr. Bruce," he said. "Just the man I want to see."

  MacGregor smiled; he was particularly well dressed this day, almost as if he were about to go on the political stump.

  Scotty introduced the police officer to Dr. Rubinstein and Dr. Fiammengo, referring to them merely as associates. MacGregor guided Scotty off to the side.

  "Have you been in seclusion, Mr. Bruce?" MacGregor asked.

  "No," Scotty replied. "Why would you think that?"

  "I've been trying to find you for the last two days. Even Mr. Whittenfeld has apparently been ignorant of your whereabouts."

  "I've been busy."

  MacGregor lifted his heavy brow. "You'd think you would have wanted to be about here at a time like this." He waved his arms. "This has been an exciting week, don't you think?"

  "I wouldn't use those exact words."

  "No? That's curious. One hundred or more religious fanatics die in the loch. A massive brawl erupts in Urquhart Bay between Geminii security and the resident unemployed. You don't think that's exciting?"

  "No," Scotty said, releasing a whoosh of breath. "I think it's tragic."

  "That, too! Most definitely so, Mr. Bruce."

  "Look, Superintendent—"

  "Yes. Yes. I know. You've been busy."

  "If you have any questions—?"

  "A few."

  "I'm all ears." He did not want to be curt or edgy, but he was in no mood for this. More human beings had died, and after two days of preparation, he was about to strike at the indirect cause.

  "I've come to understand you took no part in the civil unrest," MacGregor declared.

  "Correct," Scotty affirmed.

  MacGregor skeptically clapped his massive hands together. "Geminii should have informed the authorities of the approach of the radical aggrieved and should have let the authorities handle the matter. There is also the question of excessive force. But, of course, no one was critically injured, and I suppose—"

  "I wasn't involved in any of the decisions, either."

  MacGregor gestured curiously. "Yes. Yes. I know. But it's neither here nor there. I don't want to question you about the melee. I want you to tell me about Father MacPherson and his deceased associates."

  "They drowned."

  "Precisely."

  "What else?"

  "I spoke to several crew members who told me you were watching the priest with infrared binoculars."

  "That's right."

  "What did you see?"

  "I saw MacPherson and his parishioners on a very unstable raft. I saw the raft caught up in the current."

  "And you dispatched a launch."

  "Yes. But it reached the raft too late, after the raft had capsized. The men aboard the launch found no survivors. The water was ice cold. The current was ferocious."

  MacGregor leaned against the wall. "The men and women on the raft had voiced clear threats against Geminii and the drill ship—at the tribunal heatings in particular."

  "So what?"

  "You knew that!"

  "Of course, I did."

  "Tell me about the parish. Tell me what happened."

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "The parish church in Loch Meiklie was ransacked, and you happened by to see the remains."

  "How do you know that?"

  "I spoke to Councilwoman MacKenzie this morning. She had a surprise for me. She told me about the church. She said she'd been there with
you."

  "Then you know everything there is to know."

  "You heard the priest threaten to attack the ship again."

  "All right. You've got me."

  "Your attitude, Mr. Bruce. It is surprisingly antagonistic."

  "As is your own."

  "You were well aware of Father MacPherson's threats. You were well aware of the approach of his raft. I submit the hunch you dispatched sunk the raft under your orders to protect the drill ship."

  Scotty started to laugh. "You've got to be kidding."

  "No."

  "Did someone in the crew tell you this?"

  "No. But I wouldn't think they would even if they knew."

  "Superintendent, I've grown to respect you. I think you're intelligent. Dedicated. Serious. Please don't destroy my impressions. Now is that all?"

  "Where is Sutherland?"

  "How the hell would I know?"

  "I'm taking a stab."

  "Sorry. No blood."

  "Think hard."

  "Still zero."

  MacGregor smiled accommodatingly. "If you find out by chance, you, of course, will let me know. I would most like to talk to him."

  "I promise," Scotty said, knowing full well that MacGregor was baiting him across the board. But damn if he was about to bite and open up to the authorities yet. He was well aware he alone had seen the creature destroy the raft. There had been no corroborating witnesses, and no physical evidence had been left behind. The fears of Phoenix had been forgotten—this time the danger was real—but not all the lessons. Apart from his own isolated testimony, he had no more usable proof than he'd had before. Their personal observations, their suspicions, and the photographs of the hose were insufficient and certainly open to rebuttal, and Scotty was still very cognizant of Dr. Rubinstein's warning: they could not blow their trump before obtaining irrefutable evidence! Besides, he hoped that after obtaining solid proof and backing Whittenfeld against the wall, he'd be able to persuade Whittenfeld to shut down the project without a public spectacle. Whittenfeld and Lefebre would have to deal with the fraudulent hose and the death of the divers, but those were secondary considerations compared to the welfare of the drill ship and her crew, and no matter what proof they might be able to obtain concerning the creature, he doubted such proof would be of any use in firming up the circumstantial nature of the Furst murder considerations. No, the options and his choices were fairly clear. "Now is that all, superintendent?" he concluded after an almost interminable period of thought, remembering MacGregor was watching.

  MacGregor stared, then suddenly walked toward the front entrance, disdaining to look back. "This time, Mr. Bruce," he said. "That's all."

  William Whittenfeld pivoted away from the picture window and walked along the conference table behind Lefebre.

  "You have a wonderful imagination, Dr. Rubinstein. Extraordinary. In fact, you would make a sensational novelist. But I must deal with the real world. I run an oil company, not a publishing firm. Therefore, I can't waste company time on fiction."

  Dr. Rubinstein chafed. "This isn't fiction. This is scientific fact!"

  "No," Whittenfeld declared curtly. "This is supposition and drivel. And I cannot allow either to endanger the Loch Ness project."

  "I'm warning you!" Dr. Rubinstein said. "If you don't listen to me, you are going to lose another ship." He laid out a series of charts. "The proof is incontrovertible. Each time the ship was attacked, the crew was using a Lyon TX-1 carbide insert drill bit and the drill was working in very hard chert silica."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means the vibration produced by that combination has been acting as a magnet for the creature."

  Whittenfeld examined several of Dr. Rubinstein's charts.

  "Where did you get this information?"

  "I gave it to them," Scotty said.

  "The bit and mud records are confidential company property."

  "I felt it was in the company's best interests to allow Dr. Rubinstein the opportunity to examine them."

  "You exceeded your authority!"

  "There were no standing orders."

  "But there were standing assumptions, and I assumed a member of senior management would not act contrary to policy."

  "I told you I acted in the best interests of the company. Dr. Rubinstein's discovery might very well save the company's neck."

  "We do not have time to chase monsters. You'd do better to keep your attention on submersibles and dangerous people like Sutherland!"

  Scotty breathed deeply, ready for a confrontation. "There was no submersible in the loch, and a submersible.did not cut the Columbus's blowout control hoses!"

  "You say that with a great deal of conviction. Conviction which goes directly against the evidence. You were present at the hearings. You saw the hose."

  "I saw a hose."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The hose shown to the investigation committee was not the hose Max Furst found on the bottom of the loch!"

  Whittenfeld suddenly walked to his desk. "This had better be good," he said. "Because I don't like what I'm hearing. Or the inferences."

  Dr. Rubinstein nervously bit his nails. Dr. Fiammengo started to speak. Scotty stopped her.

  "The hose shown to the tribunal was not the hose retrieved," Scotty declared. "Somewhere between its recovery and presentation, a torched hose was substituted for one that was chewed."

  "And you're accusing me of the fraud?" Whittenfeld asked.

  "I'm accusing someone," Scotty replied sarcastically.

  Lefebre shot to his feet, furious. "I took the hose after its recovery. I handed the hose to Monsieur Whittenfeld. The hose shown to the tribunal was the hose I had in my possession."

  "Bullshit!"

  Lefebre moved toward Scotty. Whittenfeld stopped him.

  Scotty could barely hide his contempt for Lefebre as he opened Dr. Rubinstein's suitcase and removed the pictures and metal fragment, handing them to Whittenfeld.

  "Those are pictures of the real hose taken by Max Furst. The fragment of the Columbus hull, dented with teeth marks, was recovered by Furst, also."

  Whittenfeld examined the exhibits, then handed them to Lefebre.

  "Forgeries," Lefebre declared, throwing them back on the table.

  "They're not forgeries," Scotty snapped. "So let's bury the crap!" He pointed at the hull fragment. "The Columbus was attacked by a living thing!"

  "Nonsense!" Whittenfeld declared.

  "And Father MacPherson was killed by the same creature, a creature I saw. Yes, I saw it, goddamnit. I saw a giant thing, a giant black thing come up under the raft and splinter it into pieces."

  Dr. Fiammengo collected the fragment and pictures. Dr. Rubinstein nervously tapped the table. Whittenfeld was visibly disconcerted.

  A long silence followed.

  "I assume you've kept this wild assertion to yourself, Mr. Bruce?" Whittenfeld finally asked, once more resorting to formality.

  "So far."

  "I see. And you, Dr. Rubinstein? Dr. Fiammengo?"

  "We've only spoken to Mr. Bruce," Dr. Fiammengo said.

  Whittenfeld smiled. "All right. Assume for one minute I believe this. What then?"

  "You must move to protect your ship," Dr. Rubinstein said.

  "We can stop using the Lyon bit."

  Dr. Rubinstein vehemently shook his head. "I'm afraid you must do more than that because we must assume there could be other bit-formation combinations that might incite the creature."

  "You say creature. What kind of creature?"

  "A sea-adapted animal will do for now. Perhaps one hundred and twenty-five feet in length."

  Whittenfeld snickered. "So what do you suggest?" he asked.

  "Several things," Dr. Rubinstein replied. "First. I agree. You must not use the Lyon bit. Secondly, we must attempt to absolutely locate and identify the creature."

  "How do we do that?"

  "We introduce a specialized submersible to the vicinity of the dri
ll ship and use the precise vibrations which anger the creature to draw it near."

  "Won't that endanger the ship?"

  "We won't use the ship. We'll duplicate the vibrations in a lab, record them, and introduce the sounds to the loch waters. Then, once we attract the creature, we will carefully photograph it so we can determine its size and our best course of action."

  "Sounds fascinating," Whittenfeld said, barely able to mask his derision.

  Dr. Rubinstein continued. "We can do all this with the utmost discretion. This way, we won't attract attention, and your drilling operation will be able to proceed unhindered."

  Whittenfeld asked Dr. Rubinstein and Dr. Fiammengo to wait in the executive lounge; he wanted to speak to Mr. Bruce alone.

  "How dare you bring these charlatans in here!" Whittenfeld screamed after Dr. Rubinstein and Dr. Fiammengo had left the room. "How dare you give them confidential company documents. Christ! For all the hell you know, they're with another oil company, and they wanted our cuttings so they could make strategic assessments concerning the Moray Firth bids!"

  Scotty detailed Dr. Rubinstein's background. Then Dr. Fiammengo's. He produced the New York telex. Whittenfeld threw it on the table.

  "Get rid of both of them," Whittenfeld ordered. "And find a way to destroy the pictures and hull fragment!"

  "No!"

  "What do you mean No!"

  "You heard me."

  "Either you do it or I fire you!"

  "I don't give a damn what you do. The creature exists. I saw it. And I won't let another man die because of it."

  "It's the wrong time and wrong place to go back to your old ways, Mr. Bruce! This isn't a cause. This isn't something to shake the world about."

  "You don't believe that yourself."

  Whittenfeld's anger flared. "I took you out of the garbage."

  "I know."

  "When no one else would have you. And I can send you right back. You disrupt another company, create a public furor over nothing again, and you're finished. You'll have to become a high school football coach!"

  "Maybe."

  "You imagined you saw this thing."

  "I didn't imagine jack shit!"

  "Goddamn you!"