Monster: Tale Loch Ness

by Jeffrey Konvitz

  Dr. Rubinstein squirmed; he seemed near panic.

  "I'm sorry," Whittenfeld said. "I told you nothing stops operations. Ever. And your demands mean nothing to me. This thing has killed. We will kill it."

  "You can't," Dr. Rubinstein implored, interrupting, moving back and forth along the table, eyes pleading.

  Whittenfeld ignored him. "We will kill it," he repeated.

  "We have no right," Dr. Rubinstein argued.

  "The thing is a killer!"

  "Yes," Scotty suddenly said, realizing so far he was speaklng to deaf ears. Didn't Whittenfeld fear the information he possessed? Did Whittenfeld's fixations make him immune to reality? "It's a killer. It killed my best friend. But we invaded its home. We've invaded its spawning grounds. The thing doesn't have a logical mind. It can't think. It can only defend itself. So we're going to shut down the ship."

  Dr. Rubinstein burst between them, frantic, jerking his head from side to side. "Listen to me! You must listen." He thrust his hands outward through the air, a vision of constant motion. "We can't shut down the drill ship, and we can't kill the creature. We must try to catch the creature and show it to the world." His eyes blazed. "Think of it. The past reborn. Legend come to life. We can't let this opportunity go to waste. We can't avoid our responsibility." He looked to one man, then the other, desperate. "Think of what we could learn. This thing survived the destruction of every other member of its species. Why? How? We get the answers; we solve the riddle of the past and might very well unlock the key to the future. Think what this could mean to Geminii! Think of the international furor if you killed it. No, it must be caught. I've waited an eternity for this. This opportunity comes once in a lifetime to so few men. You must let me catch it."

  Scotty watched Dr. Rubinstein beg and plead. Obsession!Whittenfeld was obsessed with the loch. With what lay beneath it. Dr. Rubinstein was obsessed, too. With what lived in its waters. The creature was obsessed with defending its home. Mary MacKenzie was obsessed with the politics of nationhood. MacPherson had been consumed with the drill ship and the beast. And Sutherland had been obsessed with violence. It was almost incomprehensible, all this intensity fueled by the loch. Almost every person involved except, paradoxically, the men who had died had been sucked into Loch Ness's gut and had been spit out, cancerized with dizzying passion.

  He could only ask himself where it would lead if he didn't stop it in its tracks.

  "We may not have to kill it," Whittenfeld suddenly said. He turned to Tony Spinelli. "Does anyone on board the drill ship know what happened?"

  "No," Spinelli said. "They were all told the submersible had surfaced further west, near Fort Augustus, and had been removed at that point."

  "Harrigan?"

  "Harrigan and his crew passed stringent security checks which were conducted by the Ministry of Defence and ourselves. They are totally trustworthy. No, they have not revealed what happened, and they won't."

  Whittenfeld stepped back from the table. "No one in this room will say anything, either, including you, Mr. Bruce, and I'm sure we can count on the cooperation of the submersible's base company if we can couch the submersible's destruction and the men's death in terms of a national emergency. I'll handle the priorities. There's the insurance problem, but that can be sidestepped momentarily." He turned to Foster. "Can you close off any possible leaks?"

  Foster filled his puffy cheeks with air. "If I can't, no one can."

  "I don't mean just the submersible thing. But we'll need a cover."

  "If we come up with a convincing cover, I can make it stick."

  "What are you talking about?" Scotty asked, incredulous.

  "We're talking about Geminii Petroleum. The company good. The Loch Ness project. You want us to stop operations. That is impossible. I want to kill the thing. That might be counterproductive. But Dr. Rubinstein may have something." He turned to the researcher. "Suppose I say all right. Suppose I let you try and catch this thing. Tell me how. Tell me how you would do it without interrupting well progress and without endangering the drill ship."

  Dr. Rubinstein jumped awkwardly away from the table and returned with a briefcase, which he opened.

  "I always knew I would find Nessiterus Rhombopteryx,"

  he said, removing a handful of documents. "I knew when I

  did that I might have an opportunity to try to catch it. I knew I would have to be prepared. The institute commissioned a team of naval architects, structural engineers, and NASA docking and computer specialists to work out and program a method of entrapment." He spread two huge blue-prints across the table, covering the glossies. This is the fruit of their labor. An undersea snare, a metal venus fly trap, floated to depth by ballast tanks and actuated through surface controls."

  Whittenfeld snapped on the overhead fluorescent lights again and studied the blueprints.

  "How do you close the trap's spokes around the thing?" he asked several minutes later.

  Dr. Rubinstein pointed to the bottom of each U-shaped spoke. "The spokes are hinged at the base center of the U, and each hinge contains a watertight motor. The moment the creature is lured inside, we actuate the motors, closing the spokes. It takes less than sixty seconds, and if we can keep the creature inside during closure, we have him."

  "How do we know when the creature is in the trap?" Whittenfeld asked.

  "The trap is lined with sonar and television units which feed information into a command barge computer whose programs were designed by NASA engineers. The computer works like satellite docking hardware. It assembles data and prints out digital readings and pictorial schematics which represent the actual position of any target relative to the trap."

  "What are the spokes made of?"

  "High-grade structural steel coated with a very strong titanium shield."

  "This thing has bitten through metal before."

  "I don't think it'll bite through this combination before we can bring the trap to the surface."

  Whittenfeld motioned Lefebre to the table. "What do you think?" he asked.

  Lefebre stared at the blueprints, chewing viciously into a chunk of tobacco. "Anything is possible. But you'll have to ask an engineer if it will work or not."

  "I'm not asking you for an engineering opinion. I want to know whether you can workout the logistics and security."

  "Of course I can."

  Whittenfeld walked behind Dr. Rubinstein. "How do you lure the creature into the trap?"

  "The same way we lured it to the submersible. We use the Magellan's rotary to bring it close; then we cut off the rotary and cut in the recorded vibrations, which we will feed into the trap through surface connections from a command barge."

  Whittenfeld smiled at Dr. Fiammengo. "Do you think this will work?" he asked.

  "I was part of the team that designed it," Dr. Fiammengo replied.

  Whittenfeld smiled, bowed, then turned back toward Dr. Rubinstein. "All right, suppose we catch it. Then what do we do with it?"

  The energy generated by Dr. Rubinstein's enthusiasm was infectious. "We study it. Then return it to the sea. Which is its native home. You and Geminii receive the glory of its capture. And I humbly present the story to the scientific world."

  Whittenfeld, very reflective, began to pace. "You say you return the thing to the sea?"

  "Yes."

  "But you've told me when you walked in here that you're convinced this thing has a route into the loch."

  "Absolutely convinced."

  "How long can we keep it in the trap out of the water?"

  "I don't know. We can't let it die! And it might, even if we keep the cage water suspended. It might have trouble breathing in air for extended periods. We might be forced to return the creature very quickly."

  "Then it will swim its ass right back in here and go after the Magellan?"

  "Not if we find the access tunnel and block it until you've completed your drilling operations."

  "How do we do that?" Lefebre asked.

  "I'm
not sure," Dr. Rubinstein said, "but we must address the issue immediately. Look at the sonar records. The creature dragged the submersible down into the loch's trench, and then both disappeared. It might have pulled the submersible under a ledge. But it might very well have dragged it into the mouth of its cavern."

  Whittenfeld shook his head. "We can't send divers down there. It's too deep."

  "I'm aware of that. We'll just have to figure out a way to search for the route on the land mass."

  Whittenfeld shifted his attention back to the blueprints, "Do you have an estimate on construction time, doctor?"

  "Three weeks once the materials are on site."

  "The materials are no trouble."

  "There's London," Spinelli said.

  "I'll take care of London," Whittenfeld snapped.

  Whittenfeld bore in on the design specifics while Dr. Rubinstein explained. Everyone waited. Then Whittenfeld looked straight at Dr. Rubinstein.

  "We do it!" he said. "We start tomorrow."

  "No, we don't." Scotty suddenly declared, returning from the oblivion to which he'd been relegated. He'd tried to deal with Whittenfeld internally, tried to prevent disaster without having to approach senior company management or outside authorities. But Whittenfeld seemed bound and determined to prevent him from stopping disaster painlessly. Whittenfeld was asking for a showdown, and the goddamn maniac was going to get it! He was going to move quickly on the one issue that mattered, the presence of the creature in the loch. The hose fraud and the death of the divers were no longer of imminent importance. They were old business. The drill ship and the safety of its men were now.

  "The only way you can proceed," he declared, staring right at Whittenfeld, "is to endanger the drill ship and its crew. And I'm not going to let it happen. If you don't shut down voluntarily, I'm going to shut you down. Understand?"

  No one replied.

  He'd lost Dr. Rubinstein and Dr. Fiammengo, and he was angry about it. He did not like being used, and damn, they had used him but good.

  The conversation he had with both doctors after Whittenfeld and the others had left the room could not have bagged the truth more clearly. He'd given them credibility. He'd eased their feet in the door, helped them maneuver past Whittenfeld. And now that Whittenfeld had come around to embrace their ultimate objective, Whittenfeld had become the sole object of their attention and allegiance, the classic switchoff having occurred.

  He was furious that he'd waltzed blindly along without suspecting their true motivations, furious he'd failed to realize that the last thing they'd been concerned about, even from the very first, was the fraud of the tribunal, the deaths of the divers, and the safety of the human beings aboard the drill ship.

  He let them know precisely what he thought of them; they did not like it, nor his promise that he would one day kick both their asses to the other side of the moon.

  He then left the base, driving from Dores to Inverness, juggling his options. He could continue to press Whittenfeld for a shutdown of operations, but he knew the effort would be fruitless. He could go immediately to the authorities, but he preferred to go to John Fallworth, who he hoped would react quickly and decisively. However, he had no illusions. The switch-off by both researchers had chased illusions away. If he did not get the reaction he wanted from Fallworth, the next calls would be to Superintendent MacGregor and Mr. Farquharson.

  Reaching Travis House at nine P.M. he placed a call to London. Fallworth was out to dinner. He left a message. An hour later, Fallworth had still not called back. He heard a noise.

  He walked into the foyer from the den. Lefebre was standlng there.

  "How the hell did you get in here?" he asked, feeling his body turn rigid.

  "I walked through the back door," Lefebre replied.

  "What do you want?" He had to get the Frenchman out of there!

  "You once said the project is more important than you and I. You said you wanted to talk. I came to talk."

  "Don't give me that shit, Lefebre!"

  Lefebre smiled. "I appreciate your impatience. I am an impatient man, too. I will get to the point."

  "You do that!" Scotty ordered.

  Lefebre moved slowly around him; Scotty pivoted, keeping himself face to face with his antagonist.

  "We're concerned," Lefebre began, "that you might do something stupid. Cause a furor in London. Even go to the authorities. We hoped you would not go back to your old ways, but your threats this evening convinced us otherwise and left us no option but to give you an incentive to remain quiet." He dropped several pictures on the lounge—pictures of Scotty and Mary MacKenzie—obviously photographed surreptitiously. "We're aware of your relationship with the councilwoman. We're aware of its intensity. She is our incentive."

  "What the fuck are you talking about?" Scotty challenged, the flush in his cheeks unseen in the darkness.

  "There are two men in Inverness equipped with deadly weapons. Their weapons are loaded. Their identities are unknown to all but a few. Their ammunition has Madame MacKenzie's name written on it. If you say anything to anyone in London or anyone in authority, they will blow out her brains! No matter where she goes or who tries to protect her, she will be eliminated."

  Scotty exploded at Lefebre, grabbed Lefebre by the throat and bashed the Frenchman's body against the wall. "I'll kill you," he cried as he continued to bore in.

  Suddenly, he stopped. He'd felt it almost instantly. He looked down. A high-caliber automatic was jammed into his groin.

  "I only wish I could kill you!" Lefebre struggled to say. Blood dripped from a cut on his scalp, and he fought to catch his breath. "You touched me, and I should kill you, but you're going to stay very alive for now." He pulled away. "It's the woman who'll be dead if you open your mouth or do anything I don't like."

  Lefebre disappeared. The phone rang. Scotty did not answer it.

  Scotty's new jeep moved rapidly along the dark road toward the city's residential neighborhood. Scotty had just left the Claidheamh Mor Hotel where Dr. Rubinstein had reviewed the trap graphics and logistics, convincing him that there was a legitimate chance the trap might work well enough to perform its mission without any additional loss of life.

  He'd been shaking since Lefebre had left Travis House, and his brains had been shifting around the options so fast that he sensed it was about to come apart at the seams. Once again, he'd been given painful choices, but now the choices carried even more intense personal stakes. If he opened his mouth, Mary MacKenzie would be killed. Lefebre was not one to bluff, nor was murder beyond his ken. True, Whittenfeld and Lefebre would then face a murder rap far more difficult to avoid than one that might issue from the cleverly conceived deaths of the divers, but he suspected that Whittenfeld was absolutely convinced he would not endanger Mary MacKenzie's life. On the other hand, if he stayed silent, the lives of the men on board the Magellan and the support tugs might well be endangered. Before speaking to Dr. Rubinstein, who'd been puzzled by his appearance and almost sudden change of heart, he'd thought his decision would have to lay a favor of the men. But now that he realized the trap scheme might succeed, he had a new option. He could work with the researchers and the Geminii team to insure the trap's success and thereby shield both Mary MacKenzie and the crew on the drill ship. And then, afterward . . .

  He stopped the jeep in front of Whittenfeld's home. Two cars, filled with the security officers, were visible nearby. He climbed out and knocked on the mansion's front door. Whittenfeld appeared moments later and escorted him into the mansion's living room. Both men sat. Whittenfeld was extremely nervous.

  "Lefebre visited me!" Scotty began.

  "I know," Whittenfeld said faintly.

  "Why are you doing this?"

  "The vile bitch. The loch. My child."

  "Did you consider the consequences if I don't go along?"

  "You must go along. You don't want to see the girl hurt. I certainly don't. You must help us succeed. We need you."

  "And if I
help?"

  "I will be forever grateful."

  Did he actually hear those bizarre words? "And after the snatch?"

  "The creature will be gone. The ship and men will be safe. You will be satisfied. The girl will be free of danger."

  "Then I could go to the authorities?"

  "I would deny everything. Your word against mine. You have no proof of a threat to the girl. No proof concerning anything else that will stand. And you no longer have Dr. Rubinstein and Dr. Fiammengo."

  Scotty wrenched Whittenfeld off the couch and pulled him close, so close that he could smell Whittenfeld's stale breath. "You're sick!" he screamed. "A fucking sick, miserable, depraved sonovabitch!"

  Whittenfeld didn't reply; he just pushed Scotty's hand off and walked out of the room.

  Scotty breathed deeply, trying to control himself. There would be an aftermath. They would have to reckon with him.

  But for now he would have to join the hunt.

  Chapter 31

  Detective Superintendent MacGregor walked down the path to the east shore of Urquhart Bay. Ahead stood a huge plastic bubble, the same one that had overlain the remains of the Columbus and sonar tug. The bubble was heavily guarded. Pierre Lefebre appeared, to lead MacGregor to the bubble entrance.

  MacGregor entered alone.

  "Mr. Bruce!" MacGregor called, staggered by the sight inside.

  Rising high beneath the bubble roof and extending one hundred and fifty feet along its length was the strangest amalgamation of metal he'd ever seen. It looked like the inner frame of a giant boat. However, it did not look like a trap became the end spokes had not been attached and would not be attached until the trap was ready for submersion.

  "Be right there," Scotty called, looking down from high on a scaffold where he was perched with Tony Spinelli, Dr. Rubinstein, and two Geminii structural engineers.

  MacGregor meandered around the work site, popping a nut or two into his mouth. Scotty descended a scaffold ladder. MacGregor moved to meet him.

  "Science fiction has come to Inverness, Mr. Bruce," MacGregor said. "No wonder there have been so many whispers and questions."