The Loch Ness Legacy tl-4

by Boyd Morrison

  The loss of focus was enough for his opponent to knee him in the stomach, driving the breath from him. Grant took a gulp of air and responded with a head butt. Normally an impact with his skull was enough to incapacitate anyone, but the awkward angle and his protesting muscles reduced the force of the blow. The gunman staggered backward, blood flowing from his brow. He shook his head and brought his pistol up for the kill shot.

  Grant was too far away to get to the man before he fired, so he used the only weapon at hand. He grasped the tail of the salmon next to him and whipped it around. The fish smacked into the gunman’s hand, sending his pistol flying. Grant swung the salmon again, but the man backed up enough that Grant connected with nothing but air. Then the man melded with the fleeing crowd.

  Grant considered pursuing him, but he didn’t know if the gunmen had more friends around. His top priority was making sure Alexa was safe. He found her clinging to Miles, her eyes glassy from the ordeal.

  “Where’s Dillman?”

  Miles pointed toward the street. “There!”

  Grant spotted one of the gunmen pushing Dillman into a grey Suburban. The driver plowed through three fruit stands to make the escape.

  A wail of sirens heralded the approach of the police, but by the time they arrived, Dillman was long gone.

  FIFTEEN

  Victor Zim’s Jeep was the first of four vehicles to arrive at the scene of the Blazer’s plunge off the fire road. As soon as he’d received the frantic radio call from Harvin, Zim ordered every available man into the search, weapons in hand.

  When the Jeep skidded to a halt, he threw open the door and stalked to the edge of the road, where he stopped to survey the damage. The Blazer’s grill was caved in from the tree, and the side and roof had been battered during its tumble through the woods.

  Gaither’s corpse was slumped against the wheel. The remaining live passenger looked pathetic. Harvin was on his butt, propped against the front tire. He glanced at Zim and then looked away in embarrassment.

  Exactly the response Zim expected. His stance was intended to provoke awe and intimidation. Legs wide, hands on hips, his muscles flexing in the afternoon sunlight to show off the tattoos snaking down his arms, chiseled jaw set below all-seeing eyes and a hair cut that was two clipper settings from being shaved.

  The constant workouts in prison made the bulging veins on his arms stand out even under the skulls and fiery daggers on his biceps. The muscle sculpting was a way to bring his body as close to perfection as possible. As Nietzsche said, “Become what you are.” Zim had.

  The escape from prison had gone exactly as he’d envisioned. In a clearing in the middle of an orange grove, his men had set up an inflatable high fall air bag, the type used by stunt men and firefighters. As the remotely controlled helicopter passed overhead, a dead man at the stick, it slowed long enough for Zim to jump, landing in the center of the air bag. They simply folded it up and drove away as if nothing had happened.

  Now Victor would finish Carl’s work. His crew, some from his former militia days and some recruited from around the world for this mission by his brother, needed to be convinced that he was now in charge. If there was any man on the team who’d consider disobeying Zim, that man needed to be disabused of the notion immediately.

  Zim remained at his vantage point for a few seconds more to see if he could spot any sign of Gabrielle Cohen. Nothing.

  Without looking behind him, Zim barked out his orders. “Davis, you and your men take a mile south. Monroe, you go a mile north. The rest of you are with me.”

  He jumped off the edge of the road without bothering to grab a handhold and marched down to the Blazer. The men grunted as they struggled to follow as gracefully.

  He didn’t need a recap about how Cohen had escaped. He’d gotten Harvin’s sniveling account of it over the radio during the ride to the site.

  “Which way did she head?” Zim said when he reached the SUV.

  “I think she went that way,” Harvin said, pointing over his shoulder in the direction of Lake Shannon.

  Zim glared at him. “You think?”

  Harvin nodded, a quick bobbing like a nervous Chihuahua. “I was pretty messed up. The bitch stabbed me in the wrist, and I can tell my leg’s broken bad.” The awkward angle of his foot confirmed the self-diagnosis.

  “You’re not going to be much help on this search then, are you?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m probably going to be in a cast for weeks with this thing. I need to get to a doctor.”

  Zim sighed and nodded. He reached out to Harvin. “Let’s get you taken care of.”

  Harvin took the hand and grimaced as he stood on his one good leg.

  Zim put one hand on Harvin’s back and snatched the hair on the back of his head. Before Harvin could react, Zim bashed the man’s skull against the hood of the Blazer three times, the dull sound of the impacts swallowed by the surrounding trees. Zim released him, and Harvin slumped to the ground, his eyes staring into oblivion.

  “Put him in the passenger seat,” Zim said to no one in particular. “It’ll look like the two of them had an accident.”

  None of the men moved, shocked into silence. He turned and saw their stunned expressions. Good.

  “Now listen up,” Zim said. “Harvin let Gabrielle Cohen escape, and he became a cripple in the process. If you can’t contribute to the mission, you’re deadweight. When you all agreed to this operation, you knew the requirements and you accepted the risks. Harvin was a good man, but he would have put everything we’re working for in danger.”

  He looked into the eyes of each man and saw that they understood. Life was cruel, but those who clearly envisioned what needed to be done could act without hesitation for the good of the cause. If Zim were ever incapacitated and no longer a contributor to society and the team, he would expect someone to do the same for him.

  Two men hoisted Harvin’s body into the Blazer. When they were done, Zim directed everyone to begin conducting a grid search and instructed his compound’s helicopter to fly along the shores of Lake Shannon in case they could spot Cohen out in the open. She didn’t have much of a head start and her hands were still tied. She couldn’t have gotten far. With the lake as a natural barrier, they would catch her within the hour.

  Still, he had to update his own money supplier. Without access to Laroche’s land, which they were now searching, and his money for funding, the operation would never have been possible.

  He took out his smartphone and made the call using the compound’s satellite hookup and Wi-Max base station. The connection beeped.

  “What is it?” A modulator disguised the voice in case anyone was listening in. The effect made it sound as if Zim were speaking to a rasping demon from the pits of Hell. His voice would sound the same on the other end.

  “We have a situation,” Zim said. Without using names, he spent a minute summarizing the events.

  “Do you have it under control?”

  “Yes.”

  “If she escapes, she’ll be able to lead the authorities to you. You’ll have to abandon the compound immediately.”

  “We’re ready for anything, but it won’t come to that. The forest is deserted, and she won’t be able to stay out of our sight for long.”

  “Any word on the other one?” Zim had already delivered the bad news that Alexa Locke got away.

  He took a breath. “We’ll make sure we find the creature before she does.”

  “I hope you’re right, but I’ll see what I can do on my end. I want to be able to count on you like I did your brother. Your planning on the operation last week was brilliant. I rescued you because your talents were wasted in California.”

  Zim smiled. “Once we get these two women in hand, I don’t see anything standing in the way of completing the mission as expected.”

  “You know you have access to every fund at my disposal. Don’t hesitate to use whatever resources you require.”

  “I’ll make sure they’re used well.�
��

  “Good. Now I have some other matters to attend to. Keep me informed of further developments.” The connection terminated and Zim put the phone away.

  Hank Pryor, a skinny goateed man who was the electronics genius on the operation, came running up to him, his radio held out in an outstretched palm as if he were offering it to Zim.

  “You have to hear this,” Pryor said.

  Zim eyed the radio suspiciously, then snatched it from him. “What is it?”

  Pryor glanced toward Harvin’s body and back to Zim before clearing his throat. “It’s the Cohen woman. She’s calling for help.”

  SIXTEEN

  The redolent odor of pine needles, moss, and forest-floor decay surrounded Brielle as she sought something sharp to cut through the tough nylon rope tightly binding her wrists, but rocks jagged enough to do the job were nowhere to be found. After running flat out for fifteen minutes to get out of the immediate area of the Blazer — and falling on her face twice along the way — she’d taken a breather to extricate her arms from behind her back, though she nearly had to pull her arms out of their sockets to get them free.

  The cooling breeze told her she was nearing the lake. She pressed on, hoping to use the shoreline to guide her south to the highway, which couldn’t be more than five miles away. If she could make it there, she’d be safe.

  Brielle called again over the radio, using the marine emergency channel in the hopes that a boater on the lake might hear her. “I’m calling for help from anyone out there. My name is Brielle Cohen. I’m somewhere in the forest west of Lake Shannon. Men are chasing me and trying to kill me. Please respond if you’re out there.”

  She listened, but all she could hear was the plaintive call of a loon coming from the direction of the lake. No answer. Boaters on the lake might not have radios, or they may simply not have had their radios tuned to her frequency. Any of those possibilities meant that she had to carry on as if she were on her own.

  By now she had to assume that Harvin had called for assistance from Zim. Once she headed south, she’d have to be careful not to run straight into his men’s waiting arms. But given her inability to contact anyone, she’d have to take that chance.

  After another minute, Brielle finally saw water. She threaded her way through the last batch of forest and emerged onto a rocky beach dotted with rotten stumps, some of which protruded from the mirrored surface of the lake that reflected the snowcapped mountains to the north. Though there was a spit of land that would give her a better view down the lake, she kept close to the trees, fearing that she’d be seen if she ventured out there. A couple of kayakers were visible across the mile-wide lake and further north, but they would do her no good. If she called to them and they paddled over, she might even get them killed.

  She called on the radio again, but got only static.

  Now that she could see how exposed she’d be wending her way toward the highway, she knew her chances of evading Zim’s men was minimal at best. Perhaps her best choice was to find a tree to climb. The thick branches would provide cover, and searchers focused on a running target might miss her in a high hiding place. From there she could continue to broadcast until someone picked up her signal. She might be able to lead her pursuers onto the wrong path and backtrack once they’d passed her. If she were lucky, she might even find one of their vehicles and simply drive out of here.

  Her heart leapt as the thumping beat of rotors pounded their way toward her. Without knowing if it was friend or foe, Brielle dodged behind a tree. Its low flight path made her think foe. No one who had heard her radio calls would have been able to get a chopper into the air that quickly.

  The noise grew until it drowned out the rustling branches above her. She couldn’t see the helicopter itself, but she could spot the downdraft of its rotors on the water as it passed. Within a minute, it was out of visual range, its blades a distant thrum.

  The helicopter had been so loud that she didn’t notice the tinny voice coming from her radio. “…in the vicinity. Say again your position.”

  At the same time, she heard snapping twigs and hushed voices approaching from the west. Though they were still far off, their proximity made climbing a tree more likely to get her caught than saved.

  Then she realized that the voice on the radio might not be a savior, either. It could be one of Zim’s men pretending to be a rescuer.

  Her only hope was to the lead her pursuers astray, and the lake gave her another possibility. She sprinted down the shoreline, talking into the radio as she ran, on the off chance it was really was one of the good guys.

  “West side of Lake Shannon,” she said between puffs of breath. “Send the police. Send everyone you can.”

  She tossed the radio onto the beach, cracking the case to give the appearance that she’d stumbled and broken it. She kept going. When she saw a massive tree stump in the water that fit her plans, she ripped a piece from her shirt and dropped it, then ran another fifty yards and threw another bit of fabric into the forest. She doubled back, sure that the rocky shoreline wouldn’t betray her deception.

  When she reached the stump, she took a last look at the trees and could see no one. Steeling herself for the icy embrace of the glacier melt, she waded into the water.

  The water sucked her breath away, and Brielle had to clamp her teeth shut to restrain herself from crying out. She wouldn’t be able to last long at this temperature, but if she could stay out there long enough and keep her nose above water, she might be overlooked.

  She swam to the other side of the stump and found a place that made her least visible from shore. She pressed herself as close to the bark as she could. Her black hair wouldn’t stand out. Unless they sent someone into the lake, she would be difficult to spot.

  It was unlikely they had a boat since there were no docks on the lake, and the only put-in was at the very southern end. The only danger was the helicopter, but she couldn’t do anything about that now.

  Her teeth threatened to chatter, but the sound of men picking their way down the beach made her dig deep to keep them quiet.

  A shout told her they’d found the radio. Half a dozen men came running along the beach. More yelling when they found the first piece of her shirt and then the second. One of them remarked that the she must have gone back into the trees. Then she recognized the voice.

  It was the man on Harvin’s radio, Victor Zim.

  He shushed the men, and they went silent. Brielle held her breath and clung to the trunk.

  After a moment, Zim ordered two of the men into the woods. The rest of them were to follow him down the shore. He also radioed the helicopter pilot to turn around.

  They took off at a sprint, hoping to catch up with her. By the time they were out of earshot, Brielle’s hands were cramping from the cold.

  She was about to swim out of her protective covering when she heard a buzz approaching. It wasn’t the thump of the helicopter blades. This sound was more like the highly tuned motor of a sports car.

  Brielle looked in both directions along the lake but saw no speedboats. Then she realized the noise was coming from above.

  She raised her head and saw a tiny white and gray plane dipping toward the lake. It had the sleek lines of a dragonfly, its propeller mounted behind the enclosed cockpit.

  At first Brielle thought it was going to crash into the lake, but at the last moment she realized that the smooth underside was designed for water landings.

  It was a seaplane. And it was headed straight for her.

  She looked back at the beach and saw the plane had drawn the attention of Zim’s men, who had stopped to watch this new intruder. They obviously weren’t expecting it, which meant the seaplane wasn’t theirs.

  The problem was that they were now in a position to see her as well, and they did.

  Zim shouted for them to open fire. Bullets pinged off the stump and plunked into the water nearby. They were far enough away that any rounds that came close were lucky shots, but it would only t
ake one to kill her.

  The plane touched down on the glass-smooth lake as gently as if it were settling onto a feather pillow. It made an adroit turn and plowed through the water toward her.

  Brielle quickly figured she had two choices. She could head back to shore and make a run for it through the woods with little hope of outpacing them, or she could take the chance that the seaplane wasn’t there by accident.

  She was shivering so badly now that a fast run would sap her strength in minutes. A ride in a nice dry seat sounded much better. The seaplane it was.

  Brielle pushed away from the stump and paddled toward the middle of the lake as best she could with her hands still tied. Her legs churned furiously to propel her forward, but her progress was achingly slow.

  A shadow fell across Brielle, and she realized it was the plane’s wing passing between her and the sun. The engine cut to idle, and the plane was about to glide by her on the right.

  The plane’s wraparound glass canopy tilted forward, and a man leaped out of his seat. Through blurred vision, she saw a hand stretched toward her from the transom. Brielle was so cold and tired by this point that she just wanted to be out of the water. Without looking to see who it was, she grasped his hand with both of hers and felt herself lifted out of the water like she was holding onto the prong of a forklift.

  When her feet were planted on the small outrigger sticking from the plane’s belly, she latched onto the man’s shirt to steady herself. Bullets zinged around them, a few of them thudding into the plane’s fuselage, and she was unceremoniously dumped into the passenger seat.

  The man jumped over her, revved up the engine, and lowered the canopy. Brielle planted her feet on either side of the secondary control stick while the plane turned smartly and accelerated.

  “Sorry I can’t offer you a towel,” a familiar voice said.

  Brielle rubbed the water from her eyes. She flinched as a bullet grazed the side window, then blinked in astonishment at Tyler.

  “It’s you," was all she could think to say.