They left his cabin and took a circuitous route below decks so they could come up within the covered section of the ship unseen from the outside.
Tyler felt the weight of the moment as they walked. Grant was shuffling along doing his best to hide his illness. Yount might not have noticed, but it was painfully obvious to Tyler. Then there was trying to avert the war brewing in the Middle East, and the fact that he had dragged Alexa along into this mess. He was so wrecked about turning her into a killer that he hadn’t had the heart to tell her Michael Dillman’s body had been recovered from Puget Sound with two bullets in his head. Aiden mentioned it when Tyler got the update on Laroche’s status, which was that he was still comatose but showing some response to stimuli.
All Tyler could do was focus on the task at hand, which at least provided some distraction from his morbid thoughts.
They entered the launch bay to find the GhostManta nestled in its cradle. Tyler hadn’t seen it since they began testing it last winter, so he admired anew the sleek lines of the submarine.
Modeled on the form of a manta ray, the Ghostmanta was the brainchild of a design student named Caan Yaylali. Originally meant to be used as a camera platform for documentary videographers interested in recording sea creatures at great depths, Gordian had modified the design to create a multi-purpose sub that could be used for underwater maintenance and surveying, particularly for the oil and gas industry. After the blowout of the Deepwater Horizon drilling platform in the Gulf of Mexico, in which it had taken months to cap the sea-bottom well, Gordian saw the opportunity to produce a speedy and flexible vessel for performing undersea repairs. The two GhostMantas aboard the Sedna were headed to a North Sea oil rig for testing when Tyler had requested that Miles divert them to Loch Ness.
The black sub’s wings were used to stabilize the craft and pitch it up and down underwater while the fin-like rudder steered it. On the surface, the GhostManta performed like a boat, but when it dived, it flew like an airplane. Tyler had taken it out for several test runs. Although that had been six months ago, it wouldn’t take long to familiarize himself with the controls again.
The sub’s operators met them in the shed, as the rear covered hangar was called, and talked Tyler and Grant through the latest updates. The sub was propelled by two battery-powered pump jets similar to the ones on the US Navy’s new Virginia-class nuclear subs and could reach a speed of twenty knots. That would get them to their pre-arranged rendezvous by Urquhart Castle in little more than thirty minutes, just as darkness was falling. Of course, the sub’s regular pilots would have been much more adept at handling the craft, but Tyler couldn’t ask them to defy the police or risk another run-in with Zim.
While Tyler would pilot the sub, Grant’s main job would be to operate the firing controls. The additional modification Tyler had asked for from Yount was a spear gun, one mounted on each side of the cockpit. But this spear wasn’t for killing. It had two purposes. The first was as a biopsy tool. The spear was a customized soil sampler that had been altered to capture a tissue sample from Nessie. It had a high-tensile filament lead which would be used to retract it once it had lanced through skin, bringing back a piece of flesh the size of a toilet roll tube.
The second purpose was to implant a low-frequency radio transmitter. If the sample retrieval failed, they would be able to follow the creature in an attempt to get another.
Once they were brought up to speed on the controls, Tyler and Grant squeezed into the tandem cockpit, Tyler in front and Grant in back.
Before they closed the canopy, Yount handed Tyler a short-barrel rifle and some extra ammo.
“We keep this hidden on board for when we travel through unsavory parts of the world.” When he saw Tyler’s surprised look, he added, “Pirates are getting bolder these days. You might need it if you run into this Zim character. I don’t want to lose any more people.”
Tyler thanked Yount and stowed it in the footwell beside him. He closed and latched the canopy, while Grant made the final checks on their environmental systems.
“How are you doing back there?” Tyler asked through his earpiece.
“Ready for warp speed, Cap’n,” Grant said, trying to sound jauntier than he had looked, the words coming out like they’d been spoken by a buzz saw. However, as long as Tyler heard him say something, he wasn’t going to doubt Grant’s ability to carry out the mission.
The shed’s rear door rolled open, revealing the fading light outside. The unique configuration of the ship was designed to facilitate launching and capturing the subs. An inclined ramp extended into the water as the door raised. The GhostManta was latched onto a dolly that descended the ramp until the sub was in the water, at which point the latch would release. When the sub was ready to be pulled back in, it would simply maneuver to the stern and mate with the dolly, which would draw it back up the ramp and into the ship. Based on the well decks used by amphibious assault ships, the system made the launch and capture process go faster, more smoothly, and with less potential for damage than with a traditional crane.
Tyler gave a thumbs up to Yount, who nodded for the dolly to be lowered. The GhostManta eased down the ramp, and Tyler could see a couple watching them from a sailboat docked behind them. As long as they didn’t raise the alarm, the policemen watching the bow would never know the sub launched. The boaters watched intently and seemed content to snap a few photos with their phones.
Water surged around the sub as it reached the aft end of the ramp.
“All systems are nominal,” Yount said into Tyler’s ear. “Are you a go?”
“We’re ready. We’ll submerge as soon as we’re free.”
“Understood. Good luck, gentlemen.”
Tyler felt a lurch as the dolly released, and the GhostManta eased into the water. Tyler filled the ballast tank, and the sub sank until the canopy was covered. The sonar told him he had only a few feet of clearance above the canal bottom until they reached the open loch, so he’d need to be careful not to ground the vehicle. Tyler pushed the throttle, and the propellers whirred to life.
With a muted whine, the sub cruised into the darkness ahead.
FORTY-TWO
Zim was impressed by the technology packed into the GhostManta, particularly the fiber-optic periscope that allowed him to observe the Gordian ship while submerged. A dozen boats had already passed him and Pryor without noticing the tiny scope protruding from the water.
The view revealed Locke’s surreptitious boarding of the Sedna, frustrating Dunham’s futile attempt to prevent him from going forward with his search for the monster. Zim knew it wouldn’t work; Locke was too resourceful. He silently patted himself on the back for his wisdom in using the sub to spy on his nemesis.
Then he’d seen the second GhostManta launch from the rear of the sub tender, and Zim was sure Locke and Westfield were inside. He let them go by before swinging around to follow with Pryor acting as the sub’s pilot.
Although the sub was a marvel of sophisticated equipment, it did have one weakness. The passive sonar was processed by a computer that projected a head-up display for the pilot and navigator. Any object that was in the sonar’s field of view was shown on the three-dimensional image collimated for the operator’s eyes so that glasses weren’t necessary. The disadvantage was that it showed only what was in front of the sub. Since it wasn’t a military vessel, it wasn’t a critical problem, and the view was supplemented by a rear-view camera, although it could penetrate just a few feet through the peat-rich water. As long as Pryor kept them in Locke’s baffles, he’d never know he was being followed.
Pryor accelerated until Locke’s sub was visible on the display, its outline perfectly rendered in the HUD. He slowed to keep a respectable distance behind as they cruised up the loch.
The sub’s original pilots had been convinced to be helpful in explaining the GhostManta’s operation, which Pryor had absorbed easily. By the time they had reached the southern portion of Ness, he had become proficient enough in pilotin
g the sub, but Zim credited that primarily to the designers. Care had been taken in making the controls simple to use, modeling the stick, rudders, and throttle on the ones in an airplane’s cockpit. Important switches and knobs unique to a submarine were well-labeled, and the rest were accessed by touch screens that looked like those found on a smartphone.
Zim was uneasy about leaving Dunham to coordinate the preparations on the Aegir. Her constant questioning of his tactics had become intolerable, but at least he could be satisfied that she would get hers when they were done here.
What he hadn’t figured out yet was Locke’s strategy. If the journal had been incinerated, the Lockes would have no way to know what Edmonstone had divulged about his encounter with the creature. But the fact that they were here must have meant they had some clue about how to find Nessie.
Which is why Zim had to be ready to respond if Locke were successful. Zim was sorely tempted to take him out right now, but the uncertainty of what Locke was up to prevented him from taking the shot. Soon, though.
Zim had the means to sink him, thanks to a modification that had been made to the sub. In addition to the retractable claws that could be extended from the streamlined body for maintenance work, the sub had been equipped with two launchers that were aimed like torpedo tubes. They’d been designed to be loaded with some kind of spear, which was ejected by compressed air.
But Zim had a better idea of what to load in them.
The whaler had a full complement of harpoons used to hunt minke whales. Thanks to international pressure, each harpoon was tipped with an explosive penthrite grenade to minimize the suffering of the whales. The round would go off once it penetrated a foot of flesh. With a well-placed shot to the Minke’s head, death was designed to be instantaneous.
Zim was looking forward to seeing what kind of damage it would do.
Using a “cold” nonexplosive harpoon, they’d tested shooting it from the launcher on the sub. In the water it had barely a quarter the range of one fired from the cannon mounted on the Aegir’s forecastle, but it would be able to hit Nessie if they got close enough. It also packed enough of a punch to sink a small vessel.
With two harpoons ready to fire, Zim had one for the monster and one for Locke.
Once the monster was dead, they would haul it up onto the deck of the whaler. With the cloud cover, the darkness would shield their activities from prying eyes on the shore. They’d tack it to the deck, ready for the final phase.
Dunham had suggested sailing out of the loch during the night, but the canal at the north end wouldn’t reopen until morning, meaning they’d have to motor past Inverness and into the North Sea in broad daylight.
Too risky. They had an entire loch to dispose of the creature. Ness averaged seven hundred feet deep. It might take weeks to find the location of the sinking and then would require special equipment to get to it that far down. All they needed to do was weigh down Nessie, a beast that could tip the scales at a couple of tons. Something very heavy would be required to assure the job would be done.
“Pryor,” Zim said, “how long do you need once we have the creature locked down?”
“Say, three minutes to set everything. How much time should we allow to get away?”
“I think five minutes should do it. You’re sure of the detonators’ placement?”
“While you were talking to Dunham, I set them all up exactly as you directed. No way the Norwegians will find them unless they’re looking for them.”
“Good. Then while we’ve got some time, let’s go over the plan again. We’ll have all the whalers on deck during the tie down process. Once it’s secure, I’ll waste them while you start the timers.”
“Seems a shame,” Pryor said. “They’re Scandinavians. Our kind of people.”
“They’re already chafing at holding two men hostage. They’ll talk, and we don’t want witnesses to lead anyone back to the point where it sank.”
“What about the submariners?”
“They’re locked up. That problem will take care of itself.”
“And Dunham?”
“She comes back with us. She still has to pay us.”
“And after that?”
Zim smiled. “I want to make sure she gets away alive.”
“Why? You hate her. I can tell.”
“She’ll understand.”
“All right,” Pryor said. “Hey, they’re slowing down.”
“Match their speed. I want to see what they’re planning. Make sure to stay behind them.”
“Will do.”
Zim could feel the tingle of excitement he remembered when he’d sabotaged the chemical plant. The endgame was near. Locke and his sister would soon be dead, and the explosive charges on board the Aegir would scuttle the whaling vessel, sending the Loch Ness monster down to the icy depths once and for all.
FORTY-THREE
As she peered through the window of the gift shop in Drumnadrochit, Alexa was amazed at the number of Nessie-related items that could be squeezed into one store. It was packed with all manner of toys, books, and clothes emblazoned with the creature’s likeness. In the window display was a plush Nessie stuffed animal, a Disney-fied version with a goofy smile and doe eyes. If only the real thing ended up being as friendly and tame.
Alexa moved away from the window and checked her watch. The sunlight was fading, only twenty minutes until their preset rendezvous with Tyler and Grant. Brielle rubbed her arms and stood quietly at the door where the skipper of the Nessie Seeker would meet them to take them to his boat. The shop, now closed, was the final stop for patrons of the Loch Ness Centre and Exhibition, so the tour operator had contracted to sell his trips from the store.
“Are you warm yet?” Alexa asked.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be warm again after that dunking,” Brielle replied. “My whole view of swimming has been radically altered in the last few days.”
“You should try Lake Michigan in winter. I did a polar bear plunge while I was in college to support the Special Olympics. It was mid-January, and we’d just gotten twelve inches of snow.”
Brielle rolled her eyes. “You Lockes are a bit touched, aren’t you?”
“If you mean crazy, then yes. I’ll never get in water that cold again.”
A white van with the logo of Loch Ness Voyages pulled into the parking lot and circled around to the front door of the shop. The driver, a tall man with a paunch, a grey beard, and a sailor’s cap, lumbered around the van and stuck out his hand.
“Greg Sinclair, skipper of the Nessie Seeker,” he said in a Scottish brogue thick enough to pour on pancakes.
Alexa and Brielle introduced themselves using false last names in case Sinclair had caught a radio report about them while he was on the loch.
“As you know from our phone conversation,” Alexa said, “we have a special request.”
“Doubling my usual fee takes care of anything you’d like, barring any illegal activities, of course.”
“We want to go fishing.”
Sinclair rubbed his beard. “I don’t have any fishing tackle, so you’d have to be bringing your own. Is it salmon you’re after?”
“Something bigger. We’re looking for Nessie.”
Sinclair laughed. “I’ve been sailing Loch Ness for thirty-five years, and I’ve seen Nessie once in all that time.”
“You’ve actually seen it?” Brielle asked.
“‘Her’ is what I call Nessie. Fifteen years ago, she surfaced about five hundred yards away while I was out on my own.”
“What did she look like?”
“A black hump with a snake head, just like the surgeon’s photograph. I didn’t have a camera with me to record it, but you can be sure I carry one now. How is it you’ll be expecting to find her?”
“We’re going to chum the waters,” Alexa said.
Sinclair furrowed his brow at the two of them. “You’re serious about this?”
“Yes.”
He shrugged. “I w
on’t be telling you how to spend your money. But I hope you don’t come away disappointed.”
Alexa looked at Brielle with concern. “I hope we don’t, either.”
They lugged the shipping box full of saltfish from the trunk to the back of the van. When they were belted in, Sinclair drove the minute it took to get to the boat dock.
He pulled up next to a crisp white power cruiser with “Nessie Seeker” on the side. The forty-foot-long boat had a railing around the bow, an upper deck above the wheelhouse, and an open-air aft area. It was perfect for their needs.
Once they had hauled the box on board, Sinclair cast off. He fired up the engine and sailed into Urquhart Bay. The castle was resplendent across the bay in the waning light. The floodlights used to illuminate the ruins at night were already visible, and the Grant Tower smoldered with an ethereal glow.
Alexa donned the rubber gloves they’d bought while Brielle opened the box. She uncapped the plastic container inside, and the pungent odor of cured fish assaulted their noses.
“Mind not to spill any of that on the cushions,” Sinclair called out from his position at the helm. Alexa had asked him to take the boat out to the open loch and cruise back and forth three hundred yards offshore of the castle.
Alexa and Brielle put a towel on the bench seat and rested the plastic container atop it. Alexa retrieved another purchase, an ice scoop. She dug it into the pile of fish and drew out a heaping scoopful.
“Here we go,” she said and tossed it into the water.
“You think this will really work?” Brielle asked.
“I don’t know. It was a fluke that we got to see it the first time.”
Brielle shook her head as Alexa threw another scoop into the loch. “I don’t understand why Nessie would be interested in shark meat.”
“Remember the coelacanth?”
“That ugly fish in Laroche’s vault?”
Alexa nodded. “That species evolved into its current form four hundred million years ago. Maybe Nessie’s species is just as old, although not a dinosaur. Shark may very well have been part of its diet since they have been around for four hundred and fifty million years.”
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