The Loch Ness Legacy tl-4

by Boyd Morrison

  “How could Nessie still be around after all that time?”

  Alexa had gotten into a rhythm of doling out scoops as she talked. “If she’s not a sturgeon — which I still think is the best explanation for the legend — she could be the last of her species, isolated here hundreds of years ago.” She shook her head and scanned the desolate loch. “It’s actually sad when you think about it. Alone all that time.”

  “That would explain why it’s rarely seen,” Brielle said. “But if it’s a sturgeon, how could it be the source of the Altwaffe chemical? There are sturgeons in other parts of the world, and nobody has made weapons out of their flesh.”

  The question of how it could be the source of the Nazi Altwaffe was definitely a puzzle for Alexa. She couldn’t reconcile that aspect of the creature’s anatomy with what she knew about the most likely candidate for all those Nessie sightings over the years.

  “The other possibility, of course, is that it’s a unique species,” Alexa said, “one not discovered yet in the fossil record.”

  “And in all these years, we’ve only had apocryphal stories? Why haven’t we ever seen one wash up on shore or get caught by a fisherman?”

  “Giant squid have been reported by sailors for centuries, but it’s only in the last couple of years that we’ve gotten actual videographic evidence of living specimens.”

  “We can’t wait that long,” Brielle said, “so let’s hope this works.”

  Alexa flashed on Grant’s drawn face and silently agreed with Brielle as she tossed another dollop of chum in the water.

  They continued trolling for twenty more minutes while the sky went from gunmetal to charcoal. Alexa had kept an eye out for Tyler’s sub, but she hadn’t seen it. It had to be out there, though, because Tyler would have called her if he couldn’t get the GhostManta into the water.

  Despite the stench of the saltfish, the unique smell of the peat and highland air and the dimming light brought Alexa back to the last time she’d been on the loch with Michael Dillman. She happened to be looking at the opposite shore and saw a sinewy black form on the water.

  “Oh, my God!” She cried out. “Look!

  She and Brielle rushed over to the starboard side and leaned out as far as they dared. Sinclair wheeled the boat about and headed for the humped shape. Alexa’s knuckles were white on the railing. They were actually about to come face to face with the monster.

  The black shape remained motionless, and Alexa hoped it wouldn’t dive before they had a chance to approach it. She got a scoop of saltfish ready to throw at the creature to lure it closer.

  Sinclair suddenly slowed the Nessie Seeker and began turning away from their target.

  “What are you doing?” Alexa yelled.

  “Sorry, miss,” Sinclair said. “It’s not what you’re looking for. It’s just a log.”

  “What are you talking about? I saw it move when…” Alexa’s voice trailed off. The black shape was now close enough for her to see it for what it really was. Sinclair was right. It was a rotten log bobbing in the water.

  The rush of disappointment was overwhelming. She was so sure they had found it. Now Alexa felt like a fool. She’d fallen for the same optical illusion that had tricked so many other observers hoping to spot Nessie before her.

  “I’ll keep trolling if you’d like,” Sinclair said.

  Alexa nodded her assent, but her enthusiasm was shot.

  They went on for another ten minutes, until the sun was below the mountains, leaving only a diffuse light in the clouds to illuminate the loch. Darkness would be total soon, effectively ending the expedition.

  Alexa was methodically doling out the chum when Brielle, who had been keeping an eye on the boat’s wake, stiffened in her seat. Alexa looked back, trying not to get her hopes up, but could see nothing. She’d been so busy with the chum that she hadn’t been watching the water closely.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I thought I saw movement.”

  “Tyler’s sub?”

  Brielle pursed her lips. “It was a disturbance in the water that didn’t look like our normal wake.”

  “Tyler said the sub would be black.”

  “I couldn’t see anything come out of the water, just a difference in the surface pattern.”

  They waited, but Alexa couldn’t see anything. She felt them both deflate, the anticipation subsiding again.

  “Must be another false alarm,” she said dejectedly. “It’s almost dark, and I don’t have much bait left—”

  Brielle stood and pointed. “There! You see it?”

  Alexa followed the line of her finger, but it took her a moment to see what Brielle meant.

  A swirl of whitewater where it shouldn’t have been.

  And it was closing on them.

  Alexa’s heart pounded at the sight. Something was definitely out there.

  “Keep chumming,” Brielle said.

  Alexa sped up the pace of her scoops. The breadth of the whitecap grew wider and closer.

  “My God,” Alexa breathed.

  She kept tossing saltfish behind the Nessie Seeker until the unusual wave was forty feet from the boat’s stern. It was only then that Alexa realized that the extra wake wasn’t necessarily created by the creature’s head.

  Brielle was leaning out over the transom trying to get a better look, her head close to the water.

  “Brielle!” Alexa shouted, and dropped the scoop. She yanked Brielle back by the shoulders just as a great maw of jagged teeth broke the surface of the water, yawning wide to take its next gulp.

  FORTY-FOUR

  Tyler was speechless.

  There it was, the 3-D image of the Loch Ness monster on his sonar, but he still couldn’t believe his eyes. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how much he’d doubted the existence of the Loch Ness monster, how close to resignation he was that they were on a fool’s errand and that Grant would die. The awe and incredulity lasted a few moments more and then were swept aside by the sense of relief and elation that cascaded over him. Grant had a chance.

  The creature’s sinewy form foiled the sophisticated computer’s ability to generate a cohesive image, but there was no longer any reason to be a skeptic. Tyler could make out the jaw-dropping creature’s general shape: a large, wide head, humpbacked body, four lateral appendages that could either be flippers or feet, and a long tail that swished back and forth as it swam. Overall, the animal had to be at least thirty feet in length.

  The bait worked exactly as Edmonstone had said it would.

  “We found it, man!” Tyler shouted over his shoulder to Grant. “You’re going to be all right.”

  “As long as the fat lady finishes warming up and starts crooning,” Grant replied, his hoarse voice thin and weary but hopeful. “Get us a little closer and I’ll take the shot.”

  Grant was in control of the spear that would insert the tracking transmitter and the tissue collection device. Once it hit the creature, they would retract it, leaving the tracker embedded in its flesh. Then they would return to the Sedna with the sample and call the authorities to whisk it away to the toxicologists for processing into an antidote.

  Tyler inched the throttle forward to get within two dozen yards of the creature, point-blank range.

  “Keep her steady,” Grant said. “One, two…”

  Something whizzed past them like a torpedo, its shape barely registering on the sonar.

  “What the hell?” Grant said.

  Tyler didn’t know where the object had come from, but it threatened to disrupt their only chance at tissue collection.

  “Launch now!” he shouted.

  The torpedo sliced on through the water, missing Nessie and continuing on toward the power cruiser.

  “Away!” Grant called out. The spear hissed from its tube, but it was too late. The Loch Ness monster, spooked by the unknown object, veered away, and the spear lanced through open water.

  The torpedo collided with the aft underside of the tour boat,
where it detonated, pummeling the sub with a deafening shock wave. Tyler wrestled with the stick to keep from going into a spin. When he had it under control, he pulled back, heading for the surface.

  “Was that Zim?” Grant asked.

  “Had to be.”

  “Where did they get torpedoes?”

  “No idea.”

  Tyler circled around and saw the enemy sub speeding away. No longer in immediate danger, he pulled back on the stick. The GhostManta broke the surface, and Tyler could see the Nessie Seeker dead in the water. There was no smoke, but the boat listed to one side. He motored forward and raised the canopy.

  He couldn’t see anyone, and his chest thumped in fear.

  He pulled the sub next to the boat and cut the throttle. His low position in the water didn’t afford him much of a view into the cabin, so he stood awkwardly in his seat.

  “Alexa! Brielle!” he called out. “It’s Tyler!”

  Alexa and Brielle poked their heads above the transom. When they saw it was clear, they stood, and Tyler breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Are you both okay?”

  “Yes,” Alexa said. “What about you?”

  “No damage. How’s the boat?”

  “Sinclair’s below checking the engine,” Brielle said, “but we’re taking on water. What the bloody hell was that?”

  “Zim. He’s got the other sub and equipped it with some sort of weapon.”

  “Did the spear work?” Alexa asked. “Did you get the sample?”

  “That asshole made me miss,” Grant said.

  “Then what are you still doing here? Go get it!”

  “But you—”

  “We’ll be fine. You may never get another shot.”

  Tyler noticed a large fishing boat headed their way. Its crew might have heard the explosion and come to help or it might be Zim’s men. The least he could do was give Alexa and Brielle a little protection.

  “Here,” he said, handing Brielle the rifle and ammo. He pointed at the approaching fishing boat. “Make sure you know who that is before you let them help. When you get the boat moving again, head back to the harbor and call the police.”

  “Thanks. Now go.” She pointed at a spot south of them on the loch. “I think I can make out Nessie’s wake about two hundred yards that way.”

  The concern etched on their faces nearly kept him from leaving, but Tyler nodded at them and got into his seat. He pressed the button to lower the canopy. A green light indicated when it was sealed.

  “They’ll be all right,” he said, more to reassure himself than Grant.

  “Yeah, they will,” Grant replied, but he didn’t sound any more confident than Tyler felt.

  He slammed the throttle forward and submerged. Within seconds the GhostManta was at full speed.

  Zim and the creature had a head start, but Nessie was slower than the sub. Even if Zim were able to torpedo the animal and kill it before they reached it, they’d still be able to secure a tissue sample as long as it didn’t sink into the deep sediment at the bottom of the loch.

  Two small dots appeared on the sonar display and grew rapidly. The creature was swimming in a zigzag pattern in an attempt to get away from the pursuing sub. Suddenly, it reversed course, and Zim’s sub swung around. A few moments later, the creature veered left, and Tyler realized it wasn’t randomly taking evasive action.

  It was being herded.

  Tyler slewed left and saw where they were headed.

  Toward the fishing boat.

  “What are they up to?” Grant asked.

  “I don’t know. But something tells me we don’t have much time.”

  Tyler was on an intercept course. At their present speed, he calculated that they would reach the monster just before it got to the fishing boat.

  “You ready with the other spear?” Tyler asked.

  “Locked and loaded.”

  “Good. We’re only going to get one more pass.”

  Tyler wracked his brain for a way to save the creature from Zim after he got the sample. Alexa would be devastated if Tyler let it die, but he couldn’t think of anything other than getting help from the police once he and Grant were docked on the Sedna. His GhostManta was unarmed, so he couldn’t fight back against Zim.

  He would have to leave the creature to its fate. He was sick about having to sacrifice Nessie, but he had no choice. Retrieving the tissue specimen was more important than rescuing the monster, despite how he felt about it.

  Tyler suppressed his qualms about sacrificing this unique creature and focused on the mission. Instead of aiming directly for the animal, he altered the sub’s course so that he was leading it like a clay pigeon.

  “I’ll count down,” he said. “On my mark.”

  “Ready,” Grant replied.

  Nessie’s outline in the sonar grew large as they approached to intercept.

  “One.”

  Closer.

  “Two.”

  The creature nearly filled the sonar image.

  “Three.”

  Its torso was dead center on the screen.

  “Mark!”

  “Away!”

  The spear launched. Tyler held his breath until he saw the red light that indicated a hit.

  “Contact!” Grant shouted triumphantly.

  Before Tyler could tell him to retract the sample, the creature suddenly stopped and began thrashing in place.

  “Reel in the spear,” Tyler said.

  After a pause, Grant said, “I can’t. It’s stuck in something.”

  After a moment, Nessie seemed to curl up into a ball. It started to rise to the surface, and Tyler understood what was happening.

  “They’ve caught it in a net,” he said. “Hurry.”

  The winch whined, straining to retract the spear. Then Tyler heard a pop.

  “Dammit,” Grant said. “The line snapped.”

  Something splashed into the water from above the surface and impaled Nessie, followed immediately by a muffled explosion.

  Locke realized it wasn’t a fishing boat he’d been seeing. It was a whaler. Zim didn’t have torpedoes. He had harpoons like the one shot from the boat.

  Nessie stopped moving.

  The next harpoon would be aimed at them.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said, wheeling the sub about. “We’ll go back to the Sedna and track Nessie from there as long as the transmitter wasn’t damaged in the explosion.”

  “Agreed,” Grant croaked. “Not feeling too good.” He sounded spent.

  Tyler was about to throttle up when he saw an image appear on the sonar. It was the other GhostManta banking toward them.

  And if Zim had installed harpoons in both spear ejection tubes, that meant the other GhostManta was still armed.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Zim wasn’t going to let Locke get away, not when he had the means to finish him off.

  “Follow him,” he said to Pryor.

  “But we have the monster—”

  He reached over the seat back and grabbed Pryor by the neck. “Do it or I’ll shoot you myself when we get back.”

  “All right! Back off!”

  Zim let go, and the sub took off in pursuit.

  Locke weaved back and forth trying to shake them, but Pryor was an accomplished pilot and stayed glued to the other GhostManta’s tail.

  “I just need one clear shot,” Zim said.

  “He may not give it to you,” Pryor grunted as he whipped the stick sideways. “This guy is good.”

  “But he can’t see us. He can’t know if he’s lost us or not, and his evasive tactics are slowing him down. When we’re close enough, there’s no way I’ll miss.”

  They continued edging closer until Locke’s sub took an abrupt dive, and Zim’s stomach rose in his throat as Pryor matched the maneuver, a forty-five-degree angle down.

  Zim hung from his harness, keeping his finger near the LAUNCH button for the right moment.

  At three hundred feet, Locke pulled out of the d
ive and swooped up, aiming for the surface. Pryor matched him again. The sub rocketed up, compressing Zim against his seat.

  The desperation move was slowing Locke, bringing Pryor and Zim closer. He’d lose all momentum if he broke the surface, making him easy prey.

  Zim rested his finger on the button. Any moment.

  Then Locke’s sub twisted as it dodged another shape it had been masking on Zim’s sonar.

  “Look out!” Zim shouted.

  Pryor wrenched the stick to the right, but not in time to prevent the sub from sideswiping the obstacle. The canopy bounced against it with a crunch. The polycarbonate held, but the impact broke part of the seal loose. Pinpricks of water jetted into the cockpit.

  Pryor surfaced, and the sub came to a stop. Zim could see the object they’d collided with.

  A drifting log. Locke must have seen it and led them directly into it.

  Zim swiveled around and saw the other sub only a few yards to his right. Locke stared back with an icy glare, his control panel casting a menacing glow. Westfield was in the back seat and looked like he was about to pass out.

  Their sub began to submerge.

  “Go after them.”

  “With all these leaks? We can’t—”

  “Do it!” Zim screamed.

  Pryor turned the sub, and as they sank the jets of water returned with greater force. They’d only have a minute or two before the cockpit was full of water, but Zim was determined to take his shot.

  Locke began the evasions again.

  “Don’t match his weaves,” Zim said.

  “What?”

  “Give me a straight line.”

  Pryor did as he was told, and they caught up quickly. The freezing water was accumulating around Zim’s feet, seeping into his boots, but he ignored the shocking cold.

  The weaving seemed to occur at a random pace and cadence, but Zim thought he had a pattern figured out. They were within twenty yards. On the next swerve, Zim would have him.

  As he expected, Locke banked right, directly into their path. Zim’s finger stabbed the LAUNCH button, and the harpoon shot out of the tube. The aim was dead-on, a perfect intercept course.