Monster: Tale Loch Ness (15 page)

"Come now! You don't expect armed guards to shoot and kill a submersible as if it were a herring, do you? So please don't play me for an idiot!"

Reddington's words exactly, Scotty thought.

Whittenfeld stood. "The men are aboard to prevent attempts at internal sabotage."

"Attempts? By whom? Geminii executives and staff?"

"No."

"By union members?"

"Let's say neither."

Sutherland lit a cigarette, self-rolled. "I will restate our position. The men are to come off the ship. I would also like the safety officer to come off as well. We want to replace him with our own man, someone who will look after the interests of our membership with a more devoted sense of diligence. Since one of our men has already drowned and several have been injured as well, I don't think the request is unreasonable."

"Not excessively," Whittenfeld said. "But unreasonable enough. We've discussed this matter with the union many times. We reached a consensus long ago."

"A consensus is not embodied in the general agreement."

"Correct. But it's been verbally accepted by both sides. And, anyway, there's no compelling reason to open the issue again."

"On the contrary," Sutherland charged. "There is a strong compulsion. Namely, as I said, casualties."

Whittenfeld scribbled a note. "Believe me, I sympathize. But if I have a union safety rep on board, complaints will be nonstop, and, well, progress will slow. I cannot allow that to happen."

"Do you prefer dead men to dead dollars?"

"Of course not," Whittenfeld said. "And I don't understand why you think I don't have the men's interests at heart. Hell, I respect the union and encourage its activities even though my first obligation is to Geminii."

"Don't make me retch, Whittenfeld. I'm not here to be coddled, conned, or entertained. I'm here to do a job, and I may be the first rep around here in a while who's had such a desire."

"Mr. Sutherland," Whittenfeld said. "There's no reason to roar in here flinging antagonisms all over the place."

"I'm just stating our positions as clearly as possible."

"I said we'll talk."

"Talk alone is worthless."

"Talk leads to other things."

"Like more talk. And if that happens, we'll just have to . . ."

"Sit down?"

Sutherland stared noncommittally, then smiled. "We also want a union representative to attend your management meetings."

Whittenfeld tried to stifle a laugh. "You're not serious, are you?"

"Yes," Sutherland declared. "And practical. These are very special circumstances. As you said in your own explanation to the union, Geminii suspects the
Columbus
was attacked. As such, we wish to be privy to security and operational decisions."

"Out of the question."

"Let us blaze new territory."

"The consortium is not a government enterprise."

"Let's treat it like one."

"Unfortunately, I can't. Now is there anything else?"

"The issue of local union workers."

"I didn't know there was an issue."

Sutherland grimaeed. "You've imported planeloads of English, German, and American personnel. Utilized the services of very few locals."

"We've hired the best men available. Unfortunately, we could not find qualified people here."

"Nonsense."

'Whis is a nonunion matter. We hire who we want. If they desire to join the local and live by union rules, then that's their business. We respect their decision."

Sutherland stood and began to pace. "There are experienced men in Scotland. Union men who have learned their trade in the North Sea and elsewhere. Union men who live in this region. Union men who have been overlooked."

"We have figures," Foster said. "A breakdown on nationality and . . ."

Sutherland exploded. "I don't care about figures. I care about jobs. Men's lives. Their families' well-being."

"Let's not get acrimonious, Mr. Sutherland," Whittenfeld cautioned.

"I'm trying not to."

"You must understand. I cannot fire good men just to employ locals. Even your union won't stand for that."

"I agree. But we want you to make a commitment to local employment."

"I assme this is an unofficial position."

"Semi."

"Then I will treat it as such."

Sutherland leaned close. "What are you going to do about the first three demands?"

"I'm going to take them under consideration."

"And then?"

"I'll repeat myself again. We're going to talk. We're going to find a way to compromise and work together. Hell, Sutherland, this is not
us
against
you
. It's a partnership. We're all working toward one thing. The discovery of oil. That one thing will benefit everyone, benefit Scotland. It's our duty to compromise. It's our duty to work together. You let me think about the demands. Then you come over for dinner where you and I can exchange ideas and get to know each other."

"Forget it."

"We must allow trust to grow."

"I will grow to trust you when you agree to the demands."

Whittenfeld stared, saying nothing. Seconds slowly passed. Then

Sutherland stood and ambled decisively to the door.

"I've taken up enough of your time, Mr. Whittenfeld," he said. "You've heard what I have to say. I've heard your reply. Think about the demands. Then let me know. You know where to find me."

"Of course," Whittenfeld said.

Sutherland excused himself and walked out of the room.

"Sutherland sounds more like an SNP politician than a union rep," Whittenfeld said.

"He may be both," Foster reminded. "Everyone around here talks that way, anyway. Abercrombie did, for one. The Scottish Office does, for two. So do the regional domos."

Whittenfeld shook his head. "One-third of them believe what they say. The next third say what they say because they think that's what we expect to hear. And the last third talk like nationalists just to impress the other two-thirds with their piety. No, it's not what Sutherland said but how he said it. Something strikes me off key!" He turned to Scotty.

"I want you to talk to him. See if you can start up a relationship. Maybe reason some sense into his head."

Scotty walked down the first-floor hall toward the reception desk. Hugh Sutherland was standing by the front door. Scotty had called down from the conference room, asking reception to hold the union rep.

"You wanted to speak to me, Mr. Bruce?" Sutherland asked as Scotty moved to his side.

"Just for a moment," Scotty answered. "I know you have things to do, and I have to prepare for a trip to Edinburgh."

"All right," Sutherland said. "I'm listening, though you had every opportunity to talk in the conference room."

"I wanted to observe. Hear what you had to say."

"Admirable."

"You certainly did not pull any punches."

"Mr. Bruce, I'm a union rep. My business is to represent the Transport and General workers. Whether I'm liked by Geminii management or not is irrelevant. I say what has to be said. I don't mince words. I do my job."

"I understand. And since I'm the number-two man here, I would like to understand more."

"Admirable."

"I know you rejected contact apart from business, but I'd like to talk to you—at length. I'll be involved in union relations from now on, and it will help if I have a good grip on the issues."

"I have little time or patience for bullshit."

"I promise—no bullshit."

Sutherland stared suspiciously. "All right, Mr. Bruce. You stop by the union offices sometime. Yes, that will be all right."

Scotty smiled. Sutherland's offer was efficiently stated. He

understood. He would also take the man up on it.

"Good day," Sutherland said, exiting.

"Yes," Scotty replied. "Good day."

It was eight o'clock. He would have to leave for the airport by eight-thirty to catch the nine-twenty flight to Edinburgh. In between, he would merely have to contend with Mrs. Munro.

"Now you take my advice, Mr. Bruce," Mrs. Munro was saying as she carried two of Scotty's bags to the front door. "You watch yourself. Edinburgh is a big city, but London is bigger and more dangerous, too. And I should know since I nearly met my maker there several times."

Scotty popped out of the den holding an attaché case. "Is that so?"

"There are no rules, Mr. Bruce. None whatsoever for lorries or cars or anything. There's no place to cross the streets, and I tell you, the English try right hard to hit you on purpose. As God's my judge, it's the truth. And that just doesn't apply to the Scots. It goes for nice plump Americans, too."

Scotty laughed. "There must be crosswalks, Mrs. Munro."

"No. They have underground walkways to pass under the streets. But when you're in a hurry, Mr. Bruce, you've got to do it straight. And since I've been with you, I've come to know you like to hurry."

Scotty whisked into the kitchen, then returned to the den where Mrs. Munro had planted herself.

"I assure you, I will return in one piece."

She giggled. "Well, I think I'm not the only one who'd be right glad to see that?"

"Oh?"

"The MacKenzie woman called just before you arrived."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I can't remember to tell you everything, Mr. Bruce. Besides, it doesn't matter since she said she couldn't be reached."

"What else did she say?"

"She wished you a good trip."

"Is that all?"

"Yes. That's all. Mr. Bruce, do I detect a little bit of the old romance beginning here?"

Scotty stuffed some additional papers into the case. "I'm afraid not, Mrs. Munro. Miss MacKenzie tolerates me at best."

Mrs. Munro sat on the arm of the sofa. "Now I'm not so sure, Mr. Bruce. I'm no novice, you know. Though I look like a battleship, I was an attractive lass at one time, with my share of suitors. So I know something about love. I know a woman gets this little sound in her voice when she fancies a man."

"What sound?"

"Just a sound. I can't describe it. But I know it when I hear it, and I heard it in MacKenzie's voice."

Scotty couldn't disguise a smile. "I think you ought to get your ears checked, Mrs. Munro."

Mrs. Munro was indignant. "I'll have you know I got hearing like radar. And that's 'cause I always treat my ears good and dig out all the wax. Now I heard this sound in the lady's voice, and if you don't believe me or don't care, then that's your problem. And let me tell you something else. Another problem you have. You don't listen to me enough. You buzz around like a bull in a china shop, and you don't take note of all the intelligent things I try to teach you. And you're still a mess. No matter how hard I try, nothing works. I went into your closet this morning and looked at how everything was hung, and I nearly got sick. You had the sporran dangling upside down! Now you got to be crazy to treat a good sporran like that!"

"Now Mrs. Munro—"

"Don't now me, Mr. Bruce!"

Scotty's expression deepened; he was suddenly very serious. "You know, Mrs. Munro, when I was growing up back in Colorado, we had a family dog named Fuzzy. In fact, my mother still has Fuzzy's grandson. But Fuzzy was my dog. He'd follow me everywhere. He'd go to school and wait outside until the school day was over. He'd go to football and baseball practice. He'd follow me around the house. Wherever he went, he'd have his big mouth open, barking advice to my teachers through the school windows, to the coaches from the stands, and to my mother from the floor. The damn dog never stayed quiet for a minute. And, believe it or not, the nonstop yakking led to a terrible tragedy."

"Pray tell me what, Mr. Bruce," Mrs. Munro said, skeptical already. "I can hardly wait to hear."

Scotty fudged a scowl. "His tongue fell out. God help me, it's the truth. He yakked so much the muscles holding his tongue disintegrated, and the damn thing fell out."

"Pshew, Mr. Bruce! Pshew!"

Scotty quickly looked at his watch, barely able to control his laughter, then grabbed a jacket and hustled toward the door.

"I'm going to teach you a thing or two when you get back," Mrs. Munro continued. "That's if you get back." She followed him to the hall and watched him grab his luggage. "There you go, running off again and not listening. The plane will wait. There's plenty of time. You just don't like to know someone knows more than you do and—"

Mrs. Munro stopped. Scotty was gone, the door slammed shut. She moved to the window and watched him get into the jeep. Then, as she turned away, she heard the jeep roar off into the distance.

"Fool man!" she mumbled.

Scotty arrived in Edinburgh at ten-thirty and spent the night at the George Hotel, a touristy relic to days past, only a short walk to New Andrews House, the modern building housing the Scottish Office.

He checked out early in the morning, walked around the streets beneath Edinburgh Castle, which was situated high on a domineering hill, then arrived at his destination shortly before ten.

Several minutes later, he was in Andrew Farquharson's office, an unimpressive cubicle with an impressive city view.

Farquharson was there, smiling, waving his cane, full of questions and observations. Mr. Droon was with him as well, more subdued than at their earlier meeting. Droon was MacKenzie's alter ego; he could not possibly have accepted the
Columbus
report at face value. Scotty could only guess that Farquharson had warned Droon to keep his opinions within the confines of their offices.

They spoke briefly about the
Columbus
incident. Scotty explained that no additional information had surfaced, though he was careful to avoid any mention of the tracings. The rest of the meeting consisted of small talk. Congratulations were offered for the Beauly find. Then Farquharson mentioned he had read the Geminii file and had agreed with the secretary of state's decision. Finally, Scotty offered to convey Farquharson's pleasure to Whittenfeld, punctuating the offer with a gift, a box of Havana cigars, which Farquharson gladly accepted.