Monster: Tale Loch Ness (29 page)

Other than Whittenfeld and Lefebre, he, alone, knew them.

He turned the binoculars on the tower of Urquhart Castle. He could see Father James MacPherson's angry face. MacPherson, who had occupied the ruin along with his parishioners at the inception of shipboard ceremonies, had conducted a ritual mass, damning the false prophet, the beast, and their various manifestations, all under the scrutiny of constabulary police and Geminii security guards.

It was all very peculiar. Almost comical. A circus. Frightening.

He glanced around.

Three new sonar tugs were on line, under the command of Capt. Eamonn Harrigan, a retired Royal Navy antisubmarine specialist with unblemished credentials. Each tug was assigned to a sector and equipped with far more sophisticated equipment than Captain Olafsen's tug had been, including high-frequency, short-range Sectascan sonar, 3-D display stacked profile plot systems, and advanced acoustic imaging hologram units.

Sonic listening devices had also been imbedded beneath the
Magellan
on the loch floor. There were two surveillance helicopters permanently berthed just beyond the shore of Urquhart Bay in a newly built security installation, and loch shore security itself had been augmented with additional guards and special surveillance teams at each intersect point on the Caledonian Canal, preventing any transglen barge or work ship from carrying a submersible into the loch.

In fact, Scotty couldn't imagine anyone getting anything into the loch undetected anymore, except perhaps if delivery were made by a helicopter or airplane, and even that contingency had been blunted by the presence of the security choppers and their radar tie-ins.

Geminii was ready for almost anything.

He descended into the moon pool. There was no one about. He could hear the laughter and noise above. He could see the marine riser ahead. He watched the loch water lick against the riser's shell, then sat on the moon pool railing and stared. It had been three weeks since the
Columbus
tribunal report had been issued. He'd made no progress toward finding hard proof to support his suspicions, nor did he have any fresh insights concerning a new direction in which to proceed. Yet he did have a haunting fear, a fear that if there were to be a breakthrough, it would be provided by a new attack on the drill ship. The terror dream had kept him awake, sleepless through many long nights.

He expected it would continue to do so.

Shortly before six, Scotty returned to Travis House. A van was parked in front of the main gate; a man and woman stood alongside. The man was holding a small black suitcase.

Scotty walked toward the front gate.

"Mr. Bruce?" the man asked with a heavy New York accent.

"Yes," Scotty replied.

The man was thin, studious in appearance, balding. "Could we possibly have a word with you?" he asked.

"About what?"

"Your cooperation," the woman said.

The man smiled aggressively. "My name is Dr. Allen Rubinstein. This is my associate, Dr. Janice Fiammengo."

Scotty bowed. "You want my cooperation?"

"And your help."

"To do what?"

"To save the
Magellan
!"

Scotty had already started to ease toward the mansion's door; Dr. Rubinstein's statement stopped him in his tracks. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Dr. Rubinstein removed his bifocals and placed them in his pocket. "Mr. Bruce, unless we can secure your cooperation, the
Magellan
will be destroyed just like the
Columbus
. It'll be sent to the bottom of the loch and all its crewmen will die."

"What makes you think—?"

"I don't think! I
know
."

Scotty stared at Dr. Rubinstein, then Dr. Fiammengo. "Haven't I seen you before, Dr. Rubinstem.

"Perhaps," Dr. Rubinstein said. "If you had scanned the gallery at the
Columbus
hearings. I was there. At first, just a curious spectator. But then a very concerned one."

"And what inspired this miraculous transformation?"

Dr. Rubinstein could barely hide his excitement. "A long conversation with Max Furst."

Scotty's interest intensified. "When did this take place?"

"Several days before he died."

Scotty turned to the woman. "Were you at the hearings, too?"

Dr. Fiammengo parted her lips. Tall, dark-haired, dark complected, she was regally built with long arms and legs and had very sensual bohemian features, though her tortoiseshell eyeglasses gave her a studious appearance. "No," she said, bearing the remnants of a Georgia twang, "but I arrived soon after the hearings had adjourned."

"Dr. Fiammengo invariably accompanies me in my work," Dr. Rubinstein added.

"What work is that?" Scotty asked.

"I represent a privately funded scientific research organization." He handed Scotty a business card. "The Phenomena Research Institute."

Scotty turned from a gust of biting wind. "Did Furst say anything interesting?"

"Mr. Furst was a very. intelligent and curious man," Dr. Rubinstein remarked. "He said many valuable things. But it's what he showed me that impressed me most."

"What was that?"

Dr. Rubinstein looked around, almost as if he feared they were under surveillance. "Could you possibly invite us inside? I think you'd like to hear what we have to say in private."

Scotty stared at the woman; she was shivering. His own hands were trembling slightly, too. What the hell had Max Furst shown them?

"Yes," he said, pointing toward the house. "Please."

The man and woman thanked him, then followed him through the mansion's front door.

Mrs. Munro placed a tray of coffee and cakes on the coffee table, then handed out cups. "I don't think I ever heard such a collection of accents in my life," she said. "You Americans have really butchered the language if you ask me."

Scotty poured coffee for his guests. "We're not asking you, Mrs. Munro."

"I'd bet you're not," she said indignantly, "because you're the worst of the lot, Mr. Bruce. It's only by the Lord's grace and kindness that I can even understand you. You and that California garble of yours. Let me tell you, you should only speak as well as this gentleman here!"

Dr. Rubinstein laughed; his feet were straddled over the black suitcase. "That's the first time I've ever heard a New York accent complimented over a Californian."

"Well, you're hearing it," Mrs. Munro declared. "Mr. Bruce hardly even speaks the Queen's English."

Scotty shook his head; he doubted whether Mrs. Munro would ever change. And, in a funny way, he was glad for it. As persistently aggravating as she could be, he'd grown quite used to her. In fact, if pressed, he would have had to admit he'd even come to like her. But there were times she was better being neither seen nor heard. Certainly this was one of them.

"Thank you, Mrs. Munro," he said. "Please close the door on your way out."

Mrs. Munro stood straight up, her chin held high.

"Thank you, Mrs. Munro," he repeated.

"You're welcome, Mr. Bruce," she replied, finally leaving the room and shutting the door.

Scotty waited, assuring himself Mrs. Munro was gone. Then he turned to Dr. Rubinstein. "Tell me about Max Furst."

"First, let me tell you about us."

"You're a phenomena researcher. Which means you're interested in the Loch Ness monster."

"There are other phenomena in the world."

"Not around here."

Dr. Rubinstein laughed between chews at his nails; he was a nervous little man, the type who could rarely sit still or relax. "We stand exposed," he said. "But there are many people interested in the Loch Ness monster, though there are few with sufficient credentials to appreciate it or to engage in

any kind of properly designed scientific study."

"But you are."

"Dr. Fiammengo is an experienced scientist," Dr. Rubinstein declared. "She has undergraduate degrees in zoology from Columbia University and graduate degrees in paleontology and anthropology from Harvard. I did my undergraduate work in electrical engineering and postgraduate studies in physics and marine biology. I am also currently on the faculty of M.I.T. and have been in charge of NASA's hyperbaric experimental program for the last five years. And, of course, I lead the Phenomena Research Institute." He indicated the card in Scotty's hand. "The institute itself undertakes many diverse investigations. The Loch Ness monster being one. We're particularly equipped for a study of the monster. I worked with the Academy of Applied Sciences. I also directed two of our own research expeditions."

Scotty unwrapped a cigar and lifted it to his mouth. "What were the results?"

"They were unrewarding, though we did work with some very experienced and talented people like Max Furst."

"What did Furst do for you?"

"He set cameras, probes, underwater sensors, the like."

"And he asked you to come to Inverness after the recovery operation?"

"No. We were prepared to make the trip, anyhow. This
Columbus
thing was very intriguing, very exciting. The possibilities and ramifications were enormous."

Scotty glanced at Dr. Fiammengo again. "You thought a monster bore some of the responsibility for the loss of the ship?"

Dr. Fiammengo smiled, baring perfect teeth and a pair of attractive dimples. "Yes. And now we're convinced of it."

"What did Max Furst tell you?"

Dr. Rubinstein stood. "He said the ship's blowout preventer control hose had been torn apart. Chewed, if you will. Chewed by something alive, something very strong. He also said the hose had been seized by Whittenfeld and no one had seen it since recovery. He suggested I monitor the hearings because the revelations could be very startling. Of course, they were. Max Furst was very possibly eliminated, and Whittenfeld unveiled a preventer hose which was certainly not the hose Max Furst had recovered. Isn't that right, Mr. Bruce?"

"I have no way of knowing."

"But you suspect that to be the case."

Scotty didn't reply.

Dr. Fiammengo smiled. "We know that to be the case."

"How?"

Dr. Rubinstein paced in front of his host. "Max Furst took pictures of the chewed hose with a small, revolutionary, handheld camera." He puffed his chest proudly. "A camera I designed."

Scotty felt a surge of excitement. "Do you have those pictures?"

Dr. Rubinstein smirked. "We didn't come here just to titillate you!" He opened the suitcase and removed several pictures, handing them over. "You should find these interesting."

Scotty carefully examined the prints. They seemed genuine, and the pictured hose had been masticated like a stalk of licorice. However, he cautioned himself that the prints could have been fraudulently prepared.

"Impressed, Mr. Bruce?" Dr. Fiammengo asked.

"Yes," Scotty replied.

"Good," Dr. Rubinstein announced, patting his thighs. "Now we're getting somewhere."

"What do you think could have done this?" Scotty asked.

"Something big and strong enough," Dr. Fiammengo an.. swered, "to have moved the marine riser and the drill ship."

Dr. Rubinstein reached back into the suitcase and pulled out an object covered by a cloth. "Mr. Furst gave us another bit of material which he was able to secretly recover from the loch floor and smuggle ashore." He removed the cloth. Beneath was a two-foot-long section of ship's hull, dented by a row of incisions. "This was part of the
Columbus
's hull. It was found by Furst, lying in the debris."

"What are the holes?"

Dr. Rubinstein brought his nails to his mouth, his eyes excitedly dancing in his skull. "Teeth marks, Mr. Bruce!"

Stunned, Scotty just stared, then shook his head. "How can you be sure?"

"We carefully analyzed them and matched the measurements against paleontological controls. The results have left no question. In addition, we found particles of living tissue embedded in the sharp edges of the metal. We analyzed them, too. They're mucous tissue. From gums."

Dr. Fiammengo interceded. "Of course, the mucous tissue is highly specialized. It belongs to a highly evolved, ancient animal, and as we expected, the tissue does not fall within any one categorizable group of species, though it seems reptitian in derivation."

Scotty digested the information. "What kind of reptile could it be?" he asked.

"We're not sure," she said. "There are several possibilities, but it would take some time to cover them all."

"Which we can do later," Dr. Rubinstein declared, interrupting. "Just be assured this thing is ancient. Unknown as of this moment on the face of the earth. And quite big."

"How big?"

"One hundred feet. One hundred twenty-five. About there."

Scotty remembered the tug tracings, the dimensions recorded. "It seems impossible."

"On the contrary. Blue whales reach enormous dimensions. Sometimes eighty feet in length. And then, of course, there are the giant squid."

"A Jules Verne fantasy."

"They exist, Mr. Bruce!"

"Of course. I've even seen some. Up to thirty or forty feet long."

Dr. Rubinstein corrected him. "The attack-class submarine
Montauk
was cruising the Mindinao Depths shortly before the Battle of the Coral Sea. The captain lost directional control and stability. He surfaced the sub. The crew found a giant squid wrapped about the sub's superstructure. The crew had to fight the thing hand to hand. Six men were lost. The squid's body itself measured almost seventy feet. But from the end of the largest tentacle to the nose, the squid stretched the entire length of the sub, over two hundred feet. Want more? A South African trawler, the
Transvaal
, went down in a typhoon in the Indian Ocean in 1951. Two lifeboats were floated. Shortly after the lifeboats had entered the water, a giant squid rose up from the depths and destroyed one of them. The survivors in the other boat witnessed the tragedy. The lifeboats were forty feet long. The survivors testified the squid's body had dwarfed the ill-fated lifeboat by at least three boat lengths."

"So much for size," Dr. Fiammengo said. "Because size is not in question. There are ample examples among currently accepted marine species to support spectacular dimensions. Only a
what
is in question."