Steve Alten
The Loch
This novel is dedicated to Ed and Tonja Davidson, for their support, guidance, and friendship… and to my grandmother, Miriam Rosen, my godparents, Edie and Is Axler, and to Ann Roof, for always pushing me to write "that big one."
Author's Note
Loch Ness holds secrets that date back to A.D. 565 and the time of St. Columba. But does a creature really inhabit its depths? After hundreds of years, thousands of reported sightings, and dozens of scientific expeditions, we have theories, but still no definite answer.
When I began the task of researching this novel, I found it imperative to separate the legend of the Loch Ness monster from the body of real science. Then, after concluding the first edit on the manuscript, I was confronted with a new theory from a cryptozoologist and fan of my MEG series who had spent years investigating the Loch. His research, combined with rumors surrounding a recent discovery, were not only credible, but go far in identifying the species of Loch Ness's famous inhabitant. His evidence also helped to explain the lack of photographic proof. Convinced that these theories were both cutting edge and credible, I re-edited my manuscript to include this important new information.
The Loch remains fiction, however, the science behind the story is quite real.
— Steve Alten, Ed.D.
Acknowledgments
It is with great pride and appreciation that I acknowledge those who contributed to the completion of The Loch.
First and foremost, to my friend and business partner, Ed Davidson, whose support and guidance allowed me the freedom to spread my creative wings. Thanks also to Bob Bellin and the rest of the staff at Tsunami Books.
Heartfelt thanks to my literary manager and friend, Ken Atchity, his partner, Chi Li Wong, and his team at Atchity Entertainment International. To Clint Greenleaf and his staff at Greenleaf Book Group, Allison Pickett (Production Manager), Courtney Poremski (Layout Designer), and Hilary Turner (Managing Editor). Thanks also to Joel McKuin of Colden, McKuin & Frankel.
My sincerest appreciation to Hollywood producer David Foster at David Foster Productions and his associate, Ryan Heppe, for taking on the dramatic rights of The Loch. I am honored.
With pride, I acknowledge the invaluable contributions of investigator Bill McDonald (www.AlienUFOart.com) and crypzoologist Richard Freeman who generously made available their new theories regarding the chief resident of Loch Ness.
Thanks also to Calum Forrest, copy editors Bob and Sara Schwager, Bill Raby, editor Claire Wilson (Scotland) and storyboard artist Rikin Parekh (England) for their contributions. A very special thanks to Vincent Guastini.
To my assistant, Leisa Cotner-Cobbs, for her talent and expertise in updating the www.SteveAlten.com website as well as all her work in the Adopt-An-Author program, to Michelle Przystas, my computer "savior" at Southeast Business Solutions, and to Erik Hollander, for his tremendous cover design and graphic artistry.
Last, to my wife and partner, Kim, for all her support, to my parents for always being there, and to my readers: Thank you for your correspondence and contributions. Your comments are always a welcome treat, your input means so much, and you remain this author's greatest asset.
— Steve Alten, Ed.D.
Nature is often obscure or impenetrable, but she is not, like Man, deceitful.
Shadows walk. What is… isn't. What isn't… may be.
It was July 13, the summer of 2000. My husband and I were on holiday in Scotland, on the shores of Loch Ness. We'd stopped to take a picture of the lake, just to have something to show my friends. I was using my little Kodak with a 23mm lens. The shot I snapped was taken near Boleskin House, by one of the deepest parts of the lake. The Loch was glassy calm, and there were no boats around. When we saw the developed photo, well… we were shocked.
The object is definitely on the film, it's not a mark on the negative.
Prologue
The deep blue waters of the Moray Firth crashed violently against the jagged shoreline below. William Calder, second Thane of Cawdor, stood on an outcropping of rock just beyond the point where the boiling North Sea met the mouth of the River Ness. Looking to the south, he could just make out the single-sheeted Spanish galley. The tall ship had been in port since dawn, its crew exchanging silver pieces for wool and cod.
Calder's daughter, Helen, joined him on the lookout. "Ye're needed. A wounded man's come ashore, a soldier. He's demandin' tae see a Templar."
The young man had been left on a grassy knoll. His face was pale and unshaven, his blue-gray eyes glassy with fever. His battle dress, composed of chain mail, was stained crimson along the left quadrant of his stomach. A long sword lay by his side, its blade smeared in blood.
A silver casket, the size of a small melon, hung from his unshaven neck by a gold chain.
William Calder stood over the soldier, joined by two more of his clan. "Who are ye, laddie?"
"I need tae speak wi' a Templar."
"Ye'll speak tae no one 'til ye've dealt wi' me. In whit battle did ye receive yer wounds?"
"Tebas de Ardales."
"An' who did ye fight under?"
"Sir James the Good."
"The Black Douglas?" Calder turned to his men. "Fetch a physician and be quick. Tell him we may need a chirurgeon as well."
"Yes, m'lord." The two men hurried off.
"Why dae ye seek the Templar, laddie?"
The soldier forced his eyes open against the fever. "Only the Templar can be trusted tae guard my keep."
"Is that so?" Calder bent to remove the prized object resting upon the man's chest piece — the soldier's sword raising quickly to kiss Calder's throat. "I'm sorry, m'lord, but I wis instructed tae relinquish this only tae a Templar."
The sun was late in the summer sky by the time Thomas MacDonald arrived at William Calder's home. More Viking than Celt, the burly elder possessed thick auburn-red hair and a matted matching beard. Draped across his broad shoulders was a white tunic, emblazoned with four scarlet equilateral triangles, their points meeting in the center to form a cross.
MacDonald entered without knocking. "A'right, William Calder, why have ye summoned me frae Morayshire?"
Calder pointed to the young soldier, whose wounded left side was being bandaged by a physician. "The laddie claims tae have fought under the Black Douglas. Says he traveled frae Spain tae seek the Templar."
MacDonald approached. "I'm o' the Order, laddie. Who are ye?"
"Adam Wallace. My faither wis Sir Richard Wallace o' Riccarton."
Both men's eyebrows raised. "Ye're kin tae Sir William?"
"He wis my first cousin, my faither his uncle. I still carry William's sword in battle."
Calder examined the offered blade, sixty-six inches from point to pommel. "I dinnae see any markings on the hilt that designate this tae be Sir William's."
MacDonald nodded. "William aye kept it clean. A fine sword it is, fit for an Archangel tae wield, yet light in his terrible hand. " He pointed to the silver casket. "Tell me how ye came by this?"