Michael Hoagland, a well-built, blonde-haired, blue-eyed German in his mid-thirties, waved to the crowd from the bow of his command like a conquering hero while a news reporter waited impatiently for his camera crew to set up.
"Mr. Hoagland, Grady Frame, BBC Scotland. Welcome back tae Loch Ness."
"Thank you."
"You've logged quite a few hours in our little Loch."
"About twelve thousand in my boat, another four thousand hours on land. I know this Loch like the back of my hand."
"Then perhaps ye'd describe the monster ye'll be huntin' for our viewers."
"She's got a head the size of a horse, with a long neck, perhaps three, maybe four meters, and her total length's at least twice that. She probably weighs between twelve and twenty tons."
"Wow. An', in your opinion, she's definitely a plesiosaur?"
"That's what I've been saying, yes. Do the science. Plesiosaur remains have been found all over Britain. Seven thousand years ago the entire north end of Loch Ness was open to the sea. It's easy to see how these ancient monsters could become trapped in our little playground. The Loch is full of wildlife, has an unlimited supply of food, no pollution, and maintains a year-round temperature of four to seven degrees Celsius. Quite ideal for—"
"For an extinct reptile that preferred warmer climates?" It was my voice, strong and sure, but it'd been so long since my ego had donned its Superman tights that I scarcely recognized its return.
The crowd parted, revealing my presence to Hoagland and the BBC cameras.
"And who might you be?" the German adventurer demanded.
"Zachary Wallace, marine biologist, and the man who's going to make you and the rest of these dinosaur hunters look mighty stupid."
A woman's voice crackled over a loudspeaker, "An' how're ye goin' tae dae that, Dr. Know-It-All? By searchin' for a legend ye don't even believe in?"
Two berths down, Brandy stood brazenly atop the Nessie III's wheelhouse. Megaphone in hand, she gestured at me with her bronze, oiled physique, which caught the crowd's attention as much as her verbal challenge. "Why don't ye let the experts see tae their business an' keep yer Americanized opinions tae yersel'."
The crowd cheered, the cameras rolled.
Hoagland fought to take back the spotlight. "Where's your vessel, Mr. Marine Biologist? Where's your sonar equipment? Or do you intend on locating Nessie by hiking through the woods?"
"I don't chase after water creatures, I prefer to find ways to make them chase after me."
The crowd oohed and ahhed.
The BBC reporter recognized me. "That's Zachary Wallace, the man who located a giant squid."
"Well, then," Hoagland said, "let's give him a hand in locating our Nessie."
Before I could react, three of Hoagland's goons jumped down from the deck of the ship. Two grabbed hold of my arms, one my legs, and together they began swinging me.
"Eins… zwei… drei!"
I flailed in mid-air, then plunged backwards into Loch Ness, the freezing waters jolting me as if electrified.
I thrashed and kicked, too terrified to reason, my overloaded backpack filling quickly with water, weighing me down like an anchor. I fought and struggled, but my negative buoyancy was too much, and I slipped below the surface and sank backwards like a dead turtle.
Sound deadened.
My pulse thundered.
The water changed quickly from iced tea to ink, blanketing me within its paralyzing darkness.
I was in serious trouble.
Think! Reason! Get the damn backpack off!
I struggled to unclip the backpack's metal clasp but my numb fingers couldn't budge the stubborn device.
Deeper I fell, twenty feet, thirty… my ears ringing, my chest on fire, my body heaving in spasms as the Loch's icy fingers pried their way in.
Where was the crowd? Where they even a bit concerned?
"Awggg!" I inhaled a mouthful of acidic water as a viselike grip clamped down upon my right forearm, dragging me sideways in its teeth.
I fought the beast, lashing at its flesh, until I realized I was being dragged to the surface.
Whoosh! Sound returned with the daylight as my head cleared and True towed me to shore.
Through glassy, half-frozen eyes I looked up and saw the silhouettes of hundreds of amused gawkers standing on the pier. Through water-clogged ears I heard their taunts and laughter.
I felt the muddy bog beneath me and stumbled to shore, my numb fingers still struggling to release the metal catch of my cursed backpack.
True pulled the waterlogged sack off me. "Are ye okay?"
I nodded, then collapsed to my knees, my body shivering from the cold. "Bastards. I'll kill 'em."
"Now ye sound like yer faither. Let them go. Before all's said an' done, we'll get oor revenge."
I nodded, anger once more fueling my resolve.
Chapter 18
Evolution usually proceeds by "speciation" — the splitting of one lineage from a parental stock — not by the slow and steady transformation of these large parental stocks. In the allopatric theory, popularized by Ernst Mayr, new species arise in very small populations that become isolated from their parental group at the periphery of the ancestral range. Speciation in these small isolates is very rapid by evolutionary standards — hundreds or thousands of years (a geological microsecond). Major evolutionary change may occur in these small isolated populations. Favorable genetic variation can quickly spread through them. Moreover, natural selection tends to be intense in geographically marginal areas where the species barely maintains a foothold. Small changes occur to meet the requirements of slowly altering climates, but major genetic reorganizations almost always take place in the small, peripherally isolated populations that form new species.
Dripping wet, I slung my water-laden backpack over my shoulder and trudged up the banks of Loch Ness, True following me to the public rest rooms. Tourists gawked, and the locals laughed, and it was all I could do to avert my eyes.
Entering the men's room, I stripped down to my boxers, washed the peat from my skin, then squeezed the excess water from my clothes into the sink. With the exception of the specimen containers and vacuum-packed food supplies, everything else in my backpack was ruined, including my sleeping bag and change of clothing.
True opened his own pack and pulled out a few dry shirts and two pairs of wool socks, tossing one of each to me. "Put these on. We'll hitch a ride back tae Drumnadrochit wi' Brandy, then fill our bellies at the Clansman before startin' oot fresh in the mornin'."
"I'm not going back."
"Zack, ye cannae go on wi' nae supplies."
"Then lend me yours and you go back. I need to go on before I lose my nerve, and there's still the entire east bank to cover."
"It's too dangerous alone."
"I'll be fine."
"Yeah, I'm sure that woman who got hersel' killed said the same thing."
"I'll camp out in the Glendoe Forest for the night, keeping a distance from the Loch. We'll rendezvous in Foyers tomorrow around noon."
He thought it over. "A'right, Foyers it is. But promise ye'll keep a guid fire goin'."
"Done. True, before you go, there's one thing I need to ask you. The other day, I woke up early and ran into your father. He was wearing the tunic of a Templar Knight, only his uniform was black."
The expression on True's face changed. "I cannae discuss this wi' ye, Zack."
"Your father's sword was covered in blood."