True turned on me then, bulldozing me against the wall. "Are ye insinuatin' my auld man had somethin' tae dae wi' that woman's murder?"
"No, but I—"
"Now listen tae me, Zachary Wallace. One o' oor faithers might be a killer, but it isnae the auld man who saved yer life seventeen years ago, see?"
"Okay, okay, easy big fella."
He backed away, then slapped me playfully behind my ear. "Sorry, lad. There're things goin' on in the Highlands that ye cannae see, battles between traditionalists like my faither, who aim tae keep the Highlands pure, an' those like yours, who wish tae cash in on oor wild lands. Me? I'm a' for progress, but there's a fine line between economic benefits an' environmental ruin. As tae these Templar, from whit I ken, they operate independently ootside the Cooncil, an' the Black Knights, they dinnae like outsiders lookin' into their business."
"Black Knights?"
"Ne'er ye mind." He handed me his backpack. "Here, take my stuff, I'll meet ye in Foyers. Jist make sure ye keep that fire goin' tonight, I dinnae want tae read yer obituary in the Courier."
Barefoot, my wet boots hanging from True's backpack, I headed out of Fort Augustus, following General Wade's Military Road. It was late in the afternoon, but the Glen's summer days were growing longer, and my goal was to make it to the eastern bank of Loch Ness well before dusk.
As I walked, my mind wandered.
Two people were dead, and while their deaths were being blamed on a mythical creature, my mind told me the mystery had more to do with the political undercurrents surrounding the Highland Council than a water beast. Of the two major players involved, I knew I'd get nothing from Alban MacDonald, and only lies and deceit from my father.
But a new clue had emerged, one that had accidentally slipped out of my friend's mouth.
The Black Knights of the Templar.
What was this secret sect? What was their mission? And how were they tied to the goings-on at Loch Ness?
An hour passed before I found my way around the southeastern tip of the Loch to its eastern banks. From here, Loch Ness ran north another twenty-three miles, bordered by the Glendoe Forest, which hugged the base of the imposing Monadhliath Mountains.
The east side of the Loch was far less populated than the west, the country wilder, the forests denser, and much of the shoreline was inaccessible.
General Wade's Military Road circled around the forest before turning north along the B862 that led to Foyers. Not wishing to take a long detour, hoping to stay as close to the Loch as possible, I paused to put on True's socks and my damp hiking shoes, then abandoned the single lane tarmac and cut through the forest, remaining parallel to the waterway.
After twenty minutes, I came to a newly paved winding access road that cut through the dense foliage, the sounds of Nature interrupted by the noise of heavy machinery. Following these sounds led me a quarter mile up the road to a massive construction site. A posted sign read:
GLEN DOE HYDROELECTRIC DAM
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
I remembered having read about the new power station, most of which was supposedly being built underground. It was going to be a large plant, its capacity between fifty and one hundred megawatts, with water, collected from seventeen kilometers of underground aqueducts, relocated in a new reservoir located more than six hundred meters above Loch Ness. The reservoir would be situated at the head of Glen Tarff, impounded by a massive dam, thirty-five meters high and one thousand meters long.
Whether Alban MacDonald liked it or not, technology was invading Loch Ness.
Milling about the outside of an imposing chain-link construction fence were more than a dozen protesters, their banners identifying them as the Scottish Wild Land Group.
An auburn-haired woman in her early forties introduced herself by thrusting a picket sign in my hand. "Glad ye could join us, brother, the TV reporters should be arrivin' anytime. I'm Gloria Snodgrass, assistant director o' the SWLG Steering Group, an' you are?"
"Confused. What's all this about?"
"It's aboot savin' oor Glen. The government ministers' decision tae go through wi' this hydroelectric plant will cause irreversible damage tae oor peat bogs and rivers, an' dae ye ken how much forest we're already losin'? The dam alone requires three new access roads, an' ye can add another twenty-two kilometers o' pipeline tae that order. An' that's no' countin' the seventy-five kilometers needed jist tae build the reservoir."
"I understand, but—"
"But nothin'. Grab yer sign an' come join us before the cameras get here."
"I can't. Sorry."
"Sorry? You'll be the one that's sorry when we lose oor upland areas. Hey—"
Waving her off, I circled the construction fence, hoping to get a glimpse inside. Building a large-scale hydroelectric scheme so close to Loch Ness must have required a detailed environmental assessment, but then how does one properly access the ecological impact on an undiscovered water creature?
With no foreman visible and no way in, I headed back down the road toward Loch Ness, not sure what to do with this potentially new piece of the puzzle.
The town of Foyers lies a third of the way up Loch Ness on its eastern shore. While the beginnings of the village can be traced to an inn, built back in 1655 at a time when Cromwell's troops occupied Inverness, it was not until the late 1800s that the North British Aluminum Company put Foyers on the map. For years the aluminum mills dominated the industry, until a drastic drop in the price of the metal, combined with Kinlochleven's easier access to the open sea forced the townspeople to refocus Foyers primary source of commerce. The answer lay in the village's abundant and varied sources of water, which included lochs, streams, and the River Foyers, which plunged a spectacular 140-foot chasm into Loch Ness. In their search for a suitable source of power for a new Highlands hydroelectric plant, British engineers quickly targeted Foyers Falls. Work began in 1969 with the construction of a two-and-a-half-mile-long pressurized tunnel connecting Loch Mhor to Loch Ness…
"… this major undertakin' allowin' the turbines, erected in the auld aluminum plant we're now passin', tae reverse the flow o' water back tae Loch Mhor at night when demand wis easier tae calculate, keepin' the head water supplied at all times."
The tour guide paused as the open-air bus rolled to a stop and belched exhaust in front of the old smelting plant.
Twenty-four-year-old Justin Wagner fought to conceal his yawn from the tour guide, then nudged his childhood friend, Amber Korpela. "We've seen the falls, let's skip the rest of the tour and go boating."
"Not yet. I want to see Boleskin House. The original owner was supposed to be heavy into devil worship. Did you know that after he died, Jimmy Paige bought the house and—"
"Amber, who cares? I didn't fly all the way from Alaska to see some stupid house. Let's grab a few more rolls of film, rent a boat, and do some serious monster sighting."
Taking Amber by the hand, Justin dragged her past the tour guide and off the bus. "Sorry, dude, Nessie calls."
Twenty minutes later, the two Alaskans were hiking down a wooded hillside path through lower Foyers, heading for Loch Ness.
With the sun beginning to set, I found my way to a small clearing in the thick of the forest, adjacent to a twisting creek that drained into Loch Ness. Whoever had occupied the campsite last had used dead branches to fashioned a lean-to, no doubt to keep out of the rain. Exhausted and hungry, I slid my backpack off, then set off to gather wood for a fire.
After finishing a less-than-appetizing can of green pea soup, I set my tent up beneath the lean-to. A heavy forest separated my campsite from the waters of Loch Ness, which loomed a good hundred yards down sloping woods to the west. With darkness settling on the Great Glen, I began feeling a bit uneasy, my thoughts lingering on True's warning. Like it or not, I was vulnerable, and I seriously considered spending the night in the lower branches of a tree. But the likelihood of being attacked so far from the water's edge was considerably less than falling out of a tree and breaking my neck, so I opted for a weapon.