"Garbage?"
"Noise interference." Victor pointed to his main monitor, displaying a GPS image of Loch Ness and the Nothosaur's sonar buoys. "Everything from Foyers south to Fort Augustus is congested with pinging sounds. I'm picking up signals from at least two other active sonar buoy fields, and they're positioned too close to ours to allow an undistorted signal analysis. It's the equivalent of trying to peer at the stars using a telescope in the middle of Manhattan. Face it, Michael, we're not the only game in town. There's just too much interference to acquire an accurate reading."
Hoagland muttered a string of curses in German.
"The good news is, if they're interfering with us, then we're interfering with them as well."
"Then all of us are wasting our time and money."
"In a nutshell, yes."
"Victor, contact the other vessel's captains. Organize a sit-down at the Clansman Hotel for later tonight to discuss the situation. Either the Highland Council resolves this matter, or we're all leaving."
It was a ten-mile hike from Inverfarigaig to Dores, another two if I were to meet Brandy and True at Tor Point. Added to the eight miles I had already logged earlier that day, I was exhausted by the time I reached Dores Beach, a pebbled shoreline that stretched back to grassy, wide-open knolls and General Wade's Military Road.
The area was packed with locals, tourists, and media. Limping up the gravel beach to the grass, I dropped my backpack and collapsed, careful to keep my head low so as not to be recognized. The moment I sat down, I realized the last hour of walking on pebbled beaches had done me in.
The village of Dores sits on the easternmost corner of Loch Ness where the lake suddenly narrows to half its mile width. Follow the shoreline west and you reach Tor Point. From there, the Loch runs north again until it bleeds into the River Ness.
Tourists and locals alike had gathered on Dores Beach to watch two dozen daring windsurfers, their sailboards whipping across the Loch's windblown surface. Powerful gusts were coming in from the southwest and were harshest inland, forcing the daredevils to keep a dangerous distance from shore.
I wondered if they'd be so brave had they seen Justin Wagner's remains.
From Dores Beach, the Loch ran south as far as the eye could see. Mountainous walls bordered her on either side, and the sun was just beginning to dip behind the peaks to the west.
Behind me, a large contingent had gathered by the roadside to listen to the exploits of famed Nessie watcher Steve Feltham. Years earlier, Feltham had sold his home in England to stalk the monster on film. Now he lived in a converted van, his dedication making him a legend of sorts, though his toil, while adding to the monster lore, had proven nothing.
Feeling my back muscles stiffen, I gathered my belongings and left the beach, limping up the hill to the Dores Pub, hoping a quick beer might lessen my pain.
Big mistake.
"Look, there he is!" A petite blonde dressed in a hideous blue blazer ran towards me with her microphone, dragging her inebriated cameraman with her. "Dr. Wallace, hi! Shar Bonanno, for the BBC. Can we get your reaction to today's Highland Council meeting?"
"I wasn't there, so I have no idea what—"
"They're talking about rescinding the law that protects Nessie. You think it's true?"
"Do I think what's true?"
"That the Council wants to capture the monster."
No comment."
"The Council's also hired an American scientist to organize the search. He's en route as we speak."
"Good for him. Look, I just came in for a quick beer."
"You look like you've hiked quite a ways. Have you been tracking the monster?"
I pushed her microphone out of my face and entered the bar. "A Guinness, cold as you've got."
An older, inebriated Scot who looked like he'd been sitting on his bar stool all day looked me up and down, then smelled the air. "Heh, neebr, goat a deid an'mal in yer bac'pac, or iz it ye tha' bloody stinks?"
My brain took a moment to translate. "Actually, yes, there is a dead animal in my backpack, but I probably stink, too."
He waved at the air, then moved aside for two police officers. "Dr. Wallace?"
"I know, I know, I'm dropping them off at the lab."
They looked at one another, momentarily confused. "Sir, Sheriff Holmstrom sent us. We're tae escort ye back tae Inverness Castle."
"Now what for? Is the judge locking me up again?"
"No, sir. It's yer faither. Seems there's been an accident."
The dungeon had been transformed into a Hollywood movie set, portable lighting lining the back corner of the ancient cellblock, removing every "annoying" shadow from Angus's chamber. Two film crews were packing up their equipment as I arrived, along with what remained of an Emergency Medical Team.
The star of the show was propped up in bed in his T-shirt. An IV dripped into his left arm, a cardiac monitor hooked to his right. At his side was a doting nurse, an Asian woman with dark brown wavy hair and infatuation in her eyes, though she was no more than half his age.
"Ah, there's my laddie! Zachary, say hello to Nurse Kosa."
"Kasa. Francesca Kasa."
"Whit's the diff'rence? Me Kasa is su Kasa, eh, son."
"And why do you need a private nurse?"
"Your father had heart problems earlier this afternoon."
"Heart problems?"
"Aye, son. Had trouble breathin'. Felt like an elephant wis squat- tin' on my chest. Barely dodged the Grim Reaper, I did. Imagine Johnny C. wis lookin' doon at me an' smilin'. But I pulled through, so no tears, lad."
"I'll try not to get too emotional. By the way, nurse, what's his EKG say?"
"It's normal now, but we're still doing blood tests. The guard found him slumped over, unconscious."
"Uh-huh. So why isn't he in a hospital?"
Angus winked. "Since it wis jist a mild attack, the judge, bein' the wise man that he is, felt it better I stay here, oot o' sight of the media, though I think Maxie might have accidentally invited them a' in."
"Right. Well, I've got work to do. Try not to die on us while I'm gone."
"Wait, lad. Guard, I need tae talk in private wi' my son. Wid ye mind escortin' everyone oot?" He turned to his nurse, patting her lightly on her derriere. "You too, darlin'. Jist make sure yer back here in an hour for my sponge bath."
She blushed, checked his IV drip, then followed the others out, the guard locking Angus's cell door behind her.
We were alone.
"Son, wid ye mind fetchin' me another pillow?"
"Fetch it yourself. You pulled that old heart attack stunt on mom when I was seven."
He grinned sheepishly. "Did I? Lord knows, it still gets them every time."
"Where'd all this food come from?"
"Local hotels sent it ower. Business is soarin', an' they're grateful, as they should be. Even got yer room comp'ed. Order whatever ye like, rent some dirty movies, it's a' on yer auld man." He took a deep breath, then made a face. "Whit's that foul stench? Smells worse than an anchovy's twat."
"They're specimens, collected from around the Loch. A few dead birds and a squirrel."
"Birds an' squirrels? Christ, lad, why dae they no' jist hang me now an' get it ower wi'." He tore the IV drip from his arm. "Listen, Nature Boy, I need ye oot on the water, no' strollin' the woods like some pixie."
"That's what scientists do, Angus. We look for real clues, not the ones published in the World Weekly News. The animal that bit me is obviously a predator, and it's overcome its fear of man, assuming it ever had one."
"Well now, I see ye finally admit tae bein' bitten. Thought ye looked mair focused. Danger'll dae that tae the mind. So then, how dae ye plan on findin' it?"