"Yeah, I read that article, too. What's it all mean?"
I shook my head in disbelief. "It means they want to capture the creature."
With an extensive boat dock located directly on Loch Ness, the Clansman Hotel has always been the favorite convening spot for Nessie hunters, and the Highland Council wasted no time in securing it for their own proceedings.
Provost Owen Hollifield checked his watch, then knocked again on David Caldwell's suite. "Afternoon, doctor. Ye ready?"
David opened the door, his eyes red from jet lag. "Born ready. I take it Council did everything they were supposed to?"
"Aye. The laws were amended, an' we've a'ready begun talks wi' two construction firms. As for the monster hunters, we've selected the three most qualified captains an' vessels as ye requested, an' if ye don't like these, we've applications from forty tae fifty more. Everyone from local fishermen tae computer geeks tae ex-Royal Navy wants tae be here."
"Three's plenty. Anymore and they start tripping over one another."
"That's already happenin', I'm afraid. Many have dropped sonar buoys, an' the signals are crossin', foulin' one another up."
"I'll handle them. I've dealt with their types before."
Hollifield led him down a carpeted hallway to the adjoining banquet room. "Be fair warned, there're also a few curators here who insisted on bein' at this meetin'. One's from the Smithsonian, the other two work at the British Museum of Natural History. Treat them kindly, they can make waves."
"Understood."
They entered the Observation Lounge, a banquet room offering panoramic views of Loch Ness and the pier where several large research vessels were now docked. A portable corkboard on wheels was positioned near the head of the conference table, a map of Loch Ness pinned to its surface.
Five men and two women milled about the buffet tables, helping themselves to an early dinner.
Hollifield took his place before the head of the table, David on his right. "Gentlemen and ladies, if ye please."
The expedition leaders and museum curators took their seats.
"This is Dr. Caldwell, the gentleman whom Council has appointed tae organize our search. Dr. Caldwell, our Nessie hunters; Michael Hoagland from the German research vessel, Nothosaur, Scott an' Debbie Sloan, American cryptozoologists wi' the Galon, an' Bill Plager, a marine biologist serving aboard the fifty-seven-foot ship, Great White North."
"A pleasure. Now I know you have some grievances you want to discuss, but before we get into that, let's talk about our objective. You, and dozens of Nessie hunters before you have spent several decades and untold thousands of dollars chasing after underwater photos and sonar recordings. Now all that's changed. With the monster's sudden thirst for blood, I think it's safe to say something large inhabits Loch Ness. In other words, we've got the proof, it's lying in the morgue, what we want now is to capture the beast."
Scott Sloan scoffed. "Capture it? Aren't you being rather presumptuous, and more than a bit melodramatic? For one, who said anything about a thirst for blood?" He looked at his wife, who nodded.
"Scott's right. And besides, how do you capture something that's so elusive, we've yet to get a decent photo of it in over seventy years?"
David winked at the provost. "My skeptics said the same thing about the Giant Squid. The game's changed, folks, deal with it. For whatever reason, Nessie's no longer satisfied with feeding in the deep. She's become a real meat eater."
Bill Plager ran a callused palm over his bald spot. "Meat eater or no', ye'll no' capture anythin' until ye get these amateurs tae stop drop- pin' their damn sonar buoys all over the Loch."
"Us?" Hoagland stood. "It's your buoys jamming our grid!"
"Easy, boys," David warned, "there's no unions here. Either you fellas play nice or we'll boot your asses off the Loch."
Dr. Saumil Shah, Associate Curator at the Smithsonian, raised his hand. "A question, please. Assuming you can even locate this water creature, where do you think you're going to keep it?"
"Right here." David stood, then circled Urquhart Bay on the map with his pencil.
Meghan Talley rolled her eyes.
"Okay, I can see a few doubting Thomases, but think about this. The bay provides us with a natural habitat, with three shorelines we can use to pen the creature in. Council's already negotiating with engineers and construction companies who said they can drop steel fencing from a prefab bridge spanning the entire mouth of the bay, in effect, cordoning it off from the rest of the Loch. The fencing'll be secured to the bottom using concrete anchors and supported along the surface by a series of buoys. Naturally, the shoreline surrounding the bay will have to be fenced in as well. It'll be the largest animal pen in the world, and I guarantee, the most popular."
"Plus," added the Provost, "it'd allow us tae study the creature while still protectin' the legend… an' our tourists."
David offered a cocky smile. "Now I'll answer your questions. Yes, ma'am, and you are?"
"Meghan Talley. My husband, Mark, and I are curators at the British Museum of Natural History. We were at your press conference last night when you publicly identified the predator as a plesiosaur. Exactly what did you base your analysis on?"
"Decades of sightings. Photos. The usual stuff."
"I see." Meghan's blue eyes blazed. "And is this the type of scientific protocol we can come to expect?"
"Look, lady, what difference does it make what I say it is? Once we capture it, we'll look under its skirt and know for sure, right?"
"It's ass-backwards, doctor. This is still supposed to be a scientific expedition."
"Says who?" David paced around the table, chest out. "I've been hired to organize a hunt, plain and simple. You want to call it a scientific expedition, knock your socks off. Me? I say we capture the thing, then sort the science out later."
"My wife's right," Mark Talley said. "If you don't know what you're hunting, you can't even be certain it's one creature. You're also basing your assumptions on Nessie lore. Chances are, it's not something anywhere as romantic as a plesiosaur. What if it's just a giant sturgeon?"
"A sturgeon?"
"Yes, Dr. Caldwell, a sturgeon. Look it up. It's an anadromous species, over 200 million years old, that proliferates in Loch Ness. The Baltic sturgeon looks almost like a Thresher shark, and it can grow over twenty feet in length. You think the public's going to pay good money to see a sturgeon?"
David glanced back at the provost. "It's not a sturgeon. Sturgeons don't have teeth big enough, sharp enough to do the kind of damage that happened to that Alaskan kid."
"Our point, doctor, is that you're jumping the gun with all these announcements and expenses. Why not slow down, figure out what it is first, then go after it."
David shook his head. "No. See, all you curators and monster hunters have been doing it the same way for decades. It's high time for a more aggressive approach. Isn't that right, Mr. Provost?"
Hollifield nodded. "Council's puttin' up £50,000 sterlin' for the capture o' the beast, an' National Geographic, who won the bid tae film everythin', jist added another £100,000 tae sweeten the pot. This money… an' credit for the capture, will be split by Dr. Caldwell, the Council, an' only those vessels participating in the search."
David returned to the map. "I'm dividing the Loch into three sections. The Nothosaur will cover the northern end of Loch Ness, from the Abban Water Fishery south to Urquhart Bay. The Sloans and the Galon's crew will patrol Urquhart Bay south to Foyers. Since Bill Plager has the largest and fastest of the three vessels, he'll take Foyers south to Fort Augustus. As a necessary first step, I'm asking each of you to commit to the mission by immediately collecting your own sonar buoys. You'll then redistribute them, following my technician's instructions, in a specified pattern in your assigned areas. In addition to keeping an eye on your own grid, your signals will be uploaded to a master signature management system aboard my boat, which I'll be selecting tomorrow morning from a list of local applicants."