As chief prosecutor in the Angus Wallace murder trial, Mitchell Obrecht had been feeling pressure from his superiors ever since the defendant had dropped his "Nessie bomb" in court. Experience alone told Obrecht that Angus was lying, but with each subsequent attack, the chances of winning a conviction — and salvaging his career— appeared to be a diminishing prospect.
It was Obrecht who had persuaded the judge to take a two-week continuance, knowing he needed more time to prove Angus Wallace had planned his entire over-the-top defense. The good news was that Wallace's defense opened the door for the prosecution to prove John Cialiano's murder had been premeditated. The bad news, the sudden difficulty in separating the monster's unprecedented rampage with Johnny C.'s murder.
Obrecht looked up as his assistant, Jennifer Shaw, entered the office, carrying a thick brief.
"I hope that's your PI's report."
The blonde smiled. "It is, and he found all sorts of new goodies on Johnny C. and his merry widow. For instance, did you know Cialino suspected his wife was having an affair with Angus?"
"I'm listening."
"He hired his own private investigator two months after he bought Wallace's land. Apparently, Theresa and Angus were doing a little rendezvousing in a bed and breakfast in Dores."
"Is that so?" Obrecht sat up, intrigued. 'And what do you have to back this up?"
She opened the brief and removed a manila folder. Inside were separate photos of Angus and Theresa Cialino, both entering the same bed and breakfast.
"What good is this? There's not a single photo of them together."
"I'm working on it. Meanwhile, the Cialinos' resort opens in three weeks and they're booked solid. Even the flats sold out, and they were asking twice the appraised value. This whole Nessie thing's made Theresa Cialino a very wealthy widow."
"She was wealthy before. You're grasping at straws, Jennifer. All you have are rumors wrapped around innuendo, nothing solid I can use to charge Theresa as an accomplice, or even to confront her with on the witness stand. No, forget money and forget the affair. The real key is to prove this monster, or whatever it is, had nothing to do with Johnny C.'s death. If we can do that, then everything else falls into place."
"What about the water bailiff? That guy definitely knows more than he's saying. I think we should recall him. Let's find out why all these mysterious Loch Ness drownings never made the papers? Maybe the bailiff knew exactly what they were and told Angus?"
"Again, how do you prove it? Calum Forrest is old Clan. He'd sooner die than speak out against his own." Obrecht paused, absorbed in thought. "Wait a second… "
"What?"
"The weak link… it isn't Angus or Theresa or this water bailiff, it's the son… Zachary."
"What do you mean?"
"The kid's no dummy. He's still out there searching."
"If you call walking around the Loch searching."
"Don't underestimate him. If something's really happening out there, my bet is he'll find it. And when he does, he won't hide the truth, not even to save his old man."
"Okay, so what do you want me to do?"
"Contact your private investigator. Tell him to shadow Zachary Wallace. Whatever the good doctor learns, I want to know, too."
"Huh!"
I shot up in my sleeping bag in pitch blackness, my T-shirt soaked in perspiration, my flesh covered in goose bumps. My muscles trembled with fear, but it was not from the night terror.
There's something outside the tent!
I stifled my breathing and listened to the forest, the sound of my pounding heart throbbing in my ears.
Sounds… on my left! Something's leaving the river, moving along the rocks — moving toward me!
Get the light!
I grabbed my flashlight, a sixty-five-thousand candlepower waterproof lantern I had purchased the previous morning in Inverness. Clicking on the beacon, I slipped on my hiking boots and peered outside the tent.
The boulders? Nothing.
The tent grounds? Nothing.
Had I dreamed it? The hairs standing along the back of my neck assured me no.
"Ahhh… shiiiiiit!"
I hurled backwards into the tent in searing pain, the light flailing from my grip, my body sent writhing in spasms, an immense beast upon me, its stiletto-sharp teeth tearing into my left boot and ankle as if I'd stepped into a bear trap!
I thrashed about on my back in the darkness, kicking the unseen, gnashing brute with my free leg, while my right hand strained to reach my light.
Grabbing it, I turned the beacon upon the source of pain.
The beast released me and froze, its round, opaque eyes turning luminescent silver in the light, its chocolate brown head poised to strike again, its mouth, filled with bared fangs, dripping with my blood.
My brain churned data, even as my body remained paralyzed in fear.
Anguilla eel.
Seven footer.
Hundred and fifty pounds.
A high-pitched growl emanated from its open mouth, caused by its gurgling bloody spittle. It was a Mexican standoff, the animal held at bay, mesmerized by my light, me by its jaws and their proximity to my more vital organs.
And then I heard something else… something bigger, and it was approaching quickly through the woods.
The eel heard it, too, its growls intensifying as it grew more agitated.
The second beast was right outside the tent, circling!
I blinked back sweat, coiling my injured body to move, when the canvass was suddenly lifted away as if caught in a tornado's updraft, my light glinting off a gold-plated sword as the ancient weapon lashed across the flashlight's beam, its deadly blade lopping off the head of the startled eel.
"Jesus Christ!"
I was up on my haunches, my entire leg throbbing in pain, my free hand shielding my eyes from the three lights that cloaked the identities of my rescuers.
"He's been bitten."
"Aye, looks bad. He'll need medical attention."
Their voices muffled by hoods.
"Can ye walk, lad?"
I stood, trying my weight on my injured ankle. "Ahh. It's too sore, it might be broken."
"You two take him, I'll grab the Anguilla."
The beams lowered, revealing the three Templar Knights, all cloaked in black tunics from hood to boots. Two of the men, one on each side, shouldered my weight while the third collected the gushing remains of the Anguilla eel, stuffing it into a heavy burlap sack.
We hurried through darkness along an unseen path, the Knights' flashlights continuously searching the brush.
"The eel… why did it attack me?"
No reply.
"How did you know I was out here?"
No reply.
I saw lights up ahead. We were approaching a village.
"Why are the Black Knights guarding Loch Ness? What's their mission?"
The three Templars stopped dead in their tracks.
The leader turned and approached, raising his bloodied sword to my face. "Ye think ye ken somethin', Dr. Wallace?"
"I… I know there's something affecting the wildlife inhabiting the Glen. I also know the Templar care deeply about the land. But what you're doing… patrolling the forests… it's not going to change anything."
"Whit's done is done. We'll dae whit we must."
"It may not be too late. Maybe I can help."
"How?"
"Leave the remains of the eel with me. I'll take it to a lab, I'll do an autopsy myself. Whatever caused that eel to attack might be affecting the monster in the same way."
"No."
"Let him try," urged the Knight on my left.
"I said no. If word got oot—"