Vostok (8 page)

“Absolutely.”

“Then you agree Loch Ness has a second monster?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean no comment!”

Fifteen hours later, an exhausted Ming Liao and her three male associates found themselves in line at the airport in Inverness, waiting to pass through customs. Having barely slept, Liao had spent the better part of the morning arranging for her office in Beijing to wire five thousand U.S. dollars into a Bank of Scotland
account belonging to one Angus Wallace. The inebriated Scot had kept her up until dawn, reassuring her that his son would sign commitment papers before the weekend was out, but that his power of persuasion needed persuading. They finally agreed that Angus would receive an additional ten thousand dollars once Liao had received a notarized signed agreement, which was a far cry from the fifty thousand the Scot had demanded at dinner.

The finder’s fees were not unexpected. Had she been dealing with the Saudis, Russians, or her own people, the price would have been triple. Dr. Zachary Wallace’s name carried a lot of weight among investors in both the private sector and the Chinese government, and if bribing the marine biologist’s father secured his six-month commitment to the project, then so be it. While negotiations were Liao’s forte, it was her ability to source private and state funding for the Vostok expedition while working with scientists and engineers in both the United States and Australia that ensured she would not be usurped as project director—that and the fact that her biggest donor insisted she make the descent. Dealing with an unsophisticated kilt-wearing buffoon like Angus Wallace was nothing compared to appeasing the heads of private family-run corporations whose combined investment in the Vostok expedition exceeded a billion dollars.

Stepping up to the immigration officer, she handed the man her passport and airline ticket.

“Quick in and oot, eh, Dr. Liao?”

“Excuse me?”

“Won’t ask ye if ye have anything tae declare. I think ye said enough already.”

“I’m sorry, but what are you referring to?”

The Scot stamped her passport and handed it back with a wry smile. “No worries, lass. A nod’s as guid as a wink tae a blind horse. Pleasant flight.”

Perplexed, she continued on to her gate, where her companions had their noses buried in the morning paper. George
McFarland was shaking his head. Dr. Ahmed’s eyes were wide, filled with outrage. Only Ben Hintzmann seemed amused by what he was reading.

“What is it?”

Dr. Ahmed handed her his newspaper. “Wallace’s father set us up.”

Liao glanced at the front page of the
Inverness Courier
. Below the emboldened headlines was a color photo taken of Dr. Ahmed hovering over the bloodied carcass of the mutilated elk.

Inverness, Scotland (Associated Press)

Nessie may be gone, but the legendary monster that once inhabited Loch Ness appears to have left behind a hungry relative. According to eyewitnesses, a large water creature has been spotted stalking deer as they cross the waterway at night.


The monster’s latest kill occurred sometime Thursday evening. Invermoriston resident Esther Jacobs said she was walking along the shoreline of Loch Ness around sunset when she saw a disturbance in the water some twenty meters away. She later discovered the remains of a 290kg male elk washed ashore on the western bank, its hindquarters devoured in what appeared to be a single bite. “It was gruesome,” said Jacobs. “Thankfully this particular monster
prefers to stay in the water, or my life might have been in danger.”


Dr. Rehan Ahmed, a marine biologist specializing in ancient sea creatures, was on hand to examine the kill. He agreed that this particular species probably measured more than twelve meters, but preferred not to speculate on whether it could be a plesiosaur. Ahmed and his colleague, Dr. Ming Liao, had arrived in the Highlands Tuesday evening from Antarctica for a special conference at Loch Ness’s new five-star resort, Nessie’s Lair. They were joined by George McFarland, an engineer out of Texas who works for Stone Aerospace. McFarland suggested underwater drones might be the best way to identify the species of this new Loch Ness Monster, though Esther Jacobs and other eyewitnesses claim the creature is not shy about surfacing by day. Said Ms. Jacobs, “With the tourist season approaching, it’s just a matter of time before someone videotapes the beastie.”


Liao gritted her teeth. “Bastard even managed to get in the name of his hotel.”

“This isn’t just a local story,” George said. “Those reporters last night spoon-fed this to the Associated Press. Our names are all over this.”

“Once I get the signed agreement from Dr. Wallace, it won’t matter. His presence at Vostok will quash this story.”

Ben chuckled. “Wake up, Ming. Zachary Wallace lost his nerve years ago. He has no intention of signing on to Vostok or any other underwater expedition, and his old man knows it. Angus Wallace played you; he planned this whole Loch Ness Monster story the moment we landed.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Tourism died with the monster, and last night the three of you helped bring it back to life. While you thought you were wooing Angus, the old man was baiting you, distracting you with false promises to get you to Invermoriston to see that carcass. Your presence last night served to validate the hoax and give his story legs—no pun intended. And the beautiful part is you paid him five thousand dollars to do it.”

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned
.

—Male proverb.

There is a saying among Highlanders that translates to “a tale never loses in the telling.” Angus must have repeated his tale a hundred times that first week, relishing how he had conned the “Asian harlot” out of five thousand U.S. dollars while priming the pump of tourism in the Great Glen.

To keep the momentum going, the Highland Council voted to use an infusion of grant money coming from British Parliament to install thirty visitor perches around Loch Ness. Each ten-foot-high covered platform would house three high-powered mounted telescopic cameras that ould allow tourists to snap downloadable photos of anything that crossed the lens of their viewport. Meanwhile, Alexander MacDonald, the Council’s new provost (and second cousin to Brandy and True) held a press conference to announce an international symposium, scheduled to convene at my father’s resort April 15 through April 22 to determine what this aggressive new species was. The Council extended invitations to marine biologists, cryptozoologists, and amateur monster hunters from around the world, with all resort guests receiving free passage aboard nocturnal voyages that would attempt to film the creature feeding on deer as the herds crossed the loch.

Reports of new sightings and photos purportedly taken by locals drove the story like a social media tsunami. Within weeks every hotel and bed-and-breakfast in the Great Glen was sold out for the season, led by Nessie’s Lair.

It was all great theater, except that now the public demanded to hear from the marine biologist who had not only identified the
real
Nessie two years earlier but had tracked it down and killed it. I was hounded twenty-four/seven, which made my life miserable and drew mixed reactions from the normally conservative administrators at Cambridge University.

Brandy, William, and I had been at Cambridge barely a week, living in a two-bedroom rented flat. Having arrived mid-semester, I was relegated to guest-speaking spots, rotating between undergraduate and graduate courses in oceanography and the marine sciences. The experience allowed me to re-acclimate to the academic environment, but the attention coming from my father’s escapades was affecting the student body’s perception of my role at the university—
was Dr. Zachary Wallace a teacher or an entertainer?

And then a week before the Nessie’s Lair event, a serious-looking fellow entered my lecture hall, marched up to my lectern, and ceremoniously presented me with an envelope. Baffled, I opened it, my students bearing witness to the publicly staged event.

It was a subpoena.

“State your name for the record.”

“Angus William Wallace.”

The preliminary hearing was being held behind closed doors at the Sherrifs’ Court in Inverness. Present in the chamber was the judge, a court stenographer, my family, and a school of circling sharks in three-piece suits hailing from a law firm rated by England’s
Legal Business
magazine as the fifth most successful in all the United Kingdom. Judging from their number, it appeared as if they had summoned every attorney from their offices in Glasgow and Edinburgh.

If my father was intimidated by their full court press, he wasn’t showing it, but his barrister, my stepbrother, Maxie Rael, would need to change his underwear before the morning was through.

The lead litigator representing Dr. Ming Liao was a half-Italian, half-Ukranian man named Sam Mannino, who wasted no time going
after Angus’s jugular. “Do you understand the reason for this preliminary hearing, Mr. Wallace? The purpose of our convening this morning is to share the strength of our case with your barrister, so he knows the extent of the shit-storm you created for my client and the lengths we’re prepared to go to make your life a living hell. For starters, we’ll be moving your very public trial from this cozy Sheriff’s Court in Inverness to the High Court in Glasgow in order to eliminate the biases of the plaid when we select a fifteen-person jury.

“On day one of the trial we will introduce evidence that shows you and your Highland Council cronies purposely deceived the public by concocting your little fairy tale about a second Loch Ness Monster. We will cross-examine the members of the Highland Council, effectually ending any future they might have had in holding an elected office, and then we’ll introduce Exhibit A—the tool your EMT used on the carcass of an elk—I believe it’s called a Jaws of Life—to make it appear as if the animal had been eaten. Then we will parade a day’s worth of experts before the jury to demonstrate how your antics and false promises regarding your son’s involvement in my client’s upcoming venture in Antarctica ruined her expedition, costing her millions of dollars in investment capital.

“And finally, after the jury reaches the verdict of your guilt in this little civil matter, we will take every asset you own, including the resort on Loch Ness—which Dr. Liao will personally burn to the ground. Worst of all, your fellow Highlanders will curse you and your clan until the end of days for the financial ruin your lies will deliver unto the Great Glen. And then, Mr. Wallace, then I’m going to push for criminal charges that will consume every waking moment of your barrister’s miserable life.

“How’s that sound to you,
laddie
?”

“Sounds as if yer skat momma’s still mad at me for defecating in her mouth the day ye was born.”

That didn’t go over well with the judge, but my father knew a dog-and-pony show when he saw one. I guess he figured there was no harm in stepping in more shit before they presented their
backroom offer to Maxie.

“They want you, Zachary. They want your signed commitment to copilot the submersible into Lake Vostok. In exchange, they will drop all charges, and there will be no press conferences to derail the symposium. Oh yeah—and your pay will be reduced by five thousand dollars to cover the money wired to Angus. As your barrister I strongly urge you to sign the papers so we can get the hell out of here.”

“You’re not my attorney, Maxie, you’re his.” I turned to Brandy and saw disgust in her eyes.

My father looked into my eyes and saw fear. “Oh, come on. It’s a bloody lake. Not like yer goin’ down in yer birthday suit.”

“Why does it seem like every time you’re in a courtroom, I get it up the ass?”

“Maybe ye like it there?”

“He’s all yours, Max. Come on, Brandy.”

“Come on where? Ye heard tha’ barrister. By the time they’re through humiliating yer father, no tourist in their right mind will come tae the villages. I’m none too happy aboot this, Zachary, but Angus is right—ye got tae go.”