Loch, The Read online

Chapter 13

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  Inverness Castle, Scottish Highlands

  Scotland

  KEEPING HIS WORD, Judge Hannam ordered me medi­cated, then held in contempt, his “official” excuse for sequestering me away from the descending hordes of media, to which I was eternally grateful. I quickly found myself in a holding cell across from my father’s, the castle’s dense walls isolating me from the screams and shouts of reporters demanding answers to their questions.

  Within minutes, the physician’s medication knocked me out.

  It was dark when I finally awoke.

  For several wonderful moments, I simply remained on my back, staring at the details of the ancient jail cell’s stone ceiling, luxuriating in the blessed relief of having been pardoned from the pain.

  The migraine’s passed, eh?”

  I sat up slowly and looked across the darkened corridor into Angus’s cell.

  “I’d see a doctor aboot those if I wis you.” Angus said, pressing his face between the iron bars. “I wis boffin a Welsh woman for a time, an’ she suffered the same ailment. Said it wis brought on by her menstrual cycle. Naturally, I avoided her time o’ the month after that. Ye’re no’ on the rag, are ye, Lassie?”

  “I knew better than to come back, I knew you’d never change. You really set me up good this time, didn’t you, Angus?”

  “Och! Ye set yersel’ up. How long were ye plannin’ on livin’ wi’ yer wee secret anyway? Another seventeen years?”

  “What secret? Wake up, old man, there never was a monster, not then, not now. Putting me on the witness stand won’t change the fact that you killed a man, whether by accident or choice.”

  “Ye’re still too feart tae remember, is that it?” He glared at me from his cell, his blue eyes aglitter in the florescent light. “These migraines are yer brain’s way o’ avoidin’ the past. Same thing happened after the first accident. Headaches anytime ye tried tae talk aboot whit hap­pened. ‘Course, they were nothin’ compared tae yer nightmares.”

  “Nightmares?” I sat up in bed, my heart racing. “I had night ter­rors back then, too?”

  “Aye. Ye used tae wake up, screamin’ bloody murder. Thank Jesus yer mother finally took ye tae America, it wis a’ I could dae tae get a guid night’s rest. When that creature bit ye—”

  “Nothing bit me! These aren’t teeth marks, Angus, they’re puncture wounds, scars from the barbed wire. I must’ve swam right through its coils as I surfaced.”

  He shook his head sadly. “As a bairn ye could hide frae the truth, it’s no’ sae easy as an adult. This Sargasso drownin’, it’s forcin’ back the memories, isn’t it? Dinnae deny it, lad, I can see it in yer eyes. This time roond, ye’ve got tae face yer demons.”

  “You’re one to give advice.”

  “Frae where I’m standin’, we’re baith in prison, only yours is up here,” he said, tapping his head.

  “As you said, I’m not a child any more, so keep playing your mind games, I’m immune. As for your doubts about the barbed wire, try reading the damn medical report. The doctor who stitched me up—”

  “Doctor?” Angus bellowed a laugh. “Ye call Ryan Hornsby a doc­tor? Hornsby’s a vet’rinarian, he worked on farm animals. Highlanders like us used him ‘cause we couldnae afford tae pay real doctors.”

  “He was still a medical professional.”

  “Open yer eyes, laddie. The only reason Alban MacDonald brought ye tae Hornsby was ‘cause he’s kin, an’, o’ course, he’s Templar, which means he’d take the truth tae the grave wi’ him ... or a’ready did, seein’ as he croaked last year.”

  “Save your breath, Angus. I’m not buying into it.”

  “What still gets me is how ye managed tae escape. I mean, sweet Jesus, look at them scars, it’s like the De’il tasted ye an’ spat ye back oot.”

  “I saw the medical report, Angus. It said barbed wire.”

  “Aye. Hornsby wrote whit he was telt.”

  “Enough already! Even if he was a veterinarian, why would Hornsby listen to a water bailiff and risk losing his license?”

  “Because, Judy, Alban MacDonald wisnae jist a water bailiff, he’s also Priest Knight o’ the Templar.”

  “I don’t understand?”

  “Ye’ve never heard o’ the Knights Templar?”

  “I’ve heard of them, sure, but what do they have to do with Loch Ness?”

  Angus shook his head. “A genius when it comes tae sea creatures, but ye’re lost when it comes tae yer ain folk, are ye no’?” He moved away from the bars, sitting on the edge of his mattress. “Pay attention, Gracie, an’ jist maybe yer auld man’ll teach ye somethin’. The Order o’ the Knights wis officially founded in Jerusalem back in the early 1100s, roond the end o’ the First Crusade. I say officially, ‘cause they’d been roond long afore that, goin’ back tae the days o’ Saint Columba hi’sel’. They were part-warrior, part-monk, an’ a’ chivalrous, dedicated tae protecting Christians makin’ the pilgrimage tae the Temple o’ Solomon. King Baldwin II o’ Jerusalem offered them a hame in the temple, an’ livin’ on alms, they became kent as the Poor Knights o’ the Temple.”

  “What does any of this have to do with—”

  “Patience, Sally, patience. Now some ten years after he formed the Knights, Hughes de Paynes traveled tae Europe, seekin’ new recruits. In France, he joined forces wi’ another monk, Bernard de Clairvaux, an’ his Cistercian brotherhood. Vowin’ tae fight in Christ’s name against evil, the Knights successfully recruited thoosands intae the Order, a’ donnin’ the white vestments, now adorned wi’ the Knighthood’s red cross. Now in 1139, the Pope, Innocent II, he decides it’s best if he took control o’ the Templars. First thing he does is exclude them frae taxation, which allowed them tae accumulate great wealth. Bein’ clever sorts, the Knights adopted the practice o’ lendin’ money usin’ interest terms, practically inventin’ modern-day bankin’ in the process. The order became rich an’ quite powerful, an’ their numbers swelled, neither o’ which wis appreciated by France’s King Phillip the Fair, an ambitious bastard if ever there wis one. Phillip coveted the Knights’ accumulated wealth, an’ it wis he who gave Friday the thirteenth its true infamy, for on that day in October o’ 1307, he ordered a’ Knights residin’ in France tae be arrested for heresy. Three thoosand innocent Templars were imprisoned an’ tortured, their property seized by the king. Under Phillip’s pressure, the Pope then ordered the arrest o’ a’ Templar Knights. Fifteen thoosand mair monks were jailed an’ brutally beaten, effectively dissolvin’ the Order. The Knights’ Grand Master, Jacques de Molay, wis coerced intae a false confession, then burned at the stake. Legend says that Molay recanted his confession as he burned, an’ placed a curse on the king an’ the Pope, baith o’ whom died within seven months.”

  And what does all this have to do with True’s father?”

  “I’m gettin’ tae that. Fleein’ France, the survivin’ Templars branched oot intae two successful Orders, the Sovereign Military Order o’ the Temple o’ Jerusalem an’ the Freemasons. Many o’ the Fraternal Order came tae Scotland, which had been a stronghold for the Templars back in the day o’ Hughes de Paynes, him havin’ worked oot a deal wi’ King David of Scotland for the lands of Ballatradoch. Robert the Bruce an’ the Stewart Clan were all born into the Order, which eventually became kent as the Masonic Templar. Thus, the Scots Royal line wis established, linkin’ us tae the bloodline o’ King David o’ Jerusalem an’ his son, Solomon, who commissioned his Temple be built by a Master Mason. Remember, it wis Solomon’s Temple that held the Arc of the Covenant an’ its wealth o’ secrets. Many believe the Knights were the ones left to guard it, and when a Templar guards somethin’, it stays guarded.

  “Anyway, after Bonnie Prince Charlie fell at Culloden, the Masons continued their attempts tae re-establish oor bloodlines an’ adopt the Templar laws intae Scotland’s crown. This movement became kent as the Scottish Rite, an’ it wis very popular in the Colonies durin’ the American Revolution
. Fact is, both George Washington an’ Benjamin Franklin were Knights, an’ they based much o’ America’s Declaration o’ Independence on the teachings o’ the Masonic Temple.”

  I listened intently, this, the first serious conversation I could recall ever having with my father. I was amazed at his depth of knowledge, but suspected he was again setting me up for something.

  “... the Puritans, being a narrow-minded an’ superstitious lot, were aye accusin’ folk o’ witchcraft, while the Masons encouraged scientific discoveries; the law of gravity, the invention o’ the reflectin’ telescope, an’ the list goes on.”

  “You’re a Templar Knight, too, aren’t you?”

  He paused then, thinking it over. “Wis, Gracie, I wis, ‘til that bas­tard, Alban MacDonald, removed me frae the Order. Can ye believe it? Me, a direct descendant frae Sir William Wallace himsel’, kicked oot o’ the Masonry? The Wallace clan’s aye given oor all for Scotland. It wis a descendent o’ Wallace that spilt blood at Bannockburn wi’ the Bruce. An’ when the Bruce died, a Wallace went tae the Holy Land, only tae find oor entourage outnumbered by the Moors at Teba. There, in Calavatra—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know the story, and stop exaggerating! It was there that the Black Douglas, Sir James the Good, flung the Bruce’s heart into the Moorish lines and proclaimed, ‘Go Braveheart and we, your Knights will follow,’ and that’s where the name, Braveheart, was really coined.”

  He shook his head. “Why dae I waste my time?”

  “Just answer me this, Angus. If you were such a chivalrous Templar, why did Alban MacDonald expel you.”

  “Politics. The auld fart refuses tae change wi’ the times. The Knights guard the ancient ways, see, but there are those among us who prefer tae live in the twenty-first century. Alban’s a Priest-Knight o’ the highest order, so what he says goes. He an’ a few o’ the senior cooncil members didnae like me sellin’ my ancestor’s land tae Johnny C., though it’s okay for the hypocrites’ sons tae work for Cialino Ventures, includin’ one True MacDonald.”

  “Cialino’s company owns the oil rig?”

  “Six o’ them, a’ in the North Sea, plus part o’ a new hydroelectric dam bein’ built east of Fort Augustus. They’ve got underground pipe­lines runnin’ through the Moray Firth intae Inverness an’ throughoot the Highlands. Alban disnae like it, an’ he’s made a big environmental stink aboot it tae the Masonic Cooncil. The auld bampot booted me oot o’ the Order the day I selt my acreage tae Johnny C., an’ my life’s been hell ever since.”

  “Angus, on Saturday morning, I caught the Crabbit hiding in the woods, dressed in Templar garments, only they weren’t white, they were black, and instead of the Knight’s Cross, the tunic bore a symbol, like a heart with an X across it.”

  My father looked away.

  “What?”

  “I cannae say.”

  “Why not? Wallace blood flows through my veins, just as it flows through yours.”

  “It’s no’ a clan thing. Blood oaths’ve been taken, preventin’ me frae speaking o’ certain things.”

  “You’re talking in riddles.”

  He looked up at me with those piercing Gael eyes, but said nothing.

  “Okay, you want to keep playing head games, fine. But Alban’s sword was covered in blood. I don’t know whether it was animal or human blood, but he had that crazed look in his eye, the one that used to scare the shit out of me when I was a kid.”

  “Aye. MacDonald lost his marbles long ago. He’s no’ fit tae run the Cooncil, if ye ask me. A disgrace he is, an’ a liar—”

  “You’re one to talk. Do you really think the judge and jury are buying into your ridiculous little scheme? So you used my childhood scars as a means of kicking over a hornet’s nest, that still doesn’t make you innocent. In fact, in the end, you may have just sealed your own fate.”

  “How dae ye work that one oot?”

  “Had you simply claimed Cialino’s death was an accident, Max probably could have gotten you down to manslaughter, and you’d have served five to ten years in prison, maybe less. But now, with this whole ridiculous Loch Ness monster claim, everything changes.”

  “And how’s that?”

  “Because the monster alibi, as hokey as it is, required planning. You had to get Cialino to Urquhart Castle, you had to fly me in as a witness, you even went so far as to obtain my unpublished dissertation. Planning means Johnny C.’s murder was no accident, it was premedi­tated. When that jury rules you guilty, and believe me, when the smoke clears they will, you’ll spend the rest of your days behind bars ... if you’re lucky. See, this isn’t a Rubik’s Cube you’ve cheated this time, Angus, it’s the High Court of Scotland. You may have had fun tossing dynamite at the media, but you’ve overplayed your hand, pissing off that prosecutor, who’s going to nail your hairy ass to the wall.”

  “So says you.”

  “And what says the merry widow?”

  He looked up at me then, anger in his eyes. “Theresa? She had nothing tae dae wi’ this.”

  “Sure she didn’t. I saw how she was looking at you ... playing you like a fiddle.”

  “Och! Ye dinnae ken anythin’!”

  “Pretty face, gorgeous body, it was sweet bait, and you grabbed it, hook, line, and sinker. Only this woman, she’s got her own ambitions. Tell me, how many times did you screw her behind Johnny C.’s back before she began planting the idea of killing her husband?”

  “Shut up.”

  “I’ll bet it was her idea to use Nessie as an alibi. Just think of what this publicity will do to generate business at her new resort. And then you jumped right in, telling her how you could solidify your defense by dragging me into it.”

  “Ye’re aff yer heid!”

  “Use the Nessie story, Angus, and I’ll triple the money Johnny owes you. We’ll live happily ever after ... except, of course, she’ll have all of Johnny’s assets, including his new resort, while you’re pledging your undying love as you dance on the end of a rope.”

  “Shut up! Theresa’s a friend, nothin’ more.”

  “Yeah, sure. No wonder you hired Max instead of a real attorney. Bet he’s getting a piece of the action on the side, too, huh?”

  “Get oot! Get the fuck oot o’ here, ye wee bastard! I never want tae see ye again! Ye’re no son o’ mine!”

  “Ah, how I wish that were true,” I said, rolling over to get some sleep, congratulating myself on finally being able to push Angus’s buttons. “But here’s some free advice from one bastard to another. Be sure to hold your head up nice and high when they hang you, Pop. Remember, you’re a Wallace.”

  Chapter 14 Quotes

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  It was late, just after one in the morning. I was on my motorcycle, approaching the Abriachan turn out of Inverness when I noticed something large in the bushes up ahead. I was almost upon it when it abruptly turned, exposing a long, hefty body, maybe 4.5–6 meters (15–20 feet). It possessed a very powerful tail, rounded at the end, and two front flippers. The head was snakelike, flat on top, and my headlight reflected an oval eye. The animal made two great bounds across the road and down into the water, followed by a big splash.

  —MR. W. ARTHUR GRANT, VETERINARY STUDENT, 5 JANUARY 1934

  I was driving on the A82, just south of Invermoriston when I saw it! It was half ashore and I had a clear view of it for nine minutes in my binoculars. It was at least 12–18 meters long (40–60 feet) but did not see its full tail as it was not quite completely out of the water. As it turned I had a clear view of its left fore flipper, which is grey in color, spade-shaped, and devoid of any markings which might indicate toes or claws. It was a clearly a flipper and not a foot. The animal eventually made sort of a U-shaped turn and flopped back into deep water. It did not reappear and left only ripples, no wake.

  —MR. TORQUIL MACLEOD, EXCERPTED FROM A LETTER TO INVERNESS AUTHOR, CONSTANCE WHYTE, 28 FEBRUARY 1960

  Chapter 14

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  Invermoriston, Scottish High
lands

  Scotland

  WHILE I TOSSED AND TURNED on my lumpy jail cell mattress and hundreds of reporters from around the world descended upon Castle Inverness like bees to honey, the real story was unfolding twenty miles to the south on the banks of Loch Ness.

  * * *

  Two major rivers intersect Loch Ness along its western shores. Enrick River is the larger of the two, flowing west to east through the Great Glen and past Drumnadrochit until it reaches Loch Ness at Urquhart Bay. Fifteen miles farther to the south, the River Moriston passes through the Glen Moriston dam, rages into a grade-five water­fall, then rushes below the old stone Telford Bridge on its way past Invermoriston before it too releases into Loch Ness.

  The hamlet of Invermoriston dates back to the early 1600s. It’s home to a handful of lodgings, taverns, and quaint craft shops, and its pier was once a popular destination for steamships traveling up and down the Loch in the 1890s.

  Invermoriston first found fame in 1746 when the town harbored the “Seven Men of Moriston,” a loyal band who protected Bonnie Prince Charlie from the English forces following the massacre at Culloden.

  Thirteen generations later, the tiny Loch Ness village was about to become popular for an entirely different reason.

  * * *

  Tiani Brueggert had been planning her family’s weeklong camp­ing trip around Loch Ness for months. Although her husband, Joel, and their two teenage daughters, Chloe and McKailey, preferred to stay in bed-and-breakfasts, Tiani would hear none of it, insisting her “average American family” rough it in tents along the legendary banks of the Loch.

  Their backpacks loaded with gear, the Brueggerts set out on their walking tour in Fort Augustus, the Loch’s southernmost town. An eighteen-mile trail awaited them as they hiked north past scenic Loch Ness through forests heavy in spruce and pine.

  The first day’s journey ended eight hours later in Invermoriston. Crossing the Telford Bridge, the Brueggerts posed in photos of the majestic Moriston Falls, then followed the river farther west, but by seven-thirty, they were back in the village, their bodies spent.