The Loch (45 page)

The device was now rigged to our port-side bow, its data sent through my laptop.

As we crept north along the western shoreline, the needle twitched, the levels increasing as we approached the Bona Narrows.

"Have ye got somethin', Zack?"

"It's just a trace. Let's follow the narrows downstream a bit and see what happens."

We left Loch Ness and followed its river, True keeping us close to the northeastern shoreline. As we passed the Bona Narrows Lighthouse, hydrocarbon gas levels jumped, increasing again as we approached man-made Loch Dochfour.

The farther north we ventured, the greater the hydrocarbon levels. "The northern current's moving the oil," I said, "keeping it from being noticed."

"Aye, an' it's a nineteen kilometer journey frae the Moray Firth intae Loch Ness. Nae wonder the fish're turnin' back. But we still dinnae ken where the oil's originatin' frae."

"Take us back into Loch Ness, True, I want to explore the eastern shoreline."

* * *

"My faither, yer grandfaither, Logan Wallace, he died in these very waters when I wis aboot yer age. An awfy gale hit the Glen an' his boat flipped. Everyone says he drooned, but I ken better, see. Twis the monster that got him, a' part o' the Wallace curse."

"Are ye talkin' aboot Nessie?"

"Nessie? Nessie's folklore. I'm speakin' o' a curse wrought by nature, a curse that's haunted the Wallace men since the passin' of Robert the Bruce."

"Zack! Hey, wake up!"

My eyes snapped open. "Sorry."

"Yer damn monitor's twitchin' like a polecat's tail."

I checked the laptop, then glanced out the port side window. We were nearing Aldourie Castle.

"Shut her down, True. We're here."

"Aye? Whit makes ye sae sure?"

"Just a hunch."

"A hunch, aye? Ye expect me tae believe that? Yer faither telt ye this, didn't he?"

"Long ago, through the wisdom of whisky. He claimed the dragon's lair was down there. Said us Wallaces were cursed, and that the devil himself lurked in the shadow of our souls."

"A drunk dinnae offer any wisdom, Zack, jist ignorance. Ye dinnae need tae dae this. There's better ways tae die."

"And better ways to live."

"At least let me go wi' ye then. I can have a second suit brought within eight hours."

"Sorry, big guy, but this is strictly a solo act. Now show me how to use that dive suit."

* * *

Man has been searching for better ways to explore the depths since humans first learned they could hold their breath. The challenge lies in transporting an adequate supply of air, while handling the complexities associated with water pressure. In seawater, the weight of water increases by one atmosphere for each thirty-three feet, meaning, at thirty-three feet, the water pressure doubles, at sixty-six feet it triples, and so on. As pressure increases, air volume within a contained space decreases by the same ratio, and the density of the air is likewise compressed. For human beings, this means the deeper a diver goes, the greater the "squeeze" on air spaces within the body, including the lungs and sinus cavities. Prolonged activity underwater can also lead to dangerous increases in nitrogen in the bloodstream, maxing out normal scuba dives at 130 feet.

To access deeper depths required shielding a diver against these enormous pressures, leading to the invention of the first atmospheric dive suit, or ADS. An ADS is an underwater suit and helmet, its internal pressures maintained at one atmosphere. With an ADS, there is no need for compression or decompression. Special gas mixtures are not required, and dive times can be extended by many hours, with divers able to comfortably attain depths exceeding twenty-five hundred feet.

The first atmospheric dive suits originated in the seventeenth century. They resembled bulky suits of armor with long air hoses, and were created so that treasure hunters could explore sunken ships. Advances continued through the 1900s, leading up to the development of the JIM suit, named after its chief test diver, Jim Jarrett. The JIM suit allowed greater freedom of movement in deeper, colder water, and quickly attracted the attention of the oil and gas industry, who needed a means to effect deep water repairs to pipelines.

With new oil monies invested in the technology, the JIM suit soon evolved into WASP suits, which used thrusters in place of articulated legs. While bulkier and requiring more deck space, the WASP gave divers greater range and mobility underwater and became the workhorse in pipeline repair.

The Newt Suit combined the best of both worlds. Like the JIM, the Newt resembled a space suit, with a backpack added that housed air tanks, a life-support system, propeller, and thrusters, which the diver operated using controls within his boots. The headpiece was made of a clear, heavy acrylic, allowing for unobstructed vision, and two-pronged claws extended out of the suit's "mittens" for grasping.

True explained all this to me while he rigged the Newt Suit's support frame and built-in winch to the starboard rail.

"The suit's got twenty joints, makin' it easy tae maneuver, an' the aluminum surface is a breeze compared tae the auld JIMs. The problem a novice like yersel's gonnae have is dealin' wi' the turbidity an' currents. The suit's got a large surface area, which means it'll catch a lot o' water. Get caught in a nasty current, an' ye become a human underwater kite. If that happens, and it will, ye'll need yer thrusters an' propeller. They're controlled usin' pedals in yer boots. Right boot's the thrusters, propeller's in yer left. The air tanks on yer back'll give ye three hours of air, but yer umbilical adds another forty hours, no' that ye'll need it."

"Umbilical?"

"Aye. One end connects tae yer backpack, the other tae this free-floatin' life-support system." True pointed to a five-foot aluminum barrel. "That unit holds yer backup power source, plus an independent oxygen re-breather an' surface communication system. I had tae add a wee generator tae get enough juice tae feed a' these underwater lights. Two lights are rigged tae yer backpack, one rear-facin', the other forward. The third light'll be hooked up front along yer waistband, allowin' ye tae maneuver it usin' yer claw. It can be turned off an' on independently of the two bigger lights, jist in case ye want tae reserve yer batteries."

"Three lights should be fine."

"Aye, well if it wis me, I'd want a bloody lighthoose beacon comin' oot o' my arse. Now pay attention, we need tae go ower these demolitions."

True pried open a wooden crate and removed a small metal tube about the size of a Cuban cigar, along with a red plastic cap.

"We call this a G-SHOK. On the rig, we use them tae clear away rock an' debris. Comes in two parts. This long piece's the cartridge. It's filled wi' highly compressed liquid gas, at the end of which is a primer. The red cap's an electrical fuse. Pop the cap ower the primer an' it sends a small charge intae the liquid, causin' a chain reaction. Within ten seconds, the gas expands tae 800 times its volume, an' boom."

"How big a boom we talking?"

"Big enough tae split rock. If ye need mair than ten seconds, the fuse igniter can be detonated usin' its timer option. Set the timer on the outside o' the cap frae one tae three minutes, then snap it ower the cartridge, same as before."

"And how am I supposed to carry all this stuff?"

"After we get ye intae the Newt, I'll snap a utility belt roond yer waist. The belt contains compartments for a dozen G-SHOKs an' caps."

"Anything else?"

"There's an auld wool sweater in that box. Better put it on. Suit's heated, but the water gets even colder along the bottom."

I grabbed the garment, then noticed a man walking out along Aldourie Pier.

True stared at the Newt Suit, debating. "Zack… whit if I said there might be another means o' gettin' doon there… ye ken, intae the monster's lair?"

"Hey, isn't that your father?" I pointed to where old man MacDonald was standing, watching us.

"Shyte, it's him a' right."

"What's he doing?"

"Keepin' vigil, nae doubt. Damn Templar."

"What were you saying about accessing the lair?"

"Uh… nothin'. Come on, if ye're gonnae dae this, then let's dae it."

I climbed into the lower torso of the Newt Suit while True connected the umbilical cord to the aluminum barrel and backpack.

"Ye ready then?"

I nodded, sliding my arms and head into the upper half of the dive suit as True lifted it over me. With a twist, the waistline clicked down upon the lower torso. True snapped the hinges shut along both sides of the waist.

Sweat poured down my face, my faceplate fogging with steam. Retracting my hand from its sleeve, I wiped my forehead clean, while True opened the tank valves on my back.

A cool stream of air blew into the helmet, lifting the fog.

I raised my arms, amazed at how flexible the appendages were. True fixed the utility belt around my waist, then lowered the bulky pack supporting the underwater lights and air tanks onto my back. I would have toppled over the side had my suit not been attached by cable to its support frame.

"Easy, Zack. Ye'll feel steadier once ye're underwater."

True activated the winch, raising me off of the deck. Looking down, I watched as my boots passed over the rail, and then I was slowly lowered into the water up to my chest.

For a long moment I hung there, my feet in the water, my upper body still tethered to the winch. The thought of what awaited me below sent shivers down my spine.

I focused upon the noise from my own shallow breaths until static crackled in my right ear. "Zack, can ye hear me?"

"Loud and clear."

"Let's go through yer checklist. Activate yer thrusters by pressin' doon on the ball o' yer right foot. Use it like the accelerator o' a car."

I pressed down, too hard, as the powerful twin thrusters' shot me clear out of the water, smashing my head piece against the winch.

"Easy!"

"Sorry." I eased back, the Newt Suit bobbing like a cork. "That was cool."

"It's no' a carnival ride. The propeller's the pedal in yer left boot, designed tae move ye horizontally. Dinnae use it until ye're close tae the bottom."

"Understood."

"Feel for the toggle switch in yer left glove. That's the master switch tae yer underwater lights."

I flicked the switch, my forward-mounted beam glancing off the dark surface. "Works fine."

"Usin' yer pincers, reach for one o' the G-SHOKs at yer waist. Make sure ye can grip baith the cartridge an' fuse… but dinnae put them together!"

It took a few tries until I could get a feel for the pincer mechanisms in each mitten. "No sweat. I think I'm ready."

"An' I think ye're aff yer heid," True muttered, as he climbed over the rail. He gave me a quick "thumbs-up,' then disconnected my support cable, and down I went.

It was a frightening sensation, falling like an anchor into the darkness, and I panicked, forgetting everything I'd just learned.

"Thrusters, Zack! Right boot!"

I pressed down with my foot, breathing easier as the thrusters slowed my descent.

The beam from my forward light cut through the darkness. I was dropping through a brown tea-colored world, but everything seemed to be spinning. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling sick."

"Speak tae me, Zachary."

"Dizzy, I'm just a little dizzy."

"Ye're spinning. Look inside yer headpiece. Jist below yer lower jaw, ye'll see a set o' gauges."

I opened my eyes, focusing on the digital display.

"Check yer compass, it's in orange. It shows direction an' course, sort o' like a submarine. Press on yer thrusters again an' come tae a complete stop."

I did as told. "Okay."

"Call oot yer depth tae me."

"Two hundred thirty feet."

"Have ye stopped spinnin'?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now ease off the thrusters an' continue descendin' while callin' oot yer depth."

"Two-sixty. Three hundred. Three-thirty …"

"Still droppin' too fast. Press doon on yer thrusters gently, let's slow ye up a bit."

"Three-fifty. Three-seventy."

"That's better. Now, the light on yer waist is tethered. Take a moment an' lock it intae the pincers of yer right glove so it'll be there when ye get closer tae the bottom."

"Got it." Securing the light in my right pincer, I aimed the beam into the darkness, feeling more in control. "Four-sixty. Five hundred feet. Five-forty—"

"Dinnae get cocky, Zack. Keep it slow an' steady. Whit dae ye see?"

"Not much. Even with the light, visibility's still less than fifteen feet. Outside the beam, the water's pitch-black."

"Like swimmin' in ink. I want ye relyin' on yer digital display. Which way are ye pointed?"

"South, at one-five-two degrees."

"Keep an eye on yer position, or ye'll be walkin' in circles. By the way, yer backup system's ower the side, the umbilical cord's feedin' fine. How deep are ye now?"

"Oops, I just passed seven hundred feet."

"Hit yer thrusters, afore ye bury yersel' in the bottom!"

I pressed down again, slowing my descent until I regained neutral buoyancy. "I'm good… I'm good."

"Good? Ye're turnin' my hair good an' grey. Check yer gauges again."

I was in 723 feet of water, the pressure outside of my artificial skin over twenty atmospheres, the temperature a chilly thirty-eight degrees.

Inside, I was dry and cool.

I felt a current at my back and allowed it to push me ahead as I looked down, aiming my handheld beam.

The bottom passed twenty feet below my boots. It was a murky desert of mud, its flat expanse desecrated here and there by petrified clumps of Scots Pine. The massive trees were embedded in the soot, belching tiny streams of gas, their plankton-covered branches reaching out for me like the rotting arms of Loch Ness's dead.

Jesus… what am I doing down here?

"Zack, ye still alive?"

"Sorry. I'm drifting, guess I'm about twenty feet off the bottom."