grant proposals. I also piggybacked some research on freshwater ecosystems I was hoping to publish.”
“And Laroche was your patron?”
She nodded. “He’s seriously into cryptozoology. Says his interest in it started when he saw Bigfoot on a lumber scouting trip in the Cascades.”
Grant frowned. This millionaire was sounding like he was veering from eccentric into full nutcase status. “What’s cryptozoology?”
“It’s not a scientific discipline. Pseudo-science, really. The study of mysterious creatures. Bigfoot, the yeti, the chupacabra, the Loch Ness monster.” When she saw Grant’s doubtful expression, she continued. “Like I said, it was a lot of money, and I was just going through the motions. Then this happened.”
She pressed the PLAY icon, and Alexa appeared on screen wearing a wool sweater and cable-knit hat, standing on a small boat. The water visible behind her was choppy. It was obvious that someone else was holding the camera. That had to be Mike Dillman.
This is Dr. Alexa Locke, recording twelve, begun at 7:30 p.m. , her on-screen self said. Grid twenty-three seven.
“I had to record that at the beginning of every video,” Alexa commented in Grant’s ear. “We went out every day in that little motor boat on a systematic search pattern. Laroche’s instructions. I didn’t argue. His money.”
The camera swung from her and faced the lake. Forested hills rose in the distant background. The gray sky made it difficult to judge distances. No other boats were in the frame. Grant took Alexa’s word for it that it was Loch Ness, but it could have been any one of a hundred coastlines for all he knew.
Then a thump came from off-camera, followed by a yelp from Alexa.
Oh, my God! she shouted.
The unseen cameraman’s hand came into frame as he was pointing at something. He yelled, What the hell is that?
Grant’s eyes flicked to Alexa sitting next to him.
“Keep watching,” she said.
The camera slewed around. It took a second to steady and then zoom in on what at first looked like a dark ripple of wave. A tighter frame revealed a hump breaking the surface. It went under again, and the camera tracked its motion. The glistening skin of the hump came up a second time, accompanied by the distinct outline of a flipper.
It was almost as if it were waving to the camera.
Then it disappeared. The camera came back to Alexa, who looked stunned by the sighting. The only thing Grant could hear from the video was Dillman’s labored breathing. Two seconds later, the video ended.
“I almost passed out from hyperventilating,” Alexa said. “We searched for six days after that and never saw it again.”
“That’s not computer graphics?” Grant asked.
Alexa shook her head solemnly. “I swear.”
“Maybe it was a seal or something.”
“I’m five foot eight, and I was standing when that was taken. I used a laser rangefinder to measure the distance to the sighting. By my calculations, that flipper was over four feet high. Whatever that creature was, it had to be thirty feet long.”
EIGHT
Victor Zim grinned as the prison yard melee started right on schedule. All it took were ten cartons of cigarettes and five bottles of smuggled whiskey that he had given to the Aryan Knights. Five minutes after he left the interrogation with Tyler Locke, Zim had been returned to the yard for the daily morning exercise hour. He’d nodded from his position at the edge of the yard and two members of the Knights threw punches at their counterparts in the Black Cobras and the Mexican Border Disciples. Within seconds, dozens of men were at each others’ throats, distracting the guards from the parachute floating to the ground.
Not wanting to give away the situation, Zim didn’t look up, but he had seen the plane high above as he strolled into the yard and knew exactly where and when the chute would land, controlled by remote adjustments to its cords. Hidden in his palm, Zim held the small laser
“And Laroche was your patron?”
She nodded. “He’s seriously into cryptozoology. Says his interest in it started when he saw Bigfoot on a lumber scouting trip in the Cascades.”
Grant frowned. This millionaire was sounding like he was veering from eccentric into full nutcase status. “What’s cryptozoology?”
“It’s not a scientific discipline. Pseudo-science, really. The study of mysterious creatures. Bigfoot, the yeti, the chupacabra, the Loch Ness monster.” When she saw Grant’s doubtful expression, she continued. “Like I said, it was a lot of money, and I was just going through the motions. Then this happened.”
She pressed the PLAY icon, and Alexa appeared on screen wearing a wool sweater and cable-knit hat, standing on a small boat. The water visible behind her was choppy. It was obvious that someone else was holding the camera. That had to be Mike Dillman.
This is Dr. Alexa Locke, recording twelve, begun at 7:30 p.m. , her on-screen self said. Grid twenty-three seven.
“I had to record that at the beginning of every video,” Alexa commented in Grant’s ear. “We went out every day in that little motor boat on a systematic search pattern. Laroche’s instructions. I didn’t argue. His money.”
The camera swung from her and faced the lake. Forested hills rose in the distant background. The gray sky made it difficult to judge distances. No other boats were in the frame. Grant took Alexa’s word for it that it was Loch Ness, but it could have been any one of a hundred coastlines for all he knew.
Then a thump came from off-camera, followed by a yelp from Alexa.
Oh, my God! she shouted.
The unseen cameraman’s hand came into frame as he was pointing at something. He yelled, What the hell is that?
Grant’s eyes flicked to Alexa sitting next to him.
“Keep watching,” she said.
The camera slewed around. It took a second to steady and then zoom in on what at first looked like a dark ripple of wave. A tighter frame revealed a hump breaking the surface. It went under again, and the camera tracked its motion. The glistening skin of the hump came up a second time, accompanied by the distinct outline of a flipper.
It was almost as if it were waving to the camera.
Then it disappeared. The camera came back to Alexa, who looked stunned by the sighting. The only thing Grant could hear from the video was Dillman’s labored breathing. Two seconds later, the video ended.
“I almost passed out from hyperventilating,” Alexa said. “We searched for six days after that and never saw it again.”
“That’s not computer graphics?” Grant asked.
Alexa shook her head solemnly. “I swear.”
“Maybe it was a seal or something.”
“I’m five foot eight, and I was standing when that was taken. I used a laser rangefinder to measure the distance to the sighting. By my calculations, that flipper was over four feet high. Whatever that creature was, it had to be thirty feet long.”
EIGHT
Victor Zim grinned as the prison yard melee started right on schedule. All it took were ten cartons of cigarettes and five bottles of smuggled whiskey that he had given to the Aryan Knights. Five minutes after he left the interrogation with Tyler Locke, Zim had been returned to the yard for the daily morning exercise hour. He’d nodded from his position at the edge of the yard and two members of the Knights threw punches at their counterparts in the Black Cobras and the Mexican Border Disciples. Within seconds, dozens of men were at each others’ throats, distracting the guards from the parachute floating to the ground.
Not wanting to give away the situation, Zim didn’t look up, but he had seen the plane high above as he strolled into the yard and knew exactly where and when the chute would land, controlled by remote adjustments to its cords. Hidden in his palm, Zim held the small laser
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