Vostok by Steve Alten Page A

lights from a police vehicle cut across a campground nestled between the highway and shoreline as Deputy Sheriff Mark Plumley made his way up a steep trail to greet Angus.
    “Ye heard, then? This new monster is a hungry one.”
    “Aye. Who found the remains?”
    “Esther Jacobs. She was walking by the water at sunset when it washed ashore. My brother Chris is takin’ photos of whit’s left. Who’s all this, then?”
    “Scientists. They arrived yesterday on business wit’ Zachary. Mind if they ’ave a look?”
    “Jist watch yer step on the rocks. Lots of blood.”
    Plumley shone his flashlight on the trail that cut through the campsite, leading Angus and his entourage to the shoreline.
    Twenty-two months earlier, an American tourist named Tiani Brueggert had arrived at this very destination with her husband, Joel, and their two teenage daughters. Having spent the day hiking the forest trails, Tiani left her tent late that night to soak her swollen feet in the loch’s frigid waters. While returning to the campsite, she was attacked by an amphibious creature more than forty feet in length. It spread her remains across the clearing like an exploded melon. My father made sure he relayed these gruesome details to his guests on their way down to the water.
    The shoreline was covered in smooth rounded stones. Dark waves lapped beneath a barren pier that extended thirty feet into the loch, the boats stored indoors for the winter.
    Chris Plumley, the assistant fire chief and EMS supervisor in Inverness, was busy positioning battery-powered lanterns around the remains of a European red stag. The buck’s four-foot-long antlers were wedged sideways into the ground, the deer’s head propped at an awkward angle facing the heavens. The animal’s hind quarters were missing, its stomach eviscerated.
    The deputy sheriff shone his light on the wound. “Took it in one bite from below as it crossed the loch. This was a big buck, too. Had to weigh forty to fifty stone.”
    Liao covered her mouth as she stared wide-eyed at the half-eaten elk’s spilled innards. “What could have done this? Surely it had to be the same species as the one discovered by your son?”
    “Ye mean a guivre?” Angus shook his head. “The guivre was amphibious. This creature stays in the water. Ain’t that right, Sheriff Plumley?”
    “Aye. This wasn’t a guivre. Big like a guivre, but no’ a guivre, right, Chris?”
    “Absolutely. If this was a guivre like ol’ Nessie, she would have come ashore tae finish her meal.”
    “Good point,” Angus chimed back. “Whitever this one is, she’s big but stays tae the water. She’s not a threat tae the locals.”
    “Agreed,” the Plumley brothers said.
    Dr. Ahmed attempted to interrupt the mental circle jerk. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but how can you possibly surmise all this without having performed a necropsy?”
    “Performed a whit?”
    “A necropsy. An examination of the elk’s remains in order to determine the cause of death.”
    Angus eyeballed the Pakistani as if he had just cursed the Wallace clan. “Are ye daft? Do ye need a bloody examination tae see that the poor animal got his arse bitten off by a water monster?”
    Before Dr. Ahmed could reply, the scene was invaded by three reporters and two photographers, all of whom seemed to appear out of a fog bank.
    “Another feeding, Deputy Sheriff?”
    “Aye, lad, but I’m no expert. Whit dae ye think, Miss… ?”
    “Liao. Dr. Liao. And, yes, it would appear something large killed this elk.”
    The locals swarmed upon her like bees to honey.
    “Dan Porter,
Inverness Courier
. Assuming a water creature killed this stag, how large would it have tae be to inflict a bite wound this size?”
    “Honestly, I couldn’t say.”
    “Go on, Dr. Liao,” Angus pressed. “Bein’ a proper scientist, I’ll bet ye can provide a proper estimate of this beastie.”
    “I don’t wish to be quoted, Mr. Wallace.”
    “Who’s quoting ye? By the way, my