Vostok by Steve Alten Page B

son estimated the guivre at more than twelve meters. Would ye agree this completely different species is probably bigger?”
    “I wouldn’t know.”
    “Whit aboot ye, Dr. Ahmed? Yer a lake specialist.”
    “Yes. But like I said—”
    Two photographers snapped the visitors’ photos.
    “Issac Pringle, nice tae meet ye, Dr. Ahmed. I understand you and Dr. Liao traveled all the way from Antarctica tae be in Loch Ness. That’s quite a journey. When did you find out we had a second monster?”
    “I didn’t know— no comment. Dr. Liao, perhaps we’d better—”
    “Mr. McFarland, is it?”
    “How did you know that?”
    “You’re a guest at the Lair. Records show ye work for Stone Aerospace. With all the drones yer company builds, how would ye go about locating a second monster trapped in Loch Ness?”
    “That depends. How big is Loch Ness?”
    “Twenty-four miles long, a mile wide, and six hundred feet deep. Deeper still in Nessie’s grotto where Zachary Wallace confronted the last monster.”
    “I’m not sure. Underwater drones perhaps.”
    “Dr. Ahmed, I understand your field of expertise involves extinct species. Is there a chance this new species could be a plesiosaur?”
    “None at all. Again, there’s no need for conjecture once your experts perform a proper necropsy on this animal.”
    Angus interjected. “Then a necropsy could help determine the new monster’s species?”
    “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 Scotlandaccount 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. GeorgeMcFarland 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.