"Dr. Rines has been up and down the Loch a thousand times," Judge Hannam retorted. "No, you were our first choice, Dr. Wallace. If Nessie's really out there, then we're convinced you'll find her."

"And if I refuse? What will you do? Hold me in contempt again? No, I don't think so. See, I may have been born here, but I'm an American citizen now, and my government will have a few things to say to Parliament if the High Court of Inverness jails one of its more prominent scientists just because he refused to search your lake for monsters."

From the judge's dour expression, I knew I had him.

"Now, Lord Hannam, if you don't mind, it's been a bit too real and not much fun, but I need to make some quick flight arrangements if I'm to be back home in Florida by tomorrow night. Hasta la vista."

I made it halfway to the exit before Sheriff Olmstead stopped me. "Lord Hannam?"

The judge thought for a moment. "Dr. Wallace is right, of course. We certainly can't force him to organize our search. For now, we'll just have to allow the researchers to organize themselves, God knows the media attention should draw them to Loch Ness in droves. However, Doctor, bear in mind you're still a witness in a murder trial, which means you can't just leave the country either, at least not until the prosecution's had a chance to cross-examine your testimony. Confiscate his passport, Sheriff, then you can release him."

The bastard took my passport, then showed me the door.

* * *

"I dinnae understand," said True, slogging down his third lager in the last half hour. "Seems tae me they're offerin' ye a chance of a lifetime. Why no' jist dae it?"

I poured another shot down my throat, the burning sensation now a warm friend. "If I tell you, and you repeat this to another living soul, then you and me as best friends …pffftt."

He leaned in with his big shaggy Viking head. "Go on, I'm listenin'."

I pointed to my temple. "Angus was right about one thing. I'm screwed up, right here in the brain. Ever since that Sargasso thing, I can't get near the damn water."

"Meanin'?"

"Meaning? Meaning I'm afraid to get near the water, ya dumb bastard, what the fuck did you think I mean?"

"Why? Whit's wrong wi' the water?"

"Nothing's wrong with the water, ya dullard, I just can't get near it. Jesus, why do ya think I didn't boff your sister Friday night? Outta respect for your whacked-out old man? Geez Louise, give me a little credit."

"Wait a minute… are ye sayin' ye're feart o' the water?"

"Yes, shit-for-brains, yes!" I stood upon my chair, teetering like a drunken fool. "Now hear this! I, Zachary Wallace, marine fucking biologist, son of Angus the drunken murdering bastard, distant cousin to Sir William Wallace the Braveheart, am deathly afraid of the water!"