"Days, Zack. In a few days I'll have captured a legend, and you'll be nothing more than a speed bump on my road to fame and fortune." He turned to his right and waved. "Over here, babe."

My eyes widened as Brandy approached. She was wearing an ebony cocktail dress with a plunging neckline that revealed the swell of her deeply tanned breasts. She moved like she knew she belonged.

"Brandy, you've met my former colleague, Zachary Wallace."

"Aye, though I've smelled him in better days. Did ye get lost on the moors then, Zack?"

My mind searched for a witty retort.

"Maybe."

Brilliant.

Brandy slipped her arm around David's waist, her accent straining to be more American than Scottish. "So, have you heard? David's selected the Nessie III to be the lead vessel in his quest to capture the monster. We'll be spending quite a lot of time together."

The Gael in my blood boiled. "Yeah? Well this time, I hope you're heavily insured."

That one put the fury of the Highlands back in her. "At least I willnae be havin' tae worry about bunkin' down alone at night."

David smirked. "Brandy told me about that whole impotence thing. Geez, Zack, tough break. I can only thank God I don't have that kind of problem." He winked, patting Brandy's buttocks. "If you see the Nessie III rockin', don't come a-knockin."

I leaped for him, fingers splayed, aiming to crush his birdlike windpipe—only I forgot about that cursed velvet rope.

My knees caught and, unable to right my balance beneath the weight of my backpack, I fell face-first to the floor.

David stepped back and laughed. Patrons circled, a few photographers even snapping pictures. Before I could react, I was lifted off the floor by two large security guards and physically escorted out the rear exit.

Loch Ness
12:02 A.M.

The moon was high in the midnight sky, its rays filtered behind a thin veil of cirrus clouds.

Ron Casey stood behind the Wiley's transom, his camera poised atop the Bogen Manfrotto wilderness-style tripod. He rubbed at his eyes, tired after four hours of peering through the Nikon F3HP. Through the 300mm f4.5 telephoto lens, he could still see the dead sheep as it bounded along the surface, several hundred feet off the stern. One end of the heavy-steel cable had been rigged to a cleat located behind the twin engines' mount, the other was attached to their bait. Chuck had slit the animal's belly open just before he'd released it, and in the near- perfect nocturnal light and powerful zoom lens, Casey could just make out what remained of the sheep's floating entrails.

What Chuck and Ron had failed to mention to the Wiley's captain was that the cable was attached to the carcass by a seven-inch steel hook, its barbed end threaded between the sheep's rib cage and out its mouth.

Chad Brager drained the rest of his beer and belched. "So? Still floating?"