Dr. Tidwell handed me a scalpel, and I began cutting through the thick, rubbery flesh, peeling it away until I reached the skull. She took over with an electric saw, making several transverse cuts through the dense bone. Prying open the incisions, she was able to remove the cross sections, exposing the eel's brain.

The small organ, about as narrow as the spinal cord to which it was connected, resembled six hen eggs, set in two rows of three.

Dr. Tidwell pointed to the numerous pustulant brown lesions that covered the creature's brain. "This animal's definitely been exposed to toxins, and judging by the extent of these lesions, it's been over a prolonged period of time."

"How could it have survived?"

"Oh, these Anguilla are hardy animals, able to inhabit fresh and salt water, even in heavily polluted areas. When it comes to injuries of the central nervous system, they have the ability to effect repairs by regenerating axons from cell bodies located in the brain. What concerns me are these lesions here, in the forebrain. They'll have destroyed the eel's traits of initiative and caution."

"Resulting in overly aggressive behavior?"

"Definitely. Considering how nasty this fish is to begin with, I'd say you were lucky to only sustain minor injuries."

"Then, assuming Loch Ness's largest inhabitant was affected by these same lesions—"

"Yes, that might explain why it's been on a rampage of late… assuming, of course, the monster, whatever it is, has a similar nervous systems and was exposed to the same sort of toxins."

She collected a few samples of brain tissue, then bagged the skull. "I have a friend who's a technician at the lab. I'll give her a call, maybe she can get the results back to me within the next few days. Where can I reach you?"

I gave her my hotel and cell phone number. "Mary, I'd appreciate it if you said nothing about this to anyone. There's a political undercurrent that seems to control things in the Highlands, and—"

She nodded. "I won't say a word."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I was weaving in and out of traffic again, this time racing the Harley south on the A82, heading back to Drumnadrochit. Pieces of the Loch Nessie puzzle whirled in my mind like a centrifuge. A solution was forming, but there were still a few important clues missing, and to acquire the next one meant confronting a ghost from my past.

Entering the village, I pulled off the side of the road leading up to Glen Urquhart and the Drumnadrochit Lodge, then phoned True.

"Zack, geezus, lad, where've ye been?"

"I had a little accident last night, but I'm all right. Can you meet me at the Clansman Wharf as soon as possible? I need to speak with your sister."

"Sure, sure, be there in twenty."

Several minutes later, True's pickup truck drove by, accelerating past my hiding place and onto the main highway.