Angus finally reached over and slapped my knee, his piercing blue eyes now soft, glistening with tears of pride. "Dragonslayer, that's whit ye are. Never seen anythin' like it. Sir William an' Sir Adam, they'd baith be proud."

"Was it Adam's sword then?"

"Actually, it wis William's, at least accordin' tae my faither's translations o' Adam's diary. Maybe we should go back for it. Be worth its weight in gold."

"It's gone. Washed out to sea with the monster." I turned to Alban. "I tried to save her—"

He held up his hand, caught between coughs. "I'm indebted."

"We'll call it even," I whispered. Then I remembered. "Alban, the Braveheart?"

"Gone, too. Perhaps it's best. These days, we'd only commercialize it, chargin' people tae gaze upon it frae behind layers o' glass. Let it die wi' Nessie."

"Others may come searching."

"No' likely. The Templar own Aldourie Castle. We'll seal the shaft off soon enough."

Angus motioned to the lift. "Go on, the two o' ye, the weight's balanced for thirty stone. True can use yer help draggin' me an' Johnny's remains up after ye."

I helped Alban to his feet. We stepped onto the platform and tugged on the rope, which raised us easily up the shaft to the distant pinpoint of daylight.

My father watched us ascend, then crawled back into the tunnel.

Chapter 36

Raigmore Hospital, Inverness

News of my father's daring escape had gone worldwide by the time the five of us emerged from Aldourie Castle into glorious daylight. Judge Hannam was furious, and many predicted Angus would be the first murderer to swing from a Scottish gallows since twenty-one-year-old Henry Burnett was hanged in Craiginches Prison on August 15, 1963, for shooting his lover's husband.

The irony was lost on no one.

* * *

The "announcement" that Angus would be arriving via ambulance at Raigmore Hospita l within the hour to "prove his innocence" sent the press and sheriff's headquarters scurrying. By the time we turned onto the A9 highway, seven police cars and two helicopters had joined us. People were waving and honking their horns… the whole thing reminded me of O. J. Simpson's escapade in the white Ford Bronco.

Theresa Cialino was at the hospital, surrounded by reporters, when her cousin, James, drove our ambulance through the hospital entrance. We were immediately surrounded by a dozen heavily armed police officers and hordes of media, everyone moving into position as the ambulance's back doors were swung open.

I was the first one out, my head heavily bandaged, my nostrils filled with soot. Nurse Kasa helped my father down from the van, the police immediately shackling his wrists and ankles, as if he were going to escape from this throng.

And then, as the flashes flashed and the cameras whirled, the remains of John Cialino were removed from the ambulance on a gurney, and the lore of the Loch Ness Monster suddenly took on a whole new meaning.