“Come on. Show yourself, my darling.” Steven Sweeney crouched in front of the monitor and gazed at the tiny screen displaying the feed from his underwater camera. He saw nothing but murky water with flecks of silt suspended in front of the lens. This was proving to be a waste of time. How many nights had he sat here waiting for something, anything, to happen? Too many to count and too much money wasted. “Sorry, Melanie.” The ghost of a smile played across his face as he whispered his ex-wife’s name. “No alimony payment again this month.” Not that she cared. Her new boyfriend was taking better care of her than Sweeney ever had, as she loved to remind him.

Sighing he stepped out of the tent, stretched, and knuckled the small of his back. If anything did appear on-screen, he’d see it later when he reviewed the recordings, though his hopes weren’t high on that score. In any case, he could take no more sitting around. It was time to take an active approach, even if it proved equally fruitless. He strapped on his headlamp, set the light to red, and took a walk along the shoreline.

He’d come to Lake Kaarme with such high hopes. His research had been solid and the tales spun by the locals were consistent enough to encourage him, yet with enough variation that it didn’t sound like a false mythology crafted to draw in tourists. Leave that foolishness to Loch Ness. Of course, Kaarme could hardly be called a tourist town. Three gulps into his first ale at the local pub he’d learned he was the first out-of-towner to visit in weeks. Apparently the occasional tourist bus would pass through, sometimes stop for one night and move on, but not often. He’d overcome the locals’ suspicion of his motives by posing as a professor who collected stories and legends. That usually went over better than ‘cryptid hunter’.

He continued along the shore of the lake, which loomed before him, a dull slate gray beneath on overcast night sky. Somewhere behind the blanket of clouds lurked the full moon. The stories held that this was feeding time for the creature that skulked within the dark waters.

After twenty minutes of walking, he stopped to rest on a rocky shoal. The cold stone sapped warmth from his flesh, but he didn’t care. The feeling of hopelessness made him hot under the collar. As he took deep breaths to restore his calm, he let his head fall. Had he failed again? It certainly looked like it and, if so, his investor would not be pleased. Sweeney had poured so much of his own finances into the project, so sure he’d be able to reclaim it all from the rich benefactor once he had evidence. It was a dangerous game. The man had the power to utterly destroy Sweeney if he wished.

It wasn’t just that he hadn’t yet found the proof he was seeking. The problem was, he hadn’t found anything at all. He’d dug up a few nuggets of information from the town’s odd, white-haired storyteller, and even pried a couple of details from the resident cryptid hunter, or troll hunter as he called himself, who seemed to know what Sweeney was about, but that was it. He buried his face in his hands and let out a small groan. What was he going to do now?

He opened his eyes and scanned the sandy, rock-strewn shore. He sat up straight. There was something about the lay of the land just a few feet away that caught his attention. Heart racing, but afraid to get his hopes up, he stood and took a few tentative steps closer.

Here, the shore had been smoothed out in the shape of a large, shallow bowl. His eyes traced the smooth bottom where stones the size of lemons had been pressed down into the soft ground by something extremely heavy. On the far side, a wide track, more of a scrape, led back into the water.

“Oh my God!”

He’d found a wallow, and a huge one. So big he’d looked right past it. Whatever had left these marks was larger than any creature known to live in the lake. Unable to believe his luck, he pulled out a small Panasonic Lumix digital camera. It was a pocket model, designed for holiday snaps more than anything else, but it would do for now. He’d return to camp, retrieve his Canon 5D, and come back for some serious pictures in the morning. He began to take a series of shots, moving all around, careful not to tread on the marks, taking photos from all angles. Each click felt like money in the bank. Regardless of what happened during the rest of his time here, this would serve as the proof he needed to keep his investor at bay. He might even be able to sell the images to some of the more esoteric publications. Even the online ones would pay for quality photos. There was his contract to circumvent, of course, but he could find a way around it. If nothing else, he’d use a pseudonym.

He paused, thoughts of a bank balance of more than three figures setting his thoughts spinning. He smiled, but it quickly dissolved as the gentle breeze carried a familiar smell, metallic and slightly sweet, to his nostrils. Blood.

He switched his lamp to full beam and looked around until he spotted the source. A deer carcass lay ten paces away. More accurately, a deer head and neck lay in a dark patch on the ground. Sweeney didn’t need to take a closer look to see that it had not been severed cleanly from the body. The flesh was ragged, as if it had been ripped away.

He took a step back, and then another, sudden fear clouding his mind, considering the amount of force that would be required to do such a thing. He mentally scrolled through his list of theories regarding the source of the legend of the lake, and none of them fit the bill. This was interesting.

A sharp chill jerked him out of his moment of panic and he realized with chagrin that he’d stepped back into the water. His flesh tingled from the lake’s chill touch.

“Well, that’s refreshing.”

He didn’t bother to wade back out. As long as he was already wet, he might as well get a few shots of the wallow from this angle, and then move on to the carcass. He raised his camera but lowered it immediately.

He had neither heard nor seen a thing, but felt as though something were suddenly amiss. The cold sensation in his legs climbed to his chest and with it the conviction that he should not be here.

“You’re being a child, Sweeney.”

The sound of his voice in the quiet night gave him a measure of courage. Again he raised the camera and resumed his work.

The sensation hit him again and this time he knew exactly what it was. The water was moving, swirling about his calves. He looked down to see ripples, as if from a boat wake, wash onto the shore and begin to fill the wallow. But what could cause such a disturbance on this calm night? There was no wind. If there were boats, he’d have heard them.

A soft splash behind caused him to whirl around, camera held out in front of him like a shield. Every fiber of his being told him to scream, but the sound was trapped in his throat with his breath. All he saw was a gaping deep red maw, long, curving teeth, and cascading water. And then there was nothing but pain.

Sam Aston checked his watch, wavering sunlight from the surface glinting across its beveled glass. Fifteen minutes before noon. He looked up through the stream of bubbles rising from his respirator and the crystal clear water above him to the shadow of the boat’s hull, floating about a hundred and fifty feet west of his position. Visibility was good to the coral horizon, shimmering the palest blue. It would be hot as hell when he got back up there. If he got back up there.

He shifted position in the narrow wedge of reef, careful not to cut himself. Coral wounds could get infected quicker than a croc could snap its jaws shut. And in the Far North Queensland climate, infections were more dangerous than most anywhere else in Australia. But truthfully, the real threat to Sam Aston right now was the tiger shark circling not twenty feet away. Its bluish skin and white underbelly made it an excellent predator, allowing it to circle above its prey, blending into the sunlit waters just below the surface. This creature’s trademark stripes were faded, marking it as well into adulthood.

It flicked its tail to jet past for the twentieth time. There was no way he could out-swim it to the boat. He might have spent most of his adult life in the water, a marine biologist since university, and he might be in great shape, but not great enough to tussle with a hungry tiger shark. Other predators were around, white and black-tip coral sharks, but they were no threat. And even they kept their distance from the striped killer, which was well known to eat pretty much anything, even its own kind on occasion. And this was a big one. The species could reach sixteen feet and this fine specimen had to be at least twelve feet, which made it twice as long as Aston himself. And his fast-reducing air bubbling upward was keeping it interested. The professional scientist in him couldn’t help but marvel at its beauty, the perfection of its evolution. But the man, the soft, vulnerable, fleshy individual that was Sam Aston, became increasingly concerned.

He looked to the mesh bag hanging from his weight belt and the gold glinting within. It was not unusual for him to supplement his marine biology with a little relic hunting, not to mention the occasional less than mainstream dalliance with nefarious folk. The sciences were his first love, but they paid poorly, and a bit of freelancing helped cover the bills. And just at the moment, he had a few big bills outside the norm, due dates were drawing ever closer, and a violent penalty awaited if he didn’t pay on time.

If he dumped the bag of gold coins he could certainly move faster, but still not fast enough to beat the hungry throwback to prehistory circling above. But perhaps the sovereigns could help in another way. The thought pained him, but better to live poor than die with a fortune clutched in cold fingers. He unhooked the bag. The netting was thin, stainless steel filament designed not to tear and split on coral or rocks. The weave was fine enough to keep the coins in, but wide enough to let water flow freely so the bag didn’t billow and drag. He hefted it in one hand and drew his calf-strapped knife with the other. He only had four minutes of air left. Now or never.

Holding the glittering bag in front of himself, he kicked up from the narrow gap as the shark passed by. Paddling furiously backwards, his long fins dragged hard on the water. He held the bag in two hands, his knife gripped firmly against it. As the tiger shark switched and shot forward, Aston drove the bag of coins hard at its face. The temporary shield wedged deep against the back of the shark’s jawbone and its many rows of sharp needle teeth in their swollen pink gums slammed down on the sack of metal. Aston felt his entire body wrenched as the beast thrashed its head from side to side, thinking to rend its victim’s flesh. But its prey was hard and inert coin. Its jaw worked up and down with relentless vigor, and the netting of the bag hooked inside its maw. Aston’s shining prize temporarily gagged the beast.

He struck hard with his knife, slicing the creature’s snout just below its eye. Even though it wanted him for dinner, he was reluctant to kill the endangered animal. Besides, he was not entirely sure he could inflict damage accurately enough through the predator’s tough hide to do it in, and he didn’t have time to line up a good killing blow.

As the shark flinched away from the sudden pain, twisting its head about in a convulsive attempt to spit out the blockage entangling its teeth, Aston turned over and swam hard for his boat. Halfway there he chanced a glimpse back and winced at the sight of golden rain falling through clear water down to the white sand below, the bag finally giving in to the shark’s powerful jaws. The tiger flicked its tail and burst forth through a cloud of blood, locked on like a missile to Aston’s trail.

Heart hammering, Aston kicked vigorously and clawed through the tropical sea. The current fought against him, pushing him back toward certain death. A moment of fear swept over him as he considered that these might be his last moments on Earth, and then his hand struck something solid. He grabbed the dive platform at the back of his boat and hauled himself up. Something snatched his leg, yanking down with such force that he felt it all the way up to his hip, and dragged him back into the water. He had only a moment to cry out in alarm, and then he was free. He spat out his regulator and scrambled up again, one fin lost to the carnivorous hunter below. He frantically checked his leg and counted his toes. The bastard had only got a mouthful of rubber. That was about as close as he ever wanted to come.

With the threat of mortal peril in his rear view mirror, he spared a moment to consider what he’d lost, remembering the coins falling like golden petals. It had taken him months to locate the sight of the downed aircraft and eventually recover the cargo nobody believed existed. Organized crime proceeds lost to the deep. All his tips and searching had finally paid off. But only for a few moments.

Aston had kept one foot in the seedy underworld of Australia’s less than lawful citizenry since he was a teenager. Even as he made a name for himself through university and then on some of the country’s leading scientific endeavors, he had always enjoyed a disreputable, secret second life. But that life came with its own risks and he’d had the answer to all his problems in his hand only to have to feed it to a goddamned shark in order to survive. There was something analogous to life in general in that snapshot of Sam Aston’s existence.

He supposed he could always come back another time and try to collect the scattered coins, but even now the tides would be sifting soft white sand to hide them. He might never find the exact spot again, but he would most certainly try. He wasn’t giving up thirty thousand dollars’ worth of gold sovereigns that easily.

With thoughts of his dire financial straits filling his mind, he began weighing the possibility of making an immediate, reckless attempt at recovering the treasure right then when a distant sound caught his attention. The rumble of an engine approaching carried across the glassy ocean. On the horizon, a sleek boat hoved directly toward him.

Had Chang’s people tracked him down already? Debt collectors, especially those who worked for people like Chang, were resourceful and relentless.

He climbed into the berth and shucked off his tank harness and remaining fin, then slipped a cap over his sandy hair to shield his eyes. The pilot pulled the boat up alongside Aston’s craft and killed the engine. Two men were on board. One waited at the wheel while the other moved to the side. Both were dressed like typical boaters out for a pleasure ride. They certainly didn’t look like the sort of men Chang would employ, but Aston wasn’t banking on stereotypes.

“Tell him I’m getting his money,” he called out, pre-empting the situation. “There’s no need for this sustained harassment. It’s only keeping me from working and earning.”

“What money?” The man on the passenger side tilted his head a notch, dark hair moving over a strong, clean-shaven face. And his navy blue polo-style shirt and khaki cargo pants looked like they’d been starched to military standard. Or bought fresh from a high street store that morning. He had a strong American accent with the nasal twang of the Northeast. Boston or New York, perhaps. Aston could never tell the two apart.

“You’re not Chang’s debt-collectors then?” he asked.

The man took off his sunglasses and swiped the back of his forearm across his sweaty brow. “I don’t know any Chang and I’m not here to collect a debt. In fact, I’ve got a job offer for you.”

“Is that right?” Aston seriously doubted the man had anything worthwhile to offer.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t have the opportunity to extend the proposal. You’re a hard man to track down.”

Aston grinned crookedly. “And yet you found me out here in the middle of the bloody sea.”

The man nodded. “My name’s Greg. I represent a businessman by the name of Ellis Holloway. Have you heard of him?”

Aston frowned, trying to recall why the name was familiar. “Holloway? Oh, he’s that lunatic who mounted the failed Sasquatch hunt last year. Made all the papers for a little while.”

Greg shook his head. “The papers made him out to be a bit of a nut job, but he’s actually a smart guy, Mister Aston. And a very wealthy one, too. He’s a successful entrepreneur who built his own multi-billion dollar fortune from scratch.”

Aston had no interest in the guy’s life story. “If you say so. What does that have to do with me?”

“Mister Holloway is putting together a team of experts for a new venture and he really wants your help. Your reputation is global, you know.”

Aston grimaced. “Not always for the best reasons.”

“Maybe so. But Mister Holloway wants to buy your expertise for a while and he’s willing to pay you well for your efforts.”

“I don’t know, man…”

Greg held up an envelope. “In here are some details and a letter from Mister Holloway himself. The letter, in part, promises you a base payment of twenty five grand, US, for your services, payable upon completion of stage one of the enterprise. And that’s only the beginning. Plus all expenses paid from day one, of course.”

“Of course.” Aston looked down into the water, and watched the large shadow of the tiger shark cruise by again, down near the sand. He imagined scouring the seabed for coins, keeping one eye out for that predator. He looked up, eyes narrowed. “Twenty five grand, eh?”

Greg smiled, probably knowing that if he hadn’t yet hooked his prey, he at least had Aston nibbling at the bait. “First payment. More to come.”

Aston moved to the gunwale, leaned over, and held out a hand. “Let me have a look at that letter.”

Aston moored up and strolled slowly along the pier toward the Pacific View Restaurant & Bar. The late afternoon sun cast the rustic venue in a deep, golden glow, lending it an undeserved dignity. It wasn’t a bad little place at all; it just wasn’t for the sorts of fellow who walked around with a wad of cash in his pocket and a stick up his arse. Right now, neither applied to Aston. The cool, salty breezed ruffled his hair, but was no balm to his ire.

He needed a cold beer and time to think. He’d told Holloway’s messengers to leave him alone, refusing to be pressured into anything. They’d pressed a business card featuring nothing but a cell phone number into his hand, assured him they knew they’d be hearing from him shortly, and motored away. Their confidence irritated him. He hated to do anything people told him, or expected him, to do. That was always his way and had often worked to his detriment, but considering his current predicament, perhaps a change of course was in order. He was a grown up and could take his time making a decision. He’d read the letter once on his boat and wanted time for its contents to sink in.

“G’day, Sam. Usual?” Kylie, the bartender, greeted him with a warm smile and a mischievous twinkle in her eye. She was all tanned skin, long blonde hair and never wore more than shorts and a bikini top. How Aston loved Far North Queensland. She was smart and funny too, and they’d fooled around a few times when he was in town.

He flicked a grin her way and nodded. “You busy tonight?”

She put a glass of Cooper’s Pale Ale on the sticky wooden bar, cool beads of condensation already forming on its smooth surface. “You know how it is,” she said, flipping her wrist in a loose gesture.

“What time are you finishing?” Aston hooded his eyes a little, confident in his skills as a player, especially with a girl who already liked him.

Kylie laughed and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. “Why don’t you stick around and have a few beers and see what happens? Who knows what time we’ll close. Midweek, so it’s not likely to be late.”

He lifted his glass and toasted her. “I just might have to do that.”

She winked and turned to serve an elderly couple, obviously tourists, who had wandered up. He spared a moment to admire her in profile before turning his attention to his ale, taking a long, slow drink of the rich, frothy brew, letting it slake his thirst and praying it would calm his nerves. “It’s going to take more than one of these,” he muttered.

He turned and strolled across the shiny floorboards, past crude tables consisting of plywood circles nailed to the top of old wooden kegs. Fishing nets with plastic crabs and fish entangled in their strands draped the walls in sagging arcs like holiday bunting. Stiff-looking stuffed gulls perched here and there on wooden pommels, some sticking out at absurd angles from the ceiling support columns. A jukebox in the corner crooned the Whitlams’ distant hit single, ‘No Aphrodisiac’. Aston hated the maudlin whine of it, yet it seemed to persist through the years. Some songs were musical herpes; every time you thought they’d finally gone away, they flared up again.

He found a table under a lazily turning fan, hopeful for at least some relief from the close humidity. One day this place would get air-conditioning. Then again, they’d only had a sealed parking lot for the last year, so he didn’t expect much any time soon. The further north you went, the deeper into the past you traveled.

He took out the letter again and scanned through the salient points: Discovery of a prehistoric lake creature in Finland. Holloway sinking millions into tracking it down, all kinds of solid leads. A TV crew on standby to make sure everything got recorded for the world to see. Guaranteed fortune for all involved.

He grimaced, shook his head, and took another drink. He sorely needed the money, but it all sounded too ridiculous to be possible.

But there was that twenty five grand down payment and a trip to Scandinavia regardless of whatever else happened. Aston tried to think of other ways he could settle his immoral debts with Chang and, while there were plenty of options, none were as clean cut as this. Aston was a man with many fingers in many pies. The sovereigns had been a gift, but they weren’t his only out; he had several other interests underway in Australia. Could he really afford to abandon everything for the sake of one wild goose chase, even with a good down payment? Would he become a laughing stock in his chosen profession just for entertaining a loony like Holloway? Plus he was booked for an expedition with the CSIRO in three weeks’ time. That was government-funded, proper scientific research on Orca in the seas off South Australia. It was a golden opportunity, even if it didn’t pay brilliantly. No, he certainly couldn’t give that up. And with all the other bits and pieces going on in his life, some of which he could follow up right away, he would be happy to tell Holloway to find another sucker.

That only meant he had to evade Chang’s heavies for another few weeks while he collected on those alternative sources of income. He just needed a little more time. It would all contribute to keeping his life interesting, which suited Aston; he was a man who bored easily.

He screwed the letter up and jammed it into his satchel, drained the last of his ale, and stood to go see Kylie for another when a voice said, “Mister Samuel Aston.”

The Chinese accent made his blood run cold. He turned slowly to see three men standing right inside the door. Tension ratcheted up as silence descended. The handful of patrons — locals and tourists alike — all turned to watch. The old couple at the bar hurried away to the safety of the bistro out the back.

“Can I help you guys?” Aston said, trying for bravado that sounded anything but.

The man in the middle of the three, a tall, lean fellow with his head shaved almost bald, took a step forward. “Mister Chang is not very happy. We’ve come a long way to find you.”

Aston kept moving until he reached the bar, frustrated they had tracked him down so quickly. This was becoming a trend.

“Please, don’t bring trouble in here,” Kylie whispered. “Shall I call the police?”

“No time,” Aston said. Local law could take hours to get to this out of the way boondock and he knew these guys weren’t going to hang around. Typically, rural police did more follow-up than actual crime prevention.

How the hell had Chang tracked him all the way up here? He frowned. Holloway’s goons had found him too. His mind raced, thinking about where he might have used credit cards, been spotted on CCTV, spoken to the wrong person. It was safe to assume Holloway and Chang both had methods well beyond those of regular people. They were the kind of men who were used to getting what they wanted, with the wealth to make things happen.

“Tell Chang I’ll have his money in a couple of weeks.”

The tall man shook his head. “He was supposed to have it several weeks ago, Mister Aston. We have very strict instructions to return with either the money, or you.”

Aston ground his teeth. It looked like loony Holloway was going to get his way, because there was no chance Aston was going anywhere with these hoods. He found the business card with the cell phone number in his pocket. “Just let me pay for my drinks and I’ll be with you,” he said to the heavies.

He took his eyes off them for a moment and gave Kylie his most imploring gaze. “Ring this number. I need them here now.”

He slid a ten dollar note over the bar with the number tucked under it. Kylie, wide-eyed, took the money and nodded once. She turned to the till and reached for the phone beside it.

Aston took a deep breath. Okay then. Here we go.

The three men had moved farther into the small bar and stood arrayed in front of the door, blocking his exit. He could turn tail and run through the bistro and out the back, or out the kitchen door if he doglegged that way. Behind him stood a large veranda overlooking remnant rainforest, the glittering ocean, and the small dock where he’d moored his rented boat just visible to the south. He could bolt that way and take a flying leap, but it was a ten foot drop to the ground, and the fall could result in a twisted ankle or worse. Besides, he needed to buy Kylie time and give the cavalry a chance to arrive.

Plastering on a wide grin he walked toward the three goons. Basic multiple opponent rules applied: make space so they can’t all hit you at once. As he got close he reached out one hand as if to shake with the guy in the center. As that man frowned and looked quizzically at Aston’s outstretched palm, the marine biologist burst into action. He surged forward, slamming two fists into the center thug’s chest. The man cried out in surprise more than pain, and staggered backward, tripping over his own feet and sitting heavily on his arse.

His partners ground into action, but Aston was already moving. He spun to his left, grabbed a chair as he went, and swung it into the face of the goon on one side. That one brought both arms up to protect his head and the chair cracked into his bones. Unlike the movies, the chair didn’t break, and the thug was knocked backwards, howling in pain. Still with his makeshift weapon in one hand, Aston lofted out a kick at the third debt collector as the man rushed him. The kick caught him square between the legs. The poor bastard folded up like a scared sea anemone and fell gasping to the floorboards.

Aston couldn’t believe his luck. But already the first man was regaining his feet and there was no time to celebrate. He swept the chair up and over high and brought it down on the center goon’s head, crumpling him back to the floor. He had no chance to enjoy that victory either, as the guy he’d previously hit with the chair had already leapt up. As Aston turned to face him all he saw was a fist and stars exploded everywhere. His vision tunneled in and his legs turned to rubber. Sound drained away to a distant whine.

“Ah, fuck it,” Aston slurred as he stumbled and felt something else hit ribs. The pain was distant and strange.

Close, he thought. I nearly had ‘em! Three of ‘em!

A sharp clang! rang in his ears and the follow-up blows he’d expected didn’t come. His vision swam partially back and Kylie stood there, a blonde goddess with a metal tray bent in half held in one hand. “Go, you bloody idiot!” she said. “I called the police anyway, but I think your friends just pulled up outside.”

Aston grinned crookedly, feeling nauseated but elated. “I bloody love you!” he said. “Hey, see that my rental boat gets returned?”

“Sure.”

He climbed to his feet, wobbling dangerously. “Rain check on that date, yeah?”

She shook her head and blew him a kiss. As he staggered for the door she swung a kick into the jaw of the unfortunate tray victim to keep him down. The middle guy was out cold and the third was still curled up around his devastated scrotum. A couple of guys from the corner seemed to suddenly gain some courage now the goons were down and came to Kylie’s aid to watch over them.

Aston blew her a kiss back and fell out into the blistering sun. He could hear distant sirens. Typical they should come right away when any other time he’d be lucky if they arrived the same day. But a dust-covered silver Lexus slid to a stop right in front of the building. The man in the sharply-pressed shorts and polo shirt looked out with one eyebrow raised.

“I decided to accept Mister Holloway’s offer,” Aston grunted, struggling to ignore the screaming pain in his ribs and the pulse of pressure in his head. His jaw ached.

“We knew you would,” the man called Greg said. “We’ve been waiting for your call.”

Aston didn’t reply. He was too busy fighting off the urge to collapse.

The back door of the Lexus swung open. He clambered in, felt the cool rush of the air conditioner, slammed the door, and then gave in to the urge after all.

Aston donned sunglasses before stepping from the jetway into Helsinki airport. The lights weren’t particularly bright, but more than twenty-four hours of travel and a few too many stiff drinks had rendered his eyes sensitive to light. Not to mention the throbbing echo of the goon’s heavy punches. Someone behind him began talking loudly into a cell phone and he added sound to the list of things he currently hated. What a freaking day. Under a different set of circumstances, he might have tried to get to know the curvy and flirtatious stewardess a little better, but he’d been feeling too sorry for himself and completely ignored her overtures. It was a shame. She’d made her interest clear. Two fine opportunities lost in one long day. Chang had a lot to answer for. Aston decided there and then that once this debt was paid, he would do everything to avoid any dealings with that bastard again. And he immediately wondered how likely he was to keep that promise to himself. He was nothing if not self-aware.

A limo driver holding a hand-written sign that read ‘Sam Afton’ waited for him in baggage claim. He didn’t care enough to correct the guy, and followed him out to the waiting vehicle. The blast of hot summer air and choking exhaust turned his stomach as he stumbled to the sleek black Mercedes, a standard four-door model. He ignored the driver’s heavily-accented prattle, and slid into the invitingly dim interior and the cool embrace of its air-conditioning, running full-blast.

He took in the leather seats and tinted windows. It was certainly roomier and far more luxurious even than his first-class airline seat. He wondered if this was the way all of Holloway’s guests traveled, or if the man was going out of his way to make an impression.

The driver slid behind the wheel, met Aston’s eye in the mirror, and grinned. “Anything you need before we go, sir?”

“I don’t suppose you have any bourbon?” Hair of the dog. Couldn’t hurt.

The driver shook his head. “Mister Holloway said no alcohol.” He managed an apologetic smile. “Bottled water?”

“Forget it.” Aston closed his eyes and laid his head back as the driver pulled away from the curb. “How far is it from the airport to where we’re going?” Maybe he’d be able to catch some shut-eye on the way.

“Not far at all. Mister Holloway is waiting to greet you.”

Aston suppressed a groan. “What sort of a guy is he?”

“Good man.”

Aston opened his eyes and stared daggers through his sunglasses at the driver. “Can you be more specific? What’s he like? Is he eccentric? Flighty? Into weird stuff?”

“He smiles a lot. He pays me on time and my check always clears.” The driver shrugged and flashed another contrite smile.

“Useless,” Aston muttered. “Am I your only passenger today or have you picked up anyone else for Holloway?”

The driver’s face clouded. “I’m to pick you up and take you to Mister Holloway. That is what he asked me to do.” He grimaced. “I can close the partition if you would like some privacy.”

The message couldn’t have been clearer. Stop asking questions.

“Suit yourself.” Immediately a tinted window rose between the driver and Aston. The bloke must have had his finger hovering over the switch.

“Press the Intercom button if you need me,” the driver said through the narrowing gap. “We will be there very soon.”

Aston had no intention of chatting any more. He supposed he shouldn’t fault the man for doing his job, but he wasn’t in the mood for compassion. He opened the tiny mini-fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and downed half of it in a few gulps. His stomach kicked back, but settled quickly. He finished off the bottle and discovered he actually felt a bit better. He grabbed another bottle, took out his iPad, and called up a web browser.

A search for Ellis Holloway turned up the usual results: articles related to Holloway’s business dealings, a couple of interviews, also business-related, a discussion of his interest in exotic animals, and one photo gallery of the man’s New York City apartment. It wasn’t until he reached the ninth page of results that he turned up something interesting.

In an article titled ‘Billionaire Bigfoot Hunter’, a writer for a celebrity gossip website briefly recounted Holloway’s interest in what the article termed ‘unusual creatures’ and hinted at a zeal that bordered on the unhealthy. The article was light on quotes and heavy on innuendo, but cited as a source an Internet forum called ‘Cryptomyth’.

Aston surfed to the site, which was filled with the usual sorts of things that interested conspiracy theorists and their ilk: aliens, ancient mysteries, and legendary monsters. A quick search turned up dozens of hits on Holloway. He only had time to check out a few, but they painted a picture of a true believer who was desperate to prove the existence of creatures like Nessie, Bigfoot, and the Yeti. Rumor had it, in addition to the failed Sasquatch expedition that made the papers when a jeep carrying four crew members went off a cliff somewhere in the Rocky Mountains, Holloway had also mounted failed expeditions to find Atlantis, the Ark of the Covenant, and the remains of Amelia Earhart.

The limo slowed and pulled into the entrance of the Manhattan Hotel, a thirty-plus story steel-and-glass monument to opulence and excess. Aston returned his iPad to its bag and took a long drink of water. What did he care if Holloway were a monster nut? Aston was in this for the money, and the guy clearly had plenty of it.

A burly Latino man with a shaved head, cauliflower ears, and slightly crooked nose, greeted Aston on the curb, his thuggish appearance at odds with his Rolex watch and finely tailored Armani suit. “Mister Aston, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Joaquin, Mister Holloway’s personal assistant. I’ll take your bag and escort you to up the suite.” He accepted Aston’s suitcase from the driver, carrying it as if it were a child’s toy, light and tiny in his massive grip.

“No need to tip your driver,” Joaquin said. “He’s on staff and Mister Holloway takes very good care of those in his employ.” The big man locked eyes with Aston just long enough to imply, ‘And he’ll take good care of you too if you play ball.’

Aston nodded dumbly. He’d had no intention of tipping and had to remind himself of the American obsession with the idea. Good to know he wouldn’t offend anyone if Holloway insisted on everyone avoiding the practice.

Joaquin smiled and nodded to the limo driver before leading the way to the elevator and up to Holloway’s suite on the eleventh floor.

“Bloody hell!” Aston said as he stepped through the door. He thought he knew what a fancy hotel room looked like, but he was wrong.

“They call it the Presidential Suite.” Joaquin closed the door behind them. “It’s far from the largest we’ve ever stayed in, but it’s respectable. Almost two thousand square feet with a dining room, home theater, butler’s pantry, and bedrooms. Not bad for a brief stay.”

“If by ‘not bad’ you mean ‘larger than any place I’ve ever lived’, then I’d say you’re right.”

Joaquin set Aston’s bag by the door. “You’ll be staying on a different floor tonight. I’ll have your things delivered after you meet Mister Holloway.”

Ellis Holloway and two others sat at a large dining room table, enjoying drinks and conversation. Aston recognized him immediately from the photos he’d seen online. The billionaire was a tall, broad-shouldered man with receding brown hair and a neatly-trimmed beard and mustache. Unlike his assistant, he wore a button-down khaki shirt, brown pants, and scuffed lace-up boots. Aston couldn’t help but wonder if a fedora and bullwhip lay somewhere nearby.

“So the shopkeeper points to this big jar on the counter filled with green liquid and what looks like giant toes,” Holloway was saying to the others. “So I say to him, ‘Not a pig’s foot, I’m looking for Bigfoot.’”

The slender, dark-haired woman seated next to Holloway laughed heartily and laid a hand on the billionaire’s arm. “What did he say?”

“He said, ‘I heard you, Mister, but this is a store and information ain’t free. Now, are you gonna buy a pig’s foot or am I going to have ask you nicely to leave?’”

Everyone laughed, including Aston and Joaquin. It was then that Holloway noticed them, and he sprang to his feet and hurried over.

“Sam Aston. I’m so glad you’re here. Your reputation precedes you.” He sealed the greeting with a firm handshake. His callused hand and strong grip said he was more than a soft corporate type. “Have a seat,” Holloway urged. “Can we get you anything?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

The table seated eight, and Aston took the chair farthest from the others.

“Let me introduce you to the team. You’ve met Joaquin. He’s my right-hand man and he’ll be joining us. This,” he pointed to the woman on his left, “is Joanne Slater.”

Slater smiled. “My parents call me Jo, but everyone else sticks with Slater. Dealer’s choice.”

“Works for me.” Aston knew the woman by reputation. She hosted a television program on one of the high-number cable channels. He’d caught some episodes online in the past. Each week, they went off in search of some myth or legend. Not surprisingly, they never found anything, though every so-called ‘clue’ they uncovered was treated like the Holy Grail. Aston figured the only things keeping the show on the air were Slater’s curves, which the producers placed on full display as often as possible. “Is your show covering the expedition?”

“Not exactly. I’ve assembled my own crew and we’ll be filming everything. Depending on how much material we gather, it’ll either be a television special or a full series. We’ll see.”

Aston didn’t bother to hide his scowl. He had no desire to be on television, especially not with this vapid woman. Nor did he care to be associated with her so-called investigations.

“And this is Alvar Laine.” Holloway nodded at the man on his right. “He’s a cryptozoologist and a native of the area in which we’ll be working. He knows more about the background of this project than anyone.”

A brief smile creased Laine’s weathered face. He looked to be in his forties, dressed in jeans, a turtleneck, and a battered army jacket. “Don’t worry. You’re the lead scientist on the expedition,” he said to Aston. He smiled and dragged a hand back over thinning blond hair. He must have seen something in Aston’s eyes because he hurried on. “The only scientist, in fact, but I assure you I take what I do seriously and my work is grounded in a firm sense of skepticism.”

Holloway nodded and rubbed his hands together.

“Well, now that we’ve all gotten to know each other, let’s begin.”

Holloway led the team into the home theater, a room in itself bigger than Aston’s current apartment. They sat in the front row and were still ten feet from the screen. Aston sighed. A cryptozoologist, a crazy cable TV host, Holloway himself, and legends of a prehistoric lake monster according to the original letter. What a farce. He felt like the dog at a cat orgy. He was a scientist, not a nutcase, and wondered how quickly he could fulfill his role and take his money and run. Hopefully he could do it with whatever professional reputation he held onto still intact.

Holloway produced a remote control with a flourish, cleared his throat, and beamed at his assembled team. “So,” he said, clearly enjoying his audience. “Prepare yourselves to be amazed. Drum roll please?” He grinned, but it faded when the others showed no overt signs of sharing in his enthusiasm. His smile crept back a little as he said, “Skeptical? Just wait and you’ll see.”

Joaquin opened the door behind them, light flooding in from the suite. “You ordered room service, boss?”

“Sure did. Bring it in.”

A low rattle rose behind them as a hotel employee wheeled in a heavily-laden trolley. How much food did the man think they were going to eat? Holloway instructed the woman to leave it and gestured to his party. “Help yourselves, please.”

Aston glanced over the mixed fruit platter, fresh prawns, bread rolls, variety of desserts, and shook his head. “I’m all right, thanks.” He didn’t trust his stomach yet.

Slater took a piece of watermelon and nibbled at it. She had nice lips and a delicate way about her that made her one of those women who could lend a touch of sensuality to the simple act of consuming food. Aston looked away, not wanting to get caught staring. She was a fellow passenger in this clown car, and surely Holloway wouldn’t have hired her if she didn’t have something of value to offer. He returned his attention to their new boss and waited.

“Please, everyone, don’t be shy. Help yourselves.” Holloway smiled weakly, a little disappointed, it seemed, that people weren’t more impressed with his generosity. Aston was glad the others in the room weren’t buying into the billionaire’s ostentatious displays any more than he was. “Okay then,” he said. “I guess I’ll have to whet your appetite with my tantalizing presentation. Let’s begin.”

He clicked the remote and a bird’s eye image of a huge, dark lake appeared on the giant screen. “This is Lake Kaarme, in central eastern Finland,” he said proudly, as if it were his own property. Maybe it was, for all Aston knew. Holloway clicked again and the image began to move, clearly shot from a light plane or helicopter passing low over the water. It was a vast expanse, edged all around with thick pine trees, and dotted here and there with tiny islands, equally forested. The shore cut back and forth, making wide beaches and narrow coves. Rolling hills and shallow valleys surrounded the lake on all sides, and stretched away for as far as the camera’s eye could see.

“It’s gorgeous,” Slater breathed. “I wouldn’t mind taking a little vacation there once the job is done.”

Aston had to agree. It was an impressive sight, and far bigger than any other lake he’d seen. “It’s massive, almost an inland sea.”

Holloway nodded emphatically. “And very deep in places. It could be home to anything!”

Aston resisted the urge to snort in derision. “We’ll have to see about that.” He doubted the place was home to more than mud and fish.

Holloway turned to the Finnish cryptozoologist. “Mister Laine, would you be so kind as to give us an overview of the local legends while we view the presentation.”

Laine cleared his throat. “All right, I can give you a few. Understand, there’s a strong storytelling tradition in this region.” His accent was soft and pleasant to the ear. “Any place like this attracts folklore, of course, but our lake seems to get more than its fair share.

“For as long as anyone can remember, there are stories of sightings. Some huge beast, spotted in the gloom of twilight or dawn, never really seen clearly. People have gone missing regularly. Every town loses people, whether they move away and don’t tell anyone or get abducted, or hike a trail and die of exposure. There are a thousand ways and more to die, and people go inexplicably missing all the time. But our town has a higher number, per capita, of disappearances than anywhere else in Finland. It’s not really a statistic of which to be proud, of course.” He gave a nervous laugh and then went on.

“An old man once told me the story of how he’d watched a beast the size of a bus, covered in grey skin and with a mouth filled with razor fangs, burst from the lake one evening and snatch his dog right from the water’s edge as the hound was taking a drink. He said he ran away in panic and would never go near the water again. It swallowed his pet whole, the man said, and his was a big dog. He was true to his word, refused to ever go near the lake. He moved first to the far side of town and finally left altogether. And he was a local, born and raised. The kind of person you would never expect to abandon his hometown. Old school, you know?”

“Liked a drink or two, did he?” Sam asked. There were a host of natural phenomena in a place like Lake Kaarme that could fool even a sober eyewitness. Add in a few stiff drinks and you had an explanation for a great many ‘monster’ sightings.

Alvar Laine turned a hard eye on him. “Most people enjoy a drink. That doesn’t make them liars.”

Aston held up a hand in apology. “Just asking. I’m a scientist and I believe in being thorough. No offense intended. Carry on.”

“There have regularly been unexplained animal carcasses, or bits and pieces of them, found on the lake shore. More than once I’ve come across such things. Once just a single deer leg, seemingly torn off the body. Another time I found a reindeer hind quarters, the creature taken in half right in front of the pelvis. Imagine the size of a reindeer and think what might be able to create remains like that. The wound was ragged, but the bones were sheared right through.”

Aston narrowed his eyes, reluctant to suggest Laine himself might be a drunk or a liar, but that story certainly raised a number of questions difficult to answer.

“Suffice to say,” Laine went on, “that while any place like this breeds myth, ours seems to breed far more. And they all have a thread of consistency you might not expect. Many of us have seen the kind of evidence I’ve just described. I’m not some lone crazy person.” Laine caught Aston’s still skeptical frown and continued, his tone softer and his head hanging a bit. The wind was a little gone from his sails. “I can introduce you to a dozen people in town who all claim to have glimpsed the beast itself, and their accounts are strangely similar.”

“Any chance they compared notes?” Slater asked.

Laine gave his head a noncommittal side-to-side bob. “In some cases, it’s possible, but why would they? No one has anything to gain from foisting a false legend on the community. And in several instances, the person with whom I spoke swore they had never told their tale to anyone but me.”

Silence descended as they watched the footage of the flyover. Aston’s frown remained, annoyed that they really were on a giant bug hunt. Why couldn’t the billionaire have employed him for some genuinely useful scientific research?

“We are looking for a lake monster,” Holloway said. “And I’m fairly convinced we’re going to find it.”

“Why?” Aston asked. “People have been mounting expeditions searching for Nessie for decades and they’ve never succeeded. Almost certainly because there’s no such damn thing! Why is this any different?”

“Just bear with me.” Holloway clicked the remote again and scans of newspaper articles began to cycle past.

Aston couldn’t read the Finnish, but the pictures and multitude of exclamation points made it pretty obvious Holloway considered this tabloid nonsense some kind of proof. How long would the old man persist with his foolishness? Aston supposed the least he could do was play along for a little while and take some of the fool’s money.

“Aston does have a point,” Slater said, and she went up in Aston’s estimation immediately. “I mean, even if there were a monster, how would you find it? This lake looks much bigger than Loch Ness and the primary reason Nessie has never been found is because Loch Ness is such a difficult place to search. It’s large, deep, and the water is extremely murky.” And with that, just as quickly as she’d risen, she dipped in Aston’s estimation once more.

“This lake is indeed much bigger,” Holloway said. “And in a more remote area, which makes it a far better candidate than any other lake I’ve ever investigated to be home to something we would never find elsewhere in the world. There’s hilly terrain all around, and at least some caves that we know of, though we suspect there could be many more subterranean passages in the area, including some underwater channels where a beast could make its home. That won’t make the creature easy to find by any stretch, but it does increase the likelihood that something resides there undiscovered.”

“But why would this place, regardless of size, be any more likely to house a Nessie or goddamned Ogopogo than anywhere else?” Aston asked, his voice rising with his frustration. “There’s no proof. No evidence beyond the same sorts of myths and legends that surround every lake monster, everywhere else in the world.” He turned to Slater. “It’s not because Loch Ness is a big peat-filled expanse that they’ve never found Nessie. It’s because it’s just another of the bullshit stories people love to tell!”

Holloway smiled, pausing to let Aston’s words hang in the air. As Aston drew breath to protest further, the billionaire said, “In our case, we do have proof.”

“Actual proof?” Aston scoffed. “Beyond the drunken legends of the townsfolk?” He looked at Alvar Laine. “No offence.”

The Finn shrugged; chose not to reply.

“I sent a hunter to this lake last year,” Holloway said. He clicked the remote again and a mugshot of a sensible-looking fellow appeared. Aston realized that Holloway had anticipated the course this meeting would take and had constructed his slideshow to account for that. The marine biologist was annoyed he had played his role perfectly for the rich lunatic.

“The man’s name was Sweeney and, honestly, he spent weeks out there and turned up nothing of any real interest. I was about to give up and stop pouring money into the endeavor when he stopped communicating entirely.”

“What happened to him?” Slater asked.

“He died, presumably. But his body was never found. And before you protest that he simply ran away, consider this. Wherever he might have gone, he left everything behind. Camping gear, research equipment, personal effects, all still there. Since a lot of the equipment he was using belonged to me, and was labeled as such, the authorities eventually contacted me.” Holloway paused. Aston had the sense it was for effect.

“Do you think he saw something that scared him and he bugged out?” Slater asked.

Holloway shrugged. “That’s one theory. In any case, most of his research was useless, except for a digital camera, found a little way up the shore from his last camp. Here are the final photos he took.”

Click.

A photograph appeared of an indentation in the earth by the lake shore.

“What is that?” Slater asked.

“It’s a wallow.” Aston leaned forward, heart racing. His skepticism had just taken a huge kick in the gut. Using the nearby trees as a source of scale, he leaned closer still. “A massive wallow. I’ve never seen one that size before.”

Holloway nodded. The grin Aston caught from the corner of his eye was infuriating, but he couldn’t take his gaze from the screen. Was it really possible? Of course, something like that was relatively easily faked, but he chose to keep that fact to himself for the moment.

Click.

Another shot of the wallow, from a different angle.

“And there is no known creature in the lake that could make that impression,” Laine added.

As Aston stared, Holloway clicked through more pictures of the wallow, the surrounding area, a section of mud and stone that showed clear evidence something huge had been dragged through it. Holloway was clearly enjoying Aston’s interest.

“And then there’s Sweeney’s final picture,” Holloway said, almost a whisper.

Click.

The shot was blurry, as if the camera, the subject, or both had been moving when the photo was snapped. But there was no mistaking what filled the screen: a huge row of razor-sharp teeth.

Aston leaned against the starboard rail and watched the dark water slide past, the boat sending frothy waves out across its smooth surface. A crisp morning breeze ruffled his hair and the sun danced on that water, a striking counterpoint to his dark mood.

“Quit your moping, Sam,” he muttered. “You’re safe and you’ve got money coming in. And you’re a damn sight better off than you were a few days ago.”

“I suppose I should warn you, our parabolic mics can pick up just about anything you say.” Joanne Slater sidled up to him and propped her elbows on the rail. Her ponytail billowed in the breeze. Aston thought she looked rather like a wind sock. “Not to worry,” Slater said. “We’re not filming at the moment, though I’ve told the team to be ready in an instant in case we find something.” Her team, which consisted of a chubby cameraman named Dave, and Carly, a tiny young woman who wielded her boom mic like a sword, hovered a few paces away, eyes locked on Slater. The only other crew besides Holloway and Joaquin were Olli Makkonen, the ship’s captain, a grizzled, leather-skinned man with bloodshot eyes, and his first mate, Gazsi, a scrawny young man who seemed to wear a perpetual frown at their activities.

Aston threw Slater a wan smile and a brief bob of his shoulders.

“At least I finally got a smile out of you. Why are you always such a Gloomy Gus?”

“I don’t know. Just waiting for this rusty tub to sink on us,” he deadpanned. The boat Holloway had hired, the Merenneito, with its pitted exterior and green ropes, did not inspire confidence. “Besides, I’m not paid to be cheerful. I’m here to ride out the clock while Holloway plays monster hunter, collect my check, and be on my way.”

“I love your unswerving commitment to the project.” Slater paused, looking out across the lake. “I thought I was prepared for what we’re up against, but this is so much more vast and remote than I imagined. I could almost believe there’s something here.”

“Oh, there’s something here all right. Salmon, zooplankton, moose, but no lake monster.” He turned and fixed her with a hard look. “Do you actually believe there’s even a remote possibility that such a creature exists?”

Slater’s eyes fell and she shrugged. “No. I mean, maybe. I don’t know.”

“Even if there is, what are the odds we’ll find it? This lake is twenty-five miles long, twelve miles wide, and more than six hundred and fifty feet deep in spots. It could hold Loch Ness a dozen times over.”

“And the spirit award goes to…” Slater forced a smile, glanced away, and took a deep breath. Aston couldn’t help but notice the swell of her breasts against her tight t-shirt as her chest rose, but he hastily looked away. “I know the odds are slim. I want to believe, but the truth is, I’m here for the money just like you, and for the content. Viewers back home eat this sort of thing up.” She made a small circle with her hand that took in the surrounding landscape. “It’s kind of crazy, actually. You find a forbidding locale, feed the viewers a few legends, treat everything like it’s deadly serious, and they don’t seem to care that, week after week, you come up with a whole lot of nothing.”

“So you don’t care that you’re lying to them?” Aston wasn’t sure why he said that. He had no qualms about lying to people. Still, Slater rubbed him the wrong way, though he could already tell she wasn’t as vapid as he’d initially assumed.

“I’m not a scientist, I’m an entertainer. You’re the one searching for provable facts. The only thing I do is provide couch potatoes with something to wonder about for an hour, once a week for twenty-two weeks a year.”

Aston detected a tone of bitterness in her voice, and he turned to face her. She once again leaned on the rail, staring out at the horizon.

Slater sighed. “It sucks, you know.”

“What’s that?”

“Producing fluff all the time. Just once I’d like to do something of substance. Find a lost city or a previously-unknown creature. Not for the fame and glory — that’s Holloway’s thing. I’d just like for people to see me as something other than a talking set of boobs.”

Aston felt his face go red. Slater noticed.

“Too honest for you?” She smirked at him.

He shook his head. “No, just realizing I’m guilty as charged.” He swallowed hard. “Sorry about that. I’m just…” He didn’t know what he ‘just’ was.

“Don’t worry about it. You’re hardly the first.” She folded her arms across her chest as if suddenly conscious of her snug-fitting clothing. “Besides, I’m sold that way by the producers and I play up to it because that’s my job.” She turned her eyes back toward the lake. “So you really don’t think there’s any chance something could be out here?”

Aston shook his head. “I suppose there could be something unusual, but mundane, like an undiscovered variety of giant eel. I don’t think there’ll be anything along the lines of what Holloway is expecting to find. Even this lake isn’t large enough to support a breeding population of apex predators, and he knows it. He must know it. He’s fooling himself.”

“But what about the picture? The last one in Sweeney’s camera?”

“It’s a fake.” Slater raised an eyebrow and he hurried on. “A teenager with free software and his mother’s computer could create a convincing monster photograph. It would be child’s play for someone with Holloway’s resources, and you can’t tell me he’s above doing that.”

“What would be the point of faking evidence just to take us on a fruitless expedition?”

“Oh, I don’t think he considers it pointless at all. He’s a true believer. He wants us to believe.” He grinned. “Perhaps he suspects that some of our group are only here for the money. And maybe he’s the kind who thinks if we all believe hard enough, something will happen.”

The roar of the engine subsided and the boat slowed.

Slater grinned. “Come on. It’s show time.”

They made their way to the cabin where Holloway waited. The man was a bundle of nervous energy, pacing to and fro, fidgeting, and talking incessantly. He smirked at Slater and Aston when they entered. “Glad you could join us.”

“What’s his problem?” Aston muttered.

“The local police superintendent, a guy named Paavoe Rinne, shook him down just before we set sail. I don’t know how much Holloway had to pay the guy.”

Holloway rounded on them and his dark countenance brightened. “Ah, the cameraman’s here. We can get started.” He cast an approving glance at Dave, who gave him a thumbs-up from behind the lens.

“Watch out,” Aston said in a voice so low that only Slater could hear. “I think he’s in love.”

She cocked her head. “With Dave?”

“With the camera.”

Slater giggled. “I don’t know. He looks more like a boom man to me.”

Aston covered his laugh with a loud cough. Unfortunately for him, Carly chose that moment to swing the boom in his direction, and the sight of the phallic microphone made him guffaw.

“Are you all right? Not coming down with a cold, I hope?” Holloway asked.

“Right as rain. I’ve just never been that comfortable on camera. I laugh when I’m nervous.”

Slater interceded suggesting Aston, Holloway, and Laine move out onto the bow. Makkonen and Gaszi watched with hooded eyes from the helm as they left.

Slater arrayed the three men in what she deemed the ideal positions, Aston and Laine either side of Holloway. Then she set her own people before stepping into the middle of the shot.

Dave counted down from five with his fingers, and then pointed to Slater. As if flipping a switch, she adopted a look of intense concentration. “What is this place?” she asked Laine.

“This is Sweeney’s last known location, give or take. Unfortunately, the man who found his equipment didn’t make note of the exact spot.”

Slater looked out at the dark expanse of shoreline and gave a small shake of her head. “It’s going to be like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” Holloway said. “We’ve got a couple of tricks up our sleeve.” He looked straight at the camera and smiled.

“Cut!” Slater called. “We can use that, but I need you,” she looked at Holloway, “to avoid looking directly into the camera. Okay?”

“Sure,” Holloway agreed. He clapped twice and called for Joaquin, who seemed to melt out of the shadows. The way the man moved was uncanny.

“The drone is ready, boss.” He held up a remote control. “Just give me the word.”

“Give us five minutes to get set and then we’ll start,” Slater said.

They gathered back in the cabin where Laine took a seat in front of a video display and Slater sat Aston in front of the sonar and underwater video monitors. Holloway stood just out of camera range. Aston couldn’t deny that, despite the Merenneito’s drab exterior, the man had invested in some decent equipment. The gear mounted on the gunwales that he had yet to investigate intrigued him too. The large, brand new harpoon gun was obvious and a little unnerving, but the other major addition looked to be a giant motorized net, and that only made Aston laugh.

“Joaquin is going to take the drone up and down the shore, looking for wallows like the one Sweeney photographed,” Slater said. “Laine will watch the feed from the drone, while you and I keep an eye on the others.”

“Make sure not to blink,” Holloway said. “We don’t want to miss anything.”

The next hour crept past like the wait in a doctor’s office, becoming more frustrating as more of nothing continued to happen. Aston watched the monitors as instructed, keeping a serious expression on his face for the sake of the camera. Beats dealing with Chang, but that didn’t make the monotony any more bearable. He wasn’t an impatient man by nature, but the futility of the task made it difficult for him to approach the work with the requisite degree of professionalism. Ah well, that’s why you’re getting paid, you whiney dickhead.

Makkonen lounged near the helm, casually interested, but young Gazsi made an exit as soon as possible, disappearing below, his frown deepening to a scowl as he went. Aston wondered what the kid’s problem was.

The motion of the boat and the dull thrumming of the engine ticking over threatened to lull him to sleep, broken only by Holloway’s all too frequent exclamations every time the faintest shadow appeared on the screen. Each time, Laine would reply with a single shake of his head.

“Drone battery is running low,” Joaquin reported via walkie-talkie from the deck. “We’ve got about another ten minutes tops, and half of that needs to be coming back.”

“Push on,” Holloway insisted. “Go as far as you can. Land out there on the shore and we’ll go pick it up.”

“Can’t land it, boss. It’ll damage the camera. But I’ll keep going a little longer.”

“Ollie can chug us along in pursuit a little, maybe?” Aston suggested. “Catch up, buy us a couple more minutes.”

Holloway nodded and Makkonen stood, nudged the engine up a notch and they moved along slowly. The drone flew on, sending back more pictures of featureless lake edges.

Just as Aston was ready to bang his head against the sonar monitor, Laine suddenly barked an order into the tiny mic clipped to his lapel. “Right there, Joaquin. Take her down closer.”

Holloway and Slater hurried to flank Laine, while Dave brought the camera in close. Aston turned away from the monitors before him and craned his neck to see past Slater.

As Joaquin brought the drone down, a dark shape filled the screen. “Focus,” Laine said, and the image resolved into the unmistakable shape of a wallow — and a massive one at that.

The words escaped Aston before he knew it. “Bloody hell. I don’t believe it.”

It took about ten minutes to maneuver the boat around to the location where the drone had spotted the wallow. Joaquin flew the bright white, four-rotored device back to meet them along the way and skillfully hovered it over the deck before reaching up and plucking it from the air. He checked the camera suspended beneath and smiled to himself. He was clearly an expert with the thing and Aston wondered where, and more importantly, why, the big bodyguard had developed those skills.

As Joaquin took the drone below to plug it in for a recharge, Olli Makkonen leaned out from the cabin, his reddened eyes squinting against the daylight. “I’m not taking her in any closer. It’s deep here, but the shore shallows very quickly. We don’t want to run aground.”

The boat slowed, the engines cut, and a heavy silence blanketed them. The captain wandered to the stern and casually dropped anchor, while Gazsi reappeared to loiter in the bridge. His frown remained, but a nervous energy animated him more than before.

Joaquin emerged again and said, “I’ll ferry you. It’ll take a couple of trips.” He lowered a tin dinghy from one side and clambered down into it. “Go to the dive platform,” he said as he yanked the starter and the dinghy’s tiny outboard fired into buzzing life.

He ferried first Holloway, Slater, and Laine to the lake shore, then came back for Aston, Dave and Carly. Aston helped him drag the small boat up onto the stones and mud while Slater did a piece to camera and Holloway hopped impatiently from foot to foot.

Slater approached them, camera trained on her back. “So, what next?” she asked Aston in her TV voice.

Aston found himself momentarily off guard. “Oh, er, well, I guess…” He drew a deep breath. Pull it together, for Christ’s sake! “The drone spotted the hollow a few yards that way. First thing we do is get a closer look.”

He strode purposefully past Dave, making the cameraman stagger slightly as he hurried back to keep Aston in the shot. He let the others tag behind as he approached the deep, wide indentation. As he reached the edge of it, he paused and shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he muttered.

“Louder, please,” Slater called out.

Aston cleared his throat. Playing to the camera was going to take some getting used to. “This is bigger than anything I’ve seen before,” he said in a firm voice. “Wallows are usually made by large mammals beside bodies of water. They’re used for cooling down, maybe getting a nice coating of mud for temperature regulation and protection from mosquitoes and other biting insects, that sort of thing. I have no real idea why there’s one in this climate. And one this size? It’s staggering.” He turned to Holloway. “Got a tape measure?”

“Most certainly.” The billionaire dug in the many pockets of his khaki pants, eventually found one, and handed it over.

Aston gave the man the loose end and walked around the wallow, paying out tape as he went. “A typical wallow would be at most two or three meters across,” he said as he went about his work. “This one is…” He crouched directly across from Holloway. “Over twelve meters,” he breathed. “That’s bloody insane.”

“How big?” Slater asked.

“Over twelve meters,” Aston snapped, annoyed at the mystery of it. “About forty feet. It makes no sense, something this size.” He paused. “We should consider the possibility that it’s not actually a wallow at all.” He ignored Holloway’s sudden dour expression. “It could be something else.”

“It’s got to be seven feet deep, at least,” Laine said. He sounded almost proud, as if he’d made the thing himself. Maybe he had, Aston mused. And the Finn had switched to using imperial measurements, no doubt to make things easier on the Americans. It rubbed against Aston’s accurate scientific sensibilities, but as Holloway was in charge, it made sense.

“You were absolutely convinced it was a wallow when you first saw the pictures,” Holloway reminded him.

“And I still am.” Aston hated making the admission. “But this goes against every scientific bone in my body. It’s mystifying.”

“So what could make something this size?” Slater asked.

Aston shrugged. “The world’s largest water buffalo? An elephant on freaking steroids?”

“Neither of those things live in Finland, Mister Aston,” Holloway said with a smile.

“I am well aware of that,” Aston said, keenly aware of the camera.

“So what then?” Slater asked again. “For real.”

Aston stood, tossed the tape measure back across the deep indentation. Holloway caught it clumsily and the tape whickered back in. “I have no idea,” Aston said. “I honestly can’t even speculate. And, as a scientist, it would be reckless to do so.”

Dave moved around the area, getting shots from all angles, as Holloway and Laine snapped dozens of stills. Aston had them help him make and record a full set of accurate measurements.

After a half hour of documentation he said, “We have all we’re going to get here. Let’s look further afield.”

Laine led the way, confident in the uncertain environment, and Aston, Slater and Holloway followed in a ragged line. Dave and Carly brought up the rear, capturing everything. Joaquin elected to stay with the dinghy and they left him sitting on a rock, statue-still as though he had been there for decades and would comfortably remain there for centuries more.

As Laine stoically trudged the shoreline, Holloway jabbered incessantly about the wallow, what could have made it, and how rare such a thing must be. He wondered if there were more around and if maybe more than one creature made them or used them. Aston couldn’t deny his curiosity, the thought that even one thing big enough to make that indentation might possibly be around was staggering. He had looked closely while measuring, desperately seeking some sign the wallow was man-made, some extended gag by Holloway to go along with his faked photographs. The man certainly had the resources to take them all for a giant prank, the mother of all candid camera shows. But nothing about the giant dent had shown anything but authenticity.

He glanced at Slater walking beside him and saw her eyes narrowed, her brow slightly furrowed. She looked nervous as she picked her way between the rocks and trod carefully on the slippery mud.

“You okay?” he asked.

She flashed him a grin. “Sure. Just a little unused to the terrain. I really don’t want to fall on my ass in this!” She flicked at the slimy mud with the toe of one boot.

Aston smiled and nodded, but thought she was hiding a deeper anxiety. The back of his neck tickled, discomfort made his stomach tight. He glanced once over his shoulder, caught Dave’s raised eyebrow and gave the cameraman a friendly nod. He looked past Dave and Carly to the tree line some forty-odd feet from the water’s edge, undulating randomly back and forth. He felt as though they were being watched.

Pull your shit together, Sam, he chided, returning his eyes forward, scanning for any other signs of their mysterious giant.

The crunch and squelch of their boots and the gentle lapping of the lake was their only accompaniment for several minutes. Even Holloway had ceased his incessant babbling. Aston looked behind them again, the flesh of his back creeping. Why the hell was he so spooked by this place? They would surely find a rational explanation for the huge wallow. Science had proven to him time and again that the wish-fulfillment of fantasy was never as likely as the dull facts of evidence. And yet, even in the most mundane scientific discovery, there was wonder to be found. He didn’t understand why people insisted on the fantastic when the real world was as amazing as it was.

“Did you hear that?” Slater said. She had stopped walking and dropped a couple of steps behind as she stared up into the trees, only ten paces or so from them at this point.

“Hear what?” Laine turned in a slow circle, eyes narrowed.

There was a distinct rustle in the shadows, a sharp snap of a twig breaking.

“There’s something back there!” Slater said in a harsh whisper. She backed up to rejoin Aston.

He tried to slow his suddenly racing heart and slipped his Bowie knife from its sheath on his belt. With the memory of the wallow, a knife felt woefully inadequate.

The rustle and snapping came again, something heavy pushing through the branches not far from them. Holloway produced a pistol and tension ratcheted up as everyone seemed to crouch, as if ready to run.

“Are you getting this?” Slater hissed to Dave.

The cameraman nodded rapidly, panning his lens back and forth slowly along thirty feet or so of tree line.

The sounds increased rapidly and more branches thrashed as a dark shadow burst out onto the shoreline. Slater yelped and Aston raised his knife high as Dave pinned the thing with his camera. Relief washed through Aston in a tide as the big reindeer spotted them. Its eyes went wide and it bucked and took off along the shore at a gallop, kicking up mud behind it.

Holloway lowered his gun, laughing. They all muttered and chuckled, berating themselves for their nerves. Aston slipped his knife away and noticed Laine wore a strange expression, almost disappointment. He would have expected that more from Holloway, but the local man seemed more annoyed than relieved. He was the actual cryptozoologist in the party, Aston reminded himself.

“I don’t think we’re going to find much wandering around like this,” Slater said. “Perhaps we should focus more of our attention back there.”

“I don’t know that there’s more to find,” Aston said.

“Not on land, no. But we can dive.”

“We?” He had a hard time envisioning Slater subjecting her hair to the depredations of the murky lake water. “Really?”

She flashed him the sweetest smile. “Scared I’ll show you up with my superior skills?”

By the time Joaquin had ferried everyone back to the Merenneito and they’d made safe their research thus far, it was well past noon. They gathered in the galley for lunch, another skill of Joaquin’s displayed. Aston was beginning to wonder if there was anything the large Latino couldn’t do with quiet aplomb.

After a good feed they went below to inspect the gear. Slater’s knowledge was impressive as they donned dry suits and respirators.

“You’ve done this before obviously,” Aston observed.

“I’ve enjoyed diving since I was a teen. It’s a bit of a hobby.”

Aston grinned. “Yeah? Me too.”

“This water will be damned cold, even in that state-of-the-art gear,” Holloway said as they settled the last of their equipment. “These cameras will work perfectly in all conditions, but you may not. Keep an eye on each other.”

Aston nodded. “Good advice. Let’s go.”

They made final checks and then moved to the dive platform and tipped in. The pressure of the water embraced them, and its temperature, not much above freezing even in spring, made itself instantly known even through their suits. They fired up the cameras and lit the flashlights mounted on them. The arcs of brightness cut a swathe through the water, highlighting tiny drifting debris and small, jerking creatures flitting by.

Daylight only penetrated the first six feet or so and they sank down into the murky gloom with slow, lazy kicks of their fins, bubbles tumbling up and away as they went. Aston pointed his light to the lake bed and panned it across the silty substrate. Rocks and clusters of gravel broke up the smoothness, and then a ridge of dark stone made a kind of lip. He paddled over to it and had a moment of vertigo as the sloping banks gave way to a drop of significant depth, disappearing into darkness well beyond the reach of his meager flashlight. He swam out into the open water a little to look back at the drop-off and wondered if there was the likelihood of caves down there. It seemed entirely possible. Big ones too, given the depths.

As he looked back up the shallow rise to the water’s edge he spotted a couple of deep grooves in the mud, as though something had recently dragged itself along there. Something huge. He frowned, more concerned than ever that they might actually find something after all and just what the hell that thing might be. He was simply letting his camera run, but Slater was actively moving back and forth, collecting better footage. She came back from the shallower water, following one of the deep grooves back to the steep drop. She jerked in the water, bubbles escaping in a rush. She fumbled and nearly dropped her camera. Gathering herself, she gestured frantically at Aston to join her.

His heart raced as he kicked over and looked to where she pointed. Something was wedged between two rocks. He swung his flashlight over it and realized it was a brown leather hiking boot. Why had that caused Slater such a shock? As he circled it and his light penetrated the top of the boot he saw exactly what. Sticking out from the leather, nibbled by fish, was a half inch of ankle, the severed leg bone stark white as it poked up into the cloudy water.

“It’s got to be Sweeney. Or what’s left of him.” Joaquin grimaced at the grisly remains that lay on a sheet of plastic underneath a bright light. He had carefully unlaced the boot and pulled it wide to remove the foot from inside. The flesh was pale and wrinkled, the ragged edges of skin at the ankle marked by the tiny scallops of feeding fish mouths. The shiny white inch of tibia sticking up was sheared through cleanly, a shard of fibula snapped beside it.

“How can you tell it’s Sweeney?” Aston asked. “Did you take his toe print?”

Joaquin looked at him through narrowed eyes, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Finally deciding that Aston was joking, he barked a laugh. “No. I just compared the boot to the pair Sweeney was wearing in some of the raw footage we have from the camp. There are instances where he walks past the camera and we get a good view.”

Aston made a noncommittal grunt.

“Well, the circumstantial evidence certainly points to it being him,” Joaquin went on. “He’s the only person we know about who went missing in this area recently. It’s a fairly remote location, so the odds anyone else was eaten by a monster in this same spot are pretty slim.” Now Aston had to wonder if it was Joaquin who was joking. Slater grinned, but Aston noticed she didn’t look directly at the severed foot.

Joaquin scratched his chin, considering. “His personal effects are stored back in the States. When we return, Mister Holloway can have someone try to extract a DNA sample from one of the items and then match it to the foot.”

“You’re going to carry that foot through customs?” Slater asked.

Joaquin grinned. “Mister Holloway can get the foot back home. Not that there’s any doubt in my mind that it’s Sweeney’s. All that’s left of the monster’s lunch.”

“We don’t know what happened to him.” Aston’s reply was automatic, but he had to admit his mind was struggling to concoct a scenario in which a foot, the bones sliced clean through, could end up wedged in rocks below the surface of the lake. “We can’t draw conclusions without conclusive evidence.”

Slater rolled her eyes. “Whatever. All I know is this baby’s going to make for some awesome television footage. Wait until the network hears about it!”

“We need to keep this under wraps.” Aston hadn’t heard Holloway enter. “No one can know about this find until I decide what to do.”

“What’s there to decide? We need to notify the authorities,” Slater said.

Aston was no friend of law enforcement, but he privately agreed. Covering up what was almost certainly a death seemed like a good way to run afoul of the powers that be.

“We will, but not right away.” Holloway began pacing, clenching and relaxing his hands again and again. “The local police already don’t want us here. You saw how that man, Rinne, acted toward me. I had to pay him off. We’ve had to lie about the reason we’re here. If we bring him a body part, he’ll shut us down for sure.”

“So what’s your plan?” Aston asked.

“Put the foot on ice, just for a little while. Long enough to follow up on this lead. Sweeney’s gone; everyone knows it. The foot is just confirmation. What’s the harm if we hold off a week before turning it in? Heck, we could put it back where we found it. It’s not like the police were going to find it otherwise.”

Aston shook his head. “You’re the boss.”

“So, were you able to learn anything from the remains?” Holloway asked.

“The exposed soft tissue has sloughed away a bit, and been attacked by small scavengers, but the bone is instructive in that it’s cut clean. It wasn’t sawed, hacked, chewed, or crushed. It would have taken a tremendous amount of force and a razor-sharp cutting surface to do that.”

“Like the fangs in Sweeney’s picture,” Holloway breathed as he leaned down for a closer look at the exposed bone. It was such a candid moment that Aston began to doubt his earlier opinion that Holloway had faked the photo. “Nothing else we can tell?”

“Not that I can see.”

“I guess it would be too much to hope for a giant tooth wedged in the bone.” Holloway managed a laugh. “All right. If you’re finished with it, we’ll ice it for the time being.” He nodded to Joaquin who carefully wrapped the plastic sheeting around the foot and carried it away.

Slater gazed at Joaquin’s receding figure. “If I find that in the beer cooler I’m going to throw up.”

“Is there a beer cooler?” Aston asked.

Holloway shook his head. “Sorry. Dry ship.” He stretched and yawned. “I think I’ll turn in. This was a good day. See you all manana.”

As soon as Holloway exited the cabin, Aston caught another movement from the corner of his eye. Gazsi crouched out on the deck, peering in through the narrow window. His eyes were slits, his perpetual frown deeper than ever. In an attempt to mollify the man, Aston flicked him a wink and quick pistol fingers. A look of disgust crossed the first mate’s face and he disappeared from view.

“Do you think he’ll make trouble?” Slater asked.

Aston shrugged. “Who’s he gonna tell?”

“He might radio the police.”

Aston paused, wondering how likely that might be. Before he could answer, Slater said, “I’ll talk to Olli. The captain is a pretty stand-up guy and he saw us bring the foot aboard. Didn’t seem fazed by it. I’ll ask him to keep Gazsi quiet.”

“Okay, good idea. But let’s watch that guy. There’s something a bit off about him.”

Dave, who had been lurking in the background with Carly, presumably filming, sidled up to Aston. “I agree. He was kinda sleazing on Carly earlier and when I stepped in he looked at me like he wanted to stab me.”

“Not good,” Aston agreed. “We’ll watch him.”

Dave grinned impishly. “And, er, I’ve got beer. Party in my cabin in ten. Holloway and the captain are not invited. And Gazsi certainly isn’t.”

“I don’t know. The captain looks like a drinker to me.”

“Right, and I don’t want him downing my entire stash. We’ll see you below decks.” He and Carly left together, chatting happily.

“You coming to the party?” Aston asked Slater.

“See you there.”

Slater padded along the deck, her socked feet making no sound on the cool metal. She glanced at her watch — three in the morning. Everyone would be deep in slumber by now. Hopefully they remained that way for a while yet.

The temperature had dropped steadily since sundown, and the damp breeze blowing over Lake Kaarme whipped her hair around and sent goosebumps crawling across her flesh. She loved the night — the peace and quiet, the way the darkness hid the world’s imperfections. But most of all, she loved the stars. She paused to look up at the sparkling velvet dome above and soak it all in. Most nights in Los Angeles, the lights of airplanes passing overhead outnumbered the visible stars, but here, the sky was like her very own planetarium. How she longed to stretch out on the deck and bask in the glory of the night.

But that was not an option. She needed to take care of business and get back to her cabin before someone found her out. Who knew if the captain or his mate made nightly rounds? Besides, she was a little drunk, even though she’d been careful not to indulge too much with the others. She badly needed some sleep.

She slipped inside the bridge and softly closed the door. She considered locking it, but that would only raise suspicion should someone discover her here. She’d leave it unlocked, and if anyone came around, she’d say she’d had trouble sleeping and decided to come up here and review their data.

Heart racing, she fired up the computer, slipped off her t-shirt, and draped it over the screen to dull the glow. She felt a little funny sitting there in boxer briefs and a sports bra, but who was going to see her? The monster? She let out a tiny laugh at the thought but quickly stifled it.

“Get to work, Jo.”

She checked the satellite connection, opened up a web browser, and typed in an address. She watched, cursing every second the computer buffered. When the browser finally opened to the desired site, she hastily logged in, biting her lip as her fingers clicked away at the keys. Even her most delicate touch sounded like a twenty-one gun salute in the stillness of the early hour.

She glanced at her watch. Only three minutes had passed. So far, so good.

Hastily, she navigated the hard drive, clicking on the files she considered most important: the best shots of the wallow, close up images of the severed foot, and a copy of her findings. Enough, but far from everything they’d gathered thus far went to one location. Then she sent everything to be backed up to the other.

“Come on, you slow ass mother…” she whispered as the files began to upload.

Why couldn’t they have decent upload speeds? This was the twenty-first century and Holloway was filthy rich. ’More money than Davey Crockett,’ as Forrest Gump had put it.

A dull bump caught her ear and she jumped, banging her knee on the low shelf on which the computer sat. “Dammit!” Heart in her throat, she stood, crept to the door, and opened it an inch. Cool air wafted in, and with it, the sound of another bump.

She relaxed. It was only their metal dinghy tapping against Merenneito’s side.

“I’ll bet that gave me a gray hair or two.” She returned to the computer and was relieved to find the last file uploading. Moments later, she surfed over to her email server and fired off a quick note.

That should keep things ticking over for a while.

Finally, she opened up the browser’s internet history and deleted only the two sites she had just visited. Her tracks covered, she shut down the computer, slipped back into her shirt, and headed out onto the deck.

“Jo,” she whispered, “you are living dangerously.”

Aston emerged into a bright morning feeling a bit sorry for himself. He felt sorry for Dave too, the four of them had decimated the cameraman’s stash of beer the night before. It had been fun, but they’d all be paying for it now. He sipped hot coffee and nibbled on a bacon sandwich, willing the caffeine and grease to work quickly.

Slater called his name and he turned to see her striding across the deck, fresh as a spring flower, makeup impeccable. Dave and Carly trailed her and Aston was pleased to see they looked as bad as he felt. Misery was best when shared. What inhuman capacity Slater had was a secret he’d like to learn.

“Mister Aston, after the grisly discovery during yesterday’s dive, has your focus on this endeavor changed?”

He winced at her. “Really? We’re doing this now?”

“Best to keep everything as real-time as possible. Keeps the responses true and balanced.”

He shook his head. “I think the discovery only highlights how little we understand of what’s happening here. Science demands we gather data before jumping to any conclusions.”

“But what are your personal feelings?”

“The same as my scientist’s feelings. We’re going to start mapping the lake bed today, so let’s see what that throws up.” Without waiting for more, he took a huge mouthful of sandwich and grinned at her with bulging cheeks.

Slater couldn’t help her own smile spreading. “You’re incorrigible. Let’s go then.”

The bridge had a large table behind the drive controls and Holloway and Laine spread a detailed topographical map across it. While the land around the lake was marked in accurate gradients, the water itself was a blank space.

Holloway used a Sharpie to mark an X on the shore. “This is Sweeney’s camp.” He marked a circle a bit further south. “This is the wallow. And this is more or less where you found all that’s left of Sweeney.” As he tapped the pen to make a dot a few yards into the lake, Gazsi grunted.

They looked up, Aston flicking a questioning eyebrow. The first mate looked around the group before shaking his head and turning back to the wheel.

“You talk to Olli?” Aston asked Slater.

“Yeah. He said not to worry about it. Gazsi will do as he’s told, and Makkonen told him to shut up and drive the boat.”

Holloway used a clear plastic rule to mark out a grid across a large section of the lake. “We’ll start traversing here,” he said. “As we map the lake bed and take sonar, we can try to get an idea of maybe where something large might move.”

Makkonen, looking over Holloway’s shoulder, pointed. “Start here?”

“Yes, please.”

The captain went to stand beside Gazsi and the boat’s engines gunned. As they tracked back and forth it quickly became apparent that several parts of the lake, even this close to shore, were far deeper than they had anticipated.

Aston sat watching the sonar screen, occasionally pulling paper readouts off a printer and examining them. “This is weird,” he muttered.

Dave’s lens swung into view and Slater said, “What have you found?”

Aston blinked slowly, took a breath. Thankfully the coffee and bacon had started to do their job, but he still didn’t feel great. And even without a hangover, this incessant camera intrusion was never going to be okay.

He lifted a section of printout for the camera to see. “These are indicating several deep channels even among the already deeper water. And some of these pings are echoing as if there are caves or passages running surprisingly deep very near to the shoreline.”

“And what does that mean?” Slater asked.

“It means,” Laine interrupted, “that there are plenty of places for a creature or creatures to hide. Big creatures.” He looked to Aston. “Yes?”

Aston nodded, but was busy watching Gazsi. The first mate was distinctly uncomfortable at the news. As Aston opened his mouth to ask what was upsetting the man so much, Gazsi turned and stalked from the bridge.

With a frown, Aston turned back to the camera. “Regardless, one thing is made very plain by these readings. Finding anything in a lake this size, of such massive and varying depths, is going to be harder than looking for a needle in a haystack.”

Laine barked a laugh. “Nonsense! A needle in a haystack doesn’t leave a trail to be followed.”

“A trail of body parts?” Aston challenged.

“Faith, ladies and gentlemen!” Holloway said, loud and strong like a carnival barker or a tent church healer. “Faith and science combined, in fact. We will most certainly find something. I know it!”

But the day passed in a slow, excruciatingly dull pattern of motoring back and forth, scanning and recording data. Nothing interesting beyond strange geology interrupted the drudgery of the work. As the day wound down, despite the lack of progress, Holloway’s enthusiasm was undiminished.

“Tomorrow’s another day!” he announced pointlessly as the light began to fail late in the evening.

Aston wished he could have a glass of whatever the billionaire was drinking.

Gazsi crept along the deck while the ship slept. The lake lapped against the sides, gentle caresses in the moonlit night, but the serenity of his surroundings did nothing to settle his upset. He was no fool and he’d had enough. Makkonen paid him, but not sufficient for this. These bloody fools would all get themselves killed and he wanted no further part of it.

Gazsi knew well the legends of the lake and he had good reason to believe them. On two separate occasions he had seen things he couldn’t explain, movement in the water of something far bigger than fish. His uncle claimed to have seen the great monster up close, and that man had no reason to lie. Gazsi was happy, though always cautious, to work the lake, but to actively seek the creature? To disturb it and invoke its wrath? That way lay nothing but violent death, he was sure.

Gritting his teeth, working as carefully as possible, he slowly lowered the tin dinghy to the water below. He winced as it knocked against the boat a couple of times as he hung over the side and dropped into it. Not wanting to draw the attention of anyone on board, he ignored the small outboard motor in favor of the oars. Besides, no telling when that Slater woman would go on another of her late night strolls. Gaszi didn’t trust her, not one bit.

He headed almost directly for the shore, aiming to round one small cove for an easier landing. He only wanted dry land beneath his feet. He didn’t mind a long walk through the forest to get home if it meant he was away from these idiots and their mania. They had found a human foot, for god’s sake. What more proof did they need? Proof not only of the thing’s existence, but of their absolute helplessness in its presence.

The lake was still and silent but for the soft splash of his oars under a wide vault of sparkling stars, the gentlest of breezes cool. With his back to the shore as he rowed, Gazsi stared across the vast expanse of water, a black mirror in the night. A moment of swell made his heart hammer. What the hell was that? Something had moved, about a hundred yards from him, like a serpent it twisted a huge S in the still surface then vanished. A strange sound echoed out, drilling through the silence. A long, low whistle, unlike any bird Gazsi had heard. He was a born and bred lake resident, hadn’t even holidayed far away. He knew the land and the wildlife intimately. It was why he had no trouble believing the monster stories. They were not just tales to scare children.

The disturbance rose again, and a shallow hump arced across the surface, this time only fifty yards away. It couldn’t be. Gazsi racked his brain for a rational explanation. He knew that in a lake such as this, converging ripples, upon colliding, often gave the impression of a moving hump. But this was something different. It had to be fifty feet across or more, twisting with a serpentine grace that was mortifyingly hypnotic. As it coiled, it split the reflective surface of the lake into a rapidly expanding set of wavelets before it sank away again. Then that whistle once more, penetrating in the darkness.

“I just want to go home,” Gazsi whispered, again and again. It became a mantra, each utterance lending force to every pull on the oars. The cool breeze at his back froze the sweat that ran in rivulets down his neck. An invisible hand seemed to grip his throat. He kept on, rowing harder, careless now of any noise he might make. He wanted only to be on land.

He rounded a spit and headed for the shore, a touch more comfortable since he was out of sight of the Merenneito. They would find the dinghy again easily enough and there were a couple of inflatables on board to get them around to fetch it back. In his haste he jumped into the water a little too soon, gasping as he sank to his waist before his boots hit the bottom. No matter, cold and wet was nothing to be worried about. He hauled his way out and dragged the small boat up onto the mud, ensuring it was well clear of the water, and took a couple of steps toward the trees when the whistle sounded again.

“What the hell…?”

It was coming from somewhere nearby. What kind of creature made a sound like that? He racked his brain for birds, migratory species maybe, not regular residents. Had he ever heard this call before?

Movement ahead in the dark caught his attention and he squinted into the shadows as the low, lancing sound came again. He tried to pierce the inky gloom between the trees. Was that a person he saw there, the silhouette of a man, black against the deeper darkness? Surely not.

Don’t be an imbecile! he chided himself, embarrassed to be jumping at shadows like a child. He was off the boat, away from those crazy monster hunters, and he was off the water, safe on land. He started to draw a deep, settling breath when a soft splashing caught his attention.

His blood ran cold as the splashing increased and he heard water sluicing onto the mud of the lake shore behind him. A tiny voice buried deep in the recesses of his mind urged him to run, but his feet were frozen to the ground. A heavy slap, like a giant foot stomping into the wet silt, echoed back off the trees. Gaszi’s knees threatened to fold, his entire body vibrated with tremors, as another slap followed the first, then a sucking draw, as of something massive being dragged through the mud.

Gazsi was sure he saw the shape of a man slip back into the darkness between the trees as the slap drag sounded once more. Jaw subtly chattering, sobs threatening to burst from him, Gaszi slowly turned his gaze back to the water. He saw a wide expanse of shining gray and his scream died in a ragged gurgle as blackness descended over him and huge, glistening white teeth clamped down on his abdomen. He had a moment of rational thought, in which he struggled to comprehend what the moonlight had revealed to him, before razor sharp teeth severed his spine.

Aston rose the next morning cranky for no readily apparent reason. He’d had trouble sleeping, tossing and turning throughout the night, plagued by disquieting dreams. He walked to the boat’s prow in the soft light of dawn and leaned against the rail, cupping his hands around a steaming coffee mug. Mist drifted across the still surface of the lake, snaking around like dragons as restless as he felt. Was it perhaps the strange discoveries that had him so antsy? He was having more trouble laughing off Holloway’s enthusiasm for the beast they sought with every new thing they learned.

Low clouds striped the soft pink skies, a large vee of migrating geese traveled overhead. In the early stillness he easily heard the papery hiss of the breeze through their numerous feathers even though they were a good hundred feet above him.

Aston sighed, shook his head. There would surely be an explanation for all this that was a lot more mundane than Holloway might like to think. In this remote location, with the stories of the locals circling their minds like hungry sharks, it was easy to imagine the most outrageous explanations. The truth was always far more boring than fantasy. Local legends arose precisely from that boredom, from a need for something greater, something to set this place apart, make it not just another isolated shithole with nothing special to offer.

But if they were on the trail of something earth-shattering… If they really did discover a new or previously-considered extinct species, it could be incredible. And it could do wonders for Aston’s career, his profile, his chances of future funding. Or, of course, it could ruin him and make him a laughing stock in the scientific community. In truth, he was looking forward to an end to this whole farce.

“Morning,” a low voice greeted him.

Aston turned to see Makkonen standing by the bridge, brow creased in a frown.

“Morning,” Aston said. “Everything all right?”

The captain shook his head. “Gazsi isn’t on board.”

“What?” Aston stepped across deck to look along the side and the tin dinghy harness was empty. He looked back up to Makkonen. “Where’s he gone?”

“No idea. Deserted, I think.” Makkonen grimaced. “Wouldn’t have believed it of him.”

“You mean he’s run away? Just like that?”

Makkonen nodded. “It looks that way.”

Aston cursed, not sure whether he was annoyed or impressed with the first mate’s actions. “I noticed he didn’t look very happy yesterday.”

“He wasn’t,” Makkonen confirmed. “He’s superstitious and easily spooked, believes all the rumors and stories. When you brought that foot on board he was really upset.”

Aston took a swallow of coffee, giving himself a moment to think. “What’s his game, do you reckon? You think he’s going to report us?”

Makkonen shook his grizzled head again. “No. Your lady, Slater, asked me the same thing and I talked to Gazsi about it. He said he didn’t care for the authorities and had no intention of reporting anything, but he didn’t like what we were doing and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be a part of it, Holloway’s money be damned.”

“Why not just ask us to take him back? Why leave in the night and steal our dinghy?”

The captain laughed ruefully. “Embarrassed, I expect.” He tapped one finger to his temple. “Kids, you know, they think strange stuff.”

“So what do we do?”

“If Holloway agrees, we’ll make a trip back to town. There’s a good chance Gazsi left the boat there. If not, we have a couple of inflatables on board for emergencies.”

“Couldn’t help but overhear.” Alvar Laine appeared from the stern. “I just unpacked one of the inflatables, actually, when I saw the dinghy gone. I was planning to head back to Kaarme. Holloway wants some supplies restocked.”

“You’re up early,” Aston said.

“I don’t want to be away and miss too much here, so thought I’d leave first thing.”

“I would have thought Holloway would send Joaquin for supplies.”

Laine nodded. “He did, last night. But I wanted the excuse to visit home, check in on my wife and son, so I offered to go instead.”

“Cool. Then maybe you can look for our tinny in town, yeah?” Aston said. “Bring it back if you find it?”

“Of course.”

“Watch the shoreline all the way back.” Makkonen said. “It’s possible Gazsi only rowed to shore, then walked. He likes to walk everywhere, that boy.”

“Okay,” Laine said. “I’ll see you all in a few hours.”

“It’s a hell of a long row to town,” Aston said.

Laine grinned. “We’re lake people. We’re used to long rows. Besides, if Makkonen is right I’ll hopefully find the… what did you call it, the tinny?… along the way. Then I can use its motor and tow the rubber one.”

“All right. Good luck.”

Laine nodded and headed off to the rear of the Merenneito.

Aston leaned on the gunwale, sipped his coffee. Splashing rose up and he leaned out to see Laine rowing away from the dive platform. Driven by the man’s strong and practiced stroke, the orange and blue rubber dinghy plowed away toward town. He raised his hand in a wave and Laine nodded, grinned, not breaking stroke.

Over breakfast, Aston passed on the news that Gaszi had jumped ship. Holloway was angry about it while Slater ensured Dave filmed the news, making Aston repeat himself for the benefit of the camera.

“Does the captain know why Gazsi left?” she asked.

“Says it’s because he believes all the lake monster stories and was too scared to stick around,” Aston said. “The kid got spooked, basically.”

Makkonen entered the galley and Holloway turned to him.

“Is this going to be a problem, your first mate deserting us?” Holloway’s knuckles shone white from his clenched fists.

The captain tore off a mouthful of bread, grinned around it. “No problem for you. Just makes more work for me.”

“Are you all right with that?” Holloway sounded a touch calmer.

“What choice do I have? You want to wait while we motor back to town and I find somebody else?”

Holloway snorted. “Certainly not if you can cover for him.”

“It’s fine for now. I’ll ask for help from you lot if needed.”

“So where do we stand?” Slater asked the room in general. “What’s on today’s agenda?”

Aston finished the last of his third coffee of the morning and stood. “Well, Laine has gone into town for a supply run, and to look for the boat Gazsi took. Meanwhile, we keep mapping and searching. We’ve barely covered half of yesterday’s grid and that’s only a tiny fraction of this lake. But first!” He raised an index finger theatrically.

“Yes?” Slater prompted.

“First I have to piss. I’ve drunk too much coffee today.” He grinned at her exasperation and headed for the door.

Alvar Laine moored up the dinghy and cut the engine, thankful it had been so close to the Merenneito. He didn’t mind a bit of exercise, but it was a long way and he wasn’t a youth any more, regardless of what he’d told Aston. He climbed up onto the dock and paused to take in Kaarme, the tiny town nestled on the shore of its namesake lake. Weatherboard buildings dominated the narrow street. All around he saw brick and stone, steep roofs, and small windows. Some buildings were giant inverted vees, made to hold up beneath even the heaviest snowfalls. Deep green pine trees and bright green grass framed the scene in vibrant hues

A wistful smile painting his face, he headed across the marina for home. It wouldn’t take long to check in with Charlotta and say hi to Nikla, if the boy hadn’t left for school yet. In all honesty, he would rather stay out on the lake, and be sure not to miss anything. But his family was already annoyed at his absence and he was keen to keep things on an even keel if he could. He might even be in time to sit down and have breakfast with them both. It would give him a chance to remind Charlotta just how much Holloway was paying him. If one thing would appease his wife, it was the thought of how much more quickly their mortgage might be paid from this venture. There was no way he could risk his involvement; it was the chance of a lifetime. If that meant a day with his family instead of on the expedition, so be it. He was unlikely to miss much.

“Enjoying your adventures?” The voice dripped disdain and Laine sighed.

He turned to face Mo. The old man stood on the corner, the early sun bright through his mop of pure white hair. “What are you talking about?”

Mo sneered. “Taking these Americans out onto the lake, no doubt stirring up things best left undisturbed. You should know better, Alvar.”

“Are you jealous they didn’t offer you some of their dollars for your expertise?” Laine tried to inject as much derision in his tone as Mo, but he lacked the old man’s cynical skills.

“I’m sure they’ll come to me when they’re ready. Once they need someone who actually knows what he’s about.”

That stung, but only a little. “You think so?”

“I’ve been watching you all,” Mo said. “They told Rinne they’re making a nature documentary.”

“That’s right.”

“Bullshit!” Mo managed to pour generous helpings of condescension into the two syllables.

Laine bristled. “What’s it to you? Why do you care?”

“You know why I care!” Mo spat, disdain melting into hot anger. “You’re trouble, Alvar. And so are they. All of you together? There’ll be hell to pay.”

“Will there really? Because of a few cameras?” He clucked his tongue. “Are you sure it’s not you who’s causing trouble? Spreading your lunatic stories, whipping up fear whenever the town gets too relaxed?”

Mo shook his head slowly. “Is that really my job? The way I see it, I care about all of this.” He waved his hand in a sweeping gesture that took in the town and the lake. “You care about yourself. Are you maybe projecting a little bit here?”

“You know what I think?” Laine demanded. “You’re just fishing for information. You’re just a bored old man wishing you hadn’t wasted your youth, wondering how long until you die, and if maybe you can suck something from other people before you go. Tell a few more tall tales that some loser might remember you by.”

Mo tipped his head back and laughed hard. “Oh, Alvar, you have a bitter, mean streak in you! Whatever happened to make you so nasty?”

Laine clenched then relaxed his fists. Mo should already know the answer to that question. “I call it as I see it.”

Mo nodded slowly, waved a hand in a gesture of truce. “So how’s it going out there? Find anything?”

Laine’s eyes widened. “You see! You’re just desperate for new stories. You can fuck off, Mo. You’ll get nothing from me.”

Mo chuckled deep in his throat and wagged one index finger like a schoolteacher. “You’re easier to play than a cheap fiddle, Alvar Laine.” His eyes narrowed, his expression suddenly serious. “But I’m watching you.”

Before Laine could respond, the old man turned and walked off back toward his shack in the forest out of town. Laine had no idea why he let Mo get to him the way he did, but it had been that way since Laine was a child. Everyone in town at least endured the white haired old yarn-spinner, most seemed to love him, thought him some valuable elder. But nobody else seemed to see the bastard for what he really was. Why was Laine the only one who saw through that kindly old man bullshit? Why could only he see the real danger Mo represented? Whatever. As long as he kept out of the way and didn’t risk Laine’s new income stream here, he could continue to be ignored. It wasn’t like he would really be able to mess up any plans.

Laine sneered. Maybe Mo’s interests all cut a little too close to the bone. Perhaps that was it. He shook his head and turned back toward home, his mood dampened. If the old bastard had made him too late for breakfast with his family, he’d be extra pissed off.

The Merenneito spent the morning cruising back and forth, the crew reading sonar and getting thoroughly bored. Dave and Carly sat around chatting with nothing to do, Slater stalked about making everyone feel as though they should be working harder. Holloway’s enthusiasm was undiminished as he made noises of wonder at the slightest thing.

Aston was surprised at how many deep channels they were finding. When Holloway pressed him, he made the billionaire happier still when he admitted there was every possibility some of the channels could potentially lead all the way out to the ocean under the Finnish coastline. But he insisted it was equally likely that none of them did.

“Either way, not much chance of me ever being able to film that,” Dave said, a little bitterly.

“Not to worry,” Holloway reassured him. “There’ll be wonders for you to film before this expedition is over, I guarantee you that!”

Dave snorted, shook his head. “How can you guarantee anything of the sort?” He grinned. “I’m starting to think Gazsi had the right idea. Not about being scared, but I bet he’s in a nice warm pub enjoying a few beers right about now.”

An hour later they broke for lunch and Slater said to Dave, “As you’re bored, I’ve got a job for you.”

The cameraman winced. “Should have kept my stupid mouth closed!”

“There’s another rubber dinghy?” Slater asked Makkonen.

“Yes, one more.”

She turned back to Dave. “Laine should be back any time now, so how about you take that one out and get some shoreline shots.”

Dave raised an eyebrow. “Shoreline?”

“Yes, take the small video camera and row along near the shore, hold the camera low near the water and get some shots of the shore from, like, a monster’s eye view, you know? Like something watching the land from the water, that kind of thing.”

Dave nodded, lips pursed. “Yeah, okay, I see what you mean. I can do that. What if something exciting happens here?” His smirk betrayed his opinion of that likelihood.

“Carly can catch anything here,” Slater said. She looked over to the quiet sound girl. “She’s a pretty accomplished camera operator too, right?”

Carly jumped slightly, and then nodded. “Yeah, sure. I don’t have Dave’s skills, but I can point his camera if necessary.”

Half an hour later Aston helped Dave pull the cord to inflate the second of their blue and orange rubber dinghies at the dive platform.

“Shame you drank all my beer,” Dave said. “I could have had a nice quiet afternoon out on the water with a few drinks.”

Aston let his mouth fall open, mock outrage. “Me? I reckon you had a fair go at that stash yourself. And Carly and your boss were instrumental too.”

“Yeah, but you Aussies live up to your reputation as big drinkers,” Dave said. “Talk about pounding some brews. You raced us two for one all night.”

“Did I?” Aston was genuinely contrite, a wave of guilt making him blush slightly.

Dave grinned and slapped his shoulder. “As a matter of fact, you did, but it’s okay. We’ll have to try to get some more though. Maybe I can sneak away and make a beer run?”

Aston liked the idea, but couldn’t imagine Dave rowing like Laine. “It’s way too far in this thing,” he said.

“The thought of a night off, a hotel bed, a few drinks in a warm bar… It’s all very tempting,” Dave said wistfully.

“You know what? I’ll talk to Slater and Holloway. Maybe we can go to the pub in town for a break tonight or tomorrow. We can declare the need for a crew morale-boosting outing. Then you and me can sneak some takeaways back on board afterwards.”

“I don’t like your chances of convincing Holloway.”

Aston shrugged. “True. But it’s worth a try. Better than you rowing all that way!”

“Maybe.” Dave stared out across the lake. “Honestly, Sam, this whole thing is bullshit, right?”

“Quite possibly.”

“So if I did head off for the day, enjoy some beers, I wouldn’t miss anything? And I can still get the shots Jo’s talking about along the way.”

“Let me talk to Holloway. I’ll convince him.” Aston held the dinghy steady while Dave climbed in.

“Okay” the cameraman said. “Just don’t forget about me out here.”

Aston grinned. “Get your shots, then row back out into plain sight. We’ll come and get you.”

After several more hours of mapping the team was finally beginning to expand on their original grid. The results were interesting, but only geographically. Nothing on sonar indicated anything bigger than fish and no more evidence had been found of anything other than a huge, largely empty lake.

Aston had repeatedly stood on deck with binoculars looking back to shore to see if Dave was ready to be picked up, but the cameraman was lost among the ridges and folds of the shoreline. Probably enjoying a bit of peace and quiet, Aston thought with a smile.

As the afternoon wore on, he began to get a little more concerned at the cameraman’s absence. Maybe he had gone to the pub in town for a few beers after all. At least, Aston hoped that was the case. He was about to go and suggest to Makkonen that they take the Merenneito close to shore and look for him when the sound of a burbling engine drifted through the air. He scanned back toward town and saw their tin boat, piloted by Laine. The cryptozoologist towed the rubber dinghy he had taken to town along in his wake. A few minutes later Aston was helping the man tie the inflatable at the dive platform then re-cradle the tinny.

“Where was it?” Aston asked as Slater joined them. Carly stood nearby, Dave’s main camera balanced on her shoulder.

“Not far from here,” Laine said. “I found it on the way out, used it to get to town and back. Gazsi must have taken a long walk like Makkonen suggested.” He began unloading plastic bags of groceries and handing them out to be carried inside.

“Did you see Dave out there?” Slater asked.

Laine laughed. “Yes, I did. Has he deserted us too?”

Palpable relief washed over Aston. “No, he was getting some shots. Where is he? Why didn’t you pick him up?”

“Pick him up?” Laine said with a frown. “I saw him in town as I was leaving.”

“In town?” Slater asked, aghast.

Aston suppressed a grin.

“He was heading for the liquor store,” Laine said. “I called out to him, said I had the motorboat to take him back and he told me not to worry.”

“He’s not fit enough to row back again, surely,” Slater said.

“Exactly what I suggested, as politely as I could,” Laine said. “And he replied he had no intention of coming back today, he’d be back in the morning.”

Slater spat a curse. “That lazy good for nothing bastard!”

Aston let the grin out. Good old Dave. He could hardly blame the guy. All that talk of beer must have made him thirsty. Aston was tempted to try to convince Holloway that they should all go back to town and crash Dave’s party, but that felt mean. Let him have his night off and then he could pay for it by having to row back in the morning and face Slater’s wrath.

They spent the rest of the afternoon mapping more of the lake bed and shore, the repeated results of nothing with extra nothing doing little to ease the boredom. All Aston did was ensure he avoided Slater at all costs. He hoped Dave was making the most of his impromptu day off. Nothing short of a massive party with all the booze, cocaine and hookers the cameraman could handle was going to be enough to offset the hell he was going to pay on his return.

“What do you mean Carly will be filming today?” Holloway’s strident voice cut through the quiet morning. “What if today is the day we find it and her skills aren’t up to the challenge? I want a real cameraman on the job. That’s what I paid you for!”

“Mister Holloway, just listen to me.” Slater’s gentle tones didn’t quite mask her frustration. “Carly is more than capable. She’s done double-duty plenty of times. Besides, I’m sure Dave will be back any time now.”

Aston looked up from the sonar screen with a smirk. Dave still wasn’t back? Maybe he had found a party with all the booze, coke and hookers he could handle.

Holloway threw up his hands. “I’m fed up with irresponsible, unprofessional people. I’m paying you well to do a job and I expect you to live up to your end of the bargain.”

“I understand,” Slater said in a placating voice. “Dave’s usually reliable. I think he just partied too hard last night. Believe me, he’ll hear about it when he gets back.”

“Oh, he’s going to hear about it, all right.” Holloway spun and drove his fist into the cabin wall. “Dammit!”

Aston wondered if the man had broken his hand, but Holloway stalked out onto the deck without a word.

“That was scary.” Slater stared at the man’s receding form. “He’s got quite a temper.”

“Don’t worry about that. If he gets out of hand, I’ll settle him.”

“And leave me to deal with Joaquin?” Slater grinned. “No thanks. I’ll stick with Holloway.”

“Fair enough.” Aston returned his attention to the screen, and the great bunch of nothing it displayed. He envied Dave in a way. Tying one on and sleeping in. Anything to break this monotony. “So Dave’s still AWOL, is he?”

“Yes, the bastard. I don’t care how shit-faced my team gets when they’re off-duty, but I expect them to drag their asses to work in the morning. Bad enough he took yesterday off! If he screws up my deal with Holloway…” She finished the thought by cracking her knuckles.

Aston raised an eyebrow. “Remind me not to piss you off.”

“You’re a man. Sooner or later you’ll manage it.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Are we going to struggle for good sound with Carly on camera?” Aston asked, keen to change the subject from himself, direct the heat back to Dave. It was that guy’s fault, after all.

“We’ll manage. I wasn’t lying when I told Holloway she’d done double-duty in the past. So has Dave. We operate on a shoestring budget, and we have to be able to cover for one another.”

“It’s a shame, really. I was thinking a trip into town for a drink would be a nice way to unwind. I even suggested as much to Dave before he left yesterday. I doubt Holloway would be amenable to that any more.”

Slater shrugged. “Who knows? Perhaps we can run it by him once Dave is back and Holloway has calmed down. I think we could all use a break, to be honest. I can kind of understand Dave’s little side trip, but the truth is, he’s being seriously unprofessional, and that reflects on me. Oh well, I’d better get ready for today’s intro. See you in a few.”

“Sure.” He watched her go with a tiny grin on his face.

“I like the look of her when she walks away,” Laine said from behind Aston. He’d forgotten the cryptozoologist was present. “Not that she’s bad coming, either.”

Aston shrugged. Slater was a looker, no doubt, but he wasn’t interested in engaging in schoolboy banter with the Finn. He focused on his screen and prayed Holloway left him the hell alone too. He needed the job, but there was a limit to how much shit he’d put up with from anybody. He realized he was letting all the general frustrations get the better of him, and maybe he was just a little jealous of Dave. “Get a grip, Sam,” he muttered under his breath.

They spent the next half-hour in blessed silence. Finally, Slater and Carly showed up, equipment in tow. Slater’s demeanor hadn’t improved much.

“Still no Dave?” Aston asked.

“Gee, what was your first clue?” Her sharp features immediately softened. “Sorry. It’s not your fault. I’m just pissed off and stressed out. But I’ve placated Holloway by assuring him we can manage even if Dave never comes back.”

“No worries.” Aston made a small wave. “Not to further burden you, but unless you want footage of two men staring at video monitors, we’ve not got much for you. This place is a dead zone.”

Slater grimaced. “I wonder how long until Holloway gives up.”

“Hopefully not for a while yet. I’ve got bills to pay.”

“Me too. I guess I’d better get to work.” Her face brightened and she turned to Laine. “Alvar, how about we let Sam mind the store while I get some footage of you talking about the history of the area. I’m sure you’ve got some entertaining stories we could use.”

“That I do.” Laine rose from his seat, brushed invisible dirt off his pants, and followed Slater and Carly out the door.

Aston took a deep breath and let it out little by little, like a leaking tire. As the air left his body, so did the tension. He didn’t know what it was, perhaps the frustration of their fruitless endeavors combined with the tight quarters on the boat, but he was too tightly-wound to put up with other people today. He turned his chair so he could keep an eye on all the instruments, propped his feet up, and leaned back.

The low roar of the engine, the repetitive sonar profiles, and the murky images on the underwater cameras, blended together in a fatigue-inducing blur. His eyelids grew heavy and a comforting warmth enveloped him. He felt himself drifting.

And then he was wide awake. A massive hit had pinged on the sonar. He sprang to his feet and shouted to the captain.

“Makkonen! Turn this thing around right now!”

Makkonen grunted and complied. The engines whined and the boat wheeled about with agonizing slowness. Footfalls pounded on the deck and Holloway burst into the cabin with Laine, Slater, and Carly hot on his heels.

“Did you say you’ve got something?” Holloway leaned over Aston’s shoulder, so close Aston could feel the man’s breath on his cheek.

“Yes, but I don’t know what.” He scooted his chair to the side to give himself some room. Uncertainty flooded through him. What if, in his drowsy state, he’d made a mistake? Perhaps it had been a waking dream, a manifestation of his desire to keep the mission going? “I didn’t get a good look at it,” he added lamely.

“Anything on the vids?” Laine asked, sliding into his chair.

“Not that I noticed. Let’s be patient and retrace our steps.”

Tension on the bridge ratcheted up as everyone crowded the monitors. Makkonen muttered that they were more or less back to where Aston had first shouted, but the results from all ports were uniformly empty. As the captain slowly and methodically worked a new grid, the excitement began to drain away.

“Are you sure you didn’t dream it?” Slater asked, unconsciously echoing Aston’s own concerns.

“May have done,” he admitted sheepishly. “But I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”

In spite of his words, Aston began to think the whole thing was a mistake. He berated himself for getting carried away and realized he really wanted to find something. If he stopped to think about it long enough, which he hadn’t allowed himself to do until now, he had to admit there was enough circumstantial evidence to make his staunch denial a little shaky. A part of him, the child who still wanted to believe in wondrous things, who desperately wished there was a Santa Claus, was quietly craving a result. If there was one thing better than Santa Claus, after all, it would be a living sea monster.

But the tension had lapsed, the screens remained empty and the tight gathering around Aston’s chair slowly drifted away.

“Sorry, folks,” Aston said. “I guess whatever it was, it’s moved on now.”

“If it was anything,” Slater said, from beside the camera.

Aston realized Carly had been filming the whole sorry debacle.

“It still might have been something,” Holloway said quietly. “Mister Aston says he saw something and we’ve no reason to doubt him.”

“Except for the fact he was laying back in his chair with his feet up,” Slater said.

Aston frowned at her. She was in a really pissy mood and it was starting to annoy him. It wasn’t his fault Dave was AWOL.

Before he could say anything, the sound of the printer shucking out sheets of paper distracted them.

“What’s this?” Holloway asked.

Laine gathered up the pages and spread them on the table. “The sonar keeps a history, which we can review. So I printed it out. Each sheet is one second apart.”

They gathered around the dozen or so pages with grainy, blurred images on each one. To the trained eye, their message was clear. A large object, moving fast.

Slater pointed past the camera as Carly kept all the papers in the shot. “This…” She slapped Aston’s shoulder. “You point it out!”

Aston didn’t immediately respond, his mouth dry as he stared. How was this possible? Was it actually happening? Slater cuffed his arm again.

He shook himself, cleared his throat, and pointed to each printout in turn. “This sonar clearly shows something moving obliquely under the boat as we passed over,” he said. “You can easily see the trajectory, which proves it’s not a stationery object. It’s moving fast and it’s massive.” He looked up, scanned the excited faces around him and felt his own smile spread. “There is definitely something in this lake.”

Excitement on the bridge burst to new heights. Holloway was almost dancing on the spot. Carly moved back to try to get a wide shot of the general euphoria while Aston stayed at the table, leaning on his palms, staring at the readouts. The data was undeniable, but he still could not bring himself to believe it. He glanced up to see Laine looking at him with a subtle frown creasing his brow.

“You unconvinced too, huh?” Aston asked.

Laine shrugged. “I’m not sure what to think.”

“But you want it to be true, don’t you?”

Laine barked a strange laugh. “What I want is irrelevant. There is very little doubt in this town that the creature is real. I’m more concerned about the implications of finding it.”

“What do you mean? The impact on the town?” He supposed in influx of visitors would change Kaarme in perhaps a permanent way.

“That’s part of it.” Laine paused and looked past Aston’s shoulder. Carly had moved in closer to catch their conversation. Laine seemed to rethink what he might have been about to say and instead said, “I just hope it’s not bad for the creature itself, should we actually find anything.”

“But isn’t the fact undeniable now?” Slater asked. “There is something there.”

Aston watched Laine for a moment longer, unsure what was unsettling the man so much, before he turned to stare into the lens. “We scored a sonar hit of something. I can’t think of anything in a lake that would come even close to matching a profile like that.” He gestured at the papers scattered across the table.

Holloway leaned into shot. “Nothing contemporary, maybe!”

Aston sighed. “Correct. Nothing living today matches that data.”

“But something else, from pre-history?” Holloway pushed.

Aston turned to the man, his face set. “Yes, Holloway, a fucking dinosaur would fit the profile. So would a dragon. Maybe even an alien submarine!”

The billionaire laughed. “Why so testy, Mister Aston? Don’t you find the possibilities exciting?”

Aston paused. Why was he so angry? Because the data conflicted with his scientific education and background? Wasn’t science all about responding only to evidence, repeatable evidence, without emotion or personal belief intruding on the facts? Holloway and Laine might be high believers, but Aston himself wasn’t. Yet the results on the table made a mockery of doubt. Repeatable results. That was the heart of science. Empirical evidence, confirmed multiple times. What right did he have to dismiss a theory merely because it conflicted with his prejudices?

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to sound terse. But let’s not get carried away. The simple fact is that we need more data. We also need to test and calibrate the equipment to make sure this hit isn’t an aberration of the hardware or a shadow of something else, something completely inert.”

“You’re joking!” Holloway said with a derisive laugh. “Test the hardware?”

“You brought a scientist along for a reason,” Aston told him. “That reason was scientific rigor. I intend to do my job properly.” He paused. “Think about the scrutiny our work will receive if we conclude there is, in fact, a previously-unknown creature residing here. I want to make sure it holds up.”

Holloway smiled and calmed himself. “Quite right, yes. You make a good point. But all things considered, and hardware glitches ruled out, the fact — the scientific fact! — is that we’ve just got a result here, yes? A result of some huge, unexplained creature in this lake?”

Aston let out a breath and nodded. “Yes, it would seem entirely possible. But let’s get that confirmed.” He turned to Laine. “Maybe you can work with Makkonen. Use the sonar to figure out the direction of travel of that thing and then build a new grid to explore.”

As the day wore on they got no further hits, but did manage to replot their search area for the next day. A new sense of focus, of purpose, gripped the crew. Where excitement for the mission had steadily waned with everyone except Holloway, now a new vitality spurred their activities.

By around four in the afternoon, Aston needed some fresh air and went out on deck. A squally rain was blowing in, bringing with it low, gray skies. The surface of the lake was battered and rippled by the drops, with tiny whiteheads whipped up by a stiffening breeze. Instead of hiding from the weather, Aston embraced the wet chill, turned his face into it and breathed deeply. There was a sense of age and dignity to this place, a different kind of timeworn permanence to the tropical and sub-tropical climes he was used to. He found it invigorating.

Slater stood at the prow, huddled in a red rain jacket, the collar turned up and the hood pulled low over her eyes. It made her sultry and attractive. She talked animatedly into her cell phone.

As Aston approached, he overheard her say, “There’ll be more, of course. And yes, I know the value. Just let me do my work.” She flicked her gaze to him, nodded shortly. “Listen, I gotta go. Yep. Bye.” She hung up and pocketed the phone, threw a weak smile at Aston.

“Who was that?” he asked.

She flapped one hand, then jammed it back into her jacket pocket. “Just business.”

“Sounded a bit… I don’t know, stressful?”

“TV is stressful.” She seemed reluctant to say more. When Aston raised an eyebrow, she said, “I’m busy with a series, specials, other offers. There’s a lot going on for me. Yes, it’s stressful.”

Aston raised his hands. “Okay, sorry! Didn’t mean to pry.”

Slater turned to look out over the water. “Dave still isn’t back.”

Maybe that was part of the reason she was so on edge. Aston nodded out into the squall. “I wouldn’t fancy rowing through this myself.”

“But this has only just started, Sam. Dave’s been gone all day, and yesterday. I’m actually a bit concerned for his safety.”

“Not so mad at him any more?”

Slater snorted. “Oh, I’m still mad as hell at the bastard. But I’m worried too. It’s one thing for him to skip out on us for the evening. Even to be too hungover to come back early. But Dave is used to a few beers. I can’t see how it would lay him low enough to stay away. So either he’s really sick or…”

“Or what?”

“I don’t know. Or something else has happened, I guess. Either way, I’m worried. He has a cell phone and I’ve been calling and messaging all day, but no response.”

Aston nodded, gazing out across the turgid lake. “I don’t know Dave well, but what you say makes sense. We talked before he left about getting some more beer and sneaking it back to the boat. He gave no indication that he intended to desert us.”

“I’m a bit concerned about that policeman, too,” Slater said. “The one who hassled us right before we left?”

“You paid him off, right?”

“Holloway did, yeah. And we sold him on the story that we’re making a nature documentary. But what if he spotted Dave in town and put the hard word on him? Dave’s a pussycat, he wouldn’t cope well with being pressured. He might have let slip something of our real mission.”

Aston frowned. “And why would that stop him coming back?” he asked.

“Maybe that king-shit cop arrested him.”

“I would expect him to motor straight out to us in that case,” Aston mused. “We’re easy enough to find out here, and not that far from town.”

Slater pursed her lips. “I suppose so. But I still don’t like it. Gazsi deserted us, Dave has gone missing. There aren’t that many of us here, Sam! We need to know what’s happening.”

“Go and talk to them?” Aston suggested. “Gazsi, I mean, and the copper.”

Slater shook her head. “I don’t want to talk to the police just yet. If they get wind that we’ve got two men MIA, they’ll shut us down for sure. It’s all the excuse they’ll need. What about we do that trip to the pub for some R and R like you suggested. We can ask casually in the bar about Dave, sniff around a bit.”

“Yeah,” Aston said. “Good idea. I agree with you about keeping a low profile. And if the law found out about that bloody foot we’ve got on ice…”

Slater hissed between her teeth. “I don’t think even Dave would be dumb enough to mention that, but if he’s getting interrogated he might crack.” She paused, turned a slightly haunted gaze on him. “Or maybe something happened on his way back here.”

“Right, you’ve got me concerned now too.” Aston straightened his back. “I want to keep Holloway and Laine out of it though, keep it simple.”

Slater nodded. “Most definitely. Honestly, the less time I have to spend with Holloway the better. The man grates on my nerves.”

“He does that to everyone, I think. Except maybe Joaquin. That guy seems to worship his boss.”

“He’s a sycophant, getting very well-paid. Who knows what all services he really provides?”

Aston laughed and cocked an eyebrow.

Slater grinned back. “Well, I didn’t actually mean that, but you never know!”

“What about Laine?” Aston asked. “He was acting pretty strange when we got that big sonar hit.”

“Alvar Laine is pretty strange in every way.”

“I guess.”

Slater looked up into the heavy clouds, and then scanned the tree line along the shore. “Can you imagine being born and raised here? I think he’s just a little spun out by the expensive gear, the loud Americans, the weird Australian.” She smirked at him.

“Yeah. Okay, I’ll pay that. Maybe you’re right. He’s just a country boy. But I’d still prefer to keep him away. Just you and me, go and snoop around.”

“Are you trying to get me all to yourself, Aston?”

He flushed slightly, hoped it didn’t show. She had hidden depths, this TV personality. She was growing on him. “Just a pleasant by-product of the situation.”

“So you say. But yeah, I don’t want anyone else coming with us.”

Aston nodded, let out a long breath. “Cool. So we’ll tell Holloway we’re taking the tinny back late this afternoon, we’ll have a meal on dry land, couple of drinks, because we need a little space and a change of scene. But mainly, we plan to find Dave and drag him back by his ear. Under that pretense, it’ll be easy enough to pry around a bit.”

The rain blew through after an hour or so, leaving behind a cold breeze that whipped across the lake, making the surface choppy as Aston piloted the small boat back toward town. It had taken some time to convince Holloway to let him and Slater go back alone. With so many people eager for a change of scenery, the billionaire was all for turning the Merenneito around and taking everyone in to port for the night, where he could keep them together and under his thumb.

“I’m glad you talked that rich moron out of coming with us,” Slater said, shouting to be heard over the wind.

“You could tell Makkonen had no great desire to go back and Laine has only just been home,” Aston said. “They helped more than anything I said. I get the impression they both like to stay as far away from society as they can.”

Slater laughed. “Can you imagine the conversation back there tonight?”

Aston joined in with her mirth. “I reckon Holloway would get more conversation from a brick wall! He might as well talk to the harpoon.”

They fell into a companionable silence for the ten minutes or so longer it took to get back to town. As they rounded a cove and the roofs came into view, Aston realized how much he had missed civilization’s small comforts. It had only been a day or two and he was more than used to roughing it on various excursions, but simple things like a pub nearby would always remain close to his heart.

He nosed the tinny in between boats and yachts of various size in the small harbor and Slater hopped out to hook up their mooring rope to a wooden stanchion silvered with weather and age.

As they tramped along the wooden jetty, Slater said, “I told Holloway we might be back before it starts to get dark, but that only gives us about three hours.”

“I think he knew we had no intention of coming back until morning.”

“I hope we can get rooms. Unless you want to bunk together.” Slater flicked Aston a sidelong glance.

He grinned. “The pub we saw on arrival is a hotel too. I’m pretty sure it won’t be booked out.” He wasn’t sure how he felt about the whole situation. He couldn’t deny he’d enjoy a tumble with her, and Slater seemed to think the same. She’d been more flirtatious than he had, especially once he shared her concerns about Dave. But he couldn’t help thinking it would all be just too damned complicated. Then again, if they had a few drinks tonight and ended up in a room rather than rooms, he would not complain.

A tanned, fit-looking old man who had watched them leave days before emerged from the grocery store opposite, two laden plastic bags in hand. His white hair whipped in the wind. Aston caught his eye and smiled. The old man nodded back, not smiling but less surly looking than he had appeared as they left. There seemed to be a hint of curiosity in his gaze.

“Laine said he saw Dave heading for the liquor store, right?” Slater said, interrupting Aston’s thoughts. She pointed across the street to a shop with rows of glittering bottles lining the shelves behind plate glass.

“Yeah,” Aston said. “Wanna start there?” He glanced back, but the old-timer was already heading away from them toward the lake.

Inside the store, the warmth was a welcome relief from the biting wind across the harbor. The proprietor, a tall man with a mop of sandy curls, smiled and lifted a hand in greeting.

Slater returned the gesture as she approached the counter. “I’m sorry, do you speak English?”

“Why are you sorry?” The man folded his arms and set his jaw.

“Oh, I just…”

The shopkeeper flapped a hand and laughed. “Is okay, I’m joking. My English is passable.”

“Anyone who can correctly use the word passable is pretty fluent, I reckon,” Aston said.

The man nodded once in humble acknowledgment. “What can I do for you?”

“A friend of mine came in about this time last night,” Slater said. “American, little bit chubby, black woolen cap. Do you remember him?”

The shopkeeper frowned and stuck out his bottom lip. “I can’t be sure. Honestly, we were strangely busy last night. A tourist coach party came into town, lots of Americans. They left again this morning, passing through to somewhere else, like usual.”

Slater let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay, thanks.”

“How many places are there to stay in town?” Aston asked.

“Several guest houses and the like,” the shopkeeper said. “But the only actual hotel is across the road there.”

Aston couldn’t suppress a grin. “The one with the bar underneath?”

“That’s it.”

He turned to Slater. “Seems most likely to me.”

“And we can take a little time to get our thoughts together, unwind a bit.” She turned to the shopkeeper and smiled. “Thanks for your help.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled and waved as they left.

“Bloody friendly bloke,” Aston said as they hunched against the wind and jogged across the road.

“Almost too friendly,” Slater said with theatrically narrowed eyes. “Probably a pedophile or a politician or something.”

Aston laughed and shook his head. “Gutter press, you are!”

Slater slapped his arm. “I’m not a hundred per cent sure I get that, but if it means what I think it does, that’s about as harsh an insult as you could throw at me!”

They ducked into the pub and were once again wrapped in very welcome artificial warmth. A low hubbub of activity and conversation filled the space, with a dozen or so patrons enjoying drinks. Here and there people had meals in front of them, steak and fries and casseroles and other things Aston was at a loss to identify. They chose stools at the bar, close enough to the bartender that they could easily engage him in conversation, but not so close as to be right in his face.

Slater was pleased to find beer and hot wings on the menu. Aston ordered Vauhtiveikko, a wheat beer recommended by the bartender and, after some deliberation, a bowl of smoked reindeer soup.

“Screw Rudolph,” he said in response to Slater’s quirked eyebrow. “I prefer Halloween to Christmas.”

After a while, Slater began to chat up the bartender. He was a thickset man with pale skin and black hair, his round head and even rounder belly reminded Aston of a snowman. He said that he hadn’t seen Dave, but that the hotel had been busy with the coach party last night and had no rooms available. Perhaps their friend had found a guest house?

Slater gave a noncommittal shrug as if it was of no importance, and continued to chat as their food arrived and they tucked in. It was very good and Aston had no regrets on Rudolph’s behalf.

Slater’s small talk was smooth, practiced, and the bartender seemed eager to please. He answered all her questions quickly with enthusiastic nods for emphasis and, to his credit, only the occasional glance at her breasts. Slater skillfully guided the conversation toward the subject of the creature.

“I know it’s crazy, but I’ve heard some stories about some sort of lake monster here,” she began. “Not that I believe in that sort of thing, but when I was a kid I loved to read about Nessie. I used to imagine there was a monster in the lake behind my house. Of course, the biggest thing that lived in there was a turtle.” She shrugged.

The bartender smiled. “Nessie is just a myth, something the Scots embellished for the sake of tourism. Our monster is real.”

“Seriously?” Aston hoped he didn’t sound as skeptical as he felt. “I figured it was just a legend.”

“Some legends are true.” The bartender flashed Slater a knowing smile. “I could tell you a few stories if you like, but only if you’re drinking.” He eyed her empty mug.

Aston quickly ordered up another round and they settled in. Around them, the low hum of conversation faded away as the man launched and his story.

“The natives have plenty of tales about the creature. Lots of sightings, mostly by the full moon.” He saw Aston roll his eyes. “I didn’t make up this stuff, I’m just repeating it. Anyway, according to legend, they often found signs of the creature coming ashore at the full moon. Prints, tracks, and the like. Also deer carcasses, reindeer, moose, even wolf. Or bits of carcasses. And, from time to time, one of their own would go missing.”

“And they blame the monster?” Slater asked.

“Not at first. But after a while, someone must have made the connection to the full moon. Finally, it came into a nearby settlement and took a little girl. She managed a single scream before it spirited her away, enough to wake her father. He followed the tracks and saw the beast carrying her into the water.”

Slater shuddered. Whether it was a genuine response or just for show, Aston couldn’t say. “That’s horrible. Did he say what the creature looked like?”

“It depends on which version of the story you hear. Some go into great detail, giving it everything from giant flippers to clawed hands. Those are clearly embellished. One of our elders, a guy we call Old Mo, is sort of our local storyteller. He says the oldest versions of the tale simply mention a long snout and sharp teeth.”

“But obviously it’s just a legend, right?” Aston asked. He took a sip of his beer. “I mean, is there any evidence to support it?”

Slater shot a warning glance in his direction. Her meaning was clear. I’ve got this guy talking; don’t shut him down.

But the bartender didn’t seem to mind. “We don’t have, what you call it, a fossil record or any remains. What we do know is that, up until a hundred years ago, the natives continued to make a sacrifice to the beast at the full moon.”

“What kind of sacrifice?” Slater said in a voice just above a whisper.

“An animal sacrifice, as far as I know. A goat, a cow, a deer…” He paused, looked around, and leaned in close to Slater, resting his elbows on the bar. “But Old Mo says that wasn’t always the case. If someone was close to death they would offer themselves to the creature. After all, a human sacrifice is supposed to be the most powerful one of all.”

“Hey, it worked for Jesus,” Aston said. He immediately wondered if he had stepped in it, but the bartender chuckled.

“How about more recent stories?” Aston asked. “Anything in our lifetime?”

The bartender shook his head. “Not in our lifetimes, that I know of anyway. But Old Mo tells a story about a lost German platoon sometime around World War Two.”

“I thought the Finns fought against the Russians during the war,” Slater said.

The bartender made a wry smile. “We were on the German side. As I understand the story, Hitler was a superstitious man who was always looking for items of power that he thought would help Germany to victory.”

“Like the Spear of Destiny,” Slater said.

“Wait, that was a real thing?” Aston asked. “Hitler’s search for artifacts, I mean.”

Slater nodded. “I know he searched for biblical relics, but what would he have been looking for up here?”

“That, you’d have to ask Old Mo. I just know they were up here searching for something they thought to be hidden in a secret cavern somewhere around the lake. They must have believed it, because they came ready to blast through anyone and anything that stood in their path.” He bared his teeth. “But they weren’t prepared for the monster. The Germans disappeared to the last man.”

“Now that is interesting,” Slater said. “By the way, does this monster have a name?”

“Not one that has stuck, but Old Mo calls it vesiuhraus. It means…” He glanced in the direction of the front door and frowned. “What’s he doing here?”

Aston and Slater turned around to see the police officer Holloway had paid off striding toward them.

Aston tried to keep his features calm, hoping the lawman would ignore them, but it was a vain hope. The guy strode up to the bar and planted himself right beside Slater. He sat facing straight ahead, but Aston saw him flitting glances in their direction.

“What can I get you, Superintendent Rinne?” The barman asked the question with the enthusiasm of a convict being handed his sentence.

“A mineral water,” Rinne replied, his voice deep, resonant. “I’m on duty.”

“Coming up.”

The barman moved away to get a glass and general conversation in the bar rose again. Story time was over. Before Aston could lament that fact too much, Rinne turned and pinned him with a hard gaze. The man’s eyes were the palest blue, like glacial ice. His nose was lumpy from a bad break, his brow heavy, everything about him reminiscent of an ex-boxer, going a little bit to seed now, but still proud. Aston picked him to be somewhere in his mid or late-fifties, but he had a full mop of pale hair and broad, muscular shoulders. He was a formidable man.

“Having a night off the lake?” Rinne asked.

Aston nodded and Slater said, “We decided to have a break. Bit of R and R.”

“Been working too hard making your nature documentary?” Derision hung heavy on the words.

“Not so much hard work as confined conditions,” Slater replied, unperturbed. She flashed him her most winning television smile.

Rinne scowled, unimpressed. “I don’t see what’s so special about our lake that American television audiences would care to see.”

“Really? Oh, I love hosting shows about places like this. The natural beauty, the interesting and vibrant local community. Our audience loves that stuff. It’s something a little different, you know?”

Aston worried she was laying it on too thick, but Rinne had started off unimpressed and Aston couldn’t imagine anything changing that one way or another.

The policeman snorted. “I think Americans don’t care for anything except America.”

“That’s the impression the rest of the world has, sure. And rightly so given the loudest voices in the media.” Slater made a rueful face, shrugged. “But the people who aren’t like that tend to be quiet. Trust me, we’ll get great viewing figures for our film about this place.”

“You think so? You found anything special out there, except cold water?”

Aston bristled. Clearly the Superintendent was angling for an admission that they were here for something beyond nature and the vibrant local community. Would he quickly revoke any agreements if they admitted to more? Slater wasn’t that foolish though, surely.

“Oh, we’re getting great footage,” Slater said, all enthusiasm and smiles. “Incredible bird life, for one.”

Aston wanted to ask the man if he’d seen Dave around town, but that was sure to arouse suspicions. There was nothing more likely to raise a policeman’s interest than a missing person. He hoped Rinne didn’t ask the bartender what they’d been chatting about earlier.

Rinne scowled at them a moment longer then downed the mineral water the barman had placed silently in front of him. He pulled a wallet from the inside pocket of his thick uniform jacket, but the barman silently waved it away.

Rinne nodded his thanks, gave Aston and Slater one more glare for a few uncomfortable seconds, then walked from the bar without a backward glance.

“Jesus,” Aston said. “Serious guy.”

“Hopefully I was effusive enough that he still thinks I’m just an American bimbo,” Slater said with a wicked smile.

“You’re more than just a pretty face, huh?”

They held each other’s eye for a few seconds and a moment of heat rose between them. Aston cleared his throat, looked away.

“Another?” he asked, indicating his empty glass.

Slater wore an indulgent half-smile. “Sure. I fancy a few more of these, to be honest.”

They fell to chatting comfortably as they enjoyed several more glasses of tasty wheat beer. Aston appreciated Slater’s easy intelligence and honest charm. They laughed about the differences in their upbringing, a planet apart, though realized their schooling was very similar, regardless of distance. They talked about how they had both followed their passions, determined to succeed in their chosen fields and how they had found that success to some degree, but still yearned for more. For greater recognition, bigger opportunities, fatter paychecks. Aston chose not to mention his seedier connections and gambling debts. He felt it might bring the conversation down and he had a strong urge not to say anything that might make Slater think less of him.

He was deep in a warm haze of booze when Slater said, “So we should maybe look up this Old Mo guy the bartender mentioned?”

It took him a minute to remember the stories and who the hell Old Mo was. “Yeah, I guess we should. Maybe we can ask around in the morning, see if we can find him. Character like that is probably known all over.”

Slater frowned, pointed to the bartender. “Why don’t we just ask now?”

“I’m leery of making our intentions too well known with any one person,” Aston said quietly. “That Rinne guy sniffing around and all.”

“A healthy dose of paranoia?”

“Something like that. I reckon it’ll be easy to find the old man by asking elsewhere tomorrow.”

Slater leaned forward, closer than necessary, and put a hand on his knee. “Good thinking. So what now?”

Aston looked around the bar, much emptier than it had been. “Getting late, I guess.”

Slater pursed her lips, mock impatience. “One room or two, Sam?”

He laughed. He respected her strength of will and, though it might be the beer talking, she was surely way hotter than he had ever realized before. Of course, it’s the beer talking, he chided himself, but he thought she was hot when he was sober, so what difference did it make? “I don’t want things to get complicated…” he began.

“Screw complicated,” Slater said, slapping his thigh hard enough to sting slightly. “No strings, yeah? Just some fun. We both want it, right? Or have I completely lost my ability to read people?”

“No, your ability is strong.”

“So what do you call it in Australia? A bit of no strings attached fun?”

Aston grinned. “A casual shag, maybe. That’s what you’re talking about? There are less polite terms.”

“Like what?”

“An easy root?” He grinned, a bit too drunk, but enjoying it.

“A root?” Slater said, laughing and frowning at the same time.

“Aussie as, that is,” Aston said, turning the accent up to eleven. “Getting a good root with a top Sheila. That’s why we laugh when you lot say you’re rooting for your favorite team. It means something else entirely to us!”

Slater laughed. “Rooting for your team!” she repeated. “What a mental image that is now!”

“Hey, did you know the Kiwis invented the condom?” Aston said.

“Kiwis? You mean New Zealanders?”

“Yeah, they’re called Kiwis after their national bird.”

“They invented the condom?”

“Yep. They were the first people in recorded history to use a sheep’s intestine as a condom.”

“No, really?”

“It’s true. Except it was us Australians who refined the concept. We’re the ones who came up with the idea of taking it out of the sheep first.”

Slater tipped her head back in a genuine belly laugh. Her eyes fell back to meet his. “Woo. I’m actually really drunk.”

He stood, a little shakily and took a deep breath to steady himself. “Me too. Let’s book a room, eh?”

On the shore of Lake Kaarme, under cover of darkness, a figure stepped carefully between rocks, leaving deep footprints in the soft mud. The wind whipped his dark, cowled cape, wrapping the damp, filthy hem around his ankles. Over his shoulder he carried a small hessian sack that flexed and kicked a little as he moved. A roll of something was tucked under his arm. Hardly any moonlight shone through the cloudy sky, and even less illumination from the stars, but he avoided the deepest shadows cast by the trees. Eventually he picked a suitable spot and crouched to lay out a woven reed mat just a few feet from the water’s edge, and dropped the weakly thrashing sack to the ground. The lake lapped gently, the soft slap of wavelets on the shore strangely soothing.

The figure dropped to his knees on the mat, hands clasped together, and began to chant. His voice was deep and melodic, the words mysterious and hypnotizing.

For more than ten minutes the man continued his unbroken litany, watching intently over the water. He suddenly stiffened, attention sharp, and reached inside his cape to withdraw a strange icon of straw and sticks, a small parody of a man, arms and legs spread wide. He placed the handmade figure into the mud, pressing its feet down so it stood before him, facing out over the water. He drew back his dark sleeves to reveal well-muscled forearms, and held out his hands, basking in the night and the exultation of his dark ritual.

He found a knife inside his cape, heavy, thick-bladed, shining in the weak moonlight, and slit the ties holding the sack closed. He reached in and withdrew a rabbit, its eyes wide in shock as it kicked against him, but his grip was sure. He turned it over, holding its back legs tightly and sliced deeply across the creature’s throat. Its blood gushed, steaming in the cold air, and the man held it over the icon to drench the stick figure and the wet surrounding mud. After several seconds of bloodletting, he pitched the still-twitching carcass into the water.

The chant went on and something caused the tiny waves coming in to increase. The slap and splash got louder as a smooth hump crested only an inch or two above the surface some twenty-five yards out. The smooth hump crested again, just slightly, and a few long spines seemed to flex and flick droplets of water into the air.

Not breaking his chant, the man stood, gathered up his mat and backed away, bowing repeatedly, his eyes, lost in the shadows of his hood, never leaving the lake.

Something massive briefly crested once more as the man deemed himself safely distant and turned to hurry back toward town.

The blood-soaked stick man stood in the mud, waiting.

Aston woke with the mother of all hangovers. His parched mouth begged for water and his eyes burned from the thin light through the curtains. He groaned and rolled over.

Slater lay next to him with one arm draped over her face. “Yeah, tell me about it,” she said softly.

Aston forced his eyes open and found that his pounding head was relieved slightly at the sight of her curves under the covers. He drank in the sight for a moment, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he remembered the previous night through the slight haze of inebriation. They had certainly been compatible, at least in one aspect of their relationship.

He reached out to touch her, perhaps suggest a repeat performance, but the moment his hand landed she rolled over and got up.

“Lots to do today,” she said perfunctorily. “We’d better get moving.” Without a backward glance she disappeared into the shower.

“That’s that then,” Aston muttered, and closed his eyes again.

They finally emerged from the hotel room a little after ten. Ravenous, Aston’s stomach roared a rapacious counterpoint to the drumbeat inside his head. The bar was quiet and still as they passed through it and out into the crisp day.

Slater pointed across the street. “There’s a cafe. Breakfast and coffee await.”

“Excellent.” Aston caught her eye as they headed over the road. “No regrets?”

“None.” She kept her hands thrust deep in her jacket pockets. “But let’s forget about it for now and get back to work, yeah? Just a no-strings hookup, right?” She grinned. “An easy root.”

Aston laughed, though he was disappointed that he might not get to repeat such wonderful fun. “Sure.” He decided to change the subject quickly before the urge to wheedle rose all the way to his mouth. “So, Old Mo then? And where the fuck is Dave?”

“I’m worried,” Slater admitted. “I had tried to be content with telling myself he was goofing off, getting drunk and being irresponsible or whatever. Maybe arrested, like we talked about. But that Rinne guy would certainly have mentioned it last night, right? So it seems like he’s really gone. And that begs the question, gone where? And why?”

“You think something might have scared him off?” A thought occurred to Aston, from their encounter the night before. “You think maybe that Superintendent Rinne dickhead got to Dave while he was in town, but didn’t arrest him? Just gave him the hard word and that scared him away? He might be enough of a dick not to mention that and wait until we ask about it.”

Slater pursed her lips, shook her head slightly. “It’s possible, I suppose, but I know Dave. He wouldn’t just leave. He’d come back to me and tell me he was leaving. Or call, at the very least. I’m sure of it.”

They entered the café and picked a table covered by a red and white checked cloth. A small glass vase stood in the center holding a few ragged wildflowers, half wilted. Only a handful of other people were there, the smell of coffee and bacon rich in the air. Aston’s stomach rumbled. Tiny speakers let out some classic fifties rock’n’roll, Eddie Cochrane if Aston wasn’t mistaken.

They scanned the menus and ordered coffee and fried food. The waitress was tall and willowy, long blonde hair in a ponytail that almost reached the tie of her apron.

“Say, you didn’t happen to have a customer in here in the last day or two,” Slater said. She described Dave and what he was wearing.

The waitress, Ingrid according to her name badge, looked up at the ceiling for a moment in thought. “It’s possible,” she said eventually. “But I can’t be certain. We’ve been busy the last couple of days.”

“Coach party?” Aston asked, exasperated. It was the worst luck for them that a tiny town where everyone knew everything had been disrupted with so many visitors just in time to make his life difficult. Their life, he reminded himself. Dave’s disappearance was frustrating for him, but it must be truly distressing for Slater. Dave was her colleague and friend.

“Yah, coach party,” Ingrid said. “Sorry about that.”

Slater nodded. “No problem. One other thing. You know a local man, Old Mo?”

Ingrid laughed. “Of course! Who doesn’t? Dear Old Mo. Lovely man, but crazy as a loon.”

“Really?”

“Sure. He tells wonderful stories, but lives in a world of his own.” Ingrid punctuated the statement with a roll of her blue eyes.

“He lives here in town?” Aston asked.

“Not quite.” Ingrid pointed out the window, past the small harbor. “He has a shack not far from the lake edge, about a kilometer of town. You follow the road until it ends, then the path up the hill. You can’t miss it, there’s nothing else out there. You want to visit him?”

“We’re making a nature documentary about the lake,” Slater said. “It’s always good to interview locals about stuff.”

“Oh, really?” Ingrid straightened and drew one hand back over her hair. “I’m a local! I would love to be on television. I’ve lived here all my life.”

“Well, great,” Slater said, her TV smile suddenly gleaming. “When we’ve finished out on the lake I intend to do some interviews around town. I’ll be sure to come back here.”

Ingrid let out a small laugh of satisfaction, almost a yelp. “I’ll get your breakfasts!” She skipped away like a dancer.

“Nice girl,” Aston said with a crooked grin.

“Bless her,” Slater said. “The enthusiasm of youth, trapped in the middle of nowhere.”

After breakfast and coffee, feeling about three thousand per cent better than he had on waking, Aston trudged beside Slater as they asked around after Dave in several other shops and eateries. All with the same result. The cameraman had either been invisible in the unexpected crowd that had passed through town or he’d disappeared like a ghost. Or both.

Slater’s concern was clear and Aston felt bad for her. He liked Dave, despite only just meeting the man, and was worried for him too. He gripped Slater’s hand as they walked back toward the harbor.

“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Aston said, though his words sounded hollow.

“Are you?” Slater asked. “Really?”

Aston sighed, shook his head. “No, I guess I’m not. But I really hope he does. You know, he may be waiting for us back on the boat.”

“Maybe. But I can’t help thinking something terrible has happened.”

“It is starting to feel that way,” Aston admitted. “Should we go to the police?”

Slater shook her head. “Call me a callous bitch, but we have a job to do here and if we bring ourselves any more to the attention of that Rinne we risk having everything shut down around us. I’m really worried for him, but Dave is a grown man.”

“What if it’s something, you know, nefarious?” Aston asked.

Slater cocked her head. “Nefarious?”

“Yeah, criminal or whatever. What if Dave’s been abducted or attacked or something?”

Slater paused, looking back toward the small town. The lake made gentle wet sounds behind them. “Let’s give it twenty-four hours. If there’s still no sign of him by then, we’ll go to the police.”

Aston shrugged. “Okay. Your call. Meanwhile?”

Slater let go of his hand, turned, and walked purposely along the road past the harbor, heading for the trees beyond and the path that snaked between them. “Let’s go and see Old Mo and get us some more juicy monster stories.”

“Think this is it?” The motley collection of weathered boards, dirty glass, and rusted nails that passed for a cabin made Aston feel a bit off. Every corner was almost a right angle, but not quite. Bits of tarpaulin and canvas hung here and there, some covering irregular lumps on the surrounding grass. Bones — some fish, others he couldn’t immediately identify — lay scattered on the ground. All around, the sickly-sweet odor of decay hung heavy in the air, cloying in the shade and closeness of the surrounding trees. To their right, the land sloped steadily downwards, Lake Kaarme glinting distantly between shadowy trunks a few hundred yards away.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen several horror movies that started out like this,” Slater said.

“Not scared are you?’

“No, just rethinking all the times I called those characters ‘stupid’ for walking up to the creepy old house.”

“And chatting with the scary old man?” He inclined his head toward a figure seated on a rock under one particularly old looking tree, whittling a piece of wood with a large, wicked-looking knife.

Old Mo, if this was indeed him, was not what Aston expected. In fact, Aston had seen the fellow before, several times around town. The snow white hair was bright even in the low light, the man’s short frame thickly muscled, and his leathery skin was tanned a golden brown. He glanced up from his carving and smiled.

“Can I help you?” he called.

“Are you Old Mo?” Slater asked.

“That’s what they call me.” Old Mo stood, slipped his knife into a sheath at his belt, and ran a hand through his shock of hair. “My mother named me Moses, but I was never very good at parting the water.”

Aston forced a laugh.

“We’re making a nature documentary,” Slater began. “We’re interested in stories about the lake monster and we hear you’re the man to ask.”

Mo flinched. He knitted his brow and folded his arms. “Try again.”

“I’m sorry?” Slater asked.

“Nature documentary that wants monster stories? Anyway, I’ve seen you around, seen what you’ve been up to.” He gestured down the slope. “I watch what happens out there on the water, you know. Sometimes I take long walks.” He tipped his head in the direction of their boat, a couple of miles along the shore.

“We really are a film crew,” Slater said.

“I’m the researcher on the crew,” Aston interrupted. “We are making a film, and of course the monster, or its legend, will have to feature. We just want to learn about the creature and assess the plausibility of its existence, and how that might affect the local fauna and so on.”

Mo appeared unconvinced. “All I know are stories. No facts.”

“That’s fine,” Slater said. “Stories often contain some truth. Also, they’re more entertaining than straight facts.”

“You’re going to put me on television?” The old man raised his bushy eyebrows.

“Maybe. It isn’t up to me, but can I record your stories and run them past the man in charge. You never know.”

Mo considered this for a full ten seconds before giving a single nod and striding toward the shack. “Come on in,” he said over his shoulder as he passed them by. “But I should warn you, some stories are best left untold.”

Slater cast a doubtful look at the shack and then at Aston.

“He’s good at setting up his trade as a yarn spinner, I’ll give him that,” he said. “It’ll be all right,” he added, in voice intended only for her ears. “You’ve got me.” He gave her a wink.

“I’m not afraid of him trying something. I’m worried about the roof falling in on us.”

Aston chuckled. “That’s a chance we’ll have to take.”

The interior of Mo’s shack wasn’t much better than the outside. The walls were lined with rickety shelves stuffed with old books, magazines, and loose papers. Most of the titles were in Finnish, but those Aston could read were of the unsolved mysteries ilk — the sort of stuff Slater covered on her show. Dirty dishes filled the tiny sink, drawing more than a few flies. A hot plate, an old university dorm-style refrigerator, and an even older microwave oven were the sole appliances. A few tattered sofas and armchairs were scattered around, and a scored and stained wooden table stood in the center of the room, one broken leg propped up on a stack of five or six hardback books.

“Coffee?” Mo asked.

“Please,” Slater said, courtesy winning out. Her polite smile twisted into a grimace as soon as their host turned his back.

They settled gingerly onto an old couch while Mo filled three hopefully clean mugs with water, microwaved them one by one, and added heaped spoonfuls of instant coffee. As he busied himself in the kitchen, he sketched out the history of the creature in a bored voice. It was all the kind of stuff they could have learned anywhere, and mostly already had.

As Mo rejoined them, Aston decided to toss the old man a softball question to break the ice before asking more directly about the monster’s modern activities.

“We heard an interesting tale about something else that happened here and were told you’d know more. Something about Nazis exploring this area.”

A wide smile split Old Mo’s wrinkled face. “Ah, The Tale of the Lost Legion. I’m surprised you’ve heard of it. Now there’s a story worth telling.”

“I have to confess, we weren’t aware of it before we arrived,” Slater said. “It came up in conversation.”

“The bartender?” Old Mo quirked an eyebrow at Slater, and chuckled when she nodded. “He loves to talk, that one. I think he fancies himself my heir-apparent as local storyteller. Of course, that’s many years away. I’m too mean and stubborn to die.”

“A sentiment I can appreciate,” Aston said.

Old Mo nodded sagely. “In any case, the story should properly be called The Lost Platoon. I suppose Lost Legion just rolls off the tongue in a more pleasing way. According to my research, Hitler didn’t even send anything close to a full regiment. As best I can tell, there were between fifty and one hundred men in all, including civilian scientists.”

“But Hitler did send men here looking for something?” Slater asked.

“Oh yes. That is not in dispute. Not only have I collected numerous stories from locals, but a few had photographs their parents or grandparents had handed down to them. It’s common knowledge the platoon was here.”

“Could we see some photographs?” Slater asked. Aston wondered if she was feigning interest in order to get on Mo’s good side, but she seemed genuinely curious. Probably considering it as a future topic for her show.

Mo rummaged around for a bit and produced a small box. Opening it, he took out a pack of some twenty or thirty black and white photos in a Glassite envelope. He carefully removed the contents and handed them to Slater.

“They’re in remarkably good condition,” Aston said, glancing at the first photo; a shot of a scowling young soldier in a German uniform standing on the lake shore.

“They’re reprints, not originals. I still try to take good care of them though.”

Aston looked over Slater’s shoulder as she shuffled through the pile. All of them showed soldiers in town or wandering the area around the lake. The buildings in the pictures were largely unchanged from the streets he had only recently walked through. Seemed like change was slow to come to Kaarme. Most pictures were blurry, but they got the point across.

The final one in the stack was different. It displayed an older man, an officer by the markings on his uniform, standing at the back of a truck. He was deep in conversation with two civilians, one a dark-haired man with prominent jowls and a thick unibrow, the other a severe-looking woman of late middle years. The vehicle they stood behind was piled high with wooden crates, all marked with the Hoheitszeichen, the stylized eagle perched atop the swastika.

“These people look important,” Slater remarked. “Any idea who they are?”

“The officer was Herman Frick. A prominent member of the Nazi party who disappeared from the historical record around the time the Lost Legion arrived here. The man is Lars Pera and the woman is Greta Gebhardt. Both were scientists associated with the Ahnenerbe.”

“The what?” Aston had more than a passing familiarity with world history, particularly World War II, but he’d never heard of that organization.

“Now that,” Mo said, easing back in his chair and folding his hands in his lap, “is quite a tale.” He gave Slater an appraising look. “Surely you have heard of them?”

“I know the name, that they had an interest in the occult, but I’m afraid I don’t know any more. They’d make a good subject for a show.”

“A nature documentary?” Mo asked, one side of his mouth hooked up in a smirk.

Slater inclined her head with a smile, but said nothing.

Mo nodded and then went on. “They had much more than an interest in the occult. They were true believers.” A faraway look filled the old man’s eyes and he seemed to focus on a point somewhere in the distance. “Ahnenerbe translates to ‘inherited from the forefathers’. It was an institute in Nazi Germany whose purpose was to investigate the history of the Aryan race. Heinrich Himmler was a co-founder along with Herman Wirth, and Richard Walther Darré.

“Originally the group was tasked with simply finding evidence to support the so-called racial heritage of the German people. Himmler, however, was obsessed with the occult, and he soon expanded the group’s directive to include pseudoscience and the investigation of ancient myths and legends. They began conducting research and experiments in the hope of proving that, in ancient times, Nordic people ruled the world.”

“Is this the group that sent an expedition to the Antarctic, hoping to find Atlantis or something like that?” Slater asked.

“Yes. New Swabia they called the Antarctic. But it was much more than a single expedition. The Nazis were obsessed with the region. Records show that many scientists were sent there and none returned. Some believe they settled somewhere beneath the ice, and that a German presence remains hidden in Antarctica to this day.”

Aston caught himself rolling his eyes and was grateful Old Mo didn’t notice. No need to offend the old man, particularly when they still hadn’t brought the conversation around to tales of the lake monster.

“What interest did the Ahnenerbe have here?” Aston asked.

“The Nazis had a particular interest in the Nordic region, believing this was possibly the place where their imagined pure white race originated. They visited Bohuslän, in Sweden, to study the petroglyph rock carvings, which were believed to be evidence of an ancient system of writing that predated all other known systems. As a result of that expedition, they claimed to have uncovered and translated an ancient alphabet which proved, among other things, that Rome was founded by ancient Nords.”

“And that relates to the expedition here?” Slater asked.

“The only evidence I have comes from tales handed down from locals who interacted with the Nazis, but the stories are consistent enough that I’m confident I’ve got the story right, at least in the broad strokes. One comes from the daughter of a woman who fell in love with Pera and bore his child. But she kept her maternal surname. Laine.”

Aston raised his eyebrows. “Like Alvar Laine?”

“He was their grandchild, the son of the man sired by Lars Pera and Anna Laine.”

“He never mentioned he was the grandchild of Nazis,” Slater said, with a smile.

Old Mo nodded, laughing. “Why would he? There are quite a few descendants of that lost regiment here in town, and none of them are particularly keen to admit it. As well as Laine, there’s also Superintendent Rinne, and his siblings. Old Karl from the sheep farm in the next valley, the woman who runs the service station. Several more. The regiment was here quite a while, after all, and lots of people are from lines started on nights they were bored and in town. For many of the women here at the time, it seems they had little choice on whether they… interacted with the Nazis or not.”

Slater frowned. “That’s messed up.”

Aston laughed, tried to lighten the mood. “Why am I not surprised that policeman has got Nazi blood?”

Mo smiled, shook his head a little indulgently. Aston hoped the offhand comment had not caused offence. “The things you can learn from pillow talk,” Mo said.

Aston didn’t miss the way Slater’s eyes flitted toward him for a moment.

“Anyway,” Mo went on, “according to stories the Ahnenerbe uncovered in Sweden, somewhere in this region lay an entrance to the Hollow Earth.”

Aston cocked his head. “The what?”

“I know this one,” Slater said. “It’s the belief that there’s another world beneath the Earth’s surface. Theories vary wildly as to what’s actually down there, but the Nazis believed in it. Back when I was doing a story on the Yeti I stumbled across stories of one of their missions to the Himalayas searching for an entrance to the world below.”

“A nature documentary on the Yeti?” Mo asked, one bushy white eyebrow high.

“I work in many areas of television,” Slater said.

The old man inclined his head.

“That’s seriously a thing?” Aston asked. “I mean, outside of Journey to the Center of the Earth? What did they expect to find down there? Goblins and fairies?”

“Don’t be so quick to dismiss it,” Mo said. “Stories of the Hollow Earth, or human forerunners who emerged from or still live in the ground, can be found in cultures all around the world — in Europe, Asia, even America.”

Aston dismissed the old man’s comment with a curt wave of his hand. “It seems absurd. Why waste time with such a thing when they had a war to win?”

“Any more absurd than a spear that will lead your army to victory simply because it pierced the side of a man who was known as The Prince of Peace? Or a cup that grants eternal life because that same man bled into it? Even the idea that bread and wine are the flesh and blood of a god? People believe all sorts of absurdities.”

“I’ll grant you that, but what was the Nazi’s particular interest in this world? More ‘research’ into the origins of the Aryan race?”

“That was a factor, but in the case of the Lost Legion, they believed they would find something that would help them win the war.” Mo’s eyes twinkled. “Alien technology.”

“Alien.” Aston hoped his expressionless tone conveyed his utter disbelief.

“Think about it. Living under the earth without benefit of sunlight and fresh air would be virtually impossible for humankind as we know it. But if one had the benefit of highly-advanced technology, a race could survive, perhaps even thrive down there.”

“And the Nazis believed this?” Slater asked.

“Some did. There are basically two schools of thought. One holds that alien observers live beneath the earth, making a study of us, but keeping out of our affairs.”

Slater scratched her chin and frowned, deep in thought. “So, UFO sightings might be supply runs, or a changing of the guard.”

Mo grinned. “Precisely. The second theory holds that the aliens who reside beneath the earth were either our direct ancestors, or interbred with primitive hominids. That interbreeding resulted in the emergence of Homo Sapiens. The same race of aliens built Atlantis and provided the knowledge to build things like the pyramids. Eventually, these ancestral aliens died off, but their artifacts remain hidden in the Hollow Earth.”

“So the Ahnenerbe thought to win the war with alien technology?” Aston considered this. It was mad, but at least it made a perverse sense, if you accepted these people were true believers.

“Correct. Through their research, Pera and Gebhart concluded that somewhere in the system of underground and underwater caverns and passageways in our area, they would find an entrance to the Hollow Earth, guarded, the legends said, by a mighty leviathan. They brought soldiers, weapons, scientific equipment, and enough explosives to blast through even the greatest obstacles.”

“So what happened to them?” Slater was staring at Old Mo in rapt attention.

Mo shrugged. “They went down into the caverns and never came back.”

“Do you think they got lost? Trapped in a cave somewhere?” Aston asked.

“I don’t think they were trapped. They had a mountain of explosives at their disposal, remember?”

“So what do you think happened?” Aston grinned crookedly. “Maybe they found the Hollow Earth?”

Mo smiled. “The monster.”

They all laughed, but a little nervously. The story was one of the most bizarre yarns Aston had ever heard spun, and he’d spent long nights drinking with Queensland cattle farmers. But he couldn’t help being fascinated and slightly disturbed by it. However, it wasn’t much help with their current mission. He needed to bring the topic of conversation back to the present day.

“That’s all quite amazing,” he said. “I could listen to stories like that all day. But is there anything you can tell me that might be of particular use from a research perspective now? Anything I could study or measure?”

Mo stared up at the ceiling. “About the monster? Well, there’s the animal exodus.”

“What’s that?” Slater asked.

“Every year, around this time in fact, most of the local wildlife disappears. I’m sure you’ve noticed during your studies of the local fauna. It doesn’t literally vanish, of course, but drifts away. Centuries ago the natives noticed that around this time of year they were forced to go farther and farther away to hunt game. Also, the fishing wasn’t nearly as productive as other times of the year.”

“And it’s believed to be connected to the creature?” Aston asked.

Mo nodded. “No one’s proved it, of course, but it’s accepted. People tend to stay away from the lake this time of year. Many even keep their pets inside.” He chuckled. “It’s become such a common practice that I doubt many of them even know why they do it, save custom and superstition. And most people think I’m mad living out here, so close to the lake.”

“Are you?”

“Probably, but it keeps me away from the crowds and I prefer it that way.”

Aston chuckled. Even for someone as used to remote locations as he was, it was hard to conceive of a tiny town like Kaarme ever having crowds. But everything was a matter of perspective. Two people in a room made that room crowded if they didn’t get along. “That’s something we could follow up for certain,” he said. “Keep an eye on the animals, see if we observe any migration patterns.” They couldn’t, and wouldn’t, do anything of the sort, of course. They lacked the manpower or the inclination, but the scientist in him was fascinated and wished they could put some time and resources into the subject. Besides, a migration didn’t necessarily prove a monster was the cause, though there was no need to tell Mo that when the old man was being helpful. But it was a strange thing to consider.

“Why do you think the animals migrate?” Slater asked him.

“Could be any of several reasons: post-hibernation feeding, mating season, protecting freshly-hatched young.”

“Do you think there’s a breeding population in the lake?” Slater asked.

“Of the monster?” Mo said, confused. “Well, there has to be one somewhere, doesn’t there? Unless you think this one beastie is a thousand or more years old. But whether it’s in our lake or not? Who knows?”

Aston took a sip of his coffee, considering his next question. The brew was strong and bitter, and he surprisingly found it to his liking. He hadn’t drunk instant in years.

“Is there anything else you can tell us about this exodus?”

“Not about the exodus, but I can tell you people die on the lake this time of year.” Mo’s face became serious as he stood, moved to the nearest bookshelf, and took down a large scrapbook. “Take a look at these articles, and mind the dates.” He handed the book to Slater.

A yellowed newspaper clipping from 1972 told of two teenagers who had vanished while boating late at night. Their boat had been found, but no bodies. Page after page, one or more for almost every one of the last forty-plus years told of people going missing while on or around the lake, and all dated at roughly the same time of year.

The last item was the most disturbing: a hand-written entry about the body of a fisherman that had been found on the lakeshore the previous year. Rather, half of his body had been found. The cheap Polaroid photograph pasted into the book provided mute testimony to that fact.

Slater made a gurgling sound in her throat and turned her head.

“Bitten clean in two!” Mo said.

“How do they know he was bitten?” Aston asked. The photograph was taken from above the victim’s head and showed little in the way of detail, even for a Polaroid.

“What else would do that to a man? Besides, I know for a fact he was bitten in half because I’m the one who found the body. It was ragged, like something had clamped down on him and thrashed around until he tore in half. But the bones? They were sheared right through, not snapped. Terrible thing.”

The gleam in his eyes said Mo considered it anything but terrible.

“Was an autopsy performed?” Slater asked. “The results could be helpful.”

“Should have been.” Mo rested his mug on the upturned crate that served as a coffee table, steepled his fingers, and leaned in close. “But I think it was covered up. The story never appeared in the news. Nowhere at all. I looked.”

Aston took another swallow of coffee and considered this. Why would a small town hide such a secret? It had no tourism industry to be harmed by the revelation. “Who do you think might have covered it up?”

Mo crinkled his brow, the lines in his forehead deepening.

“The man I reported the death to — Superintendent Rinne.”

Aston was glad to get back out into the fresh, crisp day after they’d thanked Old Mo and made their retreat, but he was frustrated. If anything, they had emerged with more questions than they’d taken in. The animal migration story was a useful scientific tidbit, however. It gave him pause that they really might be dealing with something strange. And the annual deaths, the body torn in half. How did a town this small cope with the fact that someone died almost every year on or near the lake? Sometimes several someones. Aston couldn’t help thinking he’d have moved away at the first opportunity, but perhaps most of these people simply didn’t have that option, maybe for financial reasons, or simple familial loyalty and staying where they had always been. The idea of tradition had a lot to answer for in its various incarnations.

As they made their way back to the harbor, Aston decided he was really getting suspicious of everything to do with Superintendent Rinne too. The local police chief gave him the creeps on many levels. There was obviously mutual dislike, but he couldn’t blame Rinne for that if the lawman suspected them of lying to him about their reasons for being here. But Aston’s distrust ran deeper, and not based on that quip about Nazi blood. It was something else, more immediate and contemporary, that bothered him about the gruff official. He smiled inwardly, self-awareness rising. He had often run afoul of the law, since his teens and on into adulthood. He needed to remember that his distrust of the police was because they were a hornets’ nest he regularly poked. But even taking that into account, something discomforted him about Rinne. Even if the man wasn’t the local Superintendent, Aston was pretty sure he wouldn’t like the guy.

Slater broke his reverie. “We’d better get back.” She scanned the jetties with their large variety of watercraft. “Where’s his dinghy?”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Dave’s dinghy.” Slater waved a palm left and right. “We should have checked when we arrived, but it’s only just occurred to me. If he came to town, why isn’t it here?”

Aston pursed his lips, scanning the vessels to confirm it wasn’t in sight. “I don’t remember seeing it.”

“Me either.”

“Maybe we’ll find Dave back at the boat, waiting for us.”

Slater looked at him for a moment, and then turned her gaze out over the iron-colored waters of the lake. “No, we won’t.” She turned hard eyes back to him. “Will we?”

Aston licked his lips, ineffectually as his mouth was suddenly dry. “No. No, I don’t think we will.”

“Shit, Dave.” Hurt lay heavy in Slater’s voice.

Aston put a hand on her shoulder, went to give her a hug.

She pulled away, striding off toward their dinghy. “Come on. Let’s not waste time.”

They motored back to the Merenneito in silence. It was easy to forego speech over the noise of the small outboard, but Aston was a little concerned at Slater’s coldness. Was she just concerned for Dave or was she making it very clear that last night was last night and he wasn’t to think any differently? She might, of course, be cool with him for both those reasons. He shook himself. There was no point in pining like a bloody teenager for her and she was right that they had bigger things to deal with. Play it cool, Sam. You might get to fool around with her again, but not if you’re an idiot about it.

Holloway appeared on deck as they drew near, his face stretched with a wide smile.

Slater turned to Aston with a frown. “What’s he so happy about?”

Aston shrugged. “Who the hell knows? Maybe his stocks went up a point.”

“Welcome back!” Holloway called to them. “Why isn’t Dave with you?”

“We can’t find him,” Slater shouted back.

Holloway moved to the side and lowered the cradle to help them rehang the dinghy. Sudden, almost oppressive silence descended as Slater killed the engine.

“Can’t find him?” Holloway asked, his voice subdued.

“No sign anywhere,” Aston said. “Just vanished.”

“Do you think he abandoned us?” Holloway asked.

Slater climbed aboard and Aston followed. “Maybe,” she said. “We don’t have anything to go on. No sight of him.”

“Unbelievable. I can’t abide irresponsible, unprofessional behavior!” Holloway spat. “It’s just as well you’ve proven you can manage without him thus far. Looks like you’ll have to carry on that way. Are you up for that?”

Slater nodded curtly. “Yes, we’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

Clearly she didn’t want to discuss the matter with Holloway and Aston couldn’t blame her. The billionaire’s effusive nature and innate selfishness made him the last person Aston would ever want to talk to about anything serious. Let him concentrate on his folly.

True to form, Holloway practically danced across the deck, Dave’s disappearance forgotten in an instant. The beaming smile was back. “Well, we’ve certainly had some interesting happenings while you’ve been gone. Come on and we’ll give you the good news.”

He led the way back to the bridge where they found Alvar Laine, Olli Makkonen, and Carly waiting for them. Carly held the camera trained on the large table that was now covered in printed images. She looked at Slater with one eyebrow raised and Slater shook her head. Carly frowned and a look passed between them that Aston interpreted as, ’we’ll talk later’.

“Look at what we’ve got here,” Holloway said. “Two of our underwater cameras were working overtime last night.”

Carly slowly circled, capturing the moment on film.

“Which ones?” Aston asked.

Holloway pulled the lake map over and indicated two spots near the lake shore where a pair of cameras were positioned less than half a mile from where he and Slater had just been — a stone’s throw from Old Mo’s shack. “Here and here,” he said. He shoved the map aside and pulled two grainy black and white images to the fore. “What do you make of these?”

All the images showed the same thing: a grayish, diamond shape in the murky water. Aston leaned in for a closer look. “They look like flippers,” he said cautiously. “Based on the shape, it could be a seal, though with no reference to size…” His words sounded doubtful to his own ears and the others obviously shared that assessment.

Slater gave him a look, part amused, part chiding. “Is there any way we can get a scale?” she asked, turning her attention back to the photos.

“Not really,” Holloway admitted.

Aston had to agree. “If there were an object of known size in the image, or if we knew the flipper’s precise distance from the camera, we could make a reasonable calculation, but with no frame of reference, we’re stuck.”

“So, either it’s a small object that’s very close to the camera or it’s a huge object that’s far away.”

Aston nodded. He assumed Slater’s statement of the obvious was for the benefit of the slower-witted of her television audience.

“It’s definitely way bigger than a seal,” Laine said disdainfully. “At bare minimum it’s about ten feet from the camera, else it wouldn’t be in focus at all. And the shape really isn’t seal-like.”

Aston nodded, chastised. “You’re right. It’s too long, too pointed.”

“Look at the ends of the flippers,” Slater said. “It looks like there are little nubs on them, like digits.”

“Maybe,” Aston said, “but it’s difficult to tell. It could just be a trick of the camera, what with the murky water.”

“And how about this?” Holloway moved new images into view that showed a curve of dark flank that seemed to be riddled with small studs of bone or scale.

Aston leaned closer still, fascinated. “Maybe a fresh water shark no one has seen before?” he suggested, genuinely racking his brain now for answers.

Holloway pulled another picture to the top. It showed a clearer, larger section of the thing’s body and this time a crest of long bony spines was stark against the murky water.

“Jesus Christ.” Aston stood back in surprise, and then quickly went back in for a second look. “This has the hallmarks of some kind of, I don’t know, basilosaurus maybe. But they weren’t spined. Honestly, anything like this is a bit out of my area of expertise.”

Holloway pounced on the suggestion. “Saurus? You mean a dinosaur?” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation of Aston’s reply.

Aston flapped one hand. “It can’t be a dinosaur! I mean, it could be some creature descended from something like a basilosaurus or similar. I just wish we had a better idea of how big it was.”

“I’ve been doing some calculations,” Laine said. “In one of the photos you can see stones and what looks like an old diesel can. Based on the images and the small amount of visible objects, my guess is that thing, whatever it might be, is over fifty feet long.”

Everyone in the room tuned to stare at the cryptozoologist. Carly made a small noise in her throat then reddened, embarrassed. Holloway’s grin threatened to split his head in two.

“That’s ridiculous,” Aston said. Laine handed him the photograph in question and pointed out the oblong shape lying in the mud beneath the tip of the flipper. But still… “Your calculations must be way off.”

Laine shrugged. “It’s possible. But even a conservative estimate on the information available suggests at least thirty-five feet. And that’s very conservative.”

“But your reference points are not particularly clear or obvious. There’s a lot of guessing, right?” Aston said, trying to nudge the man to admit he was deliberately overstating the issue.

“I’ve lived here my whole life,” Laine replied matter-of-factly. “I know this lake and the sort of detritus that gathers at the bottom.”

There was silence for a few moments. Eventually Aston said, “We have to be careful not to get too carried away. Good science, good research, is about taking your time and double and triple-checking everything. Jumping to conclusions or making uncertain conclusions from limited data is the worst thing we can do now. We don’t even know if this thing is a predator or some kind of giant grass-eating manatee!”

Holloway threw back his head and laughed, a harsh guffaw that sounded to Aston distinctly like Ah-HA! He winced internally. What had the crazy old guy got next?

The billionaire pushed everything else aside to make a clear spot on the table then reverentially laid one more photo on the dark wood. “I would say it was an apex predator, Mister Aston.”

A variety of gasps and groans sounded around the room. The picture showed, in clear close-up, a section of bony jaw. Plainly visible were at least two rows of wickedly pointed, backwards-facing teeth.

“Just think of the money and prestige to be gained from this giant prehistoric beauty!” Holloway said.

Aston kept his silence. If Holloway was correct, and Aston still doubted it, there were plenty of considerations the man hadn’t yet measured.

After issuing instructions to move the Merenneito back to the area where the cameras had captured the recent images, Holloway had sent for Joaquin and declared the two of them would take the dinghy to town and get “all the fixings” for a celebratory feast. As they motored away, and Laine and Makkonen pored over the maps to decide the best course and search pattern, Aston followed Slater and Carly back out on deck.

While Slater explained all they had learned about Dave, which was depressingly little, Aston stared after the rapidly shrinking dinghy, Joaquin’s bulk obvious even from a distance. Were they getting into something that would prove too much to handle? Just what the hell were those pictures showing? He was finding it increasingly hard to maintain any kind of professional or personal skepticism in the face of the combined evidence and legends. The huge lake suddenly seemed colder than ever. And far, far bigger.

“It’s not okay!” A note of fear hung in Carly’s strident voice.

Aston turned his attention back to them. With Dave gone, they needed Carly to hold it together until they completed the job.

“I know,” Slater said, consoling. “It’s not, but I’m not sure what else we can do.”

Tears streaked Carly’s cheeks. “Dave is a good guy. He wouldn’t just leave.”

“That’s what I told Aston,” Slater said. “And I also told him that if we don’t hear anything from Dave in the next twenty-four hours, we’ll go to the local police and have them begin a search.”

“We should go now!” Carly insisted.

Aston stepped in. “Honestly, Carly, I don’t really trust the local police chief. And he certainly doesn’t trust us.”

Carly looked from Aston to Slater and back again. “Did the monster get him?” she asked. They didn’t answer right away, so she pressed her point. “He goes out for photos, goes to town and then just disappears, doesn’t come back.”

“We don’t know what—” Slater started.

“We don’t know anything!” Carly became angry as well as hurt. “Where’s the boat he took? Maybe he went to town, had a great old time, and then came back like he said he would, but didn’t get this far. Did you think of that? Do you remember those pictures we were just looking at?”

Slater reached out, put a hand on Carly’s arm.

“And what about Gaszi?” Carly demanded. “Has everyone forgotten about that guy? A lot of people are just wandering off on this trip, don’t you think?”

A contemplative silence hung in the air. No one had anything to say for a few moments, lost in their own thoughts.

Eventually Slater said, “I suppose the only real question right now is whether we continue or not?”

“Are you asking me?” Carly said.

“I’d like to hear your thoughts.”

“I want to go to the police about Dave,” she said. “Now, not later.” She crossed her arms tight, defiantly shielding herself against argument.

“Tell you what, I’ll go in the morning,” Aston said, keen to head off any enmity between the two remaining members of the film crew. “Holloway has the motorboat now anyway, and by the time they’re back it’ll be late.” He paused, grinned without much humor. “I don’t want to go out across the lake in the dark. We’ll carry on, have our dinner and whatever else the madman has planned, then first thing in the morning I’ll go directly to Rinne. That okay?” He didn’t relish the idea, but Carly was right.

Carly deflated slightly, maybe relieved there wasn’t going to be further disagreement. “Okay.”

They busied themselves for what remained of the late afternoon investigating the region where the photos had been captured the previous night. No sure hits on sonar or anything else definitive came their way, the slow business of monster hunting once again winding down to its lowest gear.

Like so many sections of the lake shore, this place was riddled with underwater passageways, many of which would be large enough for a creature of substantial size to squeeze through. Of course, there was no telling how far any of them went, or which of them narrowed or disappeared entirely, and right now there were too many to explore individually, so they kept searching. Any one of them could potentially be some kind of lair.

“Look there,” Aston said, moving quickly to the screen showing a feed from a high definition camera attached to the underside of the Merenneito. “Can we zoom in?”

Laine operated some controls and the image swept deeper into the lake.

“We need more light,” Aston said.

Laine hit another switch and a bank of powerful halogen spotlights along the hull snapped on. The camera flared out for a second, then matched the new exposure levels and showed more detail than ever. Silt and particulate matter sparkled and drifted past the lens, but the creases and ridges of rock puncturing the lakebed mud were clear now.

“Slow down,” Aston said. “Pan left a bit. Bit more. There! See those?”

A trio of odd-looking creatures swam lazily through the water, not far above the bottom. Heart hammering in his chest, Aston turned to gape at the others.

“What are we supposed to be looking at? Those fish?” Slater asked.

“Look closer. Those are skate!” The small, ray-like creatures, with their long tails and wing-like fins, seemed to not so much swim as fly through the depths.

Slater leaned in, brow creased in confusion. “Skates only live in salt water, right? In the sea.”

Aston knew for certain she was right. It was his job to know this stuff. What he saw down there was not a freshwater creature, but he had no doubt he had identified it correctly. “Yeah. They shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly as his mind worked through possibilities to explain their presence.

“Can’t some fish live in both salt and fresh water?” Slater asked.

“Some, sure. There are anadromous fish like salmon, smelt, sturgeon, which are born in freshwater but spend most of their lives in the sea, but then return to fresh water to spawn. Then there are catadromous fish, which generally live in fresh water and spawn in salt water. Certain types of eels, for example. And there are creatures that are happy in brackish water, you know, a mix of salt and fresh, like low salinity oceanside lakes or something. But I’ve never heard of skate living in fresh water.”

“So how can this be?” Laine asked.

“I don’t know,” Aston admitted. “I’d love to catch one. I’ll wager they’re a unique variation on the species. We might have discovered something entirely new here. I know it’s not what you’re all after, but this is pretty fucking exciting stuff for someone like me!”

Makkonen wandered up behind them to watch. The taciturn captain’s brow was creased. “You’re sure about this?” he asked, but the others simply stared.

Slater’s eyes widened. “If we could prove the existence of a new species, that would make this whole expedition worthwhile even if we don’t find a monster, right?”

“Definitely!” Aston said, trying not to sound like a kid at Christmas. Perhaps he could escape this job with a positive bank balance and his professional reputation intact, enhanced even. He could get papers published out of this. He might get the opportunity to name a new species. There were numerous skate already identified, dozens of genera, but nothing freshwater, he was sure of it. Calm down, Sam. He took a deep breath. There was a strong possibility for how these things came to be here and it didn’t automatically mean they had a new species on their hands.

“Maybe the monster is a large skate,” Laine offered, interrupting Aston’s thoughts.

“That doesn’t match up with the images we’ve found,” Slater said. “Not by a long way.”

“You know what this means?” Aston asked.

They both looked at him.

Aston stood back from the screen and shook his head. “It means at least one of these channels leads all the way to the ocean.”

“We’re dozens of miles from the ocean,” Laine said. “Maybe more. Is that really possible?”

“I don’t see any other way that those things can be here,” Aston said. “Their ancestors must have worked their way here and become comfortable with the brackish conditions over many generations. Which means there has to be access back and forth between their natural marine habitat and this lake.”

“So if that’s true,” Laine went on, “then our creature may well be a seafaring critter that’s discovered this same access to our lake.”

Aston turned to the cryptozoologist. “But why?”

Laine’s brow creased. “Why, what?”

“Why would it come here?”

Laine raised his hands. “Isn’t that your field of expertise?”

Aston laughed and shook his head. “I suppose so. This is such wild speculation on every front, but if there’s a channel that does go to the sea, and if there is a monster here, and if it does use the channel to travel back and forth, there needs to be a biological reason. Feeding? Breeding ground? Perhaps this is its original home. Is there possibly even a population here? We can’t know, but we need to establish these facts.”

Slater glanced back at Carly. “Are you getting all this?”

Carly nodded, the camera fixed on Aston.

“Holloway is going to have a cow when he hears this development,” Slater said. “His bubble will be impossible to burst.”

It was a couple of hours later when the burbling engine of the tin boat heralded the billionaire’s return. He was beside himself with the news, running from screen to screen, coming up with ever wilder speculations on what they may have found and how exciting that was. Aston could almost see the dollar signs spinning in Holloway’s eyes.

“Joaquin,” Holloway said, “To the galley with you! I think we really have cause to celebrate.” As the big man went below decks, Holloway turned to face the others. “I bought lobster, crab, oysters, all kinds of fruit and delicacies and even a few bottles of damn fine wine. I know I said this was to be a dry ship, and I stand by that, but for tonight we’ll make an exception.” He grinned at them, like an indulgent father awaiting the adulation of his brood.

“Sounds good,” Aston said. His hangover from the night before was still a fresh memory, but he was happy to trigger another one at this stage.

“Did you see Dave anywhere?” Carly asked, breaking the professional silence of the camera operator. She ignored the annoyed look that Slater flicked her way.

Holloway shook his head. “Another deserter. No matter, we’re more than equipped to manage as we are. Now, keep collecting all the data you can. I’m going to help Joaquin. Celebratory feast in one hour!”

Without waiting for a reply, he strode out. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Aston and the others returned to their work.

It was a fine feed, Aston had to admit. Holloway had spared no expense and managed to find quite a spread in shops of the remote community. They made sure there would be no wine left over and by around ten pm everyone was lounging in their chairs, full to bursting and pleasantly drunk. Aston tried a few times to catch Slater’s eye, but she was plainly ignoring him. He had hoped a little alcohol might grease the wheels of a reenactment of the previous night’s fun, but he was getting the message.

Holloway couldn’t stop talking about the possibilities before them. In his mind, the creature had been captured and carted back to civilization to be shown off for a fortune and they were all famous and richer than ever. Aston wanted to tell the crazy bastard the story of King Kong and the warning it offered against this kind of folly, but he knew it would fall on deaf ears. And honestly, who in the world didn’t already know that tale and its message? That was trouble with people like Holloway — they were convinced they were somehow better than all those who went before them. Convinced that whatever befell others was the result of some weakness on the part of those unfortunate fools and would be avoided with enough faith, enough enthusiasm, enough money. But the truth was that no matter how much wealth and belief someone had, a monster’s teeth would puncture a rich man’s heart as swiftly as it would a poor man’s.

Aston blew out a breath. The booze and Slater’s indifference was making him bitter and pessimistic. Also honest, he bitterly reminded himself.

Slater pulled herself up and headed for the door. “I’m off to bed. I’ll see you all in the morning.”

“Me too,” Carly said. She stood and threw a look at Aston.

“I remember,” he assured her.

The young woman hurried away and Slater followed.

“I guess that’s a good cue for me too,” Aston said. “Goodnight all.”

Makkonen, Laine and Joaquin offered him nods, Holloway raised a hand and waved. “Until tomorrow!”

Aston left the four men and hurried to catch up with Slater. He needn’t have rushed, as she stood alone on the deck staring out over the lake. Carly was nowhere to be seen, presumably already off to her bunk.

Slater glanced back over her shoulder and sighed. “Not happening,” she said tiredly. “I thought you were okay with the concept of a one night stand.”

Aston let the annoyance and disappointment slip by him. “I’m cool with that,” he said, though it was a slight lie. “Not why I came.”

“What is it then?”

“I’m worried that Holloway is getting a little carried away here.”

Slater turned away from the lake to face him. “And you’re also worried that maybe we really are on the trail of something dangerous, rather than a myth?”

“That too.”

Her face softened. “Yeah. I feel the same. But what do we do? I can’t help feeling Holloway is so locked into this thing that he’s going to do something stupid or reckless. How do we remove ourselves from that?”

“I don’t doubt it. He’ll do anything to succeed. And that’s the question. Are we still going to help him?” Aston was nervous she might suggest abandoning the entire venture. He certainly felt it would be the best option for safety, but he needed Holloway’s money. And the marine biologist in him simply had to know more about what was happening in this huge lake. There was the potential for great scientific discovery. And recognition, if he was honest. But at what cost?

Slater looked away. “I hate myself for it, but I’m still kind of invested.” She looked back, her eyes narrowed. “Are you curious at all? Don’t you want to see this through?”

Aston took a deep breath and sighed, nodded slowly. “Yeah, I have to admit that I am. If there really is something like we’re thinking down there, it would rock biology and history to its core. I want to be a part of that if I can.” Slater opened her mouth to speak, but Aston held up a hand. “But not if it’s going to get us killed. Or anyone else killed.”

“Is it really possible it’s already gotten two of us killed?” Slater’s voice was soft, her eyes wide.

“Gaszi and Dave, you mean?”

She nodded.

Aston looked at his feet. “I guess it is possible.” He met her eyes again. “So we’re back to square one. Do we push on or not?”

“It’s probably all academic anyway,” Slater said. “You promised Carly you’d go to Rinne in the morning and you have to do that, report Dave missing. It’s the right thing to do. After that, everything may well come crashing down around us when that weird bastard gets involved.”

“Think he’ll shut us down?” Aston wondered how Holloway would handle such an eventuality. Would he still pay Aston what he had coming to him? He immediately kicked himself for such a selfish thought. Two men were missing, perhaps even dead. Of course, Aston would soon be joining them if Chang didn’t get what he was owed.

“It wouldn’t surprise me one bit.”

“Bit pessimistic, no? He might not.”

She let out a long, slow breath, turned, and walked away, heading for her bunk. “Good night, Aston.”

He watched her leave, enjoying the view. “Night, Slater,” he said, but she was already out of earshot.

Senior Constable Pieter Lehtonen rowed as slowly and carefully as he could up to the dive platform of the Merenneito, careful to make no sound. The overcast skies blanketed him in darkness, with scant light by which to navigate, but he was thankful for the covering darkness. He wanted to get this over with, preferably without meeting any of those he was investigating. Something splashed in the water behind him and he whipped his head around, but saw only ripples. A fish, he supposed.

The three am cold bit deep into his bones, chilling the sweat on his brow, and he cursed Superintendent Rinne again. Sending him out like a common cat burglar was ridiculous and he had told Rinne so. But his boss insisted, citing the possibility of the small town being sued for wrongful arrest or harassment if they went in and found nothing.

Lehtonen thought perhaps there was some other agenda at work. Rinne’s methods had always been… unconventional, and this expedition seemed to have struck an odd chord with the veteran policeman. Rinne had been unusually tense since the arrival of the American and his research team, curt with his underlings, barking orders, and quick to anger. Lehtonen wished he understood, but as a salaryman he did as he was told. Sneak onto the boat, is what he had been told. Find something that gives us a good reason to get a search warrant and find out exactly what those weirdos are up to.

Anything he found would be inadmissible as evidence, he had pointed out, but Rinne didn’t seem to care. Whatever. Do as he was asked, enjoy the overtime pay he had been promised and use it to buy Adalina a better birthday present than he could otherwise afford. That alone made the excursion worthwhile. He would always take every opportunity to make his wife happy. She’d spent two years at university in Helsinki and had reluctantly returned to Kaarme out of love for Lehtonen. She spent her days chafing at the bonds of small town life, and only Lehtonen’s constant attention kept her content, if not fully satisfied with the life they’d made together. But she would bring some form of modernity to the town one way or another. Kaarme was her project now.

He smiled as he silently secured his rubber dinghy at the dive platform, and then mentally shook himself, focusing on the job in hand once more. He slid the glass door open and stood listening for several moments. Silence pressed on his ears. He heard the gentle slap of the lake against the hull and nothing else. He jumped as some night bird hooted, then only the water once more.

He moved on soundless feet through the dive room and climbed the steps up to the bridge. The first thing he saw was a table littered with eight by ten printouts. He used a penlight to quickly scan the images and his eyes widened at the shots of fins and teeth. What in God’s name were these supposed to be? Glancing around furtively to make sure no one was about, he pulled out his phone and took a couple of photos of the pictures, wincing at the bright bursts of flash. When he was finished, he looked out the bridge windows and grinned. It wasn’t as if there was anyone about to see him. As long as the ‘documentary makers’ stayed asleep he would be fine.

He moved around, taking photographs of several other printouts and pictures, quickly putting together in his mind exactly what these people were doing. They were monster hunters, clearly. More fools desperately seeking something that at best should be left well alone. They seemed to have found a strange geological feature and that interested Lehtonen greatly. After all, who wasn’t intrigued by the local legends, even if it was best to ignore them? But regardless, these people were lying about why they were here and they were almost certain to cause trouble. Rinne would want them gone and Lehtonen had found enough here to give the Superintendent cause to question them, but not really anything on which to base an actual search. He needed something more concrete, some angle Rinne could play. The man was thorough and obsessive.

A glance out on deck showed the boat to be heavily equipped with lots of new gear, including complicated looking nets and hydraulic arms, and a big harpoon gun. The surveillance equipment on the bridge and the gear he’d seen in the dive room were proof this operation was massively financed. It was a far cry from the simple expedition they’d claimed.

Lehtonen shook his head. Americans. He moved back through the Merenneito, quietly checking storage cupboards and any other space that wasn’t behind a closed door, but he found nothing more of interest. He didn’t dare risk disturbing someone in their bed, and the longer he stayed, the more he pushed his luck. He passed into the galley and had a quick poke around. A large, well-stocked freezer stood beside the cooker. He opened a couple of drawers and saw expensive seafood and fancy frozen desserts. These people were eating well. He spotted a small package of frozen éclairs — Adalina’s favorite treat, and tucked them inside his jacket. The crew wasn’t likely to miss them among this veritable cornucopia, and if someone noted their absence, they’d simply assume one of the others had beaten them to the prize. His head swimming with happy thoughts of smiles, kisses, and perhaps a little more his wife would bestow upon him in thanks, he made to shut the door when something caught his eye.

An oddly shaped object sat on its own in the bottom drawer, wrapped in plastic. He shifted aside the covering and gasped, barely stifling a cry. Eyes narrowed, he moved more sheeting aside and confirmed what he had at first thought must be a hallucination. A foot! These people were holding human remains. Now, this was something that would be of interest to Rinne, and rightfully so.

For a moment, he considered taking the foot with him, but thought the better of it. Rinne would want it left in situ for the time being. The Superintendent was a vain man, and he would want to make the discovery himself. And they could hardly deny it if the evidence was right here on board. Most likely Rinne would bring a team aboard first thing in the morning. He loved an audience for the occasions upon which he actually did something of value.

Shaking his head, Lehtonen snapped a few photographs and closed up the freezer, then headed directly for his dinghy. He definitely had all he needed now. The photos would provide ample evidence to merit a search of the boat and Rinne would be eager to act now he had solid intel showing there was something to be found.

Within moments he was gently rowing away from the Merenneito, congratulating himself on his ninja-like incursion. It made him happy to be a success at anything, especially as Adalina would directly benefit. He would have to get his kids something too, as their happiness was another of his primary driving forces in life. Plus, every time he did something particularly brave or daring, he delighted in sharing the story with his idiot brother. Jannik always enjoyed mocking Lehtonen for ‘taking the easy path in life’. Why the man thought being a policeman was easy, he would never know. Maybe it was a small town thing, now Jannik was a big shot in Helsinki. Well, screw him.

As he propelled the craft through the still waters, fueled by angry thoughts of his brother, a flashing light caught Lehtonen’s eye. He paused his rowing, drifting on the silent lake as he looked toward shore. Another flash, like an electric torch being flicked on and off in rapid succession. Morse code? No, that couldn’t be it. Unless someone was trying to signal the boat, but why wouldn’t they use a modern means of communication?

A low whistle drifted across the water, and then the light flashed again. He needed to check it out. It was suspicious, if inexplicable, behavior, and Rinne would expect him to leave no stone unturned. Lehtonen pulled on his oars, guiding the small boat toward the strange flickering. In less than a minute he had gained land and pulled the boat up onto the mud.

“Hello?” he called out. “Who’s there?”

The flashing light had stopped and the shore was still and silent. Lehtonen took a step forward, peering into the shadows between the trees. “Hello?” he said again. “Police. What’s your business here?”

He pulled his penlight out and directed its thin, sharp beam into the stygian gloom. Tree trunks danced with shadows as he panned it slowly back and forth. A twig snapped. Lehtonen swung his light quickly in the direction of the sound. “Police! Show yourself!”

No sound. No light. Lehtonen turned in a full, slow circle. He slipped his hand to his side and drew his Walther P99Q as nerves rippled up his chest. His heart began to hammer a little too hard for his liking.

“Show yourself!” he said again, louder this time.

As he came back around to face the trees, his light fell on a figure directly in front of him, robed and hooded. Lehtonen cried out in surprise and began to raise his weapon, but the cowled man struck him across the wrist of his gun hand and punched him hard in the chest. As Lehtonen staggered backward, he raised his pistol and pulled the trigger.

Nothing.

The safety was still on! Never in his career had he needed to draw his weapon. This was Finland, not the wild west of America or the drug-infested lawlessness of Mexico. His vision crossed and pain lanced through his ribcage. He looked down and panic flooded him as he saw the hilt of a large knife sticking out from his jacket, the blade completely buried in his body. He tried to lift his weapon again, thumb flicking at the safety, but it weighed too much. His fingers twitched at the trigger, but the mechanism was too strong for him to operate. He dropped to his knees and through his failing vision he saw a strange creation of sticks and twine in his attacker’s hand, the effigy of a man less than a foot tall.

Lehtonen tried to cry out, but only a wet gurgle emerged from his restricted throat as his punctured heart flooded his lung. The robed man stepped forward and caught the collar of Lehtonen’s jacket as he pitched forward. The last thing the Senior Constable saw before blackness swam across his eyes was the lakeshore mud sliding by as he was dragged into the darkness of the trees.

Jo Slater tossed and turned on her bunk, bone weary but unable to sleep. She was full of wine too, and that slowed her thoughts, but not sufficiently to let her drift off into blessed unconsciousness. If she was honest with herself, she was no longer worried about Dave. Now she grieved for him. He was gone. She had no proof, but equally no doubt that the man was dead. But how? Murdered by a local who stole his boat? Drowned in a freak accident? Or could he really have fallen victim to this lake monster? And if so, did that mean she owed it to him to make sure the film got finished? Or was she using a weak excuse there to justify her own desire to see this thing through. To see her continued paychecks and her chance to move on from bimbo cable host to something bigger, something more respectable. Something of which she could be genuinely proud.

She had entertained the idea that maybe Dave had fallen prey to an entirely more human monster. Maybe someone locally was using these legends of a mythical beast to get away with atrocities. It was a good cover, if a person was that way inclined. No better place to be a serial killer than in a small, isolated town where the locals expected a few people to die or disappear every year. It was a goddamned serial killer theme park. She imagined the mind-blowing exposé if she managed to reveal a culprit and blow the thing wide open. The Lake Monster Killer. Nice hook.

But she didn’t know if that was even a realistic possibility. After all, weren’t they uncovering more every day to indicate there really was some prehistoric horror here preying on the locals? And, just maybe, the idiots who came to film it.

It was all too much. The thoughts bounded in her head like a border collie on amphetamines. She needed to turn off her brain for a while. Maybe another roll with Aston would take her mind off things? She dismissed that out of hand. She wouldn’t say no to another hookup sometime in the future, but she didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. Better to let things cool down for a bit.

With a sigh, she rolled off her bed and pulled on a sweater. Might as well use her insomnia productively. Everyone would be long asleep by now. She grabbed a spare t-shirt and snuck out into the belly of the boat. A tickling up her spine gave her pause for moment, the sensation that she wasn’t alone. Being watched. She held her breath and turned in a slow circle, then gasped at the shadow of someone standing not ten feet from her, motionless.

One adrenaline charged second later she realized it was a wetsuit hung on the wall next to several others. Idiot!

Sneaking up to the bridge, she paused again to look around and listen. Nothing but the quiet lapping of the lake against the hull. She peered out into the gloom. Far fewer stars this night, clouds moving in thick and low. She was no weathergirl, but it looked a little ominous to her eye. Maybe storms coming. Great.

Movement caught her eye and she turned quickly to look out across the lake toward the shore. She went to the window, squinting through the darkness. Was that something near the trees? A large bulk shifting into the deeper black? She stared for several seconds but there was nothing there, just the passing idea of a person dragging something. But the shadows shifted as the breeze moved tree branches and every time she turned her head, something else caught on the periphery of her vision like a wayward sleeve snagged on a thorny bush.

Why am I so fucking jumpy?

She went to the terminal, used the spare shirt to mask the glow like before, and logged on. When it finally booted up, she connected her external drive. As the browser loaded, a private message icon flashed by her username. With a half-smile, she clicked it.

‘All really good stuff, but we need more. Keep it coming and we might get them yet!’

Slater’s smile widened. Wait until they saw today’s footage and data. Or at least, the few encrypted snippets she was going to allow them. She quickly set the drive to uploading, nervously chewing her bottom lip as it chugged along. So damned slow, it drove her crazy. Simultaneously, she backed everything up to her personal encrypted cloud account. Once the files were sent, she replied to the message.

‘How do you like me now?:)’

With a self-satisfied chuckle, she hit Send and logged everything off. Pausing again, looking and listening carefully, she nodded. Keep those bases covered, Jo. She could imagine a bidding war soon, the way things were going. Now wouldn’t that be fun. She glanced back at the inert terminal. You’d better not fucking stiff me! she thought at her contact, half a world away. But she was pretty sure he could be trusted. As far as such things went.

She crept back down through the sleeping boat. As she approached her cabin, she heard footsteps, and then Aston’s door opened a crack.

“Hey,” he whispered. “You all right?”

“Sure, fine. Couldn’t sleep with all the craziness that’s been going on. I thought a night time stroll might help me clear my head.”

“Did it?” It was too dark to read Aston’s face, but the question was seasoned with a dash of skepticism.

“I suppose.”

“I heard you leave a while ago. I thought about coming to check on you but figured you wanted to be alone.” The last word hung there, a subtle invitation extended.

“Yeah, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be good company right now. I’m going back to bed.”

“Good night, then.”

“Night.”

She slipped into her cabin, closing the door silently behind herself. She had no idea if she would be able to sleep, but had to at least try. Rest, even wide-eyed through the night, was the next best thing.

“This is going to take forever.” Joaquin scowled at the vial of liquid he’d just drawn from the lake. “Circle the entire lake testing salinity? That’s going to take forever. I don’t know where Holloway gets these ideas.”

“He got that one from me.” Aston took pleasure at Joaquin’s embarrassed grin.

“Sorry.”

“No worries.” Aston waved off the apology. “It might not work but it’s an avenue we haven’t yet tried.” They’d covered a large section of the lake countless times and performed scans of the lakeshore and bed, but despite some tantalizing clues, they were really no closer to anything definitive. If the creature, or creatures, lived here, there should be a lair somewhere, most likely in the warren of underwater passageways, but if the creatures were actually accessing the lake from the sea, that was a different story altogether. They could have their nest anywhere. Exploring every passage one by one was out of the question, but if they could find an area of high salinity, that might point the way to the ocean, and to the creature’s favored thoroughfare.

“No offense, but if it’s your idea, why am I the one stuck doing it?” Joaquin’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. The guy clearly didn’t like doing what he considered grunt work.

“Efficiency, my man. I’ve got some places along the shore I want to inspect. Possible feeding spots, good places for a large creature to come ashore unmolested, the usual stuff. What’s more,” he clapped Joaquin on the shoulder, “I have complete faith in your abilities. There’s no one else on this ship I’d trust to do this job to my satisfaction.”

Joaquin laughed and flipped him the finger. “Whatever. Just don’t get yourself lost. We’re already down a crew member. If we lose any more, Holloway’s cheerful attitude is going to disappear.”

“You’re not afraid of him, are you?” Aston jibed.

“The hell with that. I’m afraid of losing my paycheck. If you’re loyal to him and, more importantly, if you get results, he’ll treat you very well. Let him down…” He didn’t need to finish the statement.

“Understood. Well, I’ll be off. I’m looking forward to seeing your results when I get back.”

“Yeah, and I’m looking forward to you kissing my ass.” Now the smile was genuine. “Bon voyage, Aussie.”

“See you, Septic.” Joaquin’s brows knitted and Aston laughed. “Aussie rhyming slang. Septic tank. Yank.”

Despite the brightness of the day, a dark cloud of trepidation hung over Aston as he rowed to shore. He’d lied about his purpose. He wasn’t checking out any sites, though he’d be sure to snap a few photos of random spots before returning, just to cover his ass. He still wasn’t certain he was doing the right thing, but he was going to talk with Superintendent Rinne because that’s what he’d promised he would do.

At present, Holloway was blinded by the thrill of potential discovery, and God only knew what Slater was thinking from one minute to the next, but Aston had mulled things over for the better part of the night and come away convinced that Dave hadn’t just taken off. Something must have happened to him, and if they wanted the help of law enforcement, they needed to be honest. At least as honest as they could be. He had a decent row in front of him, and then a long walk to consider how best to construct his story.

He hauled at the oars, taking pleasure in the simple task of propelling the boat across the water. The sun beat down on his skin, but a refreshing breeze kept him cool. The mundane nature of the task afforded his mind the opportunity to run free, weighing options, considering variables, and predicting consequences.

But by the time he arrived at the police headquarters, he still wasn’t certain how to approach the conversation. Did he begin at the beginning, and tell the officer about the monster hunt and the discovery of the severed foot? Or, did he stick to the missing person’s report? He had already decided to only talk about Dave, and not Gazsi. That guy had been gone even longer, and Carly had been right to mention him, but it was more likely he had just run off. Though as things progressed that seemed increasingly questionable. Regardless, Aston decided to concentrate on Dave, but how much did he tell?

The police station sat at the end of town. If its neat lines and solid brick structure served as a counterpoint to the local architecture, its diminutive size assured that it blended right in. It wasn’t much larger than the shops sat on either side. He pushed open the glass door and found himself in a waiting area. It was a spartan place, yellowed tiles beneath his feet, a sagging drop ceiling above his head, and a cracked Formica counter barring his path. A bare bulletin board hung from the block wall to his left. Three metal folding chairs backed up to the wall behind him. Aston had paid a couple of visits to jails in his youth, but this one was, by far, the least impressive.

There was no bell to ring and no one answered his loud “Hello?” so he lounged against the counter until a uniformed officer came in the front door, the aroma of bacon from the bag he carried preceding him.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Sam Aston to see Superintendent Rinne. I don’t have an appointment.”

The officer frowned, peering at him through dark eyes. “He’s busy, but I’ll let him know someone wants to see him.”

Aston selected the least suspect of the chairs by the wall and settled in. Rinne kept him waiting for ten minutes, though Aston was certain the man couldn’t possibly have a lot on his plate. How much enforcing did one really have to do in such a tiny place? The longer he sat, the angrier he grew, until he resolved to only tell the bare minimum. By the time he entered the superintendent’s office, he had half-decided he should head back to the boat, but not before telling Rinne to fuck off.

The superintendent sat behind a large desk in a swivel chair, with his back to the door, an unlit cigarette in his hand resting on one plastic arm. His desk was neatly organized and adorned with a telephone, desk calendar, a single pen, and two framed photographs. One was a wedding photo of Rinne and a surprisingly attractive woman; the other an old, black and white number of a man who could have been Rinne’s double. His father, Aston supposed.

“Please sit,” he said, not turning around. He rolled the cigarette back and forth in his fingertips, shifted in his seat, and let out several agitated grunts. Finally, he turned to regard Aston with faraway eyes and a bored expression on his face. “How can I help?” His tone said he could not care less about being helpful.

Aston took a deep breath and barreled forward. “We’re missing a crew member. He disappeared a couple of days ago and no one’s heard from him since.”

He’d considered a few ways in which Rinne might react: anger at not being told sooner, perhaps a cold yet professional attention to the details, but he was unprepared for utter apathy. Rinne stared at him, his heavy lids almost closed, still fiddling with that bloody cigarette.

“We asked after him in town,” Aston continued. “We thought maybe he’d just decided to have himself a night off, so we talked to all sorts of folk. But no one’s seen him.”

Still no reaction from Rinne. It was as if the man were staring right through him.

“Well?” Aston asked after an uncomfortable pause.

“I beg your pardon?” So the man was awake.

“Are you going to take down a missing person’s report, or whatever you call it here? I mean, the man is missing.”

Rinne puffed out his cheeks, straightened in his chair, and laid the cigarette on his desk. “Perhaps your friend grew tired of working for that buffoon, Holloway, and decided to leave?”

“He doesn’t work for Holloway. He works for Slater.”

“And she works for Holloway.” Rinne grinned as if he’d scored a point. “How well do you know this… what is his name?”

“Dave.”

Rinne paused and fixed Aston with an expectant look. “Dave what?” he finally prompted.

Aston frowned, embarrassed. “I don’t know actually,” he admitted at last. “Slater knows, obviously. I can get the name for you.” He felt suddenly foolish. Nothing like destroying your own credibility with someone from whom you wanted assistance and a measure of respect.

Rinne raised one eyebrow. “So I’m guessing you haven’t known this Dave very long?”

“No, but he’s worked with some of our team members for a long time and they say it’s not like him just to fuck off like this. Sorry, I mean, leave.”

Rinne arched the other eyebrow. “And yet it is you who is here making the report. How very odd.”

Aston felt heat rising on the back of his neck. “Does it really matter who makes the report? The others are busy. The man is missing and we need your help to find him, or to find out what happened to him.”

Aston saw something flicker in Rinne’s eyes. Perhaps a flash of curiosity?

“What makes you think something happened to him?”

“I just told you. He left and never came back. It’s out of character. And Holloway might be,” he paused right on the precipice of calling the billionaire a ‘colossal asshole’, “overbearing at times, but he pays well and is no more demanding than most of the bosses I’ve had.”

Rinne smirked, picked up his cigarette again, and held it in front of his face. “I quit smoking years ago, but I keep one of these in my desk at all times. I like to take it out and hold it just to remind myself I have the will to resist.” He lapsed into silence for a span of five seconds and then gave his head a shake as if trying to wake from a dream. “We will ask around after your friend, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about. After all, there isn’t much to do here except drink. This town is small, but we have plenty of lonely wives with ample free time on their hands while their husbands are off working on fishing boats and the like. He probably fell in with one of them and is embarrassed to face you all again. Or, he’s still enjoying himself. It’s happened before.”

“I don’t think so.” Aston bit off each word.

“Of course you don’t. Now, unless you have anything more to tell me, I have work to do.”

Aston knew a dismissal when he heard one. He sprang from his seat a bit too fast, upending his chair. He didn’t bother picking it up; he was angry with Rinne for not taking Dave’s disappearance seriously and furious with himself for having bothered. He stalked from the room, stopped just outside the doorway, and turned around.

“There is one more thing. Dave rowed to shore, but when we got to town, his dinghy wasn’t there. We’ve also been all over the lake and haven’t found it anywhere along the shore or floating on the water. If he got here safely, wouldn’t his boat be somewhere nearby?”

Now he had Rinne’s attention. The superintendent rose halfway to his feet, palms flat on the desk. His flinty eyes bored into Aston. Finally, he sank back into his chair.

“Thank you for that. I’ll look into it. Please close the door behind you.”

Aston complied. It took all his willpower not to slam it, but he managed. What the hell, he wondered, was Rinne’s problem?

Aston took his time returning to Merenneito. He told himself he was merely maintaining the illusion that he’d gone out to do some thorough inspection of promising spots along the shoreline. The truth was, he was in no hurry to get back to the ship. Holloway was insufferable, Laine an oddball, and Slater an enigma. He couldn’t escape the feeling there was something suspicious about her late-night wandering.

When he drew within sight of the ship, he saw Holloway out on the deck. The man was excitedly doing a piece to camera, waving his hands about and talking rapidly. Though Aston couldn’t make out the words, he could tell the tone was upbeat, bordering on manic. Just the sound of Holloway’s voice set his teeth on edge.

“Think about the paycheck,” he told himself. “He’s paying you to put up with his crap. You can do that.” He hoped it was true.

He stopped rowing some ten feet out so as not to ruin the take with splashing and watched as his momentum carried him in. Carly moved along the side and turned the camera to him as he bumped up against the Merenneito’s dive platform and hopped aboard.

“Did you get any good shots?” Slater called down, presumably keeping up the ruse for Holloway’s benefit. She rested her arms on the deck rail and, as she leaned forward, Aston couldn’t help but notice the curve of her breasts. The memory of the night they’d spent together stirred something deep within him, but he forced it down.

“Did you hear me?” she asked. “Any results from your work on shore?”

Aston couldn’t bring himself to play along, still furious at the bemusing reception he’d got from Rinne. He managed a shake of his head, a wave of his camera, and a tight smile before heading up to the deck. What did it matter how he came across? Slater’s production people would edit the footage to craft each person’s image just so. He wondered if he’d even recognize himself when the program aired.

“Okay, everybody, let’s head to the bridge!” Holloway called out. “We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

Carly moved at the periphery, filming the crew as they gathered around the table. Holloway’s enthusiasm grated on Aston’s nerves, but he tried to ignore it. Slater cast him a sidelong glance and raised an eyebrow. Aston shook his head slightly, mouthed, later.

“So Joaquin has found something very interesting,” Holloway said, after ensuring the camera was on him. “It took several hours of painstaking searching, all morning in fact, but we’ve located a part of the lake here where the salinity is sky high!” He jabbed a finger at their map.

“Sky high?” Aston asked. “Really?” Even if they did find a connection with the sea, the salinity should be noticeably higher than that of the lake water in other spots, but not substantial by any stretch.

“Hardly,” Joaquin admitted. “But it’s high, especially as this should all be fresh water.”

“And not far from where you spotted those skates,” Makkonen put in.

“You’re taking a renewed interest in our endeavor here,” Aston said to the old captain. “And here I thought we were just an annoyance to you.”

Makkonen grinned. “I’ve been ferrying all kinds of people around this lake for decades and they’ve all largely bored me. For the first time, you lot are presenting me with something I’ve never seen before.”

“A man is never too old for surprises,” Holloway declared, like it was some great wisdom.

Joaquin broke the moment of uncomfortable silence. “I’ve compared the salinity in several locations and there are quite a few spots where it’s not entirely fresh water. But this location is positively brackish. We’re about to do some close sonar to see if we can spot the channel.”

“That’s what I was just explaining on camera,” Holloway said. He turned to Makkonen. “Captain, if you please.”

The Merenneito rumbled into life and Makkonen started the familiar grid pattern to get a detailed sonar map. The crew busied themselves, gathering the data, making print outs, but generally killing time until the results were in. It took less than an hour.

“That’s a pretty big space.” Laine’s flat tone hid his emotions. Did he consider the size of the channel a good thing or bad?

The printout showed a three-dimensional representation of the lake bed, with a wide channel like a deep scar in the bedrock heading in toward the shore. Several other channels and grooves in the rock ran nearby, but the central chasm was impossible to ignore.

“Must be twenty meters… sixty feet deep at least as it carves into the bedrock there,” Aston said, pointing. “And probably the same width, getting deeper as it goes back.”

“Then it channels away underground,” Slater said. “How far out is that, where the channel goes under?”

Laine made some measurements. “One hundred and eighty-three feet from the shoreline,” he said. “Starting at a depth of seventy-two feet before it drops away.”

“And we’re right in the middle of the high-salinity area Joaquin found,” Holloway said. “So it’s fair to assume that underwater cave leads to a passage that itself leads all the way to the Gulf of Bothnia.”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Aston said. “Geology is a fickle thing. It’s almost certainly not a single passage to the ocean.” He held up a hand to stay any argument and went on. “It could be, but it’s more likely to be a whole network of fissures and caverns, some possibly rising up above the water level, others branching into dead ends or running deeper and rejoining different chasms.”

“Rising above the water level?” Slater asked.

“Sure. This area is hilly. It’s entirely possible there are caves out there, far from the lake, that lead down to underwater passages that would eventually, should you be able to follow them, lead you into the water somewhere around here. Maybe even right out in the middle of the lake.” At the raised eyebrows around the table he tried to explain further. “Imagine a complicated three-dimensional piece of lace, all thin, interlocking filaments. Underground cave systems are like that, going up and down, back and forth. Often the passages become nothing more than cracks in bedrock, sometimes they open out into huge caverns, either dry or water-filled. Sometimes the fissures or caves collapse and change their own geography, and so on.”

“But you don’t see many the size of what we’ve got here, do you?” Holloway’s implication was clear — if the creature were real, there must be at least one passage large enough for it to traverse.

Aston nodded, tapped the map again. “This is a big channel, no question. And there’s salinity, so somewhere it must connect with the ocean. Also, the salinity is high, as you noted, so it seems it’s unlikely to be too convoluted a route. But it might not be as simple as following some underwater highway directly out to the sea.”

“But it might be that simple,” Holloway said, with a wide grin. “Right? It could be exactly that. You know, the simplest explanation, as they say.”

Aston sighed. “Yes, it could be.” He was weary of reminding Holloway that the scientific method didn’t stop with hypothesis.

“So we need to find out,” Laine said. “Who’s up for a dive?”

Silence descended and Laine laughed. “I don’t blame you. Me either!”

“I’d like to know more about what we’re getting into before we consider diving,” Aston said. “Underwater channels like we’re hypothesizing can be particularly dangerous. You can get lost or stuck, damage your equipment, or a dozen other things.” He paused and forced a grin. “Besides, if we are getting close to where some giant monster with loads of sharp teeth lives, I certainly don’t want to swim into its mouth. But we absolutely do need to learn more.”

“So what is our next step?” Slater asked. “I feel like we’re on the cusp of something here.”

Holloway turned to Joaquin. “Time to rev up the view.”

Joaquin nodded and went off below decks.

“The view?” Slater asked.

“Acronym,” Holloway said. “V-U-E. Victor Underwater Eye. Victor’s my middle name.” The billionaire inclined his head, mock humility. “Yes, I named it after myself, but only as a bit of fun. Just wait. I think you’ll like what you see.”

A few moments later Joaquin returned pulling a hand trolley on which sat a large metal box, some five feet long and three feet deep. Carly moved in with the camera as Joaquin parked it by the table and flipped open the half dozen catches holding it closed. Inside sat a tiny submersible, about three feet long, with shielded propellers, a rudder between them, and a domed, clear glass nosecone. Behind the glass was an array of camera lenses and lights. More lights were mounted on the back of the thing and a short, stiff, rubber-coated antenna rose from its back like a pointed dorsal fin. It had Victor Underwater Eye stenciled on either side in a swirling cursive script.

“I take it this is a remote camera of some sort,” Aston said.

“Of course,” Holloway said, clearly very pleased with himself. He retrieved a large remote control device from a side panel of the submersible’s case. It had double thumb sticks for directional control and a bristling array of switches, lights and small readout panels. He held it up so Carly could focus in on it. “You control everything from this, and the ‘eye’ can be linked into the wireless systems on board to relay images in a live stream. Battery-powered, with a run time of around three hours, depending on how much you utilize the lights and so on.”

Aston shook his head in admiration. It was exactly what they needed. “I’ll be damned. That’s a fine piece of kit. And so small!”

“State of the art!” Holloway said. “I just knew we’d end up having to explore places we’d be reluctant to dive. So the VUE here can be our trusty scout.”

“It’s ready to go?” Slater asked.

“Yep! So let’s do it.” Holloway led them out onto the deck, leaving Joaquin to tow the VUE behind.

Old Mo sat outside his shack, face turned up to the clouds. Bad weather was coming. Not for a couple of days, probably, but storms were on the way. He could smell it on the wind, a gift he had inherited from his grandfather. Or perhaps he’d learned it. It was long enough ago that he couldn’t remember. He smelled wood smoke on the air too, and pine scents from the forest. The lake mud was a constant and, for Mo, reassuring aroma. The water was a good three hundred yards from his home, but its presence made itself felt in all the senses. He looked down from the overcast sky with a frown.

Something else hung in the ether that he was less able to identify, but whatever it was, it made him nervous. Those two Americans had put him on edge, left him unsettled since their visit. No, she was American. The guy was from somewhere else, but Mo couldn’t place where exactly. Not British. Australia maybe, or New Zealand. It didn’t matter, the lake was sometimes subject to visitors, and they rarely did any good except bring a few tourist dollars into town. But those two were different and, if his instincts were correct, quite possibly would have a lasting effect on the place. Old Mo would prefer they didn’t. He liked things to stay the same. Change of any kind was not something he relished.

He returned to carving, the small but detailed wooden animals a small source of income from the few shops in town that took the items on consignment. He pressed the sharp edge of the knife against the firm bark, stripping off long, curling slivers and baring the white wood beneath. Soon a recognizable shape would emerge, and then his cuts would become smaller and more precise, until something special appeared. He liked to imagine he wasn’t so much shaping the figure as he was uncovering it, like an archaeologist unearthing an artifact… or opening a grave.

He worked with a deft hand, never cutting himself. He loved knife work, whether it was whittling or something more visceral, like cleaning a fish or field-dressing a deer. It was honest work, simple and effective, and something else for which he had a gift.

He heard someone coming, their footsteps heavy through the trees. It was the walk of someone angry. A shadow appeared, resolving into a familiar shape as it drew closer. Mo sighed as Superintendent Rinne strode up to the cabin.

“It’s happening again!” the policeman said, eyes dark.

Another sigh. “What is?”

“Don’t play coy with me, you know exactly what. They talked to you yet?”

Mo had never liked Rinne, and the man had yet to do anything to change that opinion. “Who?”

Rinne scowled and ground the toe of his boot into the soft dirt. The man was far too easy to annoy. “The nature documentary film crew. If you believe that’s what they really are.”

Mo put down his work and leaned back, the old chair creaking on the wooden porch. “As a matter of fact, they came by yesterday.”

Rinne’s eyes narrowed. “What did you talk about?”

“Why do you care? Are private conversations now a matter of public record?” Mo saw no reason to make things easy on the man. Rinne had certainly never done anything to make Mo’s life better.

Rinne shook his head. “Just answer a few questions for me. Let’s not make this official.”

Mo laughed. As if the bastard had any reason to arrest him. But he played along. “They asked about nature. About the lake, the surrounding area, getting a few stories to flesh out their film. My usual sort of conversation.”

Rinne raised his chin a notch, not quite meeting Mo’s eye. “And the monster?”

Mo chuckled. “Of course. Everyone asks about the monster.”

Rinne stood chewing his lip for a moment, lost in thought. Let him stand there in silence. Any moment he wasn’t speaking was a blessing. The man was not his father by a far sight. What a loss that had been.

Mo stared through the trees in the direction of the lake. If the sun hit the water it could be seen from the shack, but this day was too gloomy and the trees closed in leaving shadows and an iron grey horizon that may or may not have been Lake Kaarme. A dark day for the dark thoughts a visit from Rinne always brought.

“It’s happening again,” Rinne said eventually.

“So you said.” Mo stood, sheathed his knife, and stretched lazily, turning away from Rinne.

“Well?” Rinne took a step forward.

“Well what?” Mo snapped. “It happens nearly every year, one way or another. As you well know.”

“It’s more than that!” Rinne spat. “And you know it.” He folded his arms as a sly grin crept across his face. “What exactly do you know about it, eh? What monster stories are you planning to spread this year?”

Mo seethed, the policeman doing his usual worst at public relations. “You tried to pin this foolishness on me before,” Mo said. “Nothing would stick then and it won’t stick now, because I have nothing to do with it.”

“Are you sure? Living out here like a hermit, removed from town, far enough to get away with whatever you like but near enough to have a steady supply of victims?”

Mo surged forward to stand nose to nose with the lawman. He might be thirty years senior to Rinne, but he had no doubt he could flatten the officious bastard if he chose to. “What about you? Trying to point the finger at me to make sure no one pays too close attention to what you’re up to? Hiding behind your fucking badge!”

Rinne tipped his chin up. “Want to hit me, old man? Go ahead!”

“And give you a reason to arrest me? Why don’t you hit me first? Then it’s self-defense and you’ve got no case.”

“And you have no witnesses!” Rinne tapped his badge. “My word carries more weight than yours. Never forget that.”

The two men stood almost close enough to kiss each other, fury burning between them. Mo wanted so badly to haul off and knock the superintendent out, but he was old enough and smart enough to curb his rage.

Rinne snorted and turned away, took a couple of steps toward the lake. “They’ve lost a member of their crew.”

Mo frowned at the lawman’s sudden change of tack. “Is that so? Not anyone essential, I hope.”

“It’s a small crew. I assume they consider everyone essential. The man up and left without warning a couple of days ago. They say he went to town and never came back, but they can’t find his boat in the harbor or anywhere out on the water.”

“That’s a conundrum all right.”

Rinne turned back to face Mo. “Do you know anything about that?”

Mo laughed. “Of course not. You really don’t give up, do you?”

Rinne turned to stare between the trees again. Mo had never seen him quite like this. There was something else on his mind, some burden he didn’t usually carry. Was it guilt? Anger? Rinne was a notoriously hard book to read, always had been.

“I sent Pieter to snoop around their boat last night,” Rinne said, almost too quietly to hear.

Mo said nothing, waiting to see where this was going.

“He hasn’t come back yet,” Rinne said.

“Pieter Lehtonen?” Mo asked. “Your own brother-in-law? You sent him out on the lake at night? At this time of year?”

Rinne turned sharply and strode back up to Mo. He grabbed a handful of Mo’s shirt. “You’re always skulking about. Sticking your nose into everything. What the hell do you know about what’s happening?” he demanded.

“If you’re feeling guilty, that’s not my problem,” Mo shot back. He grabbed Rinne’s hand and twisted it, his heavy shirt tearing loudly, but he didn’t care. “Get your paws off me!”

Rinne yelped in pain at his wrenched wrist and swung a punch with his free hand. Mo managed to deflect it with a quickly raised forearm and then punched out, unable to hold his anger in check any longer. The blow glanced off Rinne’s cheekbone and the policeman staggered backward. He growled and charged forward, drove his shoulder into Mo’s chest and his arms around the old man’s waist, and they slammed to the dirt. They rolled and yelled at each other, traded blows and grapples, neither man really gaining any advantage.

The Superintendent was strong, but Mo was stronger, and he half-pushed, half-lifted Rinne off and rolled over, slamming an elbow into the policeman’s head as they tipped. Rinne stayed down, a pained groan escaping as he curled up briefly, and Mo staggered back up to his feet. He was dizzy, too old for this shit, but he was not a feeble man. Rinne recovered enough of his wits to kick out, catching Mo a glancing blow to the groin. Mo let out a pained grunt, staggered to the side, and lashed out with a kick of his own. He struck a glancing blow to Rinne’s ribs as the policeman rolled over and scrambled to his feet. Mo crouched, prepared to defend himself, as Rinne tensed, ready to re-engage, but the Superintendent sneered and took a step back.

“I could arrest you right now, you know,” Rinne said.

“Do it, then,” Mo said through clenched teeth. “See if I’m not out again before morning.” He pointed to his left eye, already swelling and no doubt blackening. “Police brutality! I have plenty of friends in town.”

The men stared at each other for several tense moments, their mutual hatred unchecked. Eventually Rinne stood straight and brushed himself off. “I’ll be watching you very closely,” he said. “And I will be back to ask you more questions.”

“And no doubt I still won’t have anything to tell you. Really, Rinne, your own brother-in-law?”

Anger flashed once more across Rinne’s face, and he pushed it aside with a small laugh and shook his head. “We’ll all be better off when you finally grow old enough to die,” he said.

Mo returned the laughter, genuinely surprised at the nastiness of the sentiment. It seemed to be a theme lately. From anyone else, he might take it personally. “If the townsfolk were to be polled and asked whether they’d prefer to see me gone or you, I don’t think you’d like the answer. You’ll never escape your father’s shadow.”

Mo thought Rinne might attack him again, but the officer merely shook his head and turned away. As he walked off through the trees, Mo couldn’t help himself and called out, “Good luck explaining things next time you see your sister!”

Rinne turned, scowling. “You leave Adalina out of this!”

Mo raised his palms to either side and smiled. Rinne spat and stalked back toward town.

Aston gazed intently at the screen as the VUE made its way through murky depths with Joaquin at the controls. It was a fine piece of equipment, no denying it. The image was sharp and as clear as could be expected considering the water quality. Lake Kaarme was hardly the peat-choked miasma that was Loch Ness, but this close to the shore, the natural ebb and flow of the water stirred up its share of silt.

The air inside the cabin seemed to crackle with nervous energy. Anticipation had them all on edge. Holloway was a fidgety mess, cracking his knuckles, asking unnecessary questions to fill the silence, shifting from foot to foot whenever he wasn’t pacing. Aston was relieved when, after several minutes, Slater finally spoke up.

“Mister Holloway, do I need to remind you that the cameras are rolling? At this rate, you’re going to come across to our television audience like a hyperactive ten year old who forgot to take his Ritalin.”

A nervous chuckle rippled through the group. Holloway tensed and pursed his lips, but just as quickly his countenance eased and he grinned.

“I’m just excited at the prospect of discovery.” He cleared his throat, stood a little straighter, and turned toward the camera. “I’m very proud of the work this crew has done and I have a strong feeling their efforts are about to bear fruit.”

Aston resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Quiet descended on the cabin as they turned their attention back to the screen. The water quality gradually cleared as the remote unit moved into the channel, revealing rocky walls. They couldn’t be called smooth, exactly, but the flow of water had softened the rough edges.

“I swear someone could dive that with no problem,” Holloway said.

“All in good time,” Aston said. “We need to see what we’re up against first. Underwater dives in fresh water caves have claimed far too many lives.”

“Buddy, I was born in northern Florida. We’ve got giant springs that suck divers in like a fat kid eating candy.” Holloway mimed eating from both hands. “You don’t have to warn me about the hazards.”

Aston smirked. He hadn’t done any diving in those springs, but he knew them by reputation. The truth was, a diver who knew what he was about and exercised proper caution should be fine, but he wasn’t about to tell Holloway so. The man needed reining in, at least to the extent that anyone could expect to stymie someone accustomed to getting anything and everything he wanted. And they had to consider the possibility of being eaten, which was something genuinely new in an inland lake.

On screen, the channel bent sharply to the right and, as the VUE made the turn, a strong flow of water sent it veering off course. The image wobbled and then righted itself.

“Whoa!” Joaquin said. “That’s a strong current.”

“This is the channel that leads to the sea. It has to be!” Holloway said. “I know,” he added, forestalling Aston’s reply, “it’s a premature conclusion and we need evidence. But I feel it in my gut.”

Aston nodded but kept watching as the walls of the dark channel slid past. Here and there he spotted side passages, most little more than narrow cracks in the bedrock. Nothing a person could slip through let alone a monster, but no doubt extending this main channel into a large network of passages of varying size. Who could say which was the conduit through which the salt water flowed? Testing them all, or even focusing on the largest ones, would be a mountain of a task.

“The signal’s degrading,” Joaquin said. “We’re at ninety-one per cent. I’ve got control for the moment, but I can’t say for how much longer that’ll be the case.”

“Take it slow,” Aston instructed. “If the passageway takes another sharp turn and puts too much stone between us and the VUE, we could lose her pretty quickly.”

“Shouldn’t it be a ‘he’?” Slater asked. “I mean, its first name is Victor.”

“Fair enough. I’m slowing him down.” Joaquin’s hands moved deftly on the controls.

“The channel runs straight for as far as we can see,” Laine said. The cryptozoologist had been so quiet Aston had forgotten all about him. “Hopefully we can keep the signal for a while longer. I’m eager to see what’s back there.”

“Ninety per cent and holding steady.”

The passageway gradually rose at a slight angle and the way became regular. Aston found himself lulled by the uniformity of it all. Joaquin continued to count down the signal strength, and by the time he reached fifty per cent, Aston was growing discouraged. They’d continued to spot smaller side channels, but none large enough to be worth exploring.

“I think we might have to call it soon,” Aston said. “This could very well be a way to the sea, but there’s nothing here that proves it. Besides, you don’t want to lose your expensive toy.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Holloway’s shoulders sag. “I suppose you’re right. Let’s turn it around when we’re at forty per cent.”

“It’s not all bad news,” Aston said. “I see no reason we couldn’t dive it if we take sufficient air. The current will slow us down, though.” And assuming we ignore the possibility of monsters.

“Not if you have diver propulsion vehicles,” Holloway said, adding a wink for good measure.

“You have DPVs on board?” Aston didn’t know why he was bothering to ask.

“Top of the line!” Holloway said. “Nothing but the best for my crew.” He clapped a hand on Aston’s shoulder.

“Forty-six per cent, boss.” Disappointment rang hollow in Joaquin’s voice.

“Wait! What’s that?” Aston slipped away from Holloway and jabbed at the monitor. “Slow down and zoom in on that object.”

Slater leaned in over his shoulder for a closer look as Joaquin focused the VUE’s camera on the spot. Aston was keenly aware of her breath on his ear, the soft brush of her hair against the back of his neck, and the fresh smell of perfumed soap. Get her out of your head, you wanker. You’ve got a job to do.

Forgetting her wasn’t difficult once he realized what they were looking at. A small, light-colored, round object loomed large on the screen.

“That’s a human skull.” A shiver ran up his spine. “How in the hell did it get all the way back here?”

“Maybe, just hazarding a guess here, the monster dragged a body back and ate it?” Slater said.

“Let’s keep our professionalism about us,” Aston said. “There could be other explanations.” Though he was inclined to agree with her, he was reluctant to admit as much.

“Such as?” she challenged. “I doubt it’s a diver. I don’t see any equipment lying around.”

“According to what we’ve learned about the history of this place, the natives regularly practiced human sacrifice in the lake. Maybe something, I don’t know, fresh water crabs, dragged it back here.” He was inventing wildly and a glance at Slater showed she knew exactly what he was doing. Besides, it would take some hellacious crabs to haul a body this far against the current.

“Did a fresh water crab bite through that femur right there?” She tapped a spot on the screen just above the skull.

Aston felt his throat constrict as he saw what he had missed earlier. Two parts of a human leg bone lay wedged against a rock. And, though he couldn’t say for certain it had been bitten, something had severed it clean in two.

“Isn’t that the strongest bone in the human body?” Joaquin turned a wide-eyed gaze toward Aston.

“Well, the heel bone is the hardest,” Aston said, fighting the chill rising up inside him. “But that one is the biggest.”

“Oh my God!” Slater grabbed him by the shoulder and squeezed. “What if it’s Dave?”

The others exchanged confused glances.

“I’m sure he didn’t just up and leave us. What if the monster got him and took his body back here to…” She couldn’t finish the question.

“It’s not Dave,” Aston said, absently slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her in close.

“Are you sure?” Holloway asked. “Not that I want it to be him, mind you, but there isn’t much to go on.”

Aston nodded. “Joaquin, zoom in just to the right of the femur.” The image grew larger and a dark object swam into focus.

“That’s a knife!” Holloway breathed.

“And not just any knife.” As the VUE moved in, the details became clearer, though Aston already knew what they would see: a black and silver hilt, a red, diamond-shaped emblem, and a black swastika. The knife was remarkably well preserved, all the details clear.

“I think there’s something written on the blade, but I can’t make it out,” Slater said.

Aston didn’t need to see the writing to know what was inscribed there. “Blut und Ehre. Blood and honor. Whoever owned this knife was once a member of the Hitler youth.” He turned to Slater. “I think we’ve found someone from our lost German unit.”

“I’m getting sick of waiting. We’re accomplishing nothing here. I say we go in.” Laine scowled at the array of monitors, turned, and stalked out onto the deck, slamming the door behind him.

“That’s friendly.” Slater made a face at the man’s back as he walked away. Sighing, she turned back to Aston. “I wouldn’t say it where he could hear me, but I don’t entirely disagree with him. We’ve been hanging out by this channel for nearly two days and we haven’t seen anything. I say the two of us put on the SCUBA gear and do some exploring. Even if we don’t find any new evidence, I can get some cool footage. Maybe search for more dead Germans?”

Aston couldn’t deny the thought of getting off the boat and into the water was appealing, and diving with Slater could be fun. He was a skilled diver, and letting her see him at his best just might spark a little renewed interest.

“Maybe,” he said. “But we’ll have to convince Holloway. He’s certain the creature is in there somewhere and is afraid we’ll frighten it off if we go poking around in its lair. He wants a sighting first, but this sitting around is killing me. Personally, the lack of a sighting is what makes me more keen to dive.” What he wouldn’t give for a long dive in the cool water followed by an evening in his bunk, unwinding with a few drinks, and perhaps some female companionship. He resisted the urge to let his eyes wander up Slater’s legs, and instead kept his focus on the screen in front of him.

“He thinks we’re going to frighten off a sea monster.” She shook her head. “If this thing is real, and I’m still not certain it is, I think we’re the ones who ought to be afraid. It’s big, there’s not enough vegetation in the lake for it to be a herbivore, and if the legends are true, it’s eaten people in the past.”

Aston nodded. “Might have eaten someone quite recently.” He regretted the statement immediately.

Slater stood ramrod-straight and cuffed him on the shoulder. “Don’t say that. Dave was my… is my friend.”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to be insensitive. It’s just that my filter doesn’t always work.”

“It’s all right.” She sank into the chair next to him and rested her head against his shoulder. “He’s dead. I’m sure of it. I suppose he drank too much and somehow managed to capsize his boat. That’s the only thing that makes sense. I don’t want to believe that a big freaking monster ate him, Sam. I just don’t want to think about it.”

“I hear you. He was a good guy.” Aston could think of nothing else to say, so he was relieved when loud voices outside drew their attention. “Can you watch the screen for me?” he asked, rising from his chair, but Slater was already out the door.

“I’ll do it.” Carly had been sitting quietly nearby. Funny how quickly one could grow accustomed to the presence of a camera crew, or a crew member in this case, and stop noticing them.

“Great. Give a shout if anything interesting pops up.” Aston hurried out into the humid day. He immediately spotted the source of the commotion.

Holloway leaned against the stern rail, arguing with Superintendent Rinne, who stood in the bow of a small launch. A deputy manning the outboard watched the two with a bemused grin on his face.

“For the last time, I’m not letting you onto my boat. You have no reason to harass us like this.” Between sunburn and the flush of anger, Holloway’s face was a delicate shade of crimson.

“There has been a pattern of suspicious activity surrounding this craft and I will investigate it.” Rinne held his chin high and his fists clenched. “I’m the authority here.”

“There’s nothing suspicious going on. We’re doing research, as you well know.”

“Research?” Rinne barked a laugh. “What about your missing crew member? I wouldn’t know about it if he hadn’t reported it to me.” Rinne pointed.

Immediately, all eyes turned to Aston, who came to a halt a few paces from Holloway.

“What the hell is he talking about?” The billionaire’s burning gaze might have caused another man to flinch, but in Aston it stirred defiance.

“Dave took off to God knows where. If anyone can find word of him, it’s the police. There’s no reason not to ask them to do their bloody job.”

Holloway narrowed his eyes and stared a hole through Aston. “We’ll discuss this later.” Shaking his head, he turned back to Rinne.

“Do you deny it?” the policeman challenged.

“Yes, one of my men took off. He’s a soft kid from Hollywood who couldn’t handle it out here. In what world does that constitute a pattern of suspicious behavior?”

“What about my missing man?” The moment he uttered the question, Rinne’s eyes widened.

“Oops,” Slater said in a voice meant only for Aston’s ears.

“Your missing man? Are we supposed to know something about your personnel issues?” Holloway asked.

“I sent one of my men out to investigate your activities and he didn’t come back. That’s two missing persons associated with your project.”

Something clicked into place in Aston’s mind. This must be the reason for Rinne’s odd behavior during their meeting. That and the fact the man was a tosser with an obvious power complex.

“When? You’re the first police officer to pay us a visit.” Holloway’s volume had lessened but he kept a white-knuckled grip on the rail.

Rinne grimaced and looked down at the water. “Two nights ago.”

“You’ll have to be more specific. What time did he come by?”

Rinne hesitated. He shot a glance at the officer in the stern.

Aston leaped to a conclusion. “Did you send someone out here in the middle of the night? To scope out our boat? Did they sneak on board?”

Rinne held up a hand. “It doesn’t matter. The fact remains, I sent my man out here and he didn’t come back.” He paused, took a deep breath, and let it out in a rush. “You’re hiding something, Holloway. I know it, and I’ll prove it.”

At the words ‘hiding something’, Slater shot a sideways glance at Aston. He knew what she was thinking: the severed foot.

“Good luck proving anything,” Holloway sneered. “There’s nothing to prove. We’ll be right out here in the open, the same way we’ve been since the very start, until we complete our research and our film. All our paperwork is in order. Not to mention the extra license fees we paid on arrival. And you have no search warrant.”

A grin crept across Rinne’s face. “I think you might not be here for long. I just learned there’s a rare species of plant which can only be found in this lake. We’ll likely have to suspend all boat traffic until scientists can thoroughly investigate and determine how to best protect it. It could take months.”

“You’re lying. There’s no plant.” Holloway’s voice once again rose to a shout and Rinne matched it.

Aston and Slater seized the renewal of hostilities as an opportunity to slip away. As they descended below decks, Slater cocked her head and fixed him with an appraising look. “You did it for me, didn’t you?”

“What’s that?” Aston felt suddenly off-balance.

“Going to Rinne. I know we discussed notifying him, but you don’t seem the sort to trust the authorities. You knew how worried I was but you also knew I have a non-disclosure agreement with Holloway that would be in jeopardy if I spoke to someone outside the expedition.”

Aston didn’t know what to say. The truth was, he had simply done it because his gut told him to, and he’d said he would. But what was the harm in allowing Slater to think he’d stuck his neck out for her? She must have taken his momentary silence as an affirmative reply, because she reached out and gave his hand a squeeze.

“Thank you. There’s more to you than I thought.”

They made their way to the galley, Aston distracted with thoughts of Slater and whether or not he’d just inadvertently improved his chances with her. When they arrived, Slater stood watch at the door while Aston opened the freezer.

His throat clenched and he sucked in a sliver of breath. The foot was still there, but it lay partially unwrapped. Someone had been there, and if it wasn’t one of their crew, that meant Rinne’s man had found it. And if that was the case, they could all be in serious trouble. But where was the man?

“What do we do?” Slater’s voice quavered and her face drained of color. “Do you think it was Rinne’s man, or could it have been one of the crew?” She ran her fingers through her hair and looked around as if the culprit might be hiding somewhere nearby. “What would someone want with it?”

A variety of scenarios flashed through Aston’s mind: Holloway or Joaquin had come down to check on it, Dave had panicked and disturbed it, the captain had considered disposing of it but changed his mind… But the most likely explanation seemed to be the one the Superintendent had hinted at.

“Do you think Rinne’s man really made it onto the ship and found it without anyone noticing he was here?” Aston asked.

“I suppose it’s possible, if he came late at night after everyone was asleep.”

Aston didn’t miss the fact that she didn’t quite meet his eye as she spoke. Another possibility occurred to him. What if Slater herself had disturbed it during one of her late-night treks?

“Have you been back to look at it since we first discovered it?”

Anger flared in her eyes “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“For the show. Did you or one of your crew come down to get some extra footage or something?” Somehow he couldn’t bring himself to challenge her about her suspicious behavior.

“Absolutely not.” She kept her tone and gaze level, staring him right in the eye.

“Okay,” he said. And it was. He believed her, hopefully not to his detriment. “Then I say Rinne’s man is the most likely culprit. He probably didn’t want to touch it without a warrant, if such things are required in Finland.”

“If that’s the case, I suppose we’re lucky he didn’t make it back to town.” Slater grimaced. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

“But you’re not wrong. I can’t imagine what Rinne would do if he found out about it. That man is going to be a problem.”

“He wouldn’t be a problem if you hadn’t gone to him.” Holloway loomed in the doorway, his face still florid. “You betrayed my trust, Aston. I knew you were a crook but I thought you could at least be bought.”

Aston didn’t miss the puzzled glance Slater shot in his direction. Anger boiled up anew and he took a step toward Holloway, but stopped when Slater grabbed him by the wrist.

“Let it go, Aston. We’re all on the same side. It just doesn’t feel that way right now because we’re all under so much stress.” She stepped between Aston and Holloway, whose posture indicated he just might be stupid enough to take a swing. If he did, Aston could kiss his payday goodbye because he would pound Holloway into a bloody pulp. “I asked him to talk to the authorities. Begged him, in fact. Dave is my friend and I want to find out what happened to him. I’m sorry if I did the wrong thing, but surely you can see now that hiding things from Rinne can backfire on us. Isn’t it better to at least give the impression we’re above board?”

Slowly, Holloway’s frozen features melted as the tension drained away. “Fine. We’ll let it go for now, but if either of you steps another foot out of bounds, you’ll need better attorneys than mine to get a penny of what was promised to you. And there are no better attorneys than mine. Do we understand each other?”

Aston entertained one more fleeting thought of decking the man and getting the hell out, but reconsidered. When compared to the threat posed by Chang, Rinne was a mosquito. “Fair enough. I’m sorry for not keeping you in the loop.”

“What were you two talking about when I walked in?” Holloway took a step inside and looked around.

“The foot’s been disturbed. Someone’s been messing with it.” Aston couldn’t keep the note of challenge from his voice. “Any idea who might have done that?”

Holloway blinked twice. “No.” He pursed his lips and stared at the ground, probably considering the same set of possibilities Aston had. “Joaquin wouldn’t have done anything with it without my say-so. I suppose I’ll have to question the captain and Laine, you ask Carly.” He pressed his hands to his temples. “Good god, it shouldn’t be this difficult. Am I going to have to make an example of someone just to get some teamwork around here? If someone has been screwing around with this foot, I’ll…”

“It would actually be a good thing if one of us has been poking around down here,” Aston interrupted. “It’s much better than the alternative.”

Holloway understood immediately. “The police officer.” He let his hands fall to his sides.

“Do you think there’s any chance Rinne’s man made it here?” Slater bit her lip as she waited for Holloway’s response.

“It’s hard to believe he could have slipped onto the Merenneito without anyone hearing him, but I suppose it’s possible. It’s not like we post guards.”

“Oh my god!” Carly’s faint cry cut off further discussion. “Guys, get up here!”

They dashed to the bridge where the young woman was bouncing on the balls of her feet, her camera trained on the monitor where the image of the underwater cameras was displayed. “Something swam by. I saw it.”

“Let me check.” Aston moved to the controls, grabbed the mouse, backed the video up thirty seconds. The tension in the room was palpable as they gazed at the screen. And then something flashed across the monitor. And then several somethings.

“A school of fish,” Aston groaned. “Carly, I…”

And then he saw it. Something massive shot past the camera, so close he couldn’t make out any details, but he couldn’t deny it was there.

“What was that?” Slater breathed.

“Something big,” Holloway said.

Aston couldn’t deny what he’d seen.

They stood there, staring at one another for the span of several heartbeats, none of them able to speak. Aston knew there were a dozen things they should be doing right now but he was frozen in the moment.

“What’s this, then?” Laine had wandered into the cabin. The simple question seemed to jolt everyone from their collective stupor. They all began talking at once, describing what they’d seen and debating their next move.

“Which direction was it moving?” Aston asked.

Carly shrugged. “Right, I guess. That way.” She ran her finger from left to right across the monitor screen. “I guess that doesn’t help, does it?”

“It does, actually. It was headed toward the passageway.”

“Carly, we need to film a reaction segment right now.” Slater began smoothing her hair, though not a strand was out of place.

“We need to send the VUE back in,” Aston said to Holloway. “I imagine that thing, whatever it is, can move a lot faster than our little bot, but if she holes up somewhere along the way, we might get a look at her.”

“So it’s a ‘she’ now, is it?” Slater asked.

“I didn’t get a good look, but what I saw reminds me of an ex-girlfriend.”

Slater chuckled. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.” She glanced at Carly, who held the camera trained on them both. “Are you ready?”

Carly gave a thumbs-up. “Rolling.”

Slater turned to Aston. “Can we take a look back at the image?”

“Of course.” Aston backed the video up and began to click forward. The school of fish swam by, and then the screen turned to a mottled gray. It was impossible to gauge the size of the creature, but Aston could tell it was large, maybe huge. Despite the silt and the slightly out-of-focus image, he could make out a row of teeth, then an eye. The top edge of a flipper shot past. Another flipper followed, and then a long tail tipped with a fan-like fin. And then it was gone.

“What do you think it is?” Slater was all business.

Keenly aware of the camera, Aston sat up straight. “I can’t say right off. The creature is so close to the camera that we don’t get much detail.”

“How about at the end of the clip? She seems to move away from the camera a bit.”

“We definitely get our best look at the tip of the tail. That’s the first thing we’ll try to match up.”

“What will you match it with?”

“We’ll begin with known, living creatures. If we don’t find a match, and perhaps even if we do, we’ll look at prehistoric water creatures as well.”

“How big do you think it is?”

Aston’s stomach lurched. Though he couldn’t prove it, his gut told him the thing was at least forty feet long, but he was a professional and hated to speculate without solid evidence. He swallowed hard.

“Big. Very big.”

The crew hustled to get the VUE deployed again. As it hit the water with a splash, Aston ran back to the bridge and leaned over Joaquin’s shoulder to watch the big man guide the bot down into the channel. Suddenly the day seemed cool, and he realized he was shivering. Whether it was with fear or excitement he couldn’t say.

Slater came to stand beside them. She put a hand on Aston’s shoulder. “I haven’t seen you this enthusiastic since we started this expedition. At least, not during work hours.” Her cheeks reddened and she looked away.

“Well, we’ve actually seen something pretty definitive now. It’s getting harder and harder to maintain a professional scientific distance when we get video like this.” He realized he was actually entertaining the possibility they might prove the existence of a previously unknown animal.

“It is quite exciting,” Slater said, still not quite meeting his eye.

“I’m really trying to maintain an unbiased, observer’s position, but man, I want to see that thing again.” He turned to Joaquin. “Can’t we go any faster?”

“There’s no way we can catch up with it,” Joaquin said, but he turned a dial. “This is almost top speed and I’m reluctant to go any quicker and risk crashing. It’s durable, but it’s got some sensitive equipment on board.”

Aston stood back, hands clasped on top of his head. “Sure, sure.” He breathed deeply, calmed himself as he watched. Could they really have tracked a prehistoric survivor to a deep lake in Finland? It would be the scientific coup of the decade. Scratch that, of the century.

He caught Carly out of the corner of his eye as she moved behind them. They were all crowded around, an air of tense exhilaration electric in the air. As Joaquin guided the VUE, Aston stood right by with Slater beside him. Holloway, Laine and Makkonen stood in a tight line behind, all craning to see the small screen.

Aston moved over and sent the VUE’s video feed to one of the bigger monitors on the next desk. “Here.”

The VUE entered the channel, and then passed through the dark mouth of the tunnel. Joaquin triggered its lights and the narrow beams pierced clouds of particulate matter and lit the rough walls all around.

“Keep moving up and down as you travel,” Aston said. “Make sure we get to see as much of the walls as possible. We might be able to identify signs of its passage.”

“Or its meals,” Laine said quietly.

Slater glanced back at the cryptozoologist. “Its meals?”

He blushed slightly. “Sorry, I’m a little carried away. But if this is its regular route, it’s quite possible it brings any prey here to feed, no? That German’s bones were wedged in the rocks. If it’s fed recently, mightn’t it have brought its meal home? What do you American’s call it — takeout food?”

All eyes turned to Aston, like he was suddenly an expert on whatever the hell they’d glimpsed. He supposed he was the closest thing they had. “Well, it makes some sense,” he speculated. “Most creatures will use feeding grounds where they feel safe and protected if they have that chance. This might be her safe haven.”

“You think that German was dragged here?” Slater asked.

“We can’t know that. He might have found his own way there and then run afoul of the creature. Might have found this passage from another point of access we haven’t seen. I won’t speculate on anything without evidence.”

“Found his own way there?” Slater frowned, sighed. “Okay, but it’s possible he was dragged there from somewhere else?”

Aston grinned crookedly. “Yes. It’s possible.”

“What’s this?” Joaquin’s voice drew their attention back to the screens. He indicated a dark spot on the screen where a wider tunnel in the top quarter of the rock wall yawned darkly.

“We missed this before,” Slater said.

“How far in are we?” Aston asked.

Joaquin checked his readouts. “Less than a hundred yards short of our last end point. Signal is at forty-five per cent. In fact, we’re right about where we spotted those German remains.” He slowed the VUE. “Should I keep going or do you want to check out that tunnel above?”

Silence reigned for a moment. Eventually Aston turned to Holloway. “Your call, I guess.”

“Scientific opinion?” Holloway asked.

“I don’t have one. It’s equally possible the creature could have gone either way. Seeing how we haven’t investigated this second passageway, it might be worth a look.”

Holloway pursed his lips for a moment, then, “Okay, head up the new tunnel until the signal drops to forty per cent. No further.”

Joaquin nodded and worked the controls. The passage rose steeply, almost vertical at one point, for a good three hundred feet. He tapped his readouts. “Forty-two per cent signal. According to the data, we’d be about level with the lake surface now.”

As the last word left his lips, the VUE bobbed up into an air pocket. Its lights briefly swept a rough rock ceiling high overhead before the submersible tipped and righted itself. The cameras were just below the surface, the lights illuminating striations of stone and occasionally a distinct edge.

“An underwater cave?” Slater asked.

“Well, it’s a cave,” Aston said. “But like Joaquin pointed out, we’re at surface level. So the channel is underwater, but the cave is dry. Might be a hollowed-out place beneath the hills.”

“Pretty nice lair for a monster,” Holloway said, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mister Aston?”

Aston smiled ruefully. “Possible. But there’s no way to tell without giving it a thorough inspection, and we can only check in person. The remote can’t get a look into all the nooks and crannies.”

The camera view suddenly swept left and turned over.

“Whoa! What are you doing?” Holloway shouted.

Joaquin lifted both hands, palm up to show he wasn’t operating any controls. “It’s not me. Something hit us!”

“Follow it!” Aston yelled, adrenaline rushing into his blood.

Joaquin hunched quickly over his controls and regained mastery of the VUE. He turned it back down into the tunnel and accelerated full speed. As they rounded a shallow curve and the way dipped to the vertical drop, the lights picked out a wide sweep of dark green flank and a tall sail of webbed fin.

“It’s the beast!” Holloway cried. “It’s really her!”

Joaquin frowned in concentration, pushing the VUE to maximum power and guiding it down into the murk. It burst back into the main channel, its lights reflecting off silt and grit stirred up in the creature’s wake. Joaquin leaned back in his chair, hauling the remote into the air as if his own physical movement could prevent the VUE from slamming into the rock floor. The image swerved wildly, then he had control again. He breathed out heavily.

“It’s heading away,” Aston said. “Toward the ocean, maybe.”

“I hope we haven’t driven her away with our poking around. Follow her!” Holloway said.

“The signal is down to forty-one per cent,” Joaquin said.

“The signal be damned, man!” the billionaire shouted. “Stay on her tail. Literally.”

The tunnel shot by, angles of rock slipping dangerously close to the expensive submersible, but Joaquin guided it with skill, his tongue playing at one corner of his mouth.

“Did you play a lot of video games as a kid?” Aston asked.

Joaquin grinned. “Still do.”

“There!” Slater said, voice high with excitement.

A sweep of tail, another illuminated swathe of flank, and several tall, bony spines. The creature dived past a shoulder of rock and the passage dipped steeply, then levelled out and rose again. The VUE kept pace, its small size adding advantage to the race as the creature had to navigate more carefully. Then the submersible began to gain on it.

Aston watched the rock, trying to get comparative distances by eye. As the creature turned another slight curve they saw more of its side. A large, wide fin struck out against the water on one side, driving the creature along.

“Is that a pectoral fin?” Holloway asked.

Aston shook his head. “There was a lot more body in front of that limb. It was a paddle, a hindfin. The forefins are likely longer and narrower.”

“Are you saying it has four limbs?” Slater asked.

“Of a sort. Precursors to limbs, anyway. It can maybe move on land a small amount, like a mudskipper fish.”

“We know it comes ashore,” Laine said. “We’ve seen the wallows.” His voice was tight.

The beast swept over another ridge of rock and disappeared into shadow. The VUE dropped quickly back, then tipped and sank to the rock floor.

“After it!” Holloway said.

Joaquin sat back with a sigh. “Signal lost. Sorry, boss. She’s dead in the water.” He hung his head and gazed down at the now useless controller.

Holloway kicked over a chair. “Damn it all to hell! We were so close.”

“Don’t be so despondent,” Aston said. “We just learned a lot! And all that footage is recorded.”

Holloway perked up at that. “I think we just captured more quality footage in a few minutes than every Nessie researcher in history combined.” He turned and challenged Aston with a condescending smile. “So, what’s your professional opinion on the likelihood of an undiscovered creature living in the lake?”

Aston grinned ruefully, well aware of Carly filming everything that had happened. His mind swam with thoughts of what they had witnessed. It was incredible, almost unbelievable, but he’d seen it with his own eyes. “That was pretty convincing.”

“If it does have fore and hindfins like you suggest,” Slater said, “does that give you any better idea what it is?”

Aston nodded, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “It does, but it makes no sense.”

“Don’t keep us in suspense. Spit it out.” The ghost of a smile still played across Holloway’s face, but his eyes flashed, excitement and frustration battling inside him.

Aston looked at the billionaire for a moment, wondering how dangerous he might become if his frustrations grew too great. “Okay, this is still speculation,” Aston said. “But it’s based on better evidence now. We still need to know a lot more, but from what we saw there, this looks like some kind of… I don’t know, this isn’t my field really. I’m not a paleontologist. But maybe some kind of liopleurodon, basilosaurus, kronosaurus, hainosaurus. Hell, I don’t know! I’m crawling back into my university studies just to remember these species. These things are all dead, extinct for millions of years!”

“Clearly not,” Laine said quietly. “At least one survives here.”

Aston let out a long, slow breath and nodded. “So it would seem.”

“And the size?” Holloway asked, slightly calmer than before, his face a mask of smug triumph.

Aston wished he could have avoided naming anything that might make the billionaire look that way, but the evidence was undeniable. “Hard to be accurate. But based on what we just watched, at least fifty foot. Maybe more.” The idea was mind-boggling.

Holloway clapped his hands. “Haha! Superb!”

Slater turned away from the screens. “So what now?”

“Now we dive!” Holloway said.

She cocked her head. “Really? You weren’t so eager to send us in before, but now that we know there’s something there that might eat us for lunch, you’re okay with it?”

“Of course. If nothing else, to recover the VUE. But also to investigate that cave we found earlier. The creature was in there. Imagine what we might learn.”

“We might learn we’re its next bloody meal,” Aston said.

Holloway turned a crooked grin to him. “We have no evidence to prove it eats people. But you’re willing to risk it, aren’t you? Deep down, you need to know, don’t you?”

Aston sighed, and then nodded. He hated to admit it, but the crazy bastard was right. Who’s really the crazy one?

“It’s going to have to be soon.” Joaquin had moved to another station and pointed at the meteorological data. “Bad weather is coming.”

“How long?” Holloway asked.

“It’s going to get grim and rough out here over the next twenty-four hours or so, I’d guess. But we’ll definitely be feeling the forces of storms within forty-eight.”

“It’s getting late,” Aston said. “Let’s get prepped and I’ll go in first thing tomorrow morning.”

Aston rose at dawn, unable to sleep any longer. He had spent several hours organizing his gear the night before, and then fallen into bed early. His trepidation about the dive was offset by his excitement to learn more. This venture could end up becoming his retirement fund. Apart from Holloway’s payment to get out from under Chang’s hammer, this was the kind of scientific find that could keep him not only in scientific papers, but also talking tours for years, commanding huge appearance fees. Now that was a life he could enjoy. He knew he was being a bit optimistic, but it was all possible. All very real.

As he checked his gear again, he realized another set of SCUBA was prepped beside his. A third locker stood empty. Where had that gear gone? Slater’s voice distracted him.

“I’m coming along with you. No arguments.”

Aston turned to find her in the doorway, grinning at him. “Seriously?”

She nodded and held up one hand. “I am, and don’t bother raising any objections. It’s a two-person job. I’ll carry the underwater camera to make sure we get all the footage possible. You’ll have to bring back the VUE.”

“Why does it have to be you?”

“Is there anyone else on the crew you’d rather take along? Maybe you and Holloway would like to be dive buddies?” She laughed. “It doesn’t matter. The decision’s made.”

Aston raised both palms, knowing very well that arguing was pointless. “Fair enough. We’ll need to—”

“We got a problem.” Joaquin appeared behind Slater, his face dark. “You’d better come up and see this.”

He turned and strode away. Aston and Slater shared a glance and then followed. On the bridge, Holloway was up too, fuming. Carly stood nearby, eyes bleary with sleep, capturing it all on film. The only people missing were Laine and Makkonen.

Holloway pointed at the desk. A handwritten note sat there. Aston and Slater both leaned in to read it in place.

Sorry, everyone, but my whole life I’ve been following the activity of our lake’s supposedly mythological creature. Now that we’ve finally found it, I can’t let someone else be the first to get close. I have to be the one. I’ll explain more when next I see you. A tunnel is dark at night or during the day, so I’ve gone first. The desk is recording.

Laine.

“What does that mean, ‘The desk is recording’?” Aston asked.

“It means he took a head-mounted webcam and transmitter, and fed imagery back to the ship here,” Joaquin said.

“So we can track his progress?”

Joaquin pointed to a screen of snowy static. “That’s his progress right there.”

Aston’s stomach turned. “Have you watched it yet?”

“Mister Holloway sent me to find you first.”

Aston sighed. He’d thought Laine a bit of an odd sort, but hadn’t expected him to pull something like this. “Okay. Better rewind then. See what happened.”

Joaquin rewound to the start and then hit play. The picture was a hectic blur for a moment as Laine swept the camera left and right, then turned it to his face. He was grinning widely. ‘Sorry!’ he mouthed, then the view blurred again as he put on the headgear. He moved out onto the dive platform and dropped into the water, powered up a DPV and its headlight split the gloom.

“That son of a bitch took some of my best gear!” Holloway said.

“How many DPVs do we have?” Aston asked.

“Three. Well, two now! Honestly, can none of you bastards be trusted?”

Aston turned angrily. “Hey, keep your bullshit temper under control, will you! We don’t actually know what happened to Gazsi or Dave, and Laine is your pick for local expert. Don’t go accusing us all of dishonesty.”

“And your little visit to the police?” Holloway asked, his eyebrows high in challenge.

“Just let it go!” Slater snapped. “Bickering among ourselves isn’t going to help anything. Let’s watch and see what happened.”

Aston returned his attention to the screen, though anger still roiled in his gut. How was he going to make it through this without putting Holloway in his place? He calmed himself with more thoughts of post-expedition life.

On the screen, Laine headed down into the channel, clearly a fairly experienced diver. But Aston wondered just how experienced and whether the man was ready for the currents and eddies that were likely in the confines ahead. Rock walls rose on either side as the cryptozoologist went in, the view panning left and right as he looked around. His movements were quick and jerky, as if he were nervous. After what they’d seen the day before, Aston couldn’t blame him. A couple of times the view fritzed and blurred, but quickly the signal returned strong and clear.

“Those remote transmitters are temperamental,” Joaquin muttered. “Hopefully it wasn’t static just because the thing failed.”

“Why else would it have gone to static?” Slater asked, but nobody had an answer for her.

Eyes remained locked on the screen. It took a long time, but eventually Laine’s view showed the vertical side tunnel. Laine angled upward and his momentum increased as he used the DPV to power into it.

“Damn fool’s heading for the lair,” Holloway muttered.

“Of course he is,” Slater said. “Where else did you expect him to go?” She left unsaid that the lair was precisely where Holloway had wanted Aston to search.

After another couple of minutes, Laine’s camera broke the surface, the vision regularly flickering in and out. He shined a flashlight into the wide cave. The sweep of light caught a few smooth, rounded objects very briefly before something dark and solid swept past, obliterating the view. The vision blacked and returned several times rapidly, almost strobing, then there was light and bubbles and silt, then the camera tumbled end over end a few times, a stream of air bubbles spiraling past, before it cut and the screen turned to static.

Joaquin hit fast-forward. Nothing. “That’s it,” he said as he clicked and dragged the mouse, advancing the image in great chunks of time.” It’s nothing but static for hours.” He looked to the others who stood in contemplative silence.

“The monster. She was in there and she ate him,” Holloway said. His voice carried an edge of satisfaction that Aston found disturbing.

“We don’t know that,” Aston said. “We didn’t actually see the creature or what happened to Laine. It could just be an equipment malfunction. Or he might have knocked the camera off against rock and lost it down the shaft.”

“But he’s not back is he?” Holloway said.

“What time did he leave?” Aston asked Joaquin. “Is the video timestamped?”

Joaquin checked. “Yes. Turned to static at three-fifteen.”

Aston nodded. “Just under three hours ago. If we assume Laine was still attached to that camera when it fell back down the passageway, then he’s still underwater. There’s no way his air would have lasted until now.”

“Or he’s in the belly of the beast,” Holloway said. “Either way, I think it’s a safe bet the fool is dead.”

“Or trapped up in the lair, hiding,” Aston suggested.

“Could he have gotten out and then had second thoughts about returning?” Slater’s words of hope rang hollow. Laine had made it clear he planned on returning once he’d had a crack at finding the monster. There was no reason for him to change his mind in the middle of the dive.

“I have to say, this makes me think twice about making the dive ourselves,” Aston said to Slater. “There’s not much room for error down there.”

“You have to go. The time is now,” Holloway said. “We know where the creature is. This might be our only chance. You need to go down there and deploy remote cameras around the cave and in the passage below it. We must capture definitive footage of the creature and identify it. Anything less and we’ll be dismissed as crackpot monster hunters, just like all the rest.”

Aston shook his head. Holloway had just declared Laine to be breakfast for the lake monster, and now he wanted to serve Aston and Slater as brunch? “There are other ways to do that now we know where the thing goes. And we have the footage from yesterday—”

“Not good enough!” Holloway barked, his face reddening. “Besides, we don’t have time. Bad weather is coming in and that damn policeman is about to shut us down. Which is mostly down to you! You go now or this expedition is technically unfinished. And you don’t get one penny if you don’t finish the expedition. It’s in your contract.”

Aston stared, dumbfounded. “Are you serious? You’re blackmailing me into this after what happened to Laine?”

Holloway was unmoved. “Do you want to get paid or not?”

Slater shook her head and waved her hands. “Time out, guys. Time out. This is getting ridiculous. We can all walk away right now, come back later when the bad weather’s passed. In the meantime, we can mollify Rinne and get ourselves better organized. That creature’s not going anywhere.”

“It happens now, or no one gets paid,” Holloway said.

“Another man has died!” Slater yelled.

Holloway took a step toward her, menacing, his face redder than ever. “Now, or no one gets paid,” he repeated. “I won’t be moved on this, so don’t waste your breath.”

Slater refused to back away from him, her face twisted in fury. “Fine. You think everything is about money? It’s not. I can come back here with another film crew, with different funding. You don’t own this footage.”

“I knew it!” Holloway said. “You’ve been planning something on the side, haven’t you?”

“You’re nuts,” Slater said. “I’m just reminding you that no matter how much money you have, no matter how many people you pay to kiss your ass, you don’t own me. I don’t need you.”

“I do,” Aston said quietly.

“What?” Slater’s anger tracked to him.

Aston hung his head. “I’m sorry, Jo, but I need his money. I’m in real trouble without it, and I’m out of time. I’ll go on my own. There’s no need for you to put yourself in danger.”

Holloway grinned like a cat with a mouse. “I guess you’d better go and suit up.”

Slater stared hard at Aston. “You and I need to have a long conversation.”

“When I get back,” he said.

She tossed her head and rested her fists on her hips. “When we get back.”

He pointed at the static-filled screen. “Didn’t you see what happened down there? You don’t have to come. I won’t let you come!”

Slater laughed. “You don’t own me any more than he does, swim-boy! I’m coming with you. You’re part of my documentary and if you go, I go. It would make for a pretty weak film to end it here. If it continues now, it continues with me.”

Aston held her eye for a moment, but her cold resolve was obvious. He shook his head and stalked away, furious at himself for the trouble he was in with Chang. If it wasn’t for those debts he’d still be cruising on a small research grant in Queensland.

The moment Aston hit the water his worries dissolved. The cool, dark lake was a soothing balm for his jangled nerves, the silence a welcome change from the incessant bickering that had plagued the team. He allowed himself to float there for a moment, welcoming the brief respite from the topside world, ignoring for a moment that it would all return after this dive was finished. Assuming, of course, they didn’t end up snacks for a prehistoric predator.

Slater hit the water a few feet away. She kicked her flippered feet, slowly turning about, until she spotted him. He gave her a reluctant thumbs-up. She returned the signal and together they dove.

They had foregone the DPVs, trading a measure of speed for the ability to move in near-silence, and to potentially hide in small spaces. Each carried a dive bag with two remote cameras they would secure as close to the suspected lair as possible, even in it if they could. Once the cameras were in place and operational, they would return to the ship and wait, hoping the elusive creature would show itself in all its glory. The images they’d captured of it so far were compelling but not enough to offer definitive proof, at least by the standards of the scientific community, that a primordial creature, one believed to be long-extinct, still lived somewhere in Lake Kaarme.

Aston swam with powerful strokes, propelling his body down through the murky depths. Slater kept pace, swimming a few feet back off his right shoulder, a handheld underwater camera trained ahead of her. They descended into the channel, the blanket of darkness drawing over them. With it came a deep sense of trepidation. The story of the creature had first seemed an absurdity, and even after they’d gathered a few clues, it still seemed, at most, a remote possibility. Now that it was, to Aston’s mind, a reality, this mission seemed foolhardy, even reckless.

Just keep your wits about you. You’ve faced danger before and always come out all right. The thought echoed in his mind and he clung to it like a talisman as they left the channel and plunged into the dark passageway.

The light from his headlamp added a dull glow to his surroundings, illuminating a few feet ahead. Slater moved in beside him, adding the light from her own lamp. There wasn’t much to see, nothing the VUE hadn’t already revealed, so he swam harder, wanting nothing more than to get this over with and the two of them back to safety.

The current ran steadily in their faces, making their passage more difficult but also carrying away any silt they inadvertently stirred up. After several minutes of hard swimming, Aston enjoyed the familiar burn of exertion. It was a welcome feeling after so much time spent gazing at video screens and digital displays. He glanced over his shoulder to see if Slater was flagging at all, but she was keeping pace. The woman was hardly the stereotypical soft television personality. Perhaps when this was all over he’d have the chance to find out what other surprises she had in store.

As they approached the vertical passageway that led up to the lair, Aston’s heart began to race. What, if anything, would they find there? He wished he had more in the way of a weapon than the knife strapped to his thigh, but what could he possibly carry that would make any difference against a prehistoric beast of such massive size? If the creature’s hide was half as tough as he thought it might be, even a high-powered spear gun wouldn’t deal the thing any serious damage.

Slater tapped him on the arm and he turned his head in her direction. She pointed to the bag secured to her hip, then at the wall, and then held her palms up. Her meaning was clear — might as well start planting the cameras.

Aston nodded. Here, the camera would likely pick up a decent signal, it was close to the entrance to the lair, and the way was narrow enough that if the creature swam through, they ought to capture a lovely image of its smiling face.

Working quickly, he took one of her cameras and secured it into a fold of rock. Slater moved back to film the process. He turned it on, checked the signal, then waved a hand in front of it. A ring of white LEDs around its edge flared into life, triggered by movement. In the pitch dark of the tunnel, the small circle of lights illuminated the space like a flash bulb. They moved away, paused, and the lights blinked out again without further motion to activate the sensors. Aston gave a thumbs up and they were on their way again. He planted another camera at the spot where the passageway began its steep upward ascent, checked it and confirmed the signal was strong. He had half-hoped they’d get no signal at all, thus making a swim up to the beast’s purported home unnecessary, but if the VUE could send back images from up there, so could these cameras. Besides, Holloway expected them to make a visual inspection of the space. Perhaps, he had suggested, they might find a tooth or claw — something that could be studied and provide solid proof.

Aston turned to Slater, held up his hands, fingers spread, and pointed down. Wait here. She replied with an upraised middle finger and a shake of the head. He didn’t bother to argue.

Heart in his throat, he led the way up toward their destination. He swam hard, eager to get it over with. The darkness and creeping sense of peril quickly leached away the serenity that came with the dive, and his senses were on high alert. He realized he was breathing far too rapidly and would exhaust his air supply if he didn’t calm down. He needed to settle himself. Three slow, deep breaths, and he was close to normal again.

Finally, the entrance to the lair loomed ahead. Aston’s gut twisted in a knot at the sight of the circle of blackness. This was it. If the beast were lurking there, they could be done for. He suddenly found several religions and sent up prayers to God, Jesus, Vishnu, Poseidon, and one to Neil DeGrasse Tyson, just to be a smartass, as he passed into the widening tunnel.

Slater paused and pointed, so he positioned a camera not far from the water’s surface above. It was a good spot and would capture anything breaking in from the cavern. Aston took a steadying breath and swam upward.

He broke the surface and looked around, his head on a swivel. As his headlamp swept cold, hard rock his heart hammered, so loudly he was sure the sound would draw the monster to him. But he saw only dark, cold rock. The domed ceiling rose about fifteen feet above his head, and a wide ledge ran around one side of the open space, disappearing into darkness. He breathed a sigh of relief. There was no monster.

He set to work, hauling himself up the side wall to balance on one knee and wedge the last camera in a narrow crevice, aiming it down so it could take in most of the cavern floor immediately at the water’s edge. The space beyond seemed huge, disappearing into shadows his headlamp couldn’t penetrate and he was reluctant to stick around any longer than necessary to look. Time flowed like cold molasses as he secured the camera, turned in on, and checked the signal and movement sensor light. The cave lit up and the signal read twenty per cent. It would do.

A flash of movement drew his eyes back toward the water. His stomach lurched when he saw Slater thrashing about in the light from the last camera he had placed, held fast by unseen hands, her headlamp carving hectically back and forth under the surface. He had been so intent on getting into the cave and out again that he hadn’t checked she was still with him. He dropped and powered toward her, swimming for all he was worth.

As he drew close, relief washed through him as he spotted the problem — one of her fins had wedged in a jagged crack in the stone. Slater, too panicked to see what held her fast, kicked and batted at the rock that gripped her. Aston grabbed her arms, pinned them to her sides, and slowly nodded. You’re all right. When she stopped fighting, he hastily worked her free. He pointed to the way out, but she shook her head vigorously, gestured upwards. She needed a moment to gather herself perhaps.

When they broke the surface in the cavern next to the rocky shelf, Slater spat out her regulator and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Oh my God. I thought… I thought it had…” she sobbed.

“I know,” he said, stroking the back of her head with one hand while grabbing on to the rock with the other. “It’s all right.”

“I made an ass of myself.” Her voice still trembled, but she was already regaining her composure, taking deep, steadying breaths.

“This place has me spooked,” Aston said. “I should have paid more attention, I’m sorry.” He jabbed a thumb back over his shoulder. “This must be where the VUE surfaced before. I set a camera up over there, so we’re good to go, I think. Let’s just…” He broke off when he felt Slater go rigid. “What is it?”

Her gasping reply scarcely reached his ears. “Bones.”

He slowly turned his head. On the opposite side of the rock shelf to where he had climbed before, far back under a large overhang, were piles of animal and human skeletons. Cloaked in gloom, they stood out as stark white sculptures as Slater slowly panned her light back and forth. His own flashlight picked them out even more clearly. Aston realized the VUE had briefly shown the smooth round objects that he now realized were skulls.

They floated there, frozen by the macabre scene. Finally, Slater let go of his neck. “I have to get some pictures of this.” She raised the small video camera, her free hand on the ledge to boost herself up.

“Jo, don’t!” He snatched the camera away and pressed a finger to her lips. “Listen,” he whispered.

A stray sound had caught his attention. As they listened, it came again. The heavy, wet slap of something hitting solid rock. Something big, far back in the cave.

Slater’s eyes bulged and her jaw dropped.

Go, he mouthed.

Biting down on his regulator, he sank beneath the surface and swam for it, Slater right beside him. He kept glancing back, each time fearing he’d see a dark shadow or a gaping maw closing in behind.

He’d always prided himself on having a high panic threshold. No matter how dire the circumstances he was the one who kept his wits about him. Those limits were tested now in their desperate flight toward safety. They were still side by side as they reached the swirling maelstrom of currents where the main passage passed the vertical shaft and they kicked hard into it, heading back for the lake.

Despite the current at their backs, he felt they were moving at a snail’s pace. When would the way out come? Light flared repeatedly as they passed the cameras they had set and Aston took each as motivation to get to the next.

But it was a long way from the last camera back to open water. The currents were too crazy, the distance too far. He felt his body weakening, his senses dulling, as the heaping dose of adrenaline in his system began to dissipate. The dim light of the lake loomed up ahead, but his legs were lead and his arms rubber. He had nothing left.

Slater was faring no better. She stopped, grabbed hold of the side of the passageway, and waved for him to go on without her.

Aston was having none of that. Calling on reserves of strength he hadn’t known he possessed, he took hold of her wrist and urged her forward. Together, they made their way, one exhausting inch at a time, back out into the silty deep green gloom of Lake Kaarme and kicked up for the shadow of the boat high above.

They broke the surface, gasping and flailing for the dive platform as Joaquin reached out to help them. Only when he stood on the deck again did Aston allow himself to surrender to the sheer weight of exhaustion that he had thus far held at bay. He hit the deck, rolled onto his back, and closed his eyes.

“What happened?” Joaquin’s voice sounded as if it came from miles away.

Aston sucked in deep lungsful of humid air. “Bones,” was all he could manage.

When his breathing steadied, he pushed himself up and shucked off the tank harness and removed his flippers. He turned to look for Slater and saw her halfway up the steps to the bridge, looking up onto the deck.

“What the hell is Holloway doing?” she said, eyes wide.

Aston followed Slater up to the main deck. She stood staring at Holloway and Makkonen as the two men wrestled with the huge net winch. Aston remembered first seeing the winch on their original tour of the Merenneito. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He’d thought nothing more of it since, but now it filled him with dread.

Makkonen hit one of the large plastic buttons on the bulky mount and its heavy arm rotated outward with a loud whirring of internal motors until it extended over the water. He nodded to Holloway and headed back into the bridge.

Surely Holloway wasn’t planning to try to capture the creature? Then again, was there anything the man wouldn’t try? His hubris was beyond the scope of anything Aston had ever seen.

Slater’s slack-jawed expression indicated that she clearly shared his incredulity. “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.

Holloway turned to her with a thousand watt grin. “Exciting, isn’t it? I’m glad you’re back, we can move the boat now.” He signaled to Makkonen and the Merenneito rumbled to life and began to move, chugging around a little further from shore.

“You can’t seriously be thinking about trying to capture this thing?” Aston said.

The smile didn’t leave the billionaire’s face. “Did you get the cameras in place? What did you see down there?”

“We saw huge piles of bones!” Slater yelled, striding up to him with fury twisting her features. “Human and animal. The thing is a well-practiced killer and we swam right into its home. It’s a miracle we got out alive.” She held her arms locked at her sides, white-knuckled fists trembling.

Aston realized the scare with the flipper, then what they had heard in the cavern, had clearly had a deep impact on Slater. She was furious through fear and he couldn’t blame her.

“Piles of bones?” Holloway asked. “Really? Did you get pictures?”

“Aren’t you listening to me? This thing is a carnivore, an apex predator. Nothing good will come from messing around with it.”

Holloway’s joy wilted slightly under her rage and Aston stepped between them. He adopted as calm a manner as he could. He needed to make Holloway listen, and Slater’s shouts merely bounced off the man’s Teflon exterior. Perhaps a more reasoned approach would get through.

“Listen to me. Have you never seen the King Kong movies? Or Jurassic Park? Any of that shit? This kind of thing never ends well, Holloway. Surely you can see that.”

Slater turned to him, eyes wide. “Right?” She returned her ire to Holloway. “This is about as far from a good idea as ideas can get. We’re probably in danger just floating out here where that thing can get to us, and you want to ensnare it in your little net? The best you can hope for is to make it angry.”

“You want me to shut down an expensive project when we’re right on the cusp of success. And why? Because you’re scared, not of anything real, but of what you’ve seen in movies.” Holloway’s voice quaked as his temper rose. That suppressed emotion he had let slip once or twice before bubbled to the surface like a breaching volcano. “You two are either with me or against me! And if you’re not on my side you can get the hell off my boat and you will not see one single cent of payment. I need a team, not adversaries!”

He pointed to the winch arm, now extended a good dozen feet out over the water. “We are going to deploy this net as close to the entrance to the tunnel as we can get. We are going to bait the area. When the creature comes for our bait we are going to net her. If she fights back, we can pour electricity through that net until she sees reason. This thing is state of the art. I don’t care if we do have a dinosaur on our hands. We’re not cavemen fighting with rocks and spears. This is not a movie where people are written as stupid in order to suffer and entertain the masses. This is a big, powerful boat with the most expensive equipment designed for a specific job. I will be taking that creature back with me and it will rock the world. By the end of this week, everyone will know the name of Ellis Holloway and I would greatly appreciate it if your documentary, Miss Slater, was the primary way in which people learned my name, and yours. Your name, Aston, will go down in scientific history. But it doesn’t have to be you two. Film-makers and scientists will be lining up to make my story, to be a part of this phenomenon, so I don’t actually need you. You’d better both make up your minds right now.”

Holloway was red-faced and spitting by the end of his diatribe and he strode to the bridge to oversee Makkonen’s placement of the Merenneito.

Aston and Slater were left standing in their dripping wetsuits.

“Holy shit,” Aston said. “Electrified! He’s really going to do it.”

Slater stared at the deck, slowly shaking her head. “I don’t see any way we can stop him.”

Aston chewed his bottom lip. Regardless of Holloway’s lunacy, he still needed the man’s money as much as he had at the start of this crazy venture. Slater was aware of his situation now too. He wasn’t sure what to say to her, but he was trapped. What choice did he have but to see the man’s idiotic scheme through? With any luck, the creature would make short work of the trap and destroy the equipment. They would have to leave or wait for replacement gear and he could find a way to take what he was owed and walk. Or at least, he hoped he could.

“It pains me to admit it, but he’s right.” Slater’s voice was thin, tired out.

Aston frowned. “Right about what?”

“People would line up for a shot at filming this debacle. And I have all the previous footage, everything leading up to this point. Whether he’s successful in catching it or not, and I really hope he’s not, either way, that’s the whole story. I have to get it all or I’ve got nothing. And besides, you’re kinda locked in, right?”

Aston winced. “Well, yeah, but don’t make this about me. You could walk even if I can’t.”

“And I’d walk with nothing except an unfinished film. Whoever has the end footage, they’ll be the people with something. Someone with Holloway’s resources could easily re-enact everything up to this point if he chose to. He’s got copies of the footage the boat recorded, after all, and all the data.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Aston weighed his options. There were no good ones, it seemed.

“God, it pains me to let him think he’s right,” Slater said eventually.

“Right or wrong in this instance, he’ll always be a dickhead,” Aston said. “That’s something that’ll never change.”

Slater smiled, though a little reluctantly. “How dangerous is this going to get?”

Aston looked away, out over the water. “I honestly don’t know,” he said truthfully.

Holloway emerged from the bridge as Makkonen killed the Merenneito’s engines.

“Have you two come to your senses?” he asked.

Aston put a hand on Slater’s forearm to forestall any biting remarks. “It seems we have little choice,” he said. “But let it be noted for the record that we both think this is a bad idea. A very bad idea.”

Holloway went to the winch controls. “So noted.” He hit some buttons and more internal whirring sounded. The net began to unfurl from the arm.

Aston glanced around and saw Carly standing nearby with the camera rolling, capturing everything. He wondered if she’d quietly filmed the argument and his subsequent conversation with Slater and decided she probably had. Dave had been a big guy, hard to miss, but Carly was a camera ninja.

Holloway stood back as the huge net sank into the lake. He signaled Makkonen and the boat revved again and slowly backup up, dragging the net out to its full width. He turned to Aston and made a tight smile. “This is how they used to capture killer whales.” It was unnerving how quickly the man could return to an even keel once he’d gotten his way. “Except our net is much bigger, stronger, reinforced. And electrified, of course, with a charge that could stun an elephant.”

“I reckon our friend down there is a lot bigger than an elephant,” Aston said. “A bloody shame you weren’t recording already when we just had to swim for our lives, else you might already have all the footage you need.”

Holloway ignored his comment. “Whales were usually driven into the net with boats and explosive charges. We need something else. This is your area of expertise, Aston. How do we attract our prize?”

Aston hesitated. Standing by and watching Holloway at work was one thing, but actively participating was something else. Might as well get it over with as quickly as possible. “I can’t say with any certainty. We could sink a speaker and play sounds of seals underwater, maybe. That might draw her out. But understand, I’m clutching at straws here.”

“I like how you keep calling it ‘her’,” Slater said. “Are you still thinking of your ex?” Her tone was as stiff as her posture.

Aston almost managed a grin. “Haven’t had any reason yet to change that assumption.”

They shared a soft smile, but the tension was thick. They had narrowly escaped death and now they would try to draw the creature to them. Madness!

“Let’s try that then, to start with,” Holloway said. He turned to Joaquin. “Meanwhile, I need you to take the dinghy into town and do as we said before, okay?”

“Got it, boss.” Joaquin nodded and trotted off.

“What did you say before?” Slater asked.

“Joaquin is going to pick up some livestock, a few sheep or goats or something, and bring them out here. If nothing else works, we’ll drop them into the water inside the net’s radius. I figure their cries for help will attract our quarry if nothing else does. I mean, the thing’s got to eat, doesn’t it?”

Slater and Aston shared a glance. The look in her eyes conveyed her agreement that Holloway was disappearing down Loony Tunes Highway at a furious rate of speed.

Aston sighed. “I suppose it does.”

The low music and dull conversation melded together in a gray miasma. It fit perfectly with the fog that filled Superintendent Rinne’s head as he propped his elbows on the bar and inwardly fumed. What was he going to do about Pieter Lehtonen? What could he tell Adalina, worrying herself sick at home? And that damned Holloway, what about that fool? This wasn’t how things were supposed to operate. He was the authority here.

The bartender poured another measure of brandy and slid the glass across the scratched surface.

“Thanks, Timo,” Rinne said, without looking up. He swirled the spirit around and imagined a whirlpool sucking Holloway’s ship down into the depths and taking the arrogant American along with it.

“What’s on your mind, Paavo?” Timo leaned against the bar and gave his usual polite smile. Whether or not he actually cared about what was bothering Rinne, who could say? The man was good at his job, and he listened to his regulars’ tales of woe without complaint.

Rinne shook his head. “Rich foreigners and their illegal activities.”

Timo’s brow furrowed. “Illegal? Isn’t that the sort of thing you’re required to do something about?”

“There’s nothing I can prove yet,” he admitted, “but they’re up to something.”

Timo nodded, leaned one elbow on the dark wood, and leaned a little closer. “They claim to be making a nature documentary. What could be illegal about that? Lack of proper permits?”

“You said it yourself,” Rinne barked, gesturing with his glass. “They ‘claim’ that’s what they’re up to. But I’m sure it’s more than that.”

“Hold on a minute.” Timo moved away to serve another customer. As he returned, the public smile leaked off his face. “They were in here not long ago, asking a lot of questions,” he said. “They wanted to know about one of their number who had gone missing.”

Rinne took a swallow of brandy, enjoyed the fiery sensation in his throat. He hoped its heat would dissolve the mist that clouded his thoughts. “They came to me about that too. No one seems to know where the man is. I think they know more about it than they’re letting on.”

“And what about Pieter?” Timo asked. “Has he come back yet?”

Rinne scowled and shook his head. “The last time he was seen anywhere, it was by me when I sent him out to investigate their boat. He never returned.” He wasn’t sure why he had admitted this to the barman. Guilt maybe? One too many brandies loosening his tongue? But worry was preying on his mind and he needed to set it free. “That compounds my suspicion. Two disappearances in quick succession associated with their crew.”

Timo cupped his chin and gazed at some indeterminate spot in the distance. Rinne waited for the man to say something, to tell him he was correct, but nothing.

“Don’t you think they’re hiding something? Maybe their man was going to spill the secret, so they took steps to silence him.”

“And you think Pieter uncovered that same secret, whatever it was.”

Rinne nodded vigorously. “That exactly.”

Timo was quiet for a moment, and then he leaned forward, close to Rinne’s ear. “I don’t know about any secrets, but they were asking about the creature,” he said quietly.

Rinne looked up, eyes narrowed. He felt as if he’d been suddenly submerged in ice water. The monster. “What about it?”

“All about it. They wanted to know the legends, the stories. I told them to go and talk to Old Mo.”

Rinne hissed. “That crazy bastard.” He absent-mindedly fingered the bruise on his cheekbone.

Timo wagged one finger, remembering something. “And you know what else? They’ve also got that nutter Alvar Laine on their payroll.”

“I know that. Nature documentary! Laine is obsessed with the legend of the lake creature, always has been. They’re clearly monster hunters.”

Timo picked up a rag and began wiping down the bar. “It would seem likely.”

“What else could it be? They may well be making a documentary, but they’re obviously trying to expose things about our legends here. If they’re operating under the pretense of a nature film then perhaps their permissions are not in order. If they’ve lied about their intentions to get the right permits, I can send them away in an instant. Get some peace and quiet back into this community.”

Timo shrugged. “Are they really that disruptive? Why are you so keen to see them gone? What’s the harm in letting them poke around? They aren’t going to find anything, and I’m sure they’re injecting a spot of cash into the local economy.” He stopped wiping and flipped the rag so it hung over his shoulder. “Sounds to me like this is a problem that will solve itself if you just let it alone.”

Rinne opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by someone shouting his name from the door. He looked around to see Mikael, the town’s other deputy, scanning the bar. When the man’s eyes fell on his boss, he trotted over.

“Sorry to bother you off-duty.” He took off his cap and ran his hand through his thinning hair. “It’s important, though.”

Rinne flapped a hand. “What is it?”

“A visiting fisherman just came in from a day on the lake. Told me he found an empty boat a few kilometers around the shore. He looked everywhere, called out, but couldn’t find anyone. He said he did find some blood on the rocks near the tree line. Quite a lot of it. He showed me photos on his phone.” Mikael lowered his gaze to the floor.

“And?” Rinne asked, already knowing the answer.

“Well, he towed the boat back and I had a look over it. It’s definitely ours. Must be the one Pieter took out.”

Rinne stood, anger flaring up from his gut. “That’s it! These people are most definitely up to something and they must know more about Pieter’s disappearance. And their own missing crew member.” He pointed to the deputy. “Go and gather all the reserves. We need a group organized as soon as possible.”

“A… a group? For what?”

Rinne cracked his knuckles. “We’re going out to that boat and we’re bringing whatever their operation is to a halt right now.”

“You don’t know they had anything to do with Pieter,” Timo said.

“I’m sure of it!”

“It’s getting late…” Mikael began.

“I don’t care!” Rinne turned toward the bar and took out his wallet, intending to settle his bill. He felt a hand on his arm and turned to see a customer, a local man whose name he could not recall, standing beside him.

“Excuse me, Superintendent, but I—”

Rinne glanced at him. “I don’t have time right now. Take your issue to the station.” No one was there at the moment, but it would get the man out of his hair.

“No, no,” the man said, “it’s not my issue, but might be yours.”

“What are you talking about?”

The man flinched, took a step back. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. You were discussing that bunch of strangers out on the lake, yes?”

“Yes.”

“One of them was in town a little earlier. The big guy with the black hair? He was asking about where he could purchase livestock.”

Rinne frowned, the idea at odds with anything he might have expected this man to say. “Livestock?”

“Yes. I suggested he go and see Vanhanen up on the hill. He thanked me and headed off. Then about an hour ago, as I was heading in here, I saw him manhandling three trussed and protesting sheep into his tin dinghy, and he headed back out onto the lake.”

Silence descended on the small group for a moment. Rinne shook his head, words failing him. He glanced at Mikael, who shrugged.

“Three sheep?” Rinne said eventually.

“That’s right.” The townsman nodded eagerly. “Is that useful information?”

“I have no idea, but thank you all the same.” Rinne turned to Mikael. “Get everyone together. All our part-timers. I don’t care if it’s dark by the time we’re ready to go, we are taking a team out there as soon as we’re gathered and we’re putting an end to whatever it is that madman is doing.”

The screens were empty. Well, almost empty. The occasional bit of silt or debris drifted past, but the water remained otherwise vacant of any sort of movement. Aston half-hoped nothing would appear. Ever.

He looked out at the slate gray sky, a perfect match for his current mood. Black clouds on the horizon portended a coming storm, and he wondered if they also presaged a storm of a different sort. The lake seemed dark and forbidding, the surrounding hills constricting. Even the brightly-lit cabin felt oppressive, like a pen holding animals for slaughter.

“See anything yet?” Holloway poked his head through the doorway, grinning like an idiot. “With four cameras around the lair, it’s only a matter of time, am I right?”

Aston wanted nothing more than to break the man’s jaw. That wasn’t entirely true — the one thing he wanted more was a paycheck, and he wouldn’t get that unless he rode out the remainder of this clusterfuck of an expedition.

“Did you hear me?” Holloway asked.

Aston slowly raised his head. “Nothing yet, but I’m still watching.”

“You’re sure you found the right lair?” Holloway guffawed and slapped himself on the thigh as if he’d made a great joke.

“I’m sure.” Aston managed a weak smile. “I suppose it’s possible she’s headed back to the sea. We’ve been doing a lot of poking around and probably disturbed her.”

Holloway shook his head. “Don’t lose hope. I think your seal sounds idea just might do the trick. We’ve got the speaker installed and we’re almost ready to go. Just wait. When we catch this beauty you’ll see there was nothing to worry about.” He turned on his heel and strode jauntily out onto the deck.

“He fucking bi-polar or something,” Aston muttered. “His mood goes up and down faster than a busy whore’s underwear.”

“Don’t mind him,” Slater said, staring a hole in the back of the billionaire’s head. “You’re bigger than him where it counts.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve got ‘heart’ or some crap like that?”

“No. I just figure as much time as he spends measuring dicks with his checkbook, he’s probably about this big.” She held up her pinky finger. “I know for a fact you’ve got him beat.”

Aston had to laugh. “I guess that’s something, but right now I wouldn’t mind having a little more length and girth in the old bank account.”

Slater moved to stand behind his chair. “Just hang in there.” She began slowly kneading his shoulders. Aston closed his eyes as her strong hands worked at his knotted muscles. The woman had an expert touch. “I vetted Holloway pretty thoroughly. He’s an unrepentant ass, but I couldn’t find an account of him failing to make good on his business dealings. If we just ride this thing out, he’ll hold up his end of the bargain.”

“I suppose.” He took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and let it escape, hoping the stress would go along with it. “You really missed your calling, you know that?”

“I studied massage therapy before going on to college. I wasn’t bad at it, but I got sick of fat, middle-aged guys asking for a happy ending, and then pretending it was all a big joke.” Her fingers worked their way up his neck. “You are like one giant knot, you know that?”

“It’s premature rigor mortis.”

Slater’s hands froze. “That’s not funny, Aston.”

“Sorry. Gallows humor.”

“Not the time or place for it, I’m afraid.” Her fingers moved to his temples, applying gentle pressure and slowly circling.

“What do you think the end game is here?” Aston asked, trying to get his mind off of how close Slater was standing to him. The woman had a way of getting him stirred up and now was not the time for distraction, no matter how pleasant. “If the creature shows its face, if we get convincing video evidence, do you think that’ll be good enough for him? Might he back off his crazy trap idea of his?”

“I don’t know.” Slater let her hands fall back to his shoulders and rested them there. “He’s dead set on capturing it. I don’t think he’ll consider this done until he’s at least had a crack at that.”

“What’s he going to do if he does snare it? How the hell will he get it back to the States, and what comes after that? Let it loose in Sea World and watch it snack on the dolphins?”

“I can’t say what his system of transport will be, but he says he’s had a plan in place for some time. You’re not far off with the Sea World thing. He’s planning to open his own theme park with our beast as the featured attraction.”

Aston groaned and buried his face in his hands. “He definitely didn’t see Jurassic Park.”

“Maybe he did but thought the dinosaurs were the heroes?”

“Bloody hell.” Aston looked up, flashed a rueful grin, and returned his attention to the empty screens in before him.

“Here he comes. Look alive,” Slater warned.

Sure enough, Holloway came strutting in, smile still plastered across his face. “The Captain says the speaker’s ready to go. I don’t think he liked being pressed into action as a set-up man, but with this storm coming, there wasn’t time for Joaquin to do both. What are you gonna do? He’s on the payroll, same as anyone else. We’ll teach these Finns about the American work ethic if we have to drag them kicking and screaming.”

Aston stilled himself to calm, resisting even the urge to roll his eyes. Every time it seemed like Holloway had descended to the nadir of buffoonery, he found new depths to plumb. “I take it you’re ready to try the seal sounds?”

“You got it.” Holloway turned to Slater. “What is it they say in the television business? Ready… action!” He stretched out his arms and brought them together like a clapperboard. At least, that’s what Aston thought the man was miming. To him it looked like Joan Rivers clapping.

Slater summoned up an indulgent smile. “Something like that. Aston, give me five minutes to get set up before you strike up the band. Wouldn’t want to miss it if we’re going to make our girl a star.” She turned and followed Holloway out, pausing at the door to mime strangling someone before leaving.

Aston smiled at her back. The woman was all right.

Two hours later Aston was ready to declare the seal sound experiment an abject failure. He’d run them for an hour straight, and then tinkered with the volume to give the illusion of movement. No joy. The creature, wherever she was, wasn’t biting.

He’d even gone online and snagged a variety of underwater noises — clicks, grunts, and stridulations, even dolphin sounds. Nothing. Of course, it was entirely possible the beast had, in fact, headed out to sea and might not be back for days. Or weeks, or months. He had no way of guessing how often it visited this lake or its cave here. It might have lairs all up and down the gulf coast, for all they knew. Maybe it spent the rest of the year in a variety of other places. There would be a twisted irony to the situation if they’d found out all this right on the day it chose to leave for another season.

“Perhaps it needs a thumping bass,” Slater jibed, rubbing Aston’s shoulders again. “You know, something that really hits. Get that primal beat going, stir her loins, get her hungry for some companionship.”

Aston wondered if Slater might be hungry for some companionship herself. She’d been touchy enough today. Then again, it might be the undercurrent of fear running through the crew, Holloway excepted, that made her crave any sort of contact for comfort.

“How about some Taylor Swift?” Carly added. The young engineer had been walking about in a seemingly permanent state of unease since Aston and Slater had returned from the lair, even as she ensured she caught everything on film. Somehow, the story of their experience in the cavern had driven home the reality of the creature in a way their previous evidence had not. Her tiny laugh sounded thin and forced.

“Philistines, the both of you,” Aston said. “If our beast doesn’t listen to Motörhead she’s not worth catching.”

“You’re all wrong.” Holloway had slipped in unnoticed and stood beaming over Carly’s shoulder. Their failure hadn’t dampened his spirits one bit. “I’m thinking some Hank Williams Junior will go over nicely.”

Aston played along, doing his best to hide his utter disdain for Holloway. “Nope, it’s all metal all the way. I’m in charge of the music, so it’s my way or the highway.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “Sorry, boss. It looks like my idea was a bust.”

“Never apologize for trying and failing.” He clapped Aston on the shoulder. “What’s the old saying? We didn’t fail; we just found a few new ways not to catch a monster.”

“You’re in high spirits,” Slater said.

“That’s because it’s time for phase two. Joaquin’s back with the bait.”

The crew followed Holloway back out onto the deck. Aston tagged along last, reluctance slowing his steps. The whole venture was starting to take on the trappings of a farce, or perhaps a suicide mission, but the billionaire was undeterred. Joaquin had tied the dinghy up at the dive platform and Ollie Makkonen was helping him to lug three unhappy sheep into the SCUBA room. Each poor animal was trussed up tight and bleating plaintively, eyes rolling in understandable panic.

“This is not right,” Slater said, lips twisted in disgust.

“You’re not wrong,” Aston said. “Sheep are terrible at SCUBA diving.”

She looked at him, eyes flat.

“The mask leaks because of their woolly face?” he tried.

“This isn’t funny, Sam. This is all kinds of messed up!”

He sighed, nodded. “You’re right. I’m joking because otherwise I think I might go mad.”

“More of your gallows humor?” She shook her head. “I don’t know what bothers me more — what he’s about to do to those poor animals or what might happen to us if he actually succeeds in luring the creature out. What if it’s so big it causes the boat to capsize?”

Aston grimaced as he watched the scene unfold. “There is a bit of good news on that score.”

Slater cocked her head. “Really? What’s that?”

“If we do capsize, you don’t have to be the fastest swimmer on the crew. You just have to be faster than the slowest swimmer.”

Slater gaped at him and then broke out in laughter. “Or at least faster than three sheep, I suppose.”

“Leave that one there!” Holloway shouted, pointing down into the dinghy.

Joaquin and Makkonen paused, the third and last sheep hoisted between them, half out of the small boat.

“Leave it here?” Joaquin asked.

“Just put the thing down.” Holloway bustled in, forced the sad animal back into to the bottom of the tinny and ushered Joaquin and Makkonen out. He fired up the outboard and motored away, frightened bleating fading as he went. The remaining two sheep lay on the Merenneito’s deck, silent but panting and wide-eyed.

“We can’t just leave them like that. At the least they could stand.” Slater grabbed a dive knife and cut the ropes binding their feet together. Using the same rope, she made makeshift leads and tied them to storage lockers on either side of the room.

Immediately the animals began to calm, standing still and looking up at the people around them as if answers might be forthcoming.

“Do we have anything to feed them?” Aston asked.

“I’ll get something from the galley,” Joaquin said. “Some spinach or lettuce. Full stomachs might help them settle down.”

As he walked away, Slater said, “You know what would calm them down? Taking them back to wherever the hell you got them from in the first place.”

“Yeah,” Aston said quietly. “Come on, let’s see what our mad leader is doing up there.”

They made their way to the top deck and paused, stunned by the sight. Carly ran ahead of them and filmed from the ship’s rail. Holloway was on his knees in the dinghy, the boat rocking violently as he tried to force the sheep’s legs, free of rope now, through the fittings of a life vest.

“What in the actual hell?” Aston rubbed his eyes as if he could clear away the bizarre sight.

Before long, the creature was crammed into the bright orange vest, its bleating even more panicked. Small, white buoys, spaced every three feet or so, kept the top of the catch net level with the lake surface before it trailed back up to the winch. Holloway tied the sheep’s rope between two buoys and then fastened the other end tightly to a plastic buckle on the life vest. Then he tossed the sheep over the side.

Aston had no idea a sheep could scream, but there was no better description for the noise the poor animal made as it thrashed and rolled in the cold water. Slater put a hand over her mouth, but couldn’t tear her gaze away any more than the rest of them. Holloway watched for a moment to be sure the sheep wouldn’t sink, and then gave a single, satisfied nod. He revved the outboard and motored the small craft back to the Merenneito. His face was split in a wide grin that Aston considered at least partly manic. The man had clearly tumbled over some cliff edge of sanity in his enthusiasm and it didn’t look like he was about to stop falling any time soon.

The sheep had finally accepted its fate and bobbed in the water like a stunned, woolly buoy by the time Holloway joined them on deck. He trotted up to them. “That should draw the monster in, don’t you…” He stopped talking, face crumpling into a frown.

“What’s the matter now?” Makkonen asked. Even the grizzled old captain seemed uncomfortable with the turn of events.

“What’s it doing just hanging there?” Holloway demanded, like it was the crew’s fault.

Carly moved around to get a better view of Holloway with the camera, occasionally panning back to the terrified animal in the water.

“What do you mean, hanging there?” Slater asked. “What’s it supposed to do? Sing and fucking dance?”

Holloway scowled at her. “What kind of bait is that?” He gestured toward the floating sheep. “It’s supposed to thrash around, make a lot of noise like it’s in distress. It’s supposed to attract my monster.”

My monster, Aston thought. He already thinks he owns it.

They stood staring for several minutes. Holloway paced back and forth, mumbling softly to himself. Aston neither knew nor cared what he was saying. Every now and then the sheep would let out a plaintive bleat, and then fall silent again. It didn’t move, paralyzed with fear, Aston presumed.

Holloway made a noise of disgust and stalked away. “I’m going to do something about this.”

“What now?” Trepidation hung heavy in Slater’s voice.

The dinghy’s outboard fired up again and Holloway motored out to the unfortunate beast. The sheep began thrashing and crying out again as he approached. It managed to paddle a few feet, but could not escape Holloway’s reach.

“Now you can finally play your part!” Holloway shouted at it. “Let’s put you to work, you little fuzzball!”

He produced a shining dive knife and leaned over the edge of the small boat.

“No!” Slater cried, but it made no difference.

The knife flashed and Holloway drove it into the sheep’s shoulder. Again and again he slashed at the helpless animal, savagely slicing at its flanks. Aston gritted his teeth, unable to tune out the horrifying cries of a terrified animal in pain. Blood soaked its wool and clouded the water as the sheep’s voice rose into terrified and agonized screaming once more.

“What the hell are you doing?” Slater screamed. “This is too much! Please stop this!”

Holloway turned the dinghy and headed back for the Merenneito. “It’s there to be eaten anyway!” he yelled over the engine noise. “How is this any worse?”

“It’s unnecessary cruelty, you sick bastard!” Slater said. “What is wrong with you? Are you a sociopath?”

“And floating it out there for bait isn’t unnecessary cruelty?” Holloway asked.

“Yes it absolutely is!” Slater said, face twisted in astonishment. “That’s the whole point. This isn’t research any longer; it’s sadistic…” She threw up her hands, unable to say more.

“You don’t understand,” Holloway said as he brought the dinghy alongside Merenneito. “Sometimes sacrifices have to be made. We’re on the cusp of the greatest scientific discovery of the century. It’s ridiculous to think we should fail now because you don’t want to see an animal eaten. I’ve got news for you, if the monster didn’t eat that thing,” he pointed at the sheep for emphasis, “some local would have. That’s how the food chain works, sweetheart.”

“This is bad,” Slater said, “and you’re making it worse by the minute.”

Aston looked out at the blood-soaked bait. “Actually,” he pointed over Holloway’s shoulder, “it can’t really get any worse now, can it?” he said.

The billionaire twisted to see what Aston was indicating and spat. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Damn thing.”

The sheep had tipped sideways and lay dead in the water, its eyes rolled back to show only the whites. Holloway killed the outboard and stared at it, seemingly at a loss. Then he burst into action, clambering back onto Merenneito and hurrying out of sight.

“Boss,” Joaquin called tentatively, “do you need my help?” The dull sheen of disbelief in the man’s dark eyes said he hoped the answer was no.

Holloway didn’t reply. Aston and Slater shared a concerned look as sounds of banging and bleating rose from the SCUBA room.

“Not another one,” Aston said.

Soon enough, Holloway reappeared in the dinghy, a second sheep stumbling fearfully around, looking for an escape that didn’t exist. The small boat rocked dangerously, but Holloway seemed not to care. The sheep’s coat was soaked scarlet with blood in spots, but it was clear the billionaire had been less violent this time. The bloody patches covered only a small part of its coat, but its pain was evident along with its fear as it staggered around uncertainly.

Holloway pulled the dinghy up next to the dead sheep and that only made the panicked one on board redouble its frenzy. Holloway lifted a diver’s weight belt loaded with lead sinkers into view. He fed it through the life vest of the dead animal and cut it free to sink like a rock beneath the surface.

“That should help draw my monster in!” he said, though he didn’t seem to be addressing his words to any of the crew.

He threw the second sheep overboard and tied its leash rope to the trailing edge of the net. The animal thrashed and protested loudly. Holloway motored back, grinning broadly.

“That’s more like it!” he called up. “We’re learning more with every failed attempt, aren’t we?”

As he went out of view toward the dive platform, Aston said, “We’re certainly learning more about what a fucking lunatic you are!”

He jumped when he realized Joaquin had reappeared to stand right beside him. But the big man just laughed softly and patted Aston on the shoulder. “He’s eccentric,” Joaquin said, with a smile that said he knew full well how much of an understatement that was.

“You know the difference between eccentricity and madness?” Aston asked. When no one answered, he said, “Money. You act like him and have no money, you get locked up in a psych ward. But act like that with a bank account like he’s got and you’re merrily referred to as eccentric.”

“How do you stay with him?” Slater asked. “He must have shown these colors before.”

“He has, in some ways,” Joaquin admitted. “Though maybe never quite this… obsessed about something that wasn’t business. He’s never been this close to a discovery before, I suppose. The thing is, people don’t make the kind of money he has without being ruthless, amoral, and at least a little bit insane.”

“And that’s okay with you?” Slater said.

Joaquin shrugged. “He takes very good care of me and that lets me take care of my family in a way I wouldn’t be able to otherwise.”

“He pays you to be complicit in his lunacy,” Aston said.

“I’ve never felt that I’ve compromised my morals,” Joaquin said.

“But would you if it came down to it?” Aston demanded.

“I take each day as it comes.”

Aston grunted. “That’s not a very definitive answer.”

Joaquin shrugged again.

Further conversation was curtailed by Holloway’s return. “Now if that doesn’t bring my monster in, I have no idea what will!”

They stood in silence for a few moments. Silence except for the sheep, which dutifully cried out exactly as Holloway had hoped it would. It twisted and flexed in the water, kicked its legs in vain attempts to break free, and gave voice to its terror almost constantly.

Holloway nodded. “Yes, yes. That’s more like it! Come on, let’s all get ourselves some dinner and keep an eye on the sonar and cameras while we wait.”

Aston gazed straight ahead, absently shoveling mouthfuls of chili con carne into his mouth, chewing mechanically, and washing it down with beer he hardly tasted. He wished his other senses were as dull right now. Holloway had insisted on a working dinner so they could monitor the screens in hopes the creature would make an appearance.

“I don’t know how you can eat with all that noise,” Slater said, scowling at him and pushing her untouched bowl away.

He did his best to ignore the weak, intermittent bleats from outside. “It’s nervous eating. I’m not enjoying it, if that’s any consolation.” The truth was, Joaquin’s chili was delicious. They had all sung its praises the night before. But the leftovers served up again were like ash and cardboard on his tongue.

Slater shook her head. “I can’t eat a thing. All I can think of is what Holloway might do next.”

“It’s purely biological,” Aston said. “I get weak and wobbly if I don’t eat regularly.” He forced down another mouthful, the sheep in the lake gargled as it bleated, and he dropped his fork. “But that’s me done.”

Holloway came in from out on the deck, his cheerful demeanor firmly in place. “We’ve still got live bait on the hook,” he proclaimed.

“It’s getting very weak,” Joaquin reported from the window. He was having no trouble putting away food as he watched the gloomy view, wolfing down two bowls in quick succession. “Its head keeps dipping under the water. Won’t be able to hold it up much longer, I guess.”

“And then it’ll drown. Good work, Holloway.” Slater looked at the billionaire, eyes challenging.

He shrugged. “We’ve got another one.”

Slater sighed. She looked close to tears and Aston thought again about suggesting they take a dinghy back to town and quit the whole operation. Surely there was some way he could find the cash to get Chang off his back. Maybe robbing a bank was a better option than this.

“I’ve been thinking,” Holloway said, upbeat and enthusiastic again. “It probably hunts at night, don’t you figure?”

Aston realized the question was directed at him. He glanced at the windows, quickly darkening with the rapidly approaching twilight. This time of year it wouldn’t be full dark for a good couple of hours yet, but so far north the twilight was a long and ever-deepening affair. “Not sure,” he admitted. “A lot of predators will hunt at night or dusk, when certain factors are in their favor. But equally as many are happy enough hunting in the daylight hours. It’s impossible to say.” Even if he had known for certain, he would have been reluctant to give Holloway concrete information any more. It felt like a betrayal of Slater, of his own professional integrity, of common decency even.

Holloway waggled his fingers. “Just postulate for me here. Suppose this is a prehistoric aquatic hunter. Given all you know about them, what’s your best guess about their feeding habits?”

Aston noticed the cold eye of the lens on him again, Carly silently moving about the cabin capturing everything. She seemed to have retreated even further since the incident with the sheep and kept the camera in front of herself permanently like a shield.

“All I know about them?” Aston said. “I’m a marine biologist, not an archeologist. I know next to nothing about prehistoric aquatic dinosaurs and we don’t even know if that’s what this is!”

“Speculate for me, man! I’m paying you for your expertise. Extrapolate what you know about similar animals.”

“Okay, fine. I really have next to nothing to base this on, but it’s quite possible it would only feed at night or dusk, given that it’s harder for prey to see it coming in the darkness, or its prey may be sleeping if we’re talking about it coming onto land. But then again, what is its prey? Whatever this prehistoric beast ate back in the bloody Jurassic or whatever is probably not around any more. If this is an ocean-dwelling creature that’s found its way into this lake through underground passages, that’s almost certainly because it’s on the hunt. What’s it found here that keeps bringing it back?”

Five seconds of contemplative silence hung in the air as they all considered the question.

“People.” Makonnen’s voice cut through the quiet.

Everyone present turned as one to face the usually taciturn ship’s captain. His face was deadly serious.

“People?” Slater asked.

Makkonen shrugged and wiped up the last of his chili with a hunk of bread. “What else? There’s nothing here that it can’t find it greater numbers out to sea. Sure, there’s the occasional deer but the population is sparse due to heavy hunting. The fish we have in Lake Kaarme are small compared to giant shoals out there. And, if it’s as big as we think, it could probably take out dolphin, sharks, even whales, giant squid, who knows what else? The only thing in ready supply here that’s not out there are people. Maybe we’re a delicacy.”

It was the longest speech Makkonen had ever made and it silenced the room.

“According to local history,” Slater said eventually, her countenance dark, “the natives had a tradition of sacrificing people to whatever lived in the lake.”

“Sweeney was killed at night,” Joaquin said around a mouthful of chili. “At least, his last pictures were taken at night.”

Aston tried to ignore the chill tickling the base of his spine as he remembered the images Holloway had shown them upon their first meeting. Did the creature have a particular taste for human flesh? He had nothing to say to that theory. But the old captain was onto something. There was nothing in this lake big enough to keep the interest of a giant apex predator. It had no reason to keep coming back unless it was getting something it found nowhere else and the history he had studied so far, the disappearances, all pointed to human flesh. Gaszi, Dave, even the policeman that fool Rinne said he had sent to investigate them. They were all missing, presumed dead. Presumed eaten, with no better theory forthcoming.

The silence in the room returned, hanging heavy like a fog. Even Holloway seemed subdued by the captain’s assessment. A high-pitched squeak interrupted them.

“What was that?” Aston asked, looking behind the ever-present camera.

Carly pointed at the screens, forgotten in the conversation. The first screen was lit up, the motion-sensor lights on the camera nearest the vertical lair tunnel illuminating the rock walls and the end of a huge, grey shape sliding by. They crowded quickly for a better view as the wide tail fin went past.

Aston, Slater, Holloway, Joaquin and Makkonen, shoulder to shoulder, stared hard at the mostly dark screens. Carly stayed back, recording.

“It’s coming toward the lake, not going to the lair,” Aston said quietly. “There’s one more camera to pass that way.”

Another flash lit up a screen and a row of sharp teeth in a long, bony mouth swept past the lens, followed by a seemingly endless flank of pale scales, a long fin, sharp spines.

“Holy mother of god, it’s working. Here she comes!” Holloway fired up the sonar and snapped on all the underwater spotlights lining the hull. The images from the Merenneito’s underside cameras flared into brightness as the sonar scanned the lake depths in front of the underwater channel. After a few seconds pregnant with tension a massive image pinged back. A long shadow moving away from the lake shore, heading directly for them.

“That has to be fifteen meters long,” Aston said quietly, subdued by both the enormity and the very reality of the creature. If a single shred of doubt had remained, it was gone.

“Fifteen meters?” Slater whispered. “That’s about fifty feet.” Her eyes were wide as they challenged Aston to confirm her mental arithmetic.

He simply nodded.

“She’s on her way!” Holloway yelled and ran from the room.

The others followed him onto the deck. The sheep tied to the net lolled and drifted, still managing the occasional weak bleat. Time and again, its head rolled back then jerked up as water covered its nose. Every time it was a slower, more laborious effort to save itself.

“Ollie, the controls!” Holloway barked, and Makkonen ran to the winch arm.

They stared at the cloudy water, illuminated into swirls of silt and debris by the powerful halogens. Aston almost hoped for nothing to happen, but a tiny part of him raced with the adrenaline rush that comes on the precipice of success. Were they really about to see a creature thought extinct for millions of years?

A massive, pale bulk suddenly rose into the hull lights near the surface and the almost unconscious sheep squealed as it was whipped under.

“Close it up!” Holloway yelled and Makkonen hit the buttons that started to draw the giant net rapidly closed.

Aston stared dumbfounded. Was the mad bastard really going to catch it? Water burst in roiling, thrashing waves, white like a sudden whirlpool boiling up as the thing twisted and turned, trying to avoid the rapidly closing steel mesh. The boat rocked as the beast’s massive weight dragged against the net and that in turn hauled on the winch. Metallic screeches and creaking sounded from the rails, the deck groaned and the winch seemed to flex as though it were about to snap clean off. The crew staggered, grabbing for rails to avoid being tipped into the lake. Carly managed to hold tight with one hand to the doorframe of the bridge and keep filming with the other. Aston was impressed.

“Be ready to zap it!” Holloway yelled.

As the net drew almost half closed, the water stilled. Aston realized he was holding his breath, but could do nothing about it. It felt as though he would never draw a breath in again. The water churned and something enormous launched into the air, showering them all in a torrent as it lifted clear over the edges of the net, massive mouth spread wide in a silent howl of defiance.

It had a long, pointed snout, bristling with sharp teeth each the length of Aston’s forearm. Its body was serpentine, seemingly endless, two powerful front flippers and, finally, two at the rear, each tipped with fingerlike digits. They were heavily muscled, clearly useful for moving short distances on land as well as powering through the water. Sharp, bony spines ran in several rows along its flanks and a ridge of them flicked up along its spine, showering diamonds of lake water into the air. It just kept coming, its rear flippers giving way to a tail that widened at the end and beat against the water as the creature cleared the net and crashed down into the lake again with a gigantic splash that rocked the Merenneito like a toy in a child’s bath.

“Can you identify it?” Slater asked.

Once he had accepted the likelihood, even probability, that a prehistoric creature lived in the lake, Aston had done a fair bit of studying, trying to find the most likely candidate for their monster. “It looks like an evolved Mosasaurus. The size and shape are right but the spines are new.” Mosasaurus was a carnivorous aquatic lizard of the late Cretaceous. Common to North America and Western Europe, it reached lengths of up to eighteen meters… sixty feet, and dined on fish, turtles, smaller mosasaurids, and even plesiosaurs.” The information rolled through his mind like a documentary. This beauty would literally eat Nessie for lunch.

As the huge wash of its landing fell back, they realized it was powering along the surface heading straight for them. They had barely a second to brace before it slammed into the boat and rocked it hard over to one side. Their cries of terror were loud, but not loud enough to cover the distinct crack of fiberglass somewhere down near the waterline.

Then a second scream cut the air like a blade as Ollie Makkonen, on the rail trying to reset the net to send it out again, was suddenly standing tall, arms pinwheeling madly as he tried to pull his weight back. Aston lurched forward, but the giant beast had passed beneath the boat and came up to strike it again. Makkonen yelped like a whipped dog as he was thrown forward. He hit the water thrashing.

“Throw me a rope!” he shrieked. “Hurry!”

“Here, man!” Holloway yelled and began feeding a mooring rope out over the gunwale.

Aston ran to help but Makkonen’s shouts turned to a wail of fear and pain as the creature punched up directly beneath him, rising up from the lake like a launching missile. Aston and Holloway staggered back as Makkonen shot up past them, carried along in the monster’s massive jaws. It rose fifteen feet or more out of the water, flooding them with an icy shower before tossing the Merenneito’s captain like a cat with a mouse. As Makkonen came back down, the beast snapped its jaws closed and the captain’s screams died in a wet gurgle. Everything above his waist disappeared in the monster’s maw and his legs and hips fell, spraying blood, to thunk off the ship’s rail and splash into the lake. The beast tipped sideways like a breaching whale and crashed into the water again, twisting tight on itself to snap up and swallow Makkonen’s lower limbs.

Aston stood stunned, fighting to keep down bile even as he realized Slater was screaming. Carly was screaming, but still filming — ever the professional. Holloway, however, was laughing like an imbecile.

“What a magnificent creature!” the billionaire crowed. “Did you see how she just tossed him up in the air and caught him? It was like feeding time at Sea World. Hurry, reset the net! We’ve got to draw her again and be quicker to fire the electrical charges.”

“Reset the net?” Aston asked, incredulous. “Did you not see what just happened? That thing is without a doubt a prehistoric monster, a predator longer than this damn boat almost. She’s designed to eat everything she can find. Makkonen is dead, you lunatic! You cannot possibly still think you can catch that thing!”

“If I can’t net the bitch, I’ll harpoon her!” Holloway said, eyes wild, his face bright red with excitement and fury combined. “There’s nothing we can do for the captain now. He’s gone.” Holloway raised his chin. “You will help me or you will never see a cent. Maybe you’d prefer to join Makkonen in the belly of the beast, as they say.”

Aston staggered backwards. “What? No, this is too much. You’ve gone too far. You’ve actually gone mad. I’m done, fuck you and fuck your money. I’m taking Jo and Carly and we’re out of here.”

The lake had quickly settled to an eerie calm, the beast seemingly satisfied for the moment with its meal of ship captain and its freedom. Near-silence descended after Aston’s outburst, but for the lap of wavelets against the Merenneito. Aston kept glancing out over the water, expecting the monster to return any second, arcing out of the water, determined to finish them all.

Movement caught his eye and he turned toward the shore. In the deepening shadows of the trees, a dark figure wearing loose-fitting clothing stood, swaying gently from side to side. The man seemed to be holding something aloft in each hand, one shining like a blade, the other dark and impossible to make out. In the sudden silence, Aston could just make out a quiet crooning, some soft chant, drifting to them. As he drew breath to point the man out, Holloway sighed.

“Plan B, Joaquin,” he said, clearly unaware of the stranger Aston had spotted.

Aston snapped his gaze back to the billionaire. “What the hell is Plan B?”

A metallic click answered his question as Joaquin drew a pistol and racked a round. He made a quick gesture with it. “Over there,” the big man said, indicating Slater and Carly. “And you,” he said to Carly, “it’s time to stop filming.”

Carly slowly lowered the camera with shaking hands, her face pale as milk. “What’s happening?” She turned her big eyes to Aston, who gave a small shake of his head.

“You have gone completely off the deep end,” Slater said. “What are you planning to do?”

“I’m just making sure you don’t interfere with my plans to capture this beauty now I’m so close,” Holloway said. “Clearly you’ve made a final decision here that you don’t want to be paid. That’s no problem. But alive or dead, I will be taking this beast home with me and you useless people will not stand in my way. If you won’t help me, you’ll be locked below.”

“How can you do this to us?” Slater asked. “I lost one of my crew over this. You lost your captain and his mate. I did everything you asked of me until the cost became too high. This isn’t right.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me about what’s right!” Holloway shouted, spittle flying. “I know about your late night file transfers. Did you really think you could double-dip on me? I’m doing us both a favor by not paying you. It saves us both a whole mess of legal fees.”

“It’s not—” Slater began.

“Shut up!” Holloway stamped his foot like a child throwing a tantrum.

This was bad. Aston sized up the gap between himself and Joaquin, wondering if he could cover the distance without being shot and whether he could take the man in a fight. He felt doubtful on both counts, but had little choice but to try.

“Don’t do it,” Joaquin said. “I really don’t want to shoot you, but I will.”

Holloway dug into his pocket and pulled out a small, snub-nosed revolver. “No heroics! Even if you can take one of us, the other will shoot you dead and feed you to our girl.” He inclined his head toward the water. “Now, get over there with those two.”

Aston fumed, ground his teeth, impotent in the face of two guns. He moved to Slater and she reached out and squeezed his hand. He saw she already held Carly’s hand tightly in her other. Carly hung the camera at her side, her whole body shivering with fearful tremors.

“Let’s go below,” Joaquin said. “Please, just comply. I really don’t want to shoot anyone.”

“But you will?” Slater spat. “Are you compromising your morals yet?”

Joaquin pressed his lips together and gestured again with the gun.

With a grunt of annoyance, Aston turned and led the way below deck. They were ushered inside a small cabin, thus far unused during the expedition. It was little more than a closet with a single bunk, small bedside table and tiny, sealed porthole window.

“You’re idiots!” Aston shouted as the door was closed. “Just the two of you trying to operate that winch, the electrics, the harpoon. You’ll die!”

His only answer was the click of the door closing and the snap of a padlock being secured.

Cramped together in the tiny cabin, fear was a heavy presence among them. Aston held tight to Slater’s hand while she maintained her grip on Carly.

“What do we do now?” Carly asked weakly.

Slater shook her head, but Aston’s ire was up. He had had enough and refused to take any more. “We have to get out of here. We’re going to bust out and leave those idiots to it.” How, exactly, they were going to accomplish that, he couldn’t say.

“Hey, look, there’s someone there,” Slater said, eyes narrowed at the porthole. “On the lake shore.”

The man wore a loose-fitting robe, the hood pulled up. “I saw him while we were on deck,” Aston said. “And then Joaquin pulled a gun on us. He must have been there when all hell broke loose.”

They watched the dark figure move slowly in the shadows of the trees. Their view also afforded them clear sight of the net being let out again and the hooded man seemed very interested in it. He gestured with something.

“What’s he got?” Slater asked.

“Looks like a bundle of twigs wrapped in cloth.” Aston frowned. “He was chanting before, but I couldn’t hear what. He’s probably still doing it.”

“Can’t Holloway or Joaquin see him or hear him?” Carly asked.

“Too preoccupied, I guess.”

Slater narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips as she gazed at the figure. “He looks like some kind of religious nut.”

“He probably is,” Carly said. “You know, some kind of pagan. I’ll bet he worships the lake monster.”

“I suppose,” Slater admitted. “All the lore and legend around this thing, it wouldn’t be a surprise if at least some of the locals were nutters for it. If there’s a tradition of human sacrifice surrounding the monster, that indicates religion of some sort. It makes perverse sense.”

Aston shook his head, brow creased. “Even so, what’s he doing? Just watching?”

“What if he’s developed some level of rapport?” Carly whispered. “Like, can he communicate with it or control it with that voodoo doll-looking thing?”

Aston laughed nervously. “It’s insane to suggest anyone could communicate with a dinosaur, but after what we’ve seen all bets are off.”

“You can train a dog,” Carly said quietly. “Give it a tasty treat every time it does the right thing.”

Aston and Slater turned to stare at her. “You think he’s trained that monster by rewarding it with tasty humans?” Aston asked.

Carly shrugged.

“Where is it?” Holloway’s muffled voice was strident, affronted, from the deck above.

They heard some murmur in response from Joaquin.

“Well we need to lure it back again!” Holloway barked. “This time we’ll zap it the moment the net is closing, shock it and wrap it up at the same time. I will have that beast. And while you’re doing that, I’ll man the harpoon. If it looks like she’s escaping again, I’ll shoot her. I’d rather have her alive, but I’m going to get her one way or the other.”

There was more conversation, dropped too low for them to make out. The man in the trees continued to sway and wave his rustic icon. Cold realization settled over Aston.

“We have to find a way out,” he said. “Right now.”

“They have guns.” Slater glanced up at the ceiling.

“I know, but they’re busy. Holloway’s preoccupied. There’s a dinghy right outside, and the dive platform is only a few paces from that door. We bust out, grab the boat and get the hell out of dodge. Come on!”

He turned in the small space, took the two steps he could manage, and drove one shoulder into the door. He bounced off with a bark of pain.

“This is stronger than it looks.”

But it was only an internal door, surely not built to withstand any punishment. He needed to get it open before Joaquin or Holloway heard the commotion and came down to investigate. The women moved to either side to allow him more space and he ran at it again. It flexed in its frame, but didn’t crack.

“Damn this thing!” Aston yelled and ran again. He bounced off once more, but the door hinges squealed a sound of damage and protest.

“You’re almost there,” Slater said. “Why don’t you let me try? We’ll take turns or you’ll hurt yourself.”

Seeing reason, Aston moved to the side, resisting the urge to rub his shoulder, while Slater backed up and turned. Before she could take a run at it, the door swung open. Holloway and Joaquin stood outside, guns leveled at the three of them.

Ice flooded Aston’s gut.

“Start with her,” Holloway said, flicking the barrel of his revolver toward Carly.

“What..?” Carly started.

Aston knew what was about to happen and red fury slipped over his vision. “No!” he shouted and dove at Joaquin as the big man stepped into the cramped cabin. He caught Joaquin’s gun hand and drove his good shoulder into the man’s chest. They stumbled back, locked in a tussle for the weapon. Joaquin slammed into the doorframe, grunting in pain. He drove a knee into Aston’s ribs and Aston repaid him with a head butt that caught him on the bridge of the nose.

“That is enough!” Holloway yelled and Aston had a moment to see the billionaire’s arm raised before the butt of the revolver cracked into his temple.

Blackness swept in from the edges of his vision and sound whined away to silence. Something hard hit his back and he realized it was the deck. He heard distant screaming, a sharp slap, more screaming, and a door slammed.

Aston groggily turned onto his hands and knees, and shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears. As his vision came back he saw Slater sitting on the edge of the bunk, one hand pressed to her cheek. Tears of anger and pain streaked her face. He spun around. The cabin door was shut and locked. Carly was no longer with them. He heard her screaming.

“That son of a bitch!” Aston yelled, scrambling up to the porthole.

“He’s not really going to do it, is he?” Slater asked quietly.

Cold certainty chilled Aston’s marrow. “Of course he is. There’s nothing he won’t do. I’m sure of it.”

Carly’s screams were interrupted by dull thwacks and then she began sobbing. More hits and a sharp cry and then she fell silent.

“Take her legs,” Holloway said from directly above them. “On three. One, two, three!”

Slater joined Aston at the porthole and they stared in horror as Carly arced out over the water, clad in a bright orange life vest. She hit the lake and cried out weakly, arms flailing like they were made of rubber. Her face was swollen, bruised and bloody, one eye shut. Blood leaked from her mouth and from several knife cuts along her forearms.

Slater cried quietly. “We have to save her,” she whimpered.

Aston turned, ran full tilt at the cabin door, and bounced back hissing in pain, clasping his nearly dislocated shoulder. He felt like a child trapped in an adult world, impotent in the face of one stupid door. Slater gasped and he turned back to the porthole.

The figure on the shore was now dancing violently back and forth, his strange icon held in both hands above his head. In the dim moonlight they saw the lower half of his face, his mouth moving in a frantic chant. Then he leaned his head back and released an unearthly sound, like an ululating wolf howl that echoed out across the lake.

“What the hell was that?” they heard Holloway ask.

Aston could imagine the bastard scanning the lake, looking for the source of the disquieting cry.

And then, maybe a hundred and fifty feet from the Merenneito, the water began to churn and the huge form of the creature surfaced for a moment and then submerged almost immediately.

Slater gripped Aston’s hand again and they stared, frozen by fear and helplessness. The zealot on the shore howled once more, then whistled a high-pitched call. The creature’s back broke the surface sixty feet nearer, spines flicking up as it moved, gems of lake water glittering in the patchy moonlight.

“Here she comes.” Holloway’s voice rang with glee.

Carly sobbed and thrashed, kicked her legs trying to head for the back of the boat and safety.

“Don’t let her swim to the boat!” Holloway yelled. “Hurry up.”

Aston and Slater both jumped as two quick gunshots severed the night and Carly bucked in the water, crying out in pain. Her face twisted, eyes squeezed shut, and she rolled in the water and would have sunk if not for the life vest holding her up. She sobbed again, swallowed water, coughed.

“Carly!” Slater screamed, banging at the porthole. And then the creature was on her.

It burst up from the depths, two halves of tooth-crammed jaw appearing either side of her, and the rest of the massive form came behind. It slammed its jaws shut as its front fins broke the surface and Carly’s cries were silenced in one, two, three quick snaps, and the monster fell sideways back into the lake.

“Now!” Holloway yelled.

The winch arm wailed as it motors drew the net around again, and blue arcs of electricity crackled between the small buoys. The monster seemed to convulse once on the surface and then thrashed, sending up gouts of water in massive waves.

“Faster!” Holloway shouted and the winch arm motors screamed as they were cranked up. “It’s working.”

The net gathered and electricity arced once more. The creature twisted and turned on itself, rapidly running out of room to move. It flexed violently and let out a low, hollow rumble, water churning white and rocking the Merenneito again. The winch protested against the deck, electricity surged, and the net drew tighter. The boat dipped gut-wrenchingly to one side, the water level almost up the porthole. SCUBA gear, pans, who knew what other gear, crashed and tumbled around in the hold and galley.

“Are we going to capsize?” Slater cried.

Aston couldn’t speak, so mesmerized was he by the grisly scene playing out before him.

The monster slammed its mighty tail once sending up a cloud of water, another burst of electricity flared, and the beast fell still. The Merenneito rocked back up to a stable level and bobbed gently.

Holloway howled with laughter. “We got it! We got the bitch!”

And under his celebrations, Aston heard the madman on the shore yell, “Nooooo!”

The man disappeared into the trees, and silence once again sank over the lake. The creature lay curled up tight in the net, floating just below the surface.

Footsteps battered above them and Holloway said, “Did you hear that?”

“It came from down below, probably,” Joaquin answered.

“Yes, of course. Come on, help me make sure this net is secured.”

Aston stepped away from the porthole, every inch of him trembling in shock and rage. Slater remained frozen in place, staring out over the strangely calm water. Tears streaked her cheeks. The only sound was the winch motor slowly drawing the bulging net fully closed. “Carly,” she implored quietly.

Aston shook his head, lost for words. One thought tumbled over and over in his mind: no way would Holloway let them live after what they’d witnessed. They had to escape, and soon.

“Is it dead?” Slater asked.

Aston moved back to her side. “No idea. Quite possibly, or it might just as likely only be stunned.”

The motors of the winch fell silent as the net finally reached full closure, with the monster bound up tight.

“I can’t believe he actually got it,” Aston said. “I honestly can’t believe it. But I don’t think there’s any way out of that. Especially as it can’t move now and they can zap it again if it wakes.”

As if on cue, the monster weakly flexed, the net bulging one way and then back.

“We caught her alive!” Holloway cried. “Get the cage. I want take a proper look at my prize!”

“Shouldn’t we just tow it in and make sure it’s secure first?” Joaquin asked.

“I want to look at her! Ready the cage and I’ll get the tranq gun. I’ll fill that beast so full of drugs she won’t wake up for a week. We’ll take her in once she’s out.”

“I contacted our people,” Joaquin said. “They’ll meet us at the designated spot but it’s going to take them several hours to get there and set up.”

“What’s he talking about?” Slater asked.

“I assume he’s referring to whatever arrangements he’s made to get this thing out of the country and back to the States. He can’t just haul it into town. Word would spread like wildfire and the Finnish authorities would descend on him like flies on a rotten corpse.”

“We’re not far from the coast. I’ll bet he’s got a ship waiting for him and people lined up to make the transfer. The bastard.” Slater banged her fist against the wall.

Up above, the sounds of feet on deck and the clang of metal rang out.

“Nothing we can do to stop him now. We have to focus on getting away,” Aston said.

“But we’re trapped here!”

“We’ve only tried force. Look around for something that might help.”

They began searching the small room, lifting the mattress, desperate for anything that might give them an edge. Aston pulled open the drawer of the bedside table. Inside lay an old Bible, a loose deck of cards, a few pencils, and a small sewing kit. He rummaged around until his hands closed on something familiar. Smiling in triumph, he held up a screwdriver. “Now this I can use.”

Slater looked from the tool to Aston and back again, and then shrugged. “What are we going to do with that? Poke a hole in the door?”

He pointed to the hinges, fixed to the inside wall of the cabin, each held with three cross-head screws. She smiled and stepped back, gesturing him forward.

With a renewed sense of determination Aston began working at the hinges. Three of them, top, middle and bottom of the door. He concentrated, working as fast as he could, though the screwdriver was really too small for the job. It kept skipping and slipping free.

“Take your time,” Slater said. “Those two are pretty busy up there.”

As she spoke, a metallic bang on the side of the boat rang out and feet clattered past outside the door of their impromptu cell. They were still and silent for a moment, then the feet passed back the other way, accompanied by Holloway’s grunts of effort. They heard the ring of an air tank clipping a door frame, and then the sounds receded back above them.

Aston returned to work on the hinges, leaning in hard and working slowly at the screw. It turned a fraction and then slipped. “Damn!” he swore as the screwdriver skidded and punctured his free hand.

“Let me take a turn,” Slater said. “You keep watch.” Aston hesitated. “Don’t be a caveman. I know how to turn a screw.” She snatched the tool and set to work while Aston watched from the small window. He caught a glimpse of movement near the shore and at the limit of his field of view he spotted the robed and hooded man pushing a wooden rowboat out onto the water. The oars silently hit the lake and the man rowed expertly away toward the far side of the boat and out of Aston’s sight.

“What are you up to?” Aston muttered to himself.

The man had exulted when the creature took Carly and cried out in horror when Holloway had bagged the beast. Was he about to attempt to rescue it?

More clattering and voices caught Aston’s attention and he looked up to see a large shark cage being lowered over the side. Flippered feet were pressed against the bottom of it and as it passed the window he clearly saw Holloway, in full SCUBA gear, eyes ablaze with a zealous fire. He held a large gun in one hand, like an oversized automatic pistol with an extra-long barrel. In the other hand he clutched a plastic case of six over-sized syringe darts, filled with a straw-yellow liquid. Aston recognized the arrangement. He’d used similar himself on large marine mammals from time to time. But he wondered if six large doses would be anything like enough to make that monster even slightly woozy.

The cage and Holloway sank below the window and disappeared under the water. Aston tried to imagine what the billionaire was seeing down there in the murky lake, eerily lit by the glare of the hull-mounted halogens. It was nearly full night now, but the moon, though bright, was quickly becoming occluded by ever-thickening clouds. Stormy weather moved swiftly in from the south. He saw Holloway’s flashlight spike through the flatter glow of the spots and sweep left and right as the man inspected his prize.

The surface of the lake began to dimple with fat raindrops as the bad weather finally reached them. The moonlight faded altogether as clouds closed in and the rain quickly increased in intensity. The rush of the rain hitting the Merenneito and the lake filled the air, making every other sound secondary. A wind whipped up as the rain grew heavier still. Aston stared, surprised at the speed with which the conditions had changed. But it was all academic now, with the prize bagged and about to be doped. Would Holloway have enough doses there? Aston’s scientific brain kicked into gear, trying to estimate size and weight, guess what drug the billionaire might have, how much he would need. Slater worried at the screws of the hinges. It became darker and darker outside.

A sudden blistering flash of lightning lit up the night and thunder smashed through the sky. Aston cried out as the brightness briefly illuminated a shape right outside the window.

“Slater!” he whispered sharply. “Look!”

She hurried over and lightning flashed again. The robed figure had rowed, obviously unseen, around the Merenneito and stood in his dinghy to reach up and grasp the ropes of the dive cage. He had no idea Aston and Slater were only inches away, watching as he sawed through the cage bindings with a large Bowie knife.

With a thunk and a sudden rocking of his rowboat, the man successfully cut the tether and the rope slipped beneath the surface as the cage sank like a stone. The man in the boat staggered at the change in tension and sat down hard as lightning lit up the night again.

Aston and Slater both stifled cries as the face of the mysterious zealot was revealed in stark, white light and black shadows. Alvar Laine sheathed his knife with a grin and took up his oars again.

“What the actual fuck?” Aston whispered. “He’s… That’s…” He trailed off, lost for words. “He faked his own death?” he managed eventually. “How?”

“Who cares how? He clearly decided we were getting too close and needed to throw some fucking interference at us. I’d say he succeeded!” Slater spun back to the cabin door and set to work once more with her screwdriver. “We have to get out of here right now!” she said.

The top hinge was free and she had two out of three screws freed from the middle one. As the third screw came free, Joaquin’s voice cried out from above.

“Ellis? Ellis! Mister Holloway!”

“He’s just realized the cage has gone down,” Aston said. “Hurry!”

The third screw came free and Aston jammed his hands against the top of the door, forced his fingers into the gap the removed hinges allowed, and hauled back. The door flexed in its frame. Slater joined him and they wrenched hard twice more and the lowest hinge gave up its grip on the wall, shearing out through the tough plastic, and the door fell in. They tumbled back with it, tangled atop one another and jumped to their feet with grins of triumph.

“Let’s go!” Aston said.

They ran out into the SCUBA room, the back doors open to the dive platform.

“The dinghy is gone!” Slater said, aghast.

Aston clasped his hands on top of his head. “Laine must have cut it loose. We are surrounded by fucking lunatics!”

An angry roar drew his attention and he turned to see Joaquin barreling toward him, the huge man’s face twisted in a snarl of rage.

Superintendent Paavo Rinne ground his teeth in frustration as he squinted against the stinging rain. Heavy clouds hung low, swept along by a damp, chill breeze that sliced through his jacket and uniform.

A flicker of lightning licked the horizon, and a low rumble rolled across the lake, scarcely audible over the whine of the engine. He’d seen weather like this plenty of times and knew he needed to take care of business and get back to safety before Lake Kaarme turned into maelstrom.

Bright headlights on the police launch drove ahead of them, highlighting the rain and the wave tops as the boat bounced along. But weather be damned, he would not turn tail and run. He would bring those crazy foreigners to justice. He took care of a peaceful town and while it had its problems and its legends, they were known and respected. Then these Americans and Australians came blundering in, upsetting the status quo and killing his staff. His family! The thought of what they might have done to Pieter Lehtonen before leaving his boat adrift and blood on the shore drove Rinne to distraction.

Mikael pulled the collar of his coat up around his exposed neck, leaned in to Rinne, and shouted in his ear. “We should turn back. This weather is going to be insane!”

Rinne turned to the deputy, his face as stormy as the night. “No,” he shouted back.

Rain dripped down the veteran officer’s heavily lined face, tracing rivulets across his ruddy cheeks. “They’ll still be there in the morning. Even if the storm is worse then, at least we will have the light!”

“And let them see us coming? No.” The police launch skipped and danced on the choppy lake, Rinne’s knuckles white on the rail. “We push on! This ends tonight. The storm will give us cover and we can easily round them up. I’ll have them in holding cells and you’ll be back home to your warm hearth in an hour.”

The deputy stared for a moment and must have seen the clear determination in Rinne’s eyes. The man seemed a little disturbed, like maybe he saw more than simple resolve there. And perhaps he did. Rinne was under no illusions, knew he was acting irrationally. Perhaps they could wait until morning. But something in his gut told him there was danger afoot this night and he needed to be there, get amongst it, maybe stall it. He had grown up to feel his town like a friend. Like a lover. And tonight, Kaarme was disquieted.

Mikael looked up at the sky and then down at the waves slapping at the gunwales of their launch.

“You know, it was a night like this when your father died.”

Rinne’s thoughts froze. This was the last subject he wanted anyone to broach with him.

“I was a rookie,” Mikael continued. “We were looking for a fisherman who didn’t come home on time and his wife was getting worried, with the storm and all.”

Rinne could only manage a nod. He’d heard this all before. The tale both captivated and horrified him, just as it had in his youth when he’d lurked in the doorway while Mikael, then just a young man, recounted the tale to Rinne’s sobbing mother.

“We found the guy on the far end of the lake. Piss drunk, lying in his boat. Your father got him on board the launch and started towing his boat back to town. It was right about there.” He pointed toward the dark hulk of Holloway’s boat, little more than a shadow in the night ahead. “The waves were high, some of them breaking over the boat. I was at the wheel and your father was laughing with the drunk. He was always like that, you know. He didn’t see himself as an authority figure so much as a shepherd, and the town his flock.”

That bit stung, and Rinne wondered if Mikael had meant it as a barb. He knew he wasn’t his father, though he hoped to be some day. He’d done his best considering he’d basically raised himself. His mother had retreated into her grief when Rinne’s father died, and never fully re-emerged.

“I’ll never forget it. I looked over at him and it was like the water just reached up and snatched him out of the boat. It was dark, like now, and I could scarcely see, but the waves looked like jaws closing around him. One moment he was there, the next he was gone.” Mikael hung his head. “I wish we’d found his body for you, Paavo. A proper funeral, and not just an empty casket, might have helped your mother in her grief.”

“I don’t think anything would have helped her,” Rinne said, his throat tight. He glanced back. He hadn’t managed to raise much of a posse, especially with Pieter missing, almost certainly dead. One other deputy and three part-timers, all of whom had taken hours to round up and all of whom protested equally loudly. They returned his look with sullen eyes, half-closed against the driving rain, their jackets and hair whipping, soaked in the powerful wind. The man at the launch’s helm shook his head, lips pressed into a flat line.

Five of them in all, against seven foreigners he assumed were still up to no good out there. But five trained and armed officials against seven fools was no contest. With a sneer he turned back to stare out across the lake. In the distance, through the shroud of the downpour, he could make out pinpoints of light on the deck of the Merenneito.

He forced the dark memories away and grinned. He was looking forward to this.

Aston managed to yell, “For god’s sake!” to no one in particular, and then Joaquin was on him. Aston ducked his shoulder to meet the big man’s charge and grunted as the impact sent a stab of pain through the injury he’d already put there trying to bust open the cabin door. Joaquin drove him backwards, but Aston had been in his fair share of street fights and had every intention of fighting dirty here. He clasped his arms around the back of Joaquin’s knees and used all his strength to haul the man’s legs together. He had hoped to tip them both over so Aston could land on top, but Joaquin was no fool. Holloway’s henchman tipped and rolled when he realized he was going over and Aston was rattled as he hit the floor and came to rest with the giant bastard sitting on his chest.

Joaquin drew back one meaty fist and Aston just managed to turn and shrimp his body sideways as knuckles like wheel bolts slammed into the deck. Joaquin barked in pain, Aston kept his momentum and drove his legs against the wall to push free from the big man’s legs. He rolled to his feet and threw a wild punch as he moved, exalting as it cracked into Joaquin’s jaw with a satisfying thwack. But the hit didn’t even rock the big man and Joaquin swung a return punch of his own. Aston ducked, but those massive knuckles still clipped the top of his head and everything went gray and glassy for a moment.

Aston desperately struggled to maintain his feet, staggering without any equilibrium. He heard a clang and a grunt of pain, and then Slater yelped. As his vision came back, Aston saw Slater crashing back against the opposite wall, blood on her lips. She held a SCUBA tank in one hand and Joaquin was on his knees looking dazed. She’d obviously managed to brain him with the tank, but not hard enough to stop him punching her.

Aston lifted his knee and drove a kick at Joaquin, who tried to twist away but didn’t quite make it. Aston’s boot glanced of his cheek and into his shoulder, but Joaquin rolled with the hit, went to hands and knees and then drove himself to his feet.

“Just let us go!” Aston yelled. “Keep your monster and your money. We just want to leave!”

Joaquin said nothing, but his face spoke volumes of rage. He came at Aston again, slamming into him with his full weight, and they crashed down among SCUBA tanks, wetsuits and weight belts. Joaquin dropped quick, short punches, rocking Aston’s head back against the deck. Stars burst out all around as Aston’s hand fell on a strip of nylon loaded with square, lead weights. He whipped it up and it bounced off the side of Joaquin’s head, and the big man grunted and tipped to one side. As Aston circled the weight belt around for another hit, Joaquin caught himself on one hand, the other coming up in a block. The belt wrapped around his wrist and he wrenched it from Aston’s grip. With a roar of triumph he sat up tall and raised the belt high above his head.

“You killed Carly!” Slater screamed. A loud snap of rubber cracked through the air.

Joaquin stiffened and looked down at the three-pronged claw of metal protruding from his chest. He coughed and blood bubbled over his lips. His eyes were wide in shock and disbelief as he looked back to Aston. Aston didn’t dare move, still wincing at the possibility of that lead belt crashing into his head, and Joaquin fell sideways to thump into the deck and lay still.

Slater stood behind, a diver’s harpoon gun dangling limply in one hand. She stared at the dead man, her mouth hanging open.

“Slater? You okay?” Aston asked.

She didn’t say anything, just looked at Joaquin and the widening pool of blood leaking from his chest and back.

Aston struggled out from under the man’s legs and hurried over to her. Gently, he took the harpoon gun, slid an arm around her waist, squeezed her tight. “It’s all right. You saved my life. You saved us both.”

“I killed him.” Her voice was flat, emotionless.

“You had no choice.” He put a finger under her chin and tilted her head so she gazed up at him. “They killed Carly — him and Holloway. And who knows what else he’s done for that madman over the years. It’s justice and self-defense all rolled into one. There are so many reasons for you to not worry about killing that bastard.”

“I’ve never killed anyone before.” A high pitch of hysteria entered her voice and she began to tremble.

Aston squeezed her tighter. “Of course not. And it’s going to take a while to process that. But remember, you had no choice.”

Her body shook as she began to cry, deep, racking sobs rising from her stomach. She buried her face in his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“It’s okay, Jo. Let it out. Let it out.” He held her for a few moments longer, stroked her hair, and reassured her. He then put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back slightly so he could look into her eyes.

“I know this is hard,” he kept his tone gentle but firm, “but right now we need to figure out what we’re going to do, yeah?”

“Everyone’s dead,” she said, not quite meeting his eye.

“Well, not everyone. Holloway’s in a cage underwater and that mad bastard Laine is out there somewhere.”

Slater took a deep breath, sniffed hard. “Right. What do we need to do?”

Aston was impressed with her rallying. She was tough.

“The hell with Holloway,” she said, scrubbing her wet eyes with the back of her arm. “Let him deal with his own situation. I say we go up there, release the net so that creature can get on with its life, and we take the Merenneito back to town. Tell Rinne everything that’s happened, tell him how Holloway held us all against our will, and see how it all pans out. Hopefully we’ve got a shred of credibility with him since you made the effort to tell him about Dave while Holloway tried to hide it.”

“You think that’s the best course? I agree about letting the creature go and taking this boat to town, but I’d like to get back to dry land and just run away from it all as far and fast as we can.”

Slater shook her head. “We can’t run, Aston. We have to own what we’ve done. Face the consequences. In the long run, we’ve done nothing illegal, right? It’s all on Holloway and Joaquin. And Laine maybe.”

Aston drew a long, deep breath. Morally, ethically, even legally, she was probably right, though he had little faith in the smooth running of due process. But he couldn’t really argue with her. “Okay. Yeah. Okay. Let’s get up there and release the net first.”

Slater held his eye for a moment, then nodded once and kissed him quickly. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

She reached up and patted his cheek. “All of this.”

He smiled, unsure what to say. He was groggy from the fight, and from Holloway’s gun butt. His head pounded, he was probably concussed, but things were finally starting to settle down. He squeezed her shoulders once, then turned to head up to the bridge. She was right behind him as he reached the top of the stairs and froze. A figure moved along the rail, hood drawn up against the raging downpour.

“It’s Laine!” he hissed. They froze, crouching in the darkness, watching and waiting.

“He didn’t come in by the dive platform,” Slater whispered.

“Must have climbed up from his rowboat. Probably hoping to surprise Joaquin.” Aston wondered what the man’s game was. Why had he faked his death? Clearly he had some sort of fascination with, or attachment to, the lake monster. But dancing around on shore looking like a druid? Madness. They were all mad.

Laine moved out of sight along the side so Aston and Slater hurried forward, still crouched below the bridge’s windows, watching to see where he went.

“Of course,” Aston said as Laine reached the winch arm and hit the button.

The net began to unfurl as the winch motors whirred at full speed. Laine tipped his head back and they heard him chanting some repeated phrase over and over to the heavens. The weather had taken a nasty turn. What had been a light rain was now a steady downpour. The words were whipped away by the wind, but the tone, harsh and guttural, carried to their ears. Aston knew he would never understand that language.

Slater tapped Aston’s shoulder. He turned to see her holding out the small fire extinguisher from the helm. It was about a foot long and weighed a good few pounds. He frowned, shook his head. “A fire?” he asked stupidly.

Slater rolled her eyes. “Run out there and crack him over the head with this. Then he won’t be any more trouble.”

Aston grinned. “Oh, I see.”

Down in the water, a great thrashing and splashing erupted as the monster whipped up and free of the loosening net. They were momentarily distracted as it breached and curved up and over to crash back into the storm-tossed waves. He couldn’t deny its magnificence.

“Quick, while he’s distracted!” Slater urged.

Aston nodded, winced against his headache, but grabbed the extinguisher and ran outside. The rain was ice cold, driven sideways into his face by howling wind as he exited the bridge. It helped to clear his thoughts. He was soaked to the skin in seconds as he approached Laine’s back. The monster rose and dived in the water again, sending up a curtain of spray. Laine continued his mad chant, louder than ever, his voice triumphant and crazed.

Aston got to within six feet of the mad zealot, and began raising the extinguisher to strike, when a voice amplified by a megaphone burst out behind the Merenneito.

“Everyone put your hands in the air and prepare to be boarded!”

Aston jumped, instantly recognizing the Superintendent’s voice even through the loudspeaker and the storm. Laine spun around and took two quick steps back as he saw Aston there, the bright red metal cylinder high over his head.

“No!” Laine shouted and his hand emerged from his voluminous robes holding an automatic pistol. “I have to keep her safe. It’s my calling.” Madness glinted in his eyes. He gestured wildly at the police launch. “More flesh and souls for the God of the Lake!” he yelled.

“You have got to be winding me up.” Aston dropped to the deck as Laine fired three fast shots that strayed out into the night.

Rinne hollered something sharp and angry, and gunfire erupted from the fast-approaching launch. Shots whined and sparked off the metal rails, punched holes in the fiberglass walls of the boat. Laine dived for cover in front of the bridge and Aston stayed down, quickly commando crawling back inside to Slater.

A stray bullet struck one of the deck lights outside, sending a fine spray of glass through the open door.

“We need to get below before they kill us all,” Aston said. She nodded and they both scrambled to their feet and hurried down the stairs.

Up above, Laine opened up again with his pistol, answered immediately by the police launch. If they were aiming their shots, Aston didn’t know what their target was. Slugs thumped into and through the Merenneito. Glass shattered. He and Slater were ducks in a shooting gallery.

“What do they think this is, the Wild West?” he panted. They were all mad. Every last one of them.

“All flesh for the God of the Lake!” Laine yelled. He shouted something in Finnish, and then more in his bizarre language. Beneath the sounds of his cries and the steady rush of the storm, the low drone of the police launch drew ever closer. “You have no right!” Laine screamed. “The god was here before you and will be here long after you are gone!”

“Could things go any crazier?” Aston said as he and Slater hurried down into the SCUBA room at the back of the Merenneito. More shots rang out and bullets peppered the gunwales, tearing through the sides. The situation was dire. It was only a matter of time before they were randomly hit. He pressed a hand to his aching head.

“What the hell are we going to do?” Slater asked.

“Swim for it.”

She looked at him as though he had sprouted extra feet from his forehead. “What are you talking about?”

“We need to get out of here. Get a wetsuit and tank on. We can dive straight off the back, get down to the lake bed for cover, and head straight for shore.”

She pointed with her thumb back over her shoulder. “Laine just released a massive prehistoric predator. Or did you forget that?”

“That’s a hard thing to forget. But if we stay anywhere around here, we’ll be shot for sure. If not by the police, then by Laine. I don’t like being the only fool in a gunfight without a weapon.”

“You don’t think we can just hunker down until Rinne takes Laine into custody?”

As if in reply, a bullet ripped through the side of the ship and pinged off the floor between them. They both looked in the direction from which the shot had come. A trickle of water flowed through the hole left by the bullet.

“I’m going to say no to that.” Aston hastily began pulling on gear. He gestured desperately as he shouldered a tank harness and respirator. Slater looked uncertain, eyes wide and confused. A mighty crack split their concentration and the Merenneito tipped violently to one side. They were thrown across the deck, crashing among the diving gear. The crack turned into a creak and lake water began jetting into the room.

“The monster’s attacking the boat!” Slater said, voice betraying her disbelief. “I can’t believe it could hit us that hard.”

“It’s a dinosaur! Now get some goddamned gear on!” Aston shouted.

She seemed to accept his assessment of the necessity and quickly began suiting up. The creature hit the boat again. The craft rocked and shook. A long crack appeared where the bullet hole had been, and the ship took on water at an even faster rate.

Gunshots barked from above, voices shouted, Rinne’s the loudest through the megaphone. Laine screamed in that hideous, broken language and the beast smashed into the Merenneito again. Another thud, and then another. The monster was clearly in a frenzy.

“Don’t the police see what’s happening?” Slater shouted.

“Between the storm and the attention they’re paying Laine, maybe not. In any case, I don’t know how much time this tub still has. That thing is pissed!” Aston said, helping Slater into her harness.

Cold water washed over their knees as they pulled on fins and masks. They made their way to the dive platform. Icy rain greeted them, waves crashed all around, but no sign of the monster. As they exchanged looks, the back of the boat tipped alarmingly, the bow rising high and they had no choice but to roll with it, straight out into the lake.

Aston pointed down and Slater nodded, wrapping her mouth around her regulator. They kicked hard, directly for the lake bed. The water was aglow with the Merenneito’s lights, debris and silt swirling madly like glitter. With any luck, the monster would stay distracted by the boats and give them a chance to get away.

They dove, swimming for all they were worth, trying to reach a safe depth before they would level out and make their way toward shore. Thirty feet down, something tumbled through the water.

Slater screamed through a cloud of bubbles as a severed arm dropped slowly past them trailing clouds of dark blood. The beast must have turned its attention to the police launch. He imagined how well the small craft would fare against the determined attack of the prehistoric predator and shuddered at the thought.

Aston’s heart almost stopped as the massive, dark shape of the lake monster swept around, its gargantuan jaw sliding past them mere yards away. Slater grabbed him as it turned sinuously and powered up to crash directly into the underside of the police boat above. The booming crack echoed through water.

Aston and Slater tumbled and rolled in its wake like leaves in a storm, head over heels, bubbles clouding around them. Slater’s grip on Aston’s arm redoubled and he pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her as they managed to right themselves.

Slater looked frantically left and right, then at Aston, her eyes wide in a terrified question. He didn’t know the answer. Completely disoriented, the lake shore could be in any direction now and the only way to be certain was to surface again and look.

And risk putting themselves in the lake monster’s line of sight.

A sharp beam of light spiked up from below, swept left and right. Aston spotted the shark cage lying on its side on the silty bottom, Holloway was still inside, shining his flashlight all around, presumably trying to get an idea of what was happening above. In the glow near the surface, the monster snaked and switched in the water.

Turn off your light, you bloody fool, Aston thought. You’ll draw her to you.

The cage was their only chance for safety. He glanced at Slater and she nodded frantically. They both kicked hard for the lake bed.

Holloway’s light swept one way then back and passed right over them. He quickly returned his beam directly at them and Aston waved one hand, redoubled his efforts. The cage seemed a great distance away and growing no closer as Aston drove himself forward, Slater keeping pace.

He started in shock as Holloway raised a gun and aimed it alongside his flashlight. Aston recognized the tranquilizer pistol. He twisted in the water as a syringe dart with enough chemicals in it to kill him stone dead buzzed past with only a few inches to spare. He pushed Slater to one side then zigged back as Holloway frantically reloaded.

What was wrong with the bastard? Did he think they were coming to hurt him? To exact revenge? Surely he’d seen the monster in the water. There was easily room in the shark cage for the three of them.

As Aston drew closer, Holloway raised the weapon again and fired. Aston twisted once more, writhing away from the dart, but felt impact in his left shoulder. Cursing but refusing to stop, he kicked hard and dove for the cage. He thrust both arms through the bars and grabbed either side of Holloway’s head. As the man yelled a cloud of bubbles at him, Aston planted his feet against the cage and pushed back, pulling with all his might. Holloway’s head cracked up against the bars and he slipped from Aston’s grasp, falling limply back. He hung in the water of the cage like seaweed for a moment, clearly stunned, and Aston hauled the cage door open.

Holloway shook himself and tried to rally, swinging his weapon arm up to try to for a pistol whip. Aston raised one arm to block the blow and punched out with his other hand. His arm dragged through the water, his attack a fraction of its possible strength, but it was enough to knock the billionaire back again.

Slater came barreling past him, a decent sized rock in one hand, and slammed it into Holloway’s face. His mask shattered and his respirator tore free of his mouth in a cloud of bubbles. Slater used the moment to push into the cage and reached to pull Aston in, but the billionaire was not giving up. He clawed for Aston’s mask, tried to pull it loose. Aston twisted aside, grabbed Holloway by one arm and struggled to drag him sideways so that he might gain access to the cage.

Something moved in the corner of his vision. The monster was back. As its massive, grey bulk descended, Aston panicked and heaved. He used Holloway for leverage to force himself into safety between the bars.

Holloway’s eyes and mouth were wide as he was swung up out of the door and into a forest of giant, white teeth. The beasts jaws snapped closed over him. Aston whipped his hand away as the billionaire vanished in the scaled sweep of the monster flying by. He pulled the cage door closed and slid the bolt home.

He gripped the cage bars and gazed at the massive form that swam above them, desperately trying to calm his breathing. Leave us alone, he pleaded as the monster swam up and banked over.

Slater reached out, eyes concerned. He looked down to see a syringe dart hanging from his harness. The point was buried in the thick nylon and he felt nothing as she pulled it free. Far too close for comfort. His relief was short-lived as the monster barreled back down through the water, straight for them.

They both braced against the cage walls as the enormous snout crashed into it, rocking the cage and sending it tumbling across the lake bed. His injured shoulder slammed hard into the cage door, and hot pain burned anew. Silt stirred up in thick clouds and they rolled around inside like laundry in a washing machine. Another clang rocked them a second time, then water began rushing by at a furious speed.

Gradually, the silt cleared as the sensation of motion increased. The monster had the cage clamped in its deadly maw and was carrying them back toward the underwater channel that led to its lair.

It was like falling to the ninth circle of Hell. The eerie sensation of rapid movement in utter darkness, the icy water sending chills down Aston’s spine, the surety of impending death. His stomach lurched as fear took hold. They were at the mercy of the deadliest killing machine he could imagine.

He held fast to the bars of the cage, trying to figure a way out. Slater flicked on her dive light, illuminating the cage and the massive jaws that held it in their grip. Gleaming teeth, each over a foot long, stuck through the space between the bars, so close Aston could reach out and touch one. They were in the middle of a nightmare.

The cage banged against the side of the channel, sending him and Slater crashing into one another. He wrapped an arm around her and they held each other tight. Aston longed for the days when his greatest fear was Chang’s goons.

Forcing down rising panic, he focused his thoughts on escape. They were locked in a shark cage carried in the jaws of a giant, prehistoric creature, headed, most likely, to the creature’s lair. The very same place they’d seen piles of its victims’ bones. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t know what was happening. The beast was taking them back so she could feed on them.

The cage door faced away from the creature’s jaws. So, theoretically, he and Slater could get out. But the cage was the only thing keeping them alive. The beast had displayed a particular taste for human flesh. If they swam out, they’d be snapped up in an instant.

They had no weapons at their disposal. No way to fight back. But what weapon would be effective against this prehistoric predator anyway? Nothing they had, except perhaps the harpoon on board the Merenneito, and that was certainly beyond their reach now.

He saw only one way out. Perhaps, upon reaching her lair, the beast would be unable to break through the cage and would go off in search of easier pickings. Then, perhaps, he and Slater could make their way out. It was a faint hope for two reasons: once they escaped, they’d have to make it through the underwater passageway and to the shore with an enraged, voracious killing machine on the loose; and they’d have to do it before they ran out of air.

Bright light flashed as they passed the first of the cameras set in the passage wall. By the time Aston had registered what it was, it had streaked past into the silt-stirred distance. Then light flared again as they passed the second camera. They were close to the shaft leading up.

He thought about the images being relayed back to Merenneito, and wondered if, when this was all over, someone would find them. Would snapshots of their final moments on earth be leaked onto the web, to the media even? Would the world see the horrifying images of two people about to be devoured by this legendary creature? If so, he imagined the fascination with the beast would be so great that he and Slater would be little more than a footnote, an afterthought. Few tears were likely to be shed for Sam Aston.

Hope began to drain, replaced by a stoic feeling of fate. Perhaps this was repayment for the choices he’d made in his life. He’d always half-expected to die young but this positively was not the way he’d imagined it. The thought almost made him smile. At least he had an outside chance of leaving his mark on the world.

They angled upwards, the beast sweeping into the vertical channel. Aston shifted his weight and tightened his one-handed grip on the bar, the other arm squeezing Slater tighter still, suddenly irrationally afraid of falling back into the creature’s mouth. Not just yet.

With a muffled clang, the cage banged to a halt. A sharp, stabbing pain ripped through Aston’s shoulder and shot down his spine as he slammed into the solid bars. He shook his head, trying to clear the spots that danced in front of his eyes. Beside him, Slater had regained her feet. Her dive light flickered and she gave it a hard tap.

The cage was wedged tightly in the passageway, caught at an angle between two irregular protuberances of rock. Aston turned on his light and looked back in time to see a gaping maw hurtling toward them. Instinctively he raised an arm as the creature smashed into their cage. He felt the impact in his teeth, but the cage scarcely moved.

We’re wedged in tight.

The beast made another run, the jarring impact rattling their bones, but succeeding only in driving the cage more firmly into its bindings. After a third attempt, it changed tactics, biting down and thrashing. It was a horrifying sight, the giant teeth scarcely three feet away, scissoring like giant, bony sword blades.

But the cage didn’t budge.

This was their chance. He turned and began to work at the cage door. His fingers, numbed by fear and cold water, resisted his commands. He fumbled at the latch, keenly aware that death lay only yards away. After several agonizing seconds, he unlatched the door and gave it a shove.

It was stuck.

He tried again, but it wouldn’t open. The impact must have bent the cage enough to stick the door tight in its frame. It might as well have been welded for all the wiggle he could get out of it.

Behind them the beast continued to gnash.

Keep biting, you bitch. I hope you break your teeth.

Wouldn’t it be something if the beast gave up and left them alone, yet he and Slater still died here, unable to open the door before they ran out of air? They had to get this door open. Desperate, he threw his body weight against the cage. The pain was immediate and intense, more damage to his banged-up shoulder. He turned and threw his good side into the effort. Still nothing.

Slater realized what he was about, and joined in. Again and again they slammed into the bars. Aston knew that with the added exertion they were consuming air that much faster.

Come on. Come on.

He took one last glance at the crushing, snapping death, so close to them, and crashed into the cage door.

It came free, budging only a few inches. He hammered at it, pushing it back a little at a time until he opened a gap large enough to fit through. He stepped back and let Slater go first, and then followed.

Not wasting a second, they swam for the lair. He didn’t know what they would do when they got there, but at least they were away from the beast for now. And there was air up there.

Paavo Rinne ducked as another bullet whined off the metal of the police launch’s helm. He scooted around the side of the housing and squeezed off two quicks shots toward the lunatic on the slowly sinking Merenneito. What the hell was wrong with Alvar Laine, dressed up like some kind of psychotic monk and shooting at the police? This entire exercise could not have gone more wrong. His deputy and two of the part-timers were dead, shot or knocked overboard and eaten, or both.

Rinne fell back behind the scant protection of the gunwale, gasping for breath. He pressed a hand to his bleeding arm where one of Laine’s bullets had scored a searing line. Blood oozed between his fingers, but not enough to worry about in the short term. He wasn’t going to bleed out any time soon.

Too bad a few of the madman’s bullets hadn’t struck… whatever it was that had risen from the depths to dine on his men. He could no longer deny the truth behind the legends. It was exactly as he had feared. The lake monster was real and Holloway had stirred it up.

Eaten. Visions of that giant maw kept flashing past his mind’s eye. The monster existed, but what exactly was it that madman Holloway invoked? A previously unknown sea creature, a mutated shark, a dinosaur, perhaps a demon from the very pits of Hell?

Rinne knew the local legends as well as anyone, had even glimpsed things now and then over the years that he thought might have been the monster that everyone knew existed. He knew as well that sometimes people disappeared, unaccounted for, and, to his shame, he accepted those losses like everyone else in town. It was unspoken, but the citizenry let the missing go and knew it kept the monster appeased. A price they all had to pay and most people simply avoided the lake, especially at night, especially at this time of year, so as not to be the monster’s next tribute. And all the while they pretended it was just a myth.

If he were honest, deep down he had never really doubted its existence. The night, so many years ago, when Mikael had come to his home to deliver the tragic news about Rinne’s father, he had known the lake monster was behind it. The waves closing around him like jaws, snatching him out of the boat? That was no mere storm that had claimed his dad. It was the monster, the legendary beast.

But it was all at arm’s length, all just as likely folklore as real. Until now. He had seen that mighty beast up close. He had seen it swallow his deputy whole as the man fell toward the lake surface after taking one of Laine’s bullets in the leg. He hadn’t even hit the water before that giant had surged up and snapped shut over him. And Laine had laughed and chanted and shot again while it happened.

Now only Rinne and one part-time deputy, young Adiel Jarvi from the sheep farm above town, were left. Jarvi lay flat on the deck where he had fallen when the monster had rammed the police launch and sent it tipping and rocking like a cork. The boy was frozen in terror, eyes squeezed shut, gripping a coil of rope for dear life.

Rinne realized a strange calm had descended. The rain had eased, the wind had died down, and the surface of the lake was gradually settling. After the mayhem of the seething water, the leaping monster, Laine’s shouts and gunshots, everything was suddenly, eerily quiet. He chanced a glimpse over the rail and saw Laine scrambling up the prow of the Merenneito, now almost vertical in the water as the boat went down. The zealot’s eyes were wide, his breath coming in ragged gasps, as he scanned around the dark lake surface, presumably terrified the beast he seemed to worship might burst up any moment and snap him in two. Rinne doubted the man’s crazed zealotry would save him. A part of the Superintendent wished that’s exactly what would happen, good riddance to the lunatic, but in truth he’d be happy to never see the leviathan again.

The lake remained still. Where had it gone? Perhaps it had finally had its fill and gone back to wherever it lived. For now.

With his gun levelled two-handed, arms straight in front of his chest, Rinne stood and took aim at Laine. The zealot saw the movement in the police launch’s lights and swung his own weapon up. Rinne squeezed off a carefully aimed shot as Laine’s gun clicked rapidly. Rinne’s shot clipped Laine in the shoulder and sent the cloaked man spinning into the water even as the Superintendent realized Laine’s gun had been empty. Finally the man had run out of bullets. It was about time.

Laine howled in pain and thrashed in the water, crying out. The Merenneito shifted and began to sink rapidly.

“Help me!” Laine yelled. Seeing Rinne make no move to come to his aid, he began to swim for all he was worth. His awkward strokes sent up splashes as he thrashed about, weighed down by his sodden cloak. “Please.”

“You want me to save you now?” Rinne shouted, incredulous. “I should let you drown for what you’ve done.”

“You don’t understand!” Laine hollered back, paddling just to keep his head above the surface. “The God of the Lake must be appeased! I’ve protected the people for years, as my father did before me. Without us managing the sacrifices, the God would have rampaged and killed everyone long before now. It must be worshipped. It must be fed!”

Rinne barked a humorless laugh. “Then I should leave you there to be its next meal. Or are you so in love with your monster that you won’t sacrifice yourself like so many before you? How many, Laine? How many have you fed to this monster?”

“It isn’t like that,” Laine shouted again, his voice cracking with sobs. “I’m a servant. I have to keep serving.”

Rinne shook his head. The fool was right — Rinne absolutely did not understand and he never would. But it was his duty to protect and he couldn’t leave Laine there in the water to die. Let him survive this day and face the courts. Let the law make a bold example of him.

Rinne turned to Jarvi, still flat on the deck. “Get up and help me.”

The young man vigorously shook his head, not even opening his eyes.

Rinne kicked his leg, hard enough to make the kid yelp. Fear was understandable, but he would not abide cowardice. “Get up! The only way we’re going to get out of this alive is if we get off of this lake, and I can’t do it without your help.” That was a lie, but it did the trick.

Reluctantly Jarvi rose to his feet, his whole body racked with tremors. He looked around, eyes wide as they scanned the lake. “Where is it?”

“Gone,” Rinne said. “I’m going to motor over to that idiot in the water. You pull him on board.”

“You think this boat is going to stay afloat?” Jarvi asked in a quavering voice.

“It’s taken a battering, but we’re still level. I’m sure we’re taking on water in a dozen places, but we’ll be all right for now. Just get that fool out and we’re going straight home, son.”

“What was that thing?”

“I don’t know and right now I don’t especially care,” Rinne snapped. “Now do as you’re told.”

Jarvi’s eyes were still wide, his reluctance evident, but he moved to the rail as instructed, too stunned, it seemed, to say anything more. Rinne guided the boat over to Laine, still flailing in the water and pleading his case.

“Shut up and let him help you,” Rinne called out as Jarvi leaned over the side, one arm extended.

Laine grasped the young man’s hand and the water beside the boat burst up like a geyser. In the midst of the churning froth, that massive, tooth-crammed maw rose and took Laine with it. Jarvi screamed as Laine refused to release his hand, and the young deputy was plucked off the deck and carried high into the air. As Laine disappeared down the massive throat, Jarvi was dragged forward, only his legs hanging outside the mouth. Rinne stared in horrified fascination, the attack taking only half a second, before the monster’s jaw slammed shut and Jarvi’s severed legs slapped back down onto the deck in a spray of blood.

Rinne realized the monster itself was only a moment behind those amputated limbs. He gripped the helm with white knuckles as the massive bulk slammed across the bow of the police launch. The boat lurched up, the bow smashing down into the water under the weight of the monster. As gravity took over Rinne had a moment hanging one-handed from the wheel as the launch flipped. Knowing the boat was coming down capsized, he released his grip and plunged into the lake with the bulk of the vessel crashing down above him. Everything was a maelstrom of icy water, surging bubbles and cracking hull for a moment, then stillness.

Rinne held his breath, trapped beneath the launch. Its spotlights still worked, lancing through the dark water. He saw the slick, grey bulk of the creature sinuously turn and come powering back up toward him.

He was lost if he stayed in the lake, no way he could ever outswim that predator. One chance remained. He kicked hard for the helm and used the inverted wheel to haul himself toward the deck that now hung like a wooden ceiling above. He grabbed the door to the below decks stairs and dragged it open, feet braced against the helm to steady himself. The launch lurched and jolted violently backward as the monster smashed into it, but Rinne refused to release his grip. The door popped open and he hauled his bulk up inside as the boat was rocked again by another crash. He pulled the door closed and crawled through the upside down vessel into the small cabin and a welcome pocket of air. He burst from the water, sucking oxygen into burning lungs.

He quickly calmed himself. The supply of air might be limited, and he would do himself no favors using it all up. He had to relax, breathe slowly.

The beast struck the boat again and again, the force of each impact jolting him from head to toe. But he was safe, at least for now. He wouldn’t immediately drown as long as the boat held together and the precious air remained. He just had to hope the monster tired of battering the police launch before it broke to pieces and sank.

Aston and Slater pulled themselves up from the water onto the rock shelf of the monster’s lair. Bright light flashed into the cave as the camera Aston had set into the far wall registered their movement. Aston stood, offered Slater a hand, and hauled her to her feet.

They stripped off their fins, masks and respirators and stood clutching one another, gasping for breath. Water dripped from the ceiling of the dank cavern, probably filtered down from the storm up above, plinking on the rocks and spattering the smooth surface of the dark water that filled the cave. It was the only sound in the otherwise silent space.

Aston’s breathing began to slow and warmth returned to his extremities. His muscles ached, but his heart still raced. The survival instinct ran strong, and he was nowhere near giving up.

“What the hell do we do now?” Slater asked eventually, looking up at him with a dazed expression.

Aston shook his head. “We need to find a way out.”

Slater pointed at the water shimmering darkly in the bright white LED light. “The only way out is back down there. I’m not too eager to chance that.”

“We’re relatively safe, at least for the moment,” Aston said. “The monster is stuck behind the cage.” He looked around, searching. Could there be another means of egress?

“But for how long? That thing is crazy powerful. It’s bound to smash its way through eventually.”

Aston couldn’t disagree. “Especially now we’ve opened the cage door. That will structurally weaken it, make it easier for the beast to buckle the thing.”

Slater rolled her eyes. “Well, thanks for that!”

“If this is the cave from Old Mo’s story, the one the Nazis found, we know there was a way into it from on land. Somewhere in the hills around the lake.”

“Was being the operative word,” Slater said. “We saw the Nazi knife, remember? It’s entirely possible this is that same cave, but according to the story, the Nazis never made it out again.”

Aston nodded. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a way.”

“Maybe.” Slater’s voice betrayed her doubt.

“Besides, if we check around, we might at least find some tunnels or caverns too small for that bloody great monster. After all, we have air up here so we can preserve what’s left in our tanks. Maybe we can hide out somewhere safe and wait for the beast to bust its way through. Eventually it’ll come looking for us and when it can’t find us, it’ll go away. When it does, we can sneak back out, dive the shaft and escape into the lake.”

Slater gave him a flat look beneath lowered lids. “That’s your plan? Wait for the monster to chase us down and the give it the old, ‘Nyah, nyah, you can’t get me’, then we wait for it to leave and hope it doesn’t hang out in the lake waiting for us?”

Aston raised his hands. “I guess so! I mean, it’s not really a plan, more of a worst case scenario. You got any better ideas?”

Slater laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, no. I don’t. You’re right, our options are pretty slim and maybe you’re onto something. Let’s search and see if there is anywhere to hide. I feel vulnerable as hell standing here expecting that thing to burst up out of the water any moment.”

“It’s too quiet,” Aston said. “We should be able to hear it crashing into the cage, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. Maybe not. How well does sound travel in a place like this?”

“I guess it doesn’t matter. If we’re lucky, it’s given up for now, gone back out to the lake to see if there’s anyone left up there for it to chomp. That’ll buy us some time.”

Slater winced. “Do you think there is anyone left?”

“Who knows? If nothing else, I hope it eats that arsehole, Laine.”

“Laine,” Slater breathed. “What’s with that guy?”

“I don’t know.” Aston was staring at the dark mirror of the water, eyes narrowed.

“What are you thinking?” Doubt rang in Slater’s voice. “You look like you’re concocting some sort of scheme.”

He turned to face her. “Maybe we should chance it.”

“Chance what?”

“If the thing has gone back to the lake, it might be our only chance to get out. The cage is wedged crosswise, but I think we could squeeze past it.”

Slater shook her head. “I’m not ready. I can’t do it. I like your other idea better. Let’s make sure there isn’t another way out. And if not, we’ll hole up until it comes looking, then when it leaves again we know it’s gone. We know it’s not just lying in wait. Let’s let everything calm down for a while.”

Aston too was reluctant to get right back in the water. “Okay.”

Leaving their equipment by the rock wall, they moved deeper into the cave, searching by the illumination of their head-mounted flashlights. As they picked their way through the jumble of bones that carpeted the ledge, a fetid, sickly-sweet smell twisted Aston’s gut. He knew that aroma — decaying flesh. Clearly, some of these bones were fresh. He glanced at Slater, who held a hand over her nose and mouth, and motioned ahead with the other.

Beyond the skeletal remains, the cave opened out a little, the ceiling rising a few feet higher. Past that, as the rock sloped back toward the cave floor, three dark patches punctured the wall. The smell of decay still hung in the air, but weaker, more tolerable.

“Three tunnels?” Slater asked.

“Let’s find out.”

They started on the far right and found it wasn’t so much a passage as a rent in the stone that only went back about ten feet, like a rock closet hewn into the cave.

“Not a way out, but it might be a good hiding place,” Aston said.

“I dunno.” Slater’s voice was weak, an edge of despair to it. “The monster could easily see us or smell us in there. Does it have a good sense of smell?”

“No idea.”

“I’m not sure it would be much of a safe haven. That thing is huge, but I think it could get its snout in there. That might be enough encouragement for it to keep trying until it got us.”

“True.” Aston shuddered at the mental image of him and Slater splayed against the rock, watching as the snapping jaws came ever closer. “Let’s keep looking.”

They moved to the next opening and this time it was a tunnel — a ragged passage with a rock-strewn floor, and easily big enough for the monster to squeeze into. But it led away into darkness. They followed it for about thirty yards and came to a fork. One passage of equal size swept around to the left while a smaller split in the rock branched away to the right.

“Let’s check the wider way first,” Aston said. “It seems to be part of the main tunnel.”

They moved on, the tunnel curving more to the left, and before they long emerged on a small ledge back into the monster’s lair. They stood gazing across at the pile of bones where they had stood only moments before.

“This is the third tunnel,” Aston said.

“It’s a half loop.” The despair in Slater’s tone increased with each word. “Easily big enough for the bastard to fit right through.”

Aston frowned. “It’s okay. This gives me an idea, maybe.”

“You’d better think quickly! That thing could be back here any second.”

“Let’s go back and check the other way.”

They returned to the fork and took the narrower tunnel. It sloped gently upwards and narrowed further as it went. After about sixty feet, Aston looked back.

“Well, there’s no chance the monster can get up here, the way is far too small now.” He allowed himself a moment of quiet hope. “We can hide out from it, at least. Hopefully we can get a lot further up, just in case it does have a good sense of smell.”

“Do you think this is the way the Nazis used?”

“Must be. If the story is true and this is that cave, it’s the only option right?”

Slater glanced back. “I wonder where the supposed entrance to the Hollow Earth is? Remember Mo’s story?”

“Underwater, Mo said, so somewhere in the vertical shaft leading up here, I guess. If the story is to be believed. Or it might even in the long ocean shaft at the bottom.” He shook his head, amazed at the train of his thoughts. “But seriously, just because this may very well be the cave the Nazis found, that doesn’t mean there’s actually an entrance to the Hollow Earth here.”

Slater shrugged. “Sure. But the legend claims the way is guarded by a leviathan. Do you remember that part of Mo’s yarn? Doesn’t that add to the credibility of the tale?”

Aston paused. The caves, the beast, the legends. It was true that a lot of folklore was based in some kind of truth. Then again, the locals might have simply conflated the legend of the lake monster with the Hollow Earth tale. “Maybe,” he conceded eventually. “Perhaps there are more interesting underwater caverns around, even if they’re not actually access to some mythical other world. But I’ve no idea how people in days gone by would have found the entrance down there.”

Slater nodded. “I really wish now we’d taken the time to look for it. It would have made an interesting extra angle for the show.”

Aston cocked his head. Something had been bothering him, but no time had felt right for clearing the air. Right now, with the fear of death hanging over them, probably wasn’t the best time either, but if Slater was straying off-topic, so could he. If they were going to die, it would be nice if no doubts lay between them.

“Speaking of the show, what’s the real story behind your late-night walks? Holloway said you were uploading files?”

Slater’s shoulders sagged. “I was covering my ass in case Holloway screwed me over. I had a couple potential buyers for the material and I was uploading to my own cloud in case I turned to them in the future.”

“I thought you said you vetted Holloway thoroughly.”

Slater nodded. “I did, but when you’ve worked in the film and television industry as long as I have, you assume everyone’s out to give you the shaft.” She lowered her head, a solitary tear tracing a rivulet down her cheek. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“What for?”

“Holloway was obviously paranoid. I can’t help but wonder if finding out what I was up to pushed him over the edge.”

Aston circled her shoulders with one arm and gave her a squeeze. “Don’t talk like that. The man was a nutter, and I don’t blame you for having a backup plan. And now, when we get out of here, you’ve got all that footage backed up and no Holloway to worry about, right?” He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “Let’s go a little deeper. See if we can get out, or see how far in we can go to hide.”

They walked on, shining their lights left and right. The passage continued to rise gently. After another sixty feet or so, their flashlights glinted off a pile of white and red. They stopped and stared.

“What the hell is that?” Slater whispered.

Aston let out a small laugh, as much from disbelief as anything. Several wooden crates were stacked in a pile on one side of the passage, each branded with the swastika and eagle symbol of the Third Reich. A large red and black flag bearing the same motif was draped over the boxes, tattered and threadbare with age. Leaning up against the boxes and the tunnel walls, and lying on the tunnel floor, were several skeletons in crumbling German military uniforms.

“Well, we have our proof that Old Mo’s story was true and this is definitely the cave in question.” He moved over to the pile of crates and ran a finger across the surface of the one closest to him. Three words were stamped on the front: SPRENGSTOFF DEUTSCHEN WEHRMACHT. He knew the last two words translated to ‘German Army’ and he could guess what the other meant. “Explosives.”

Slater stared at the bizarre scene before her. “This can’t be the entire German unit, so what happened to the others? They just left these men here to starve to death?”

“Who’s to say any of them survived? They might be part of the bone pile out in the lair. We know…” Something caught his eye.

“What?”

Aston pointed, at a loss for words. Another pile of bones stood off to one side, next to the black scorch marks of a small fire. A couple of daggers lay atop a neatly folded uniform. The skeleton itself was broken up, the arms and legs separated from the torso, and the larger bones cracked open.

“Did that one get undressed before he died?” Slater asked quietly.

Aston gritted his teeth as he took in the grisly scene. “I think maybe he didn’t undress himself.”

“The others undressed him? Why..?” She didn’t finish the question. After a moment she said, “They ate him?”

Aston shrugged. He knelt beside one of the uniformed corpses. It had a hole blown in the skull and a Luger pistol clutched in its bony fingers. “Whatever they did, this one couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Jesus Christ,” Slater said. “They couldn’t wait for their friends?”

“Assuming there were any friends to wait for. Maybe they figured the rest of their unit had already been killed. They probably reached a point at which it was every man for himself.”

“What, they didn’t realize the monster couldn’t fit through here?”

“I’ll bet it had them trapped. They probably held out as long as they could, waiting for help to come. Once they ran out of provisions, water in particular, they were done for.”

“I can’t imagine. But if they came in by land, why not leave the same way?”

“Wait here.” Aston jogged further up the tunnel. Sure enough, he soon came to a tumbled rock wall, the result of the explosives from Old Mo’s story, perhaps. A cursory inspection revealed scorch marks, tunnel walls scoured and pockmarked by flying debris, stone fragments covering the floor. Having a good idea of what happened, he returned to Slater.

“It’s a dead end up there. The tunnel is caved in, either deliberately or accidentally, but almost certainly from blasting.”

Slater frowned. “So what happened?”

“I reckon maybe the entire platoon was running from the monster after it snacked on a few of them. This must be the way to the surface, but perhaps they blew the tunnel behind them in an attempt to end the chase. The rest probably buried themselves and these guys here were the only few stragglers left, but were trapped on this side. Or maybe the others escaped and sacrificed this lot. Given Mo’s story told of no one ever making it out, I’m thinking maybe they really fucked up and brought the whole passage down on themselves. One idiot’s stray grenade could potentially do that. Either way, we can hide a little deeper in.”

“If only these guys had realized there was an underwater passage leading out to the lake,” Slater said.

“Wouldn’t have done them any good. They don’t have the gear to make it.” Aston pointed to an old fashioned diver’s suit, a large, round brass helmet and hand-pumped bellows for air. “They only had the necessary equipment to send a single man down exploring. Looks like only a few hundred feet of hose at most.”

He moved to the boxed and pulled the flag away. It disintegrated at his touch and he brushed it aside. It didn’t take too much effort to lever the lid off the crate and inside he found a selection of supply boxes, food and drink, all torn and emptied.

“My god,” Slater whispered. “How long were they here before…” She gestured to the naked, butchered skeleton. “Before that?”

“Maybe quite a while,” Aston allowed. There were scrape marks on the tunnel floor that seemed to indicate they had dragged whatever supplies remained to them up to this point and camped out. He winced at the thought of them awaiting rescue, knowing it was never going to happen. What a horrible, slow way to die. Far too much time to think about it. He didn’t blame the guy with the Luger P08 in his lap.

“Do you think we can get out through there?” Slater pointed toward the blocked passageway. “Maybe clear the rubble?”

“If several soldiers in their prime couldn’t do it, I doubt we can. The blockage will have only gotten worse over the years, the little cracks filling with dirt and gravel. I reckon it’s sealed shut.”

“You’re such an optimist.”

Aston nodded. But the discovery of the crates had given him an idea. He picked up one of the Nazi daggers and, working with the utmost caution, pried the lid off of the top crate. When he looked inside, he froze, half terrified, half elated.

“What’s that?” Slater asked.

“That,” Aston said, “is a bloody great box full of dynamite.”

“Seriously? Is it dangerous?”

“Probably. Nitroglycerine, which is what makes dynamite volatile, doesn’t evaporate. Let’s not move around too much now, it might be a bit unstable. Let me investigate here.”

He leaned over the box, reluctant to touch anything. The sticks were pristine, with none of the waxy coating or crystallization that would indicate increased volatility. They appeared safe to handle. He noted that the fuses were thick and coated with wax.

“These were made to burn underwater. Looks like these guys anticipated having to blow their way in or out of somewhere.”

He moved to another box and opened it to find more dynamite, this time lacking the waxy fuses. “With these you attach wire to the blasting caps. They’ll have used a manual detonator and some of that,” he pointed to a roll of detonator wire wrapped around a wooden wheel, “in order to get down deep.”

“Why didn’t they use this stuff to blow their way back out up there?” Slater pointed up the tunnel toward the dead end.

“Maybe they tried and only made it worse. I don’t think it would work, probably just bring more of the tunnel down on them. In such a small place, the concussive blast would be hell.”

“Cover it up,” Slater said. “I don’t want to get blown up!”

Aston grinned at her. “No, I won’t be covering it up. I’ve got a plan.”

Slater stared at him, silence reigning in the passageway. Her mouth opened and closed once or twice before she finally managed to speak.

“Are you saying you want to blow up the monster?”

“Why the hell not? There’s that half loop of passageway back there, right? We set up a booby trap of dynamite halfway around. When the bastard arrives in its lair, we lure it into the tunnel, run around the loop and come back out into the cave, and then fire the trap. We’ll blow that fucker into pieces trapped in the loop. Or at the very least bring the tunnel down on it. Then we run for the water and dive straight back down the shaft and back out into the lake to freedom. That way we know exactly where the thing is while we escape. And it’ll hopefully be dead.” He paused, a pang of scientific grief washing through him. The thought of killing the magnificent animal when it could teach them so much was painful. But his primary motive was survival, for him and Slater. He could return with a team and dig out the remains, they would still learn heaps.

“Do you really think that’ll work?”

He shook his head, distracted from his thoughts. “Sure, why not? And honestly, can you think of a better plan? I’d rather swim out into that lake again knowing exactly where the monster is.”

Slater looked into his eyes for a moment more and then shrugged.

“Let’s get these cases back out into the lair,” he said. “We can set up the trap and have the remaining dynamite out there in case anything goes wrong and we need more.”

Slater bit her lip. “If something goes wrong, we’ll be eaten, Sam!”

He planted a quick kiss on her stunned lips. “Trust me.”

She put her fists on her hips and arched her eyebrows. “Have you ever worked with explosives before?”

“Sure I have. I know what I’m doing.” He wasn’t about to tell her that it had been while he held a part time job at a gravel quarry outside Sydney, and he had only ever helped while the qualified people did all the setting and blasting. But he was an observant guy and a fast learner. He was sure he could handle this.

Slater pressed her mouth into a flat line as she helped him lug the crate of dynamite back out into the cave. He could tell she hated every aspect of his plan, but there really were no other options as far as he could tell.

They emerged into the wider loop tunnel and hurried around until they reached the end where it opened out into the back of the beast’s lair.

Aston moved around to put the wall between them and the tunnel mouth. “Set it down here.”

He quickly unpacked an old-fashioned plunger style detonator and several sticks of dynamite and charges. Beneath them he found a collection of German stick grenades, so recognizable from all the war comics he’d read as a child. Each stick had a screw cap on the end that would reveal the pull cord to start the five second fuse. With a smile, he stuffed two of them inside his wetsuit.

“Just in case,” he said to Slater’s questioning look.

She gestured at him and he handed her two, which she wedged into her own wetsuit.

He ran back and retrieved the Luger from the dead German’s skeletal grasp, checked the magazine and confirmed the seven remaining bullets appeared to be in pristine condition. No reason it wouldn’t fire, though how much good a nine millimeter bullet would do against a prehistoric creature he couldn’t say. Still, it felt good to have it on hand. He tucked it into his dive belt, grabbed the wooden wheel of detonator wire, and returned to Slater. “Come on.”

They hurried back until they were about halfway around the loop of passageway. Aston paused, looking left and right to judge their position.

“Do you think this is the best spot?” Slater asked.

“If we lure it in that end,” he pointed back the way they had originally come, “and then sprint through to where we left the stuff, we’ll be well ahead of it. You’ve got to think it moves pretty slowly on land, right?”

“I hope so. Our lives depend on it.”

“By the time we get to the other end, it should be about halfway around. About where we are now? So if we blow the tunnel right here, we’ll hopefully be bang on target.” He was estimating wildly in regard to the creature’s speed. They would need a tremendous amount of luck for this to work, and they both knew it. But even if he didn’t manage to kill or bury the creature, the explosion ought to stun or even injure it.

Slater shrugged and looked around. “Just hurry. It could come back any moment.”

Aston carefully wedged charges and dynamite into cracks in the wall of the tunnel, as high as he could reach. Once he’d got several sticks in place, he checked the lead-wires from each and began delicately trailing them back. “We have to hope this stuff is all still operational,” he said, as much to himself as Slater. “There’s no reason it shouldn’t be, but it’s pretty old.”

Slater cast her light around the tunnel again. “Are you close to being finished? I’m going to go get our gear, and I’d really like for you to be ready when she comes back.”

Aston gathered the lead-wires together and twisted them into a thin rope, attached them to the detonator wire, and began unfurling it from the wooden spool. He moved along as quickly as he could, not wanting to pull the wires loose from the explosive charges. As he emerged from the tunnel, Slater put their gear down beside the box they’d carried out.

Somewhere in the distance, a huge splash and fleshy slaps on cold rock echoed and the main lair flared into brightness from the sensor-camera’s lights.

Aston’s stomach turned to ice and he stood as still as the rock around them. The sounds grew louder, the slap and drag of something massive and wet. Slater’s panicked breathing hissed in his ear.

“She’s here.” Slater’s voice was scarcely audible over the pounding of his heart.

“I’m not ready yet,” Aston said in a frantic whisper.

“How long do you need?”

Aston broke free from the paralysis of fear. “Just a few moments. I have to get this attached to the detonator.” He pointed to the big plunger.

“Do it,” she said. “And you’d better be ready.”

Without waiting for an answer, she snatched the Luger from his belt and dashed away across the cave.

“Slater, get back here. Jo!”

No reply.

Aston gritted his teeth. Damn, but she was a brave woman. As he crouched to connect the detonator, she screamed. No bullets, though. Did she not know to release the safety? Hell, she was American. She probably had a pistol in her bassinet.

Wincing, refusing to believe she was caught yet, he focused on the job in hand.

“This way, you bitch!” Slater yelled, her voice echoing starkly off the rock.

A huge silhouette moved in the darkness beyond the reach of the camera light. Slater’s headlamp flicked back and forth at the far end of the tunnel, then it strafed across the mighty, pale gray hide of the monster, shined off a row of glistening teeth. The confines of the cavern only served to emphasize the beast’s enormity. Aston winced. It was already so close to her! Desperately struggling against his shaking hands, he fumbled the wire into the detonator.

“Come and get me!” Slater yelled and her light danced hectically as she ran for the far opening. She fired off a single round from the Luger, the sharp report echoing. The beast emitted a low rumble but didn’t move. Slater fired again.

That got its attention. The creature slapped and bashed as it dragged its bulk across the cavern floor. It plowed through the piles of bones, crunching them like matchsticks.

“I hope you’re ready, Sam!” Slater yelled. He heard her bare feet slapping the rock as she ran.

The monster dove into the tunnel right behind her and she cried out again. It moved quicker than he would have ever dreamed possible, virtually running on its powerfully muscled fins, the snap of its mighty teeth echoing like gunshots. Its long tail whipped and swished as it vanished from sight.

Aston tried to attach the second charge wire, but his fingers shook so violently that he couldn’t even get it close. His head still pounded with concussion, his vision crossed and blurred. “Come on, you useless prick!” he hissed to himself. “No time for this!”

“Aston!” Slater howled and her light appeared in the darkness ahead. “It’s right behind me!” Two more gunshots rang out.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, gripped his hands into fists. “You can do this,” he whispered.

Opening his eyes, he took the wire and wound it in as Slater burst from the tunnel and slid around the wall beside him.

“Aston, blow it!” she cried.

He drew the plunger up and slammed it down.

Nothing happened.

The monster’s progress echoed down the passage, fat, wet slaps, sounding like it was right on top of them.

“What the fuck?” Aston said. He’d done everything right, he was sure of it.

He drew the detonator up and slammed it down once more, and the tunnel burst into noise and light and dust and crashing rock. Substrate blasted out of the entrance beside them as it collapsed and smashed into the side wall of the cavern, cracks and echoing booms following the ear-ringing explosion of the dynamite itself. Rock rained from the cave ceiling and battered them. Aston grabbed Slater and tried to crouch over her, shield her with his body as the repercussions of the massive explosion rippled again and again. It would be so unfair if their plan had worked only to bring the entire cave system crashing down to crush them. Maybe he’d used too much dynamite. Rocks battered his back and shoulders and he covered his head with his arms, crying out against the hurt and the fear of being buried alive.

The booms echoed away leaving only the rattle and hiss of smaller rocks tumbling and sliding over each other, then silence.

Aston raised his head, shined his torch around. The back of the lair was an entirely new shape, but the front of the cave and the water beyond looked the same as it ever had. The sensor light on the camera all the way across the cavern blinked off.

The wall they sheltered against had fallen in and cracked into great slabs of dark stone. Aston allowed himself a small laugh. Everything was still. Slater rose from her crouch and added her flashlight to his, her face dawning in a smile as her terror began to lift.

“Did it work?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

“I think so,” Aston said, his own voice quiet lest they disturb some fragile rock pile.

Slater hugged him and he planted a kiss on her lips. “My hero.”

The rock beside them shifted.

They jumped back, eyes wide. It shifted again. Not sliding down or collapsing, but rising, as if something massive were trying to shrug beneath it.

“No way,” Aston breathed.

“We have to go!” Slater said.

They snatched up their dive gear and readied themselves to flee. As the rocks shifted again and again behind them, crunching and cracking as they fell and reshaped, Aston and Slater pulled on tanks and masks. Without a word, they ran for the water. The LED sensor light on the camera burst into brightness again as they jumped into the icy water and hauled on their fins. The last thing Aston saw before he submerged was the great, gray spiny back of the beast pushing up out of the rock fall.

They hit the water and kicked hard. As they passed the camera they had set earlier, light exploded around them casting everything in bright white and stark shadows. Aston caught Slater’s eye and pointed down, then at his chest. He mimed pulling and throwing a grenade. He hoped she understood — get to the bottom then blow the shaft, trapping the monster above.

Slater gave him a double thumbs-up and they kicked away again. Aston had never swum so hard in his life. All the fatigue from the day’s exertion dissolved in this desperate flight to safety.

He glanced back up into the pool of light high above them and his heart sank. The water burst into bubbles and swirls as the mighty beast hit the surface and dove. They were barely halfway down the vertical shaft and it was already coming, its maw split open to reveal a forest of shining teeth.

It was so unfair! They had done everything they could, their plan was a good one, they had the human technology of dynamite and advanced brains on their side, and still this mindless prehistoric monster had got the better of them. It would be on them in seconds. The terror of being something’s prey swept tendrils of ice through Aston’s bones. It was all so unjust. Hopelessly, he reached into his wetsuit for a grenade.

Just as he expected the enormous mouth to close over him, something grabbed at his shoulder and hauled him sideways. Slater’s eyes were wide in her mask as she braced against a dark patch of rock with one hand and dragged at him with the other. No, not a dark patch of rock. A hole. Shadows yawned in the gap, like a vertical eye disappearing into who knew where.

Aston twisted and kicked hard, almost cracking his spine with the violent change of direction as he squirmed sideways into the opening. The crash of the beast’s teeth slamming closed echoed along the passage as it swept past. Aston tumbled and felt something yank hard at him, pulling him back toward the passageway, and then Slater was holding him in the dark as the seemingly endless gray flank of the monster slid past them, flickering in their torchlight. Then it suddenly ended. Silt stirred and swirled as everything else became eerily still.

Aston checked to make sure he was all still there. It had been that close to taking his leg. Taking all of him.

He looked back up and scanned around. Slater joined her light to his and slowly they traced the outline of a wide cavern that expanded beyond the small opening in the rock wall. It plunged down into utter blackness. He caught her eye, made a ball between two hands to indicate the world, and then pointed one finger inside it. Hollow Earth?

Slater shook her head, shrugged, then nodded. It was as good an explanation as any. They swam side by side, slowly, deeper into the cave. It opened more and more until the sides and top were lost in dark shadows. Aston kicked for the cave floor and followed it back. It began to slope downward again. The entrance had been only three feet wide, maybe a little more, and not much taller than a man. How could anyone as far back as World War Two or before know about that? How could they have discovered it at all, let alone followed it in to discover this cavern? Surely it was all just a mad coincidence. Though Aston wasn’t sure if he believed in that kind of fortuitous happenstance any more.

Slater tapped his arm, pointed ahead. The cavern narrowed again, the floor still sloping shallowly downwards. His breath caught as he saw what she indicated. In the far wall of the huge space, a good hundred and fifty feet across from the entrance, was a doorway. Not a natural gap, but a perfect rectangle, made from carved blocks of stone set into the rock. It was around ten feet high, maybe seven wide. And it was a door. An actual, man-made piece of engineering, leading away into pitch blackness. Man-made? Or something-made, something with the intelligence and skills and tools to construct.

Slater’s grip on his hand was crushing yet her trembling clearly evident through it. He looked at her, shook his head, and stared back at the doorway. His brain spun like a flywheel as he tried to make some sense of it. Where did it go?

Maybe the Nazis had gotten this far after all, discovered the cave as they just had. Maybe the far side was unstable and they had built that doorway to shore up the passage for further exploration. Maybe they had blown through there and fixed the door in place themselves afterwards. But one diver in an old fashioned suit and helmet could in no way have gotten this far down, much less move blocks into place on that kind of scale. So many maybes and no satisfying answers of any kind. Only more and more questions.

With a moment of panic, Aston tore his attention away and checked his remaining air. Time was not on their side. He checked Slater’s and it was about the same as his. They had maybe ten minutes of breathing left before they were in real trouble. There was air to breathe in the lair above, but no way out, so that way was certain death. The Nazis had found that out. The only option was to go back through the channel to the lake. He pointed toward the shaft and Slater nodded.

As they headed across the wide cavern, Aston’s trepidation grew. If they met the beast in the main passage heading to the lake… But the choice was not theirs to make. They either risked it or drowned.

The vertical slit of the cave entrance yawned before them and both jumped, kicking back as the vast bulk of the monster shot past, the light of their head lamps dancing off its hide and spines as it powered back up toward it lair. Slater pointed to it, then her eyes, then herself. Is it looking for us?

Aston nodded, it had to be. Regardless, it was going up and that was the best chance they were going to get. He frantically pointed out and down and they kicked hard once more. Light flared above as the beast set off the camera at the top and they swam as fast as they could for the channel leading to the lake.

The worst kind of déjà vu swept through Aston as he remembered the last time they had made this swim, fighting against the currents with the thing on their trail. Last time they hadn’t been certain what it was. This time, there was no doubt.

They plunged down the passageway kicking for all they were worth. It was like a dream, the kind where you’re running through quicksand and can’t make any forward progress. Time and the dark tunnel seemed to stretch out before them into eternity.

They reached the bottom of the vertical shaft, thrashing against the swirling water, and pushed on. The camera set there flashed bright as they passed. Aston could almost feel the presence of the lake, wide open and shimmering beneath the massive night sky, waiting for him. It was strange to think that up above, the world went along on its merry way, all but a few oblivious to the death that lurked beneath. He desperately wanted to feel the muddy shore under his hands, the rain on his face. He wanted to kick off all the scuba gear and run hard on solid land, maybe never look back. Maybe never go near water of any kind again.

His lungs burned and he knew they were using up air at a furious rate as they hammered along. The current seemed weaker than before though he was powering along faster than ever. Perhaps he was simply more scared, more certain of their fate if they slowed at all.

Slater still gripped his hand in vice-like fingers, eyes staring dead ahead, a picture of grim determination. Aston figured they must be at least half way back to the lake, another minute or so and they’d be out in open water. He glanced back into the darkness behind.

About a hundred yards back, at the base of the vertical shaft, the LED lights of the camera burst into life once more.

Slater twisted in the water as Aston thrust one hand down into her wetsuit. What the hell was he doing? She glanced back and saw the giant mass in the light behind them and new panic swelled through her. Aston pulled free the grenades she’d taken and gestured for her to swim on.

She shook her head, she couldn’t leave him! He gestured with the grenades, pointed to the rock above him and then to her and the exit once more, his eyes wide and desperate. He wanted her to go on while he set the grenades to bring the tunnel down.

She stared into his eyes and he gripped her once, tight, and then pushed her away. She wanted to stay, to help, but had no idea how those crazy German grenades even worked. She turned, bubbles bursting out with her cry of frustration as she kicked along toward the lake again. He had to be okay. He had to be. The last thing she saw was him jamming the grenades into the rock ceiling and unscrewing caps from the end of the sticks. He’d bring down the tunnel and be right behind her in an instant. Of course he would. She kicked and kicked, tears blurring her eyes, refusing to look back again.

A massive concussive boom pressured her ears into deafness and water and rock smashed into her, tumbled her over and over in a maelstrom of whining silence and swirling, rushing bubbles.

Something sharp cracked into her skull and blackness rushed her vision. For a moment she was stunned, tumbling and rolling, then rising and trying desperately to hold on to her regulator, to drag air from the tank into her screaming lungs. The boom and echo of collapsing rock assaulted her ears as hearing returned, then slowly stilled. She realized she was moving up through open water. She had been blasted out into the lake. Trying to shine her light back behind, seeking the channel entrance, all she saw was clouds of silt rolling in the depths like a thunderstorm. She couldn’t be sure where the channel was, if the entrance had collapsed, if Aston or the monster had made it out or were both trapped inside. She tried to kick back down, but her head throbbed, shafts of light lanced through her vision. She must be concussed, nausea swirled in her gut. She drew hard against her respirator and nothing seemed to come through. She had exhausted her supply of air.

She kicked back upward again, heading for the near-paradise of the surface and open air, her lungs on fire. She shrugged off her harness and belt, kicking with legs like jelly. Come on, Sam! she repeated over and over like a mantra as she swam.

She broke the surface into the fresh, dark night and gasped in heavenly lungsful of blessed air, dizzy with near-suffocation. Heavy, cold rain spattered her face and it felt like a benediction as she lay back in the water and sucked in great gulp after gulp of night air.

She cried out at the site of a great pale hump in the water not thirty feet from her, then realized it was the underside of a boat. The police launch, capsized. Something moved on top.

“Over here. Let me help you.”

Slater recognized Rinne’s voice and swam to him. He helped her up onto the dubious safety of the wrecked boat. She sat heavily beside him and pressed a hand to the throbbing side of her head. It came away bloody.

“You need a doctor,” Rinne said.

“I need a lot of things,” she replied bitterly. She looked around. The Merenneito was nowhere to be seen.

Rinne sniffed and nodded. “Yes, I’m all that’s left. Until you came along, that is.”

Slater shook her head, tears breaching. “Fuck me.”

“That… thing,” Rinne began, “do you know what happened to it?”

Slater couldn’t find the words. Finally, she pointed toward the shore. “We should get out of here. Now’s our best chance. You can take my word on it.” Even if Aston hadn’t managed to seal the creature up in the tunnel, perhaps he had slowed it down.

Rinne looked nervously at the water and then over to the shore. “I don’t think I can make it, at least, not in my present condition.”

Slater nodded. She wasn’t sure she could make the swim either.

“Is anyone else down there?” Rinne asked.

She stared at the dark water, willing Aston to pop up, a wide grin on his stupid face as he regaled them with the story of how he had finally bested the monster. But he didn’t.

She shook her head. “I don’t think anyone else is coming.”

They sat in silence for another five minutes and Slater knew in that time any air Aston had left would have run out. If he’d survived the monster and the blast, he would need to be out of the water by now. Maybe he made it back up to the lair. But without air, what good was that to him? He’d had no way to get out. And the tunnel was likely collapsed. Tears rolled over her cheeks as she accepted that he really wasn’t coming back.

But to Aston’s credit, the monster didn’t appear to be coming either. If nothing else, he seemed to have been successful there. Or perhaps not. Maybe the beast was still free to roam the lake as it pleased, it just wasn’t coming for them right now. Maybe the legends would continue unabated.

She thought of all the footage they had got up until this crazy day, all secretly uploaded to her secure server. The snippets she had sent to her alternate investor, the interest she had been nurturing. Holloway was long gone, so there would be no bidding war, but she had a backer, and she had the footage. Everything that had happened today could be re-enacted or narrated somehow. It wasn’t the same as having footage of the great finale, but still… She glanced sidelong at Rinne. Maybe she could wrap the piece with those interviews with the locals she had considered before.

Through her shock and trembling, she realized her professional mind was protecting her, planning beyond this nightmare. But she would make it happen. This story would be told, and Sam Aston would be honored in its telling.

The sound of an outboard motor drifted across the lake. They turned to see a small fiberglass boat, a grizzled old man in the back guiding it toward them.

Old Mo pulled up alongside the wreckage. “Looks like you two could use a lift?”

“We’d be much obliged,” Rinne said flatly.

“Funny the things you see and hear when you live as close to the lake as I do,” Old Mo said as Slater and Rinne climbed aboard his small vessel. He scanned the water. “Come on, hurry up. I’ll get you back to town.”

Dawn purpled the eastern sky as they motored away. Slater pressed one hand to her aching head and let the tears roll freely over cheeks, gave her grief for Sam, and Dave and Carly, free rein. This story would most definitely be told. She intended to be on the first plane home.

Nikla Laine called out the window to his mother. “Is Dad back yet?”

She looked up from unloading groceries from the car. “How do I know, I’ve just got home? He’s not in there?”

Nikla shook his head. “He promised me we’d go fishing if I finished my work, and I have. Where is he?”

Charlotta Laine put down her shopping and planted her hands on her hips. She looked out toward the lake, eyes narrowed. What the hell was he up to this time? Fooling around with those crazy Americans, she had warned him it would bring nothing but trouble. He had been checking in every couple of days, constantly reminding her how much that fool Holloway was paying. But it was starting to feel like too long since his last visit home. She would be offended if she wasn’t so worried.

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” she called up to her son.

“But he promised me today!”

“Then I’m sure he’ll be back today.”

She shook her head. Sixteen years old. She thought the toddler years had been hard. She gathered up groceries again and started ferrying them to the house.

Nikla waited until his mother had put away her shopping and left again to work her volunteer shift at the second-hand clothing charity shop in town. Be good, she had told him. Your father is sure to be home before long.

Sure, whatever. He crept to the door under the stairs and listened. The house was still and silent. His father always kept the cellar key with him, but Nikla was proud of his ingenuity. Weeks ago, coming home at lunchtime, he had found the old man passed out drunk in the armchair, his wallet and keys on the table with the empty bottle of vodka. Nikla had cautiously taken the cellar key and rushed back to town, had a copy made, and returned the original before his father had stirred.

Then Nikla had been patient, waiting for the right opportunity. He had no idea if or when his dad would be back, but day after day he had put off using the purloined key, too scared of being caught. But he could wait no longer. Something he couldn’t explain told him now was the time to try. Now or never.

He turned the key, slipped inside and closed the door behind him. A switch at the top of the stairs turned on all the lights below. His father’s private cellar, where no one was allowed, not even Nikla’s mother. She humored him, A man needs his foolish secrets, but Nikla has always wondered just what his old man did down there. If nothing else, maybe there was some good porn, or a computer without the parental controls engaged.

His jaw dropped as he reached the bottom of the steps. The walls were covered with newspaper and magazine articles, every one a story about the mysterious Lake Kaarme monster. A set of shelves heaving under VHS tapes and DVDs stood in one corner. There was a desk and a computer, an armchair and big screen TV, more bookshelves with a wide variety of hardbacks and paperbacks. But what really caught the eye was the construction at the far end, against the wall.

It could only be described as a shrine. Carved from shining, polished wood, it was a dark arch with a deep concave hollow cut into it. Small candles stood on the base of it, either side of a large, leather bound book. The candles were out, but there was light enough to see the other items behind the book. Three teeth, of varying size, but all huge compared to anything Nikla had seen before, and bright white. A kind of bony spine, curved and as long as his arm, that ended in a wickedly sharp point. Next to them a collection of small figures, men made of twisted sticks and twine, each about a foot tall and somehow disturbing to behold. At the back of the altar was a stretched piece of leather… or skin. Darkened and hardened with age, it had strange, curving symbols branded into it, five of them, one below the next. Nikla’s eye tried to look away despite his desire to study the symbols more closely. They were crabbed and pointed, they seemed to shiver against the skin and cast slight shadows of themselves as though they somehow floated just above the surface.

Nikla began to feel sick trying to look at them and tore his gaze away.

The book was large and heavy, the leather covers thick and shiny smooth. The pages inside were rough and weighty, ragged along the edges. The thing reeked of age and seemed to exude a presence, and a desire to be read. It was hand-written in a dense, swirling cursive script. Nikla backed up to the armchair and sat, placed the book on his lap. It took a moment to get his eyes around the cramped lettering, but eventually he began to figure it out. Excitement thrilled through him as he started to read.

Had it been hours? It felt like days, dragging out to years, but Sam Aston refused to give up. Battered and bruised, his stomach a hollowed out pit of pain, he stumbled on through the darkness.

He had cast off his scuba gear the moment he miraculously found a dry passageway after the explosion that knocked him momentarily senseless. Among collapsing debris, rocks rolling through the aftershocks of the giant detonation, everything had gone black.

When he came to, hanging limp and broken in the water, in darkness, the tiny, weak light of his helmet flashlight showed the bubbles of his rapidly diminishing air tumbling upwards. Stunned to still be alive, he weakly kicked up and followed them.

The dark passageway opened out into a much larger space and he saw the strangely carved lintel of the door he and Slater had discovered before. The explosion had created a new access to that enormous cavern. Knowing every other way out was blocked, he decided he might as well learn more about it before he died.

Aston kicked hard for the door and went through into blackness. His torchlight flickered again, threatening to fail completely at any moment. Could this way possibly lead to the underworld? To undiscovered wonders? Would he never find out, blind in the darkness? Drowned? He pushed on, trying to at least discover something, some personal revelation before death.

Then his air ran out. His lungs began to burn, and he was certain he would drown. But silvery reflections shimmered far above. Thinking it was simply the last of his expelled air, caught in a small pocket under some rock, he sobbed as he kicked upwards, desperation to survive just a moment longer driving him on. He surfaced into it and gasped in amazement when it turned out to be a cave.

He crawled out of the water, cast off the empty tank, and desperately explored as his torch finally gave up. The last thing he saw was a tunnel leading away, and leading upwards. He followed it.

After hours, maybe a day, weak and stumbling, he stripped off his wetsuit and pushed on. Several times he reached dead ends, only to turn around and try again. He tried to keep a mental map in his head, terrified of starving like those Nazis. It would be so unjust to survive drowning only to die of hunger.

The pain of his wounds, of his starvation, threatened his consciousness, so he lay where he fell and slept. Twice more he pushed on, only to collapse and sleep. It must have been at least three days since the explosion, he could barely see for hunger, he ached with thirst, and he sat against the stone wall, despair clawing at him through the pitch dark.

But it wasn’t pitch dark.

For the first time since the cave, he perceived a vague outline of his hand in front of his face. On hands and knees he pushed ahead. A band of dim light far in front hooked into him like a fisherman’s line and drew him forward. The light became a rectangular outline, like it shone behind a closed door. Sure he was hallucinating he finally reached it, and pushed.

The door opened into a basement study, the walls covered with newspaper and magazine articles about the Lake Kaarme monster. Shelves bore VHS tapes and DVDs, there was a desk and a computer, an armchair and big screen TV. A shrine to the beast took up one end of the room, candles either side of a large, leather bound book. One photograph in particular stood out, an enlarged print showing a clearly very elderly Lars Pera, the Nazi scientist from Old Mo’s photos. Pera had his arms around a middle-aged man on one side and a young boy on the other. Even with all the years between, the young boy was clearly Alvar Laine, aged maybe eight or nine at most.

Sam Aston stood trembling and managed to laugh. This had to be Alvar Laine’s house! And Aston had to get away. He staggered up the stairs, hoping no one was home. He was rewarded, the house empty, bright afternoon light through the windows painful against his eyes.

He found the kitchen and stuffed himself with bread and fruit, guzzled water. He wore only filthy board shorts and t-shirt, but he didn’t care. As soon as his aching stomach could take no more, he hurried from the house and out into freedom.

He couldn’t believe he had managed to survive. Surely anyone who knew anything would assume he had died. There were clothes on the line in the back yard and he grabbed some, hurriedly dressed. Maybe he should let the world think Sam Aston had indeed died. Perhaps it was time to reconsider all his life choices and take the opportunity for a fresh start.

Shaking his head, rushing with the thrill of survival, he decided that first of all he simply had to get away from Kaarme and out of Finland. Anything else could wait.

Nikla Laine arrived home from school and went back down to study his father’s books. There was so much to learn. On entering the basement, something looked different. One of the bookcases had been shifted away from the wall slightly. On investigating, he discovered that it wasn’t only a bookcase, but a door. And someone had left it ajar. Wide-eyed, heart pounding, he grabbed a flashlight and stepped cautiously into the shadowed passage beyond.

In a pitch dark underwater cavern, among freshly fallen rocks, something massive shivered and pressed up against the debris.