Celtic Empire (Dirk Pitt 25)

Giordino adjusted the sonar to a range of one hundred meters, but with the Sea Nymph far above the lakebed, his monitor showed only a circle of green snow. He glanced at a digital fathometer and whistled. “Seven-hundred-foot depth here. Not a good place to drop the car keys over the side.”

“The loch is narrow, yet quite deep.” Pitt dialed up the thruster speed. With a thin prow for improved hydrodynamics, the Nymph could easily cruise at better than five knots. Pitt navigated by the digital map, keeping one eye on the video feed for potential lake traffic.

They hadn’t traveled far when he spotted McKee Manor along the northern shore, and he reduced power. Farther ahead, he saw the lights of another vessel sailing away on the same heading as the tanker he’d seen when he was fishing.

“The site is ahead on the south shore,” Pitt said. “I’d like to see how they are loading their tankers.”

“Roger that. I’ll keep our belly from scraping the bottom.”

As Pitt angled the submersible toward the southeastern shoreline, he kept his eyes on the video monitor. At night, the camouflaged research building was all but invisible. The floating dock appeared as a black line on the water, and Pitt headed toward it. He reduced speed and nudged the Nymph to a twenty-foot depth, relying on the sonar to guide them.

“Bottom coming up fast,” Giordino called out. “Passing under a hundred feet.”

The sonar reading from the forward units crystallized into an image of the lake bottom ahead and beneath them. Pitt toggled on the Nymph’s exterior floodlights, which revealed a murky soup of dark green water.

“So much,” Giordino said, “for the crystalline Highlands water in my Scotch whisky.”

“It’s the peat in the soil. The same stuff that gives your whisky that smoky flavor is also in the water.”

“Tastes better than it looks.” He tapped a finger on the sonar screen. “Just passed a target of some sort off to the left. Depth at thirty meters.”

Pitt glanced at the screen. A linear shadow with a rounded end signified an object protruding from the lake bottom. He turned the Nymph toward the target and descended, leveling off when the bottom appeared. He inched the submersible ahead until the target appeared beneath the floodlights.

“A boat,” Giordino said. “And a nice one at that.”

Even covered in silt, the object carried the rakish figure of a large speedboat. Pitt drew down its length, allowing the thrusters to blow away some of the sediment, then hovered over it for a better look. Cleared of its muddy coating, the boat appeared to be built of mahogany. Polished brass fittings still gleamed under the lights.

“Nice ride for these parts,” Giordino said.

“It must be McKee’s boat. He’s said to have died in the accidental crash of an Italian speedboat.” The submersible’s lights revealed a chrome script that spelled out RIVA.

“An accident?” Giordino said. “I’m not so sure. Look at the cowl and windscreen.”

Pitt turned the Nymph and hovered over the boat’s cockpit. A scattering of small round holes pockmarked the windscreen, cowl, and cockpit seats. On the opposite side, a large jagged gouge appeared, open nearly to the hull.

“Possible earmarks of an explosion,” Pitt said.

“The wrath of a scorned wife?”

“I wouldn’t bet against it.”

Pitt surveyed the boat once more as Giordino shot video with an exterior camera, then he turned the Nymph toward shore. He followed the rising lakebed until Giordino called out again.

“Approaching the dock and what appears to be some related infrastructure. Possible pipeline and valve arrangement to our left. There’s also a strange shadow ahead.”

Giordino felt the submersible halt its forward progress. “See something?”

Pitt didn’t answer. His attention was focused on a moving object at the limit of their field of vision. Giordino followed his gaze, leaning upright in his seat.

Slithering past the viewport, with jaws open and eyes aglow, was a long green creature of the deep.

48

It wasn’t a monster, but a European eel, nearly five feet in length.

“He’s a big one,” Giordino said.

“Look how he’s swimming,” Pitt said. He nudged the submersible ahead. Its lights revealed the eel was weaving in and out of a heavy cable net strung from the underside of the dock to the seabed below.