“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.
Chapter 23
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.