gathered on the forward helipad, babbling excitedly, pressing in on one of the helipad workers, identified by Grabowski as a crewman named Simpkins.
"What's this all about?" Reddington asked, trying to still the commotion.
Simpkins jostled excitedly in place. "I saw it, sir. Damn, and may God strike me if I didn't see the monster."
Scotty glanced at Reddington, smiled, then placed his arm
around Mr. Simpkins's shoulder. "The Loch Ness monster?"
"Yes, sir. One and the same."
"You sure you ain't been drinking?" Reddington asked, once again hushing the group.
"On the ship! No way. I haven't been hallucinating, either. No. I was standing right here washing some petrol off the deck. I looked out at the south shore, and there it was."
"What exactly did you see?" Scotty asked.
"A hump."
"What kind of hump?"
"A hump hump, Mr. Bruce. What other kind of hump is there?"
Scotty stifled a laugh. "It was just floating in the water?"
Simpkins pointed, moving his arm toward the west. "No, first it was moving. Kind of zigzag. Then it disappeared below the surface, popped up once more for just a second, and was gone for good before I could puff a breath again."
"Did anyone else see this thing?" Reddington asked.
"No," Grabowski advised. "I've already checked every member of the crew."
"How long was it on the surface?" Reddington questioned, scanning the horizon.
"Maybe ten seconds," Simpkins replied.
"And you didn't call for anyone?"
"You have a good sense of humor, Mr. Red. No. I was shaking like hell. Couldn't talk. Besides, I was trying to get my camera working."
"You took its picture?" Scotty asked.
"Sure enough."
Simpkins handed Scotty a Polaroid glossy. Scotty and Reddington looked close. Oh, the hump was there all right, but it looked more like a floating log than a big monster.
"This doesn't help us much at all, Mr. Simpkins," Scotty said, commenting on the poor resolution.
"I didn't say it would, sir. I only said I took the monster's picture."
Scotty looked out toward the south shore. There was no sign of any floating riffraff. "Beats me." He turned to Reddington. "What about you?"
"Beats me, too."
"Well, it was there," Simpkins said, defending himself.
Reddington nodded. "How long have you been on shift?"
"Six hours."
"Then you're relieved. Go down and relax for an hour or two."
The crew members began to congratulate Simpkins. Then, as Simpkins started off the helipad, he turned. "Can I have my picture, sir?"
"Of course," Reddington said, handing Simpkins the undistinguished glossy.
Simpkins put the snapshot in his pocket. The clutch broke up. Scotty and Reddington remained on the helipad, searching the horizon.
Whittenfeld's chopper appeared. Turning to each other, they laughed, then moved off the pad to clear the chopper's approach.
A chill wind had begun to gust mercilessly across the main deck as Whittenfeld, Lefebre, Foster, Reddington, and Scotty Bruce emerged from the bridge deck after an exhaustive meeting.
"I want one guard stationed in the moon pool area at all times," Whittenfeld was saying as they stopped alongside one of the deck cranes. "And the other two on the stern and the bow."
"Two shifts?" Reddington asked.
"Yes," Whittenfeld replied. "Twelve hours each to run concurrently with the drill-crew tour."
Reddington looked up at the drilling platform. One of the guards was already in position, holding an automatic rifle; the others were below deck in the cabins assigned to security.
Whittenfeld turned to Reddington. "The guards have been instructed to inform you of anything suspicious. If that occurs, you are to call home base and speak to Lefebre." He looked down the catwalk. "Is the launch ready, Scotty?"
"Ready and waiting," Scotty said.
Whittenfeld smiled. He hadn't smiled much during the meeting. He'd been very businesslike, very preoccupied. "Then let's go for a ride," he said.
They walked to the gangway, then carefully descended on to a motor launch, moored to the ship's
"What's this all about?" Reddington asked, trying to still the commotion.
Simpkins jostled excitedly in place. "I saw it, sir. Damn, and may God strike me if I didn't see the monster."
Scotty glanced at Reddington, smiled, then placed his arm
around Mr. Simpkins's shoulder. "The Loch Ness monster?"
"Yes, sir. One and the same."
"You sure you ain't been drinking?" Reddington asked, once again hushing the group.
"On the ship! No way. I haven't been hallucinating, either. No. I was standing right here washing some petrol off the deck. I looked out at the south shore, and there it was."
"What exactly did you see?" Scotty asked.
"A hump."
"What kind of hump?"
"A hump hump, Mr. Bruce. What other kind of hump is there?"
Scotty stifled a laugh. "It was just floating in the water?"
Simpkins pointed, moving his arm toward the west. "No, first it was moving. Kind of zigzag. Then it disappeared below the surface, popped up once more for just a second, and was gone for good before I could puff a breath again."
"Did anyone else see this thing?" Reddington asked.
"No," Grabowski advised. "I've already checked every member of the crew."
"How long was it on the surface?" Reddington questioned, scanning the horizon.
"Maybe ten seconds," Simpkins replied.
"And you didn't call for anyone?"
"You have a good sense of humor, Mr. Red. No. I was shaking like hell. Couldn't talk. Besides, I was trying to get my camera working."
"You took its picture?" Scotty asked.
"Sure enough."
Simpkins handed Scotty a Polaroid glossy. Scotty and Reddington looked close. Oh, the hump was there all right, but it looked more like a floating log than a big monster.
"This doesn't help us much at all, Mr. Simpkins," Scotty said, commenting on the poor resolution.
"I didn't say it would, sir. I only said I took the monster's picture."
Scotty looked out toward the south shore. There was no sign of any floating riffraff. "Beats me." He turned to Reddington. "What about you?"
"Beats me, too."
"Well, it was there," Simpkins said, defending himself.
Reddington nodded. "How long have you been on shift?"
"Six hours."
"Then you're relieved. Go down and relax for an hour or two."
The crew members began to congratulate Simpkins. Then, as Simpkins started off the helipad, he turned. "Can I have my picture, sir?"
"Of course," Reddington said, handing Simpkins the undistinguished glossy.
Simpkins put the snapshot in his pocket. The clutch broke up. Scotty and Reddington remained on the helipad, searching the horizon.
Whittenfeld's chopper appeared. Turning to each other, they laughed, then moved off the pad to clear the chopper's approach.
A chill wind had begun to gust mercilessly across the main deck as Whittenfeld, Lefebre, Foster, Reddington, and Scotty Bruce emerged from the bridge deck after an exhaustive meeting.
"I want one guard stationed in the moon pool area at all times," Whittenfeld was saying as they stopped alongside one of the deck cranes. "And the other two on the stern and the bow."
"Two shifts?" Reddington asked.
"Yes," Whittenfeld replied. "Twelve hours each to run concurrently with the drill-crew tour."
Reddington looked up at the drilling platform. One of the guards was already in position, holding an automatic rifle; the others were below deck in the cabins assigned to security.
Whittenfeld turned to Reddington. "The guards have been instructed to inform you of anything suspicious. If that occurs, you are to call home base and speak to Lefebre." He looked down the catwalk. "Is the launch ready, Scotty?"
"Ready and waiting," Scotty said.
Whittenfeld smiled. He hadn't smiled much during the meeting. He'd been very businesslike, very preoccupied. "Then let's go for a ride," he said.
They walked to the gangway, then carefully descended on to a motor launch, moored to the ship's
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