Monster: Tale Loch Ness Read Free Page B

good."
    "You said he had a message."
    Foster didn't flinch. "Yeah. He said; 'Good luck. You'll need it.' "
    "Is that so?"
    "Some say yes. Some say no."
    "What do you say?"
    "Not much. Remember, I'm the press officer. The official PR man. I keep locals at bay, newspaper reporters subdued, and company egos massaged. I try to stay away from controversy. Out of everyone's way. I talk and write and make up little press releases like the one in my hand announcing your arrival, education and work experience listed, plus your membership in the Pro Football Hall of Fame."
    Scotty grimaced. "Do we need the last?"
    "Absolutely. Stateside management demanded it. They like the PR potential."
    Scotty stood and walked around the den, examining bookshelves, then sat down again. "Have you got some time?" he asked.
    "Sure," Foster replied. "And it's at your disposal." He looked at his watch, a relic on a gold chain. "Call it nine-thirty. Mr. Whittenfeld suggested I bring you by just after one. You'll be asked to call him Bill. Just about everyone does. He may be the boss, a high-powered executive and a man not unaware of position and station, but he's human, too. A member of the team. A first-name sort of guy."
    "I see."
    Foster laughed. "You'll like him . . . like him a lot."
    Scotty closed his eyes, thinking. Foster watched, bemused. There was silence. Several minutes passed.
    "Well, if you're at my disposal," Scotty suddenly said, "talk to me."
    "About what?"
    Scotty once more subconsciously flexed his knee. "I've just joined the company. I'm in Scotland for the first time. I don't know anything about anything."
    "You do know I was with Reddington and Kreibel the day Kreibel died?"
    "Call that the beginning," Scotty said. "Start from there."
    Foster poked at the end of his moustache. "I wasn't privy to all the technical stuff. You'd know more about that than I would. Oil wasn't supposed to be here. The oil slick suggested it was. The company obtained a preliminaw exploratory license from the Department of Energy in London and quietly went about its business. Divers dove. Seismic crews doodle bugged the area. When Geminii was sure everyone had been wrong about the region, it approached Energy, obtaining a license to drill for and produce oil. Then it petitioned the local authorities through the Highland Regional Council for land access and development approval, and that's when the fireworks began." Foster repacked his pipe. "The Department of Energy only licenses the company. The local elected councils must license the land and approve a development plan." He paused thoughtfully. "The company applied for local cert. It presented a comprehensive development statement. The onland application was quickly approved. But the Loch Ness request hit a shit storm. A councilor named MacKenzie from Foyers put up a hell of a fight, forming an opposition group, the Caucus, which recruited environmentalists, the Free Church, and the Scottish Nationalist Party. After the Caucus lost in committee, they tried to stop the initiative in the full council as well. They lost again. But this didn't end the matter. No way. Throughout the entire process of public hearings, the secretary of state for Scotland, who is a member of the British Cabinet, head of the Scottish office, and sort of Scotland's prime minister, could have taken jurisdiction himself. But the loch application was a nasty political issue, and the secretary left it in the Highland Council's lap and would have kept it there had MacKenzie and company let the matter die. They didn't. They put so much pressure on the secretary, he buckled and held a new round of public hearings. Once again, the application was approved, and once more MacKenzie rebelled, bringing suit, claiming the secretary had ignored pertinent testimony. The case was thrown out of court. And that's where we are now. Moving ahead. Slowly. Under the watchful eye of the crazies who opposed the Loch Ness application and who hope something