The Stranger in the Lifeboat(27)

We waited until the sun was high, when sharks are least likely to be prowling for food. With Jean Philippe and me leaning over the sides, paddles up like two exhausted sentinels, Geri took a breath and dropped into the water.

The next half hour was like sitting in a darkened house, waiting for a killer to reveal himself. Nobody spoke. Our eyes darted across the surface. Geri kept coming up then diving back under then coming up again. She found the hole, which she said was small, but being underwater left the glue and patches useless.

“I’m going to try some sealant and stitch it,” she said.

Again, we watched the water intensely. After twenty minutes, Geri said she’d fixed all she could. Then she dove back under one more time.

“What’s she doing now?” I asked.

She resurfaced with her hands full of weeds and barnacles. She tossed them into the raft, and we pulled her in.

“There’s a whole … ecosystem … on the bottom of this raft,” she gasped. “Barnacles. Sargasso. I saw fish, but they scattered … too fast … They’re living off what’s growing on the bottom.”

“That’s good, right?” I asked. “The fish? Maybe we could catch one?”

“Yeah …” She nodded, still panting. “But … that’s what the sharks are after, too.”



Now, Annabelle, I must share one more thing, and then I will rest. The writing takes a lot out of me. Processing thought. Thinking about anything besides water and food. I helped Geri pump air into the repaired tubing. It took us an hour. Then both of us fell back under the canopy. Even that simple act was draining.

Still. Last night, in a moment of grace, we witnessed something otherworldly. It was after midnight. As I slept, I felt a sensation through my closed lids, as if someone had turned on the lights. I heard a gasp, and I opened my eyes to witness an utterly amazing sight.

The entire sea was aglow.

Patches below the surface were illuminating the water like a million small light bulbs, casting a Disneyland bluish white all the way to the horizon. The ocean was dead calm, as if it had parked itself in place, and the effect was like looking at a massive sheet of glowing glass. It was so beautiful that I wondered if my life had ended and this was what came next.

“What is it?” Jean Philippe whispered.

“Dinoflagellates,” Geri said. “They’re like plankton. They glow if they’re disturbed.” She paused. “They’re not supposed to be this far out.”

“In all my life,” Jean Philippe marveled, “I never see anything like this.”

I glanced at the Lord. Little Alice was asleep next to him. Wake up, child, I wanted to say. See something astonishing before we die.

I didn’t. In fact, I barely moved. I couldn’t. I kept staring at the glowing sea, awestruck. At that moment, I sensed my insignificance more than at any other moment in my life. It takes so much to make you feel big in this world. It only takes an ocean to make you feel tiny.

“Benji,” Jean Philippe whispered to me. “Do you think the Lord created this?”

“Our Lord?” I whispered, nodding backward.

“Yes.”

“No, Jean Philippe. I don’t think he created this.”

I saw the blue light reflecting in his pupils.

“Something must have.”

“Something,” I said.

“Something magnificent,” he added. He smiled. The raft rocked gently in the water.

The next morning, Jean Philippe was gone.





Land





LeFleur and Commissioner Sprague watched the man in the blue blazer approach the orange raft. LeFleur shifted his shoes in the sand. There was no way this guy knew about the notebook, right?

“You think anyone from the Galaxy actually made it to that raft?” Sprague asked.

“Who knows?” LeFleur said.

“Crap way to die, I’ll tell you that.”

“Yeah.”

LeFleur’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the display.

“My office,” he said.

He turned his body and lifted the phone to his ear, keeping an eye on the man by the raft.

“Katrina?” he answered, low-voiced. “I’m busy now …”

“There’s a man here for you,” his assistant said. “He’s been waiting awhile.”

LeFleur glanced at his watch. Damn it. Rom. He had told him to be there by noon. LeFleur watched the blue-blazered man lean into the raft and run his hand across the edges, near the now-empty pouch. Was he stopping? Did he notice something?

“Jarty?” Katrina said.

“Huh?”

“He asked for an envelope. Is that OK?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever …,” LeFleur mumbled.

The man stood up. “We need to transport this thing out of here!” he yelled. “Can you get a truck?”

“Right away,” Sprague yelled back. He waved a finger at LeFleur.

“I gotta hang up, Katrina,” LeFleur said. “Tell Rom not to go anywhere.”





Eight





Sea





This is what I found in my notebook the morning Jean Philippe disappeared.