“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.

Dear Benji—

When you were sleeping, I think a lot. I reach into the water to touch the blue light. Suddenly, I see a big fish. It swims close to the boat. I take the paddle and I wait. It comes back and I hit it hard. I hit it just right. It stop swimming and I grab it.

I feel happy because there is fish to eat. But sad because I kill it. I don’t want to be in this world anymore, Benji, taking things. I want the last thing I do to be giving. You and others please, eat the fish. Stay alive. I want to be with my Bernadette. I know she is safe. I think last night she let me see Heaven. She is saying God waits for me.

I pray you get home. I leave the fish in the bag.

May the Lord protect you, my friend.

I closed the notebook and dropped my head. I cried so hard my chest hurt, but my eyes stayed dry as dust. This is how empty I have become, Annabelle. I have no water left for tears.

* * *

That was yesterday. When I told Geri, she took the notebook, read the words herself, then handed it back and went straight for the ditch bag.

The fish was large, as Jean Philippe had promised. “A dorado,” Geri said. Using her knife, she quickly dissected it into the edible, the useful, and the rest. The five of us ate some right away. (The five of us? Can that really be true?) Then Geri used a piece of line to hang the remaining fleshy pieces. They will dry in the sun and feed us for another day or two.