The Stranger in the Lifeboat

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Dobby had worked as a road crew member with different acts. It was how he
earned what little money he had. He was good with musical equipment, and
he liked the travel, the action, the fast setups and breakdowns.
I always knew this. What I didn’t know was that he was parlaying his
roadie connections into a terrible plan that involved me. His idea was to get
his friend to employ him for the Fashion X concert, then preload equipment
onto the Galaxy, including instruments, amplifiers, mixing boards, and one
object that looked like it fit in but did not:
A limpet mine.
I did not know what a limpet mine was, Annabelle. I do now. Dobby told
me. It is a naval explosive device that attaches with magnets to the
underbellies of boats. Frogmen often affix them to hulls in secret, then blow
them up from afar. Limpet mines have been used since World War II. How
Dobby got access to one, I will never know.
But apparently he snuck this limpet mine in with the musical equipment. It
was Friday afternoon, the last day of the Grand Idea voyage. He asked me to
help him carry a drum case along the second deck. When we were alone,
Dobby stopped, unlocked the top, and lifted it slightly.
“Look, cousin,” he said. Inside I saw a round dark-green device, a foot in
diameter and six inches high.
“What is it?” I said.
“Something big enough to take this whole yacht down. And Jason Lambert
and his rich friends with it.”
I was too stunned to respond. My breathing accelerated. My eyes darted
down the corridor. Dobby began whispering about how I could lower him on
a rope at night, when the Galaxy was anchored, then he’d attach this mine to
the hull below the water line, where it could inflict the greatest damage.
I barely heard him. A thrumming sound had started in my head.
“What are you talking about?” I finally stammered. “I never—”
“Benji, listen to me. Do you know the effect this will have? There’s a
former president on this yacht! There are high-tech billionaires who have
been ripping people off for years! There are bankers, hedge-fund guys, and
best of all, that pig Lambert. All these so-called Masters of the Universe. We
can take them all out. It’ll be historic. We are gonna make history, Benji!”
I slammed the top shut. “Dobby,” I seethed, “you’re talking about killing
people.”
“People who are awful to other people,” he said. “Who manipulate them.