He walked around the boat.
Excellent. Most people would not give it another look, which was exactly what he had intended.
They’d done a good job, aging the structure so it seems derelict, abandoned, old.
The bits of metal, old jerrycans and the ‘who-knows-what-plagues-hide-under-this-junk’ that were strewn about only augmented the effect. The well-placed rusty barbwire didn’t hurt, either.
Very few knew that once aboard and down the hatch, the innards were state-of-the-art creature comforts and the latest in surveillance.
There had been too many botched drops lately. Too many intercepted by an over-zealous coast guard. It was a shame that their contact inside had been exposed and that greasing of hands was no longer appreciated. Mateo had been taken care of, of course, to minimize risk of blathering. But supplies still needed to get through. Profits required solutions.
He nodded his approval.
Beside him, Boris exhaled. “Thanks, Boss.”
For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge