Spy Tugs
Spy Tugs Pic(s)
The rust-streaked hull of the *Spy Tug* cut through the choppy, grey waters of the harbor with a deceptive laziness. To any casual observer, it was merely another workhorse vessel, its paint faded by salt and sun. Yet, its slow, deliberate course traced a path directly between a moored naval destroyer and a private research vessel. High on the bridge, a figure in a dark pea coat lifted a pair of weathered binoculars, their lenses focused not on the horizon, but on a specific porthole across the way. The low thrum of its engine was a constant, monotonous drone that masked the faint whir of sophisticated listening devices hidden within its waterline. Every few minutes, a wisp of steam, almost imperceptible, escaped a vent on its starboard side, a signal to unseen allies on the shore. The tension was a physical presence, thick as the sea fog beginning to creep in from the east. It was in the way the crew moved with quiet, economical precision, never making an unnecessary sound or gesture. They were patient, these men and women, their faces etched with the calm of those who understood the gravity of their silent mission. They waited, a dormant key ready to turn in a lock no one else could see, collecting secrets with the tide.
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