Spy Tugs
Spy Tugs Pic(s)
The frigid night air bit into my cheeks as I pressed myself against the damp brick wall, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. A single, misaligned drainpipe offered a precarious path upward, its iron brackets groaning a soft protest under my weight. From the bustling harbor below, the mournful cry of a foghorn echoed, a sound that perfectly mirrored the loneliness of my clandestine mission. I could just make out the silhouette of my target, the "Spy Tug," a deceptively innocuous fishing vessel bobbing gently on the ink-black water. Each careful handhold brought me closer to the warehouse roof, my black gloves slipping slightly on the cold, slick metal. Reaching the parapet, I swung a leg over and lay flat, my breath forming ghostly plumes in the air as I surveyed the scene. The tug was now directly below, its deck seemingly deserted save for a single, swaying lantern casting long, dancing shadows. A narrow, rusted gangplank was the only connection to the dock, a flimsy bridge I would have to cross under the watchful eyes of a thousand unseen stars. I checked the tiny device secured to my belt, its cool, metallic surface a reassuring promise of the secrets it was meant to extract. With a final, steadying breath, I began my descent, a shadow melting into deeper shadows, ready to infiltrate the vessel's well-guarded silence.
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