The vessel made port in Kingston harbor just barely before the hurricane hit.

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Hans Reiter and his mistress of the season, Dina, settled into a hotel for the passing of the storm. Dina, already showing signs of boredom, started hitting the bottle quickly. She’d be asking for the harder stuff later, then begging for it.

Hans considered his economy as he looked out at the ship, the Sea Cloud II, bobbing crazily in the waves. A beauty run on a nice tourist vessel. It made the Atlantic crossing twice a year, enjoying the better of seasons in the Mediterranean or Caribbean seas. Hosting a few dozen passengers, the company provided 5-star elegance at 3-star prices.

Hopefully the bankroll was safe, he thought. As soon as the storm was over, they’d casually meet a fishing boat offshore. As the captains made pleasantries, Hans would meet a diver at the stern to exchange identical suitcases: money for drugs. When he offloaded the drugs in Europe, he could buy his own private yacht.

The storm made it hard to see the Cloud, but he could swear it was a lot closer to land than a few minutes ago. He took a swig of his rum and squinted into the rain. “No!”, he shouted aloud, as what he thought was land came into view. It was a tanker, steaming hard into the harbor. Hans’ last sight was the Cloud, splintering into little pieces.

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