Mexico, St. Thomas City.
The sea conditions were good today, no strong winds, no big waves.
But it was cloudy, the moon hiding behind the clouds.
A dark windy night.
Perfect for committing misdeeds.
Opalini stood by the river, directing his subordinates as they handled the three tons of coca.
"Be careful, are the packages all sealed? Watch out, or I'll make you eat peanuts if there's any problem!"
Each package weighed 20 kilograms; the coca by the shore had already piled up into a mountain.
This was the cargo just unloaded from the trucks by the river.
This river was no ordinary river; about a kilometer west, it flowed into the sea.
Here, the water was about six meters deep, and three small specially made drug submarines were docked at the water's edge, each capable of carrying about a ton of cargo.
