Slightly more than one hundred miles before the Madura would arrive at its destination port of Galveston Texas, a one hundred twenty foot fishing trawler eased its way into a position along the starboard side. Departing from her home port of Mersin on the southern coast of Turkey in the eastern reaches of the Mediterranean Sea, the massive container ship had needed more than a week to make its way into the Atlantic Ocean via the Strait of Gibraltar and then complete the crossing toward North America and into the Gulf of Mexico. After passing to the south of the Bahamas and Florida keys, she set a direct course toward Galveston. Now with the intended journey nearly complete, the Madura had slowed significantly as she closed on her port of call. Within one of her hundreds of shipping containers were several dozen crates that would require attention before reaching port and a potential United States customs inspection. Therefore, the crates had already been prepared for their transfer from the Madura onto the approaching fishing trawler.

With the smaller vessel matching the speed and course of the container ship, the captain of the trawler made a minor steering adjustment to port in order to edge his craft closer. As he did so, a large cargo net began to lower from above. Within seconds of touching down on the aft deck, his crew began to unload all of the crates. Then when the process had been successfully repeated twice more during the next ten minutes, the transfer was complete.

As the trawler increased speed and began to gently peel away to the starboard for a more northerly heading, her captain looked at his radar screen. Turning to the man who had come aboard early the previous morning in Galveston, he said, “Well Kyle, there’s still nothing on the screen except for the Madura. It looks like we’re in the clear.”

His guest then replied, “While I will agree that things have gone smoothly up to this point, our task is far from complete. We still need to meet up with each of the other fishing boats at the established coordinates to offload our recent acquisition, and that must be done before we run into any Coast Guard patrols.”

“Well according to the schedule that you provided, the first of the smaller fishing boats should rally up with us in about fifteen minutes. Will that make you feel better?”

“Of course, but my mood will only fully brighten when each of the six rendezvous are safely completed. I intend no disrespect to you or your vessel captain, but I won’t rest easy until I have departed with the last of the smaller fishing boats. The shipment that we now carry is of vital importance to the overall plan, and it was not easy to acquire back in Eastern Europe. So I, along with number two, would hate to have any portion of this cargo wasted. Neither of us wants any of the crates dumped into the ocean to avoid a Coast Guard seizure, but that is what we must do if necessary.”

Ninety five minutes later, Kyle Tillman climbed onboard the last of the six boats that had arrived in fifteen minute intervals. After the crates assigned to that boat had been stowed below, he fired off a salute to the captain of the trawler. Then as they prepared to part ways, he said, “Captain, I thank you for your assistance with this matter. I shall report to number two that you and your crew did a tremendous job with the transfer of cargo from the Madura, and the subsequent transition onto each of the smaller fishing boats.”

Returning the salute in a sloppy fashion with the hand that now held a large envelope stuffed with cash, the captain replied, “Glad that the services of my boat and crew could be of help to the cause Kyle. Feel free to contact me again if the need arises.”

With that Kyle nodded and the thirty-five foot fishing boat pulled away. A short time later they could see the coastline of southwest Louisiana, and if all went well, they would be able to unload the crates into an awaiting van within the hour.