The small craft was almost invisible against the inky surface at that hour of night, as were the two figures in the bow of the black-hulled skiff.The pilot pulled up to the rickety floating platform at the water’s edge, where a 38 foot Mediterranean sports fishing yacht rested, rocking gently from the breeze and the barely perceptible surge of the inter-coastal waterway. His two passengers soundlessly pulled themselves onto the dock, scrutinizing their surroundings to verify they were alone. They’d researched the area and studied reconnaissance photos taken during the day; the closest neighboring house was thirty yards away, and dark, the residents evidently on vacation during the low season. A 65 foot Hatteras bobbed gently in the gloom at the empty residence’s dock, beyond which were still more private estates with various sized watercraft dotting the shoreline.Crickets chirped their nocturnal mating call from the surrounding trees. The area was verdant, lushly landscaped and thick with exotic plants arranged to simulate a tropical botanical garden.Even at eleven at night, the temperature was oven-like, the humidity rivaling that of a rain forest.
