A vague shape came from the gloom. It was some sort of heavy canvas bag. The rope was now very wet from the frothing waves and slipped a little with each tug.
Ruebin stopped. The slimy rope dropped and inch away, but he was sure he had heard something. While leaning over the rail, he looked up and down the pier. To the ocean side he only saw a faint glow of the last light and a black rail before nothingness. To the shore side, darkness. The bag thumped a reminder on the piling. Ruebin resumed his labor.
With one last heave the bag cleared the railing and clattered to the decking with a solid metallic thump. Again, Ruebin scanned the empty darkness of the pier and saw nothing or no one. He looked to the bag and rolled it over. It was black canvas. No markings, no labels. It looked vaguely military. A drawstring held the top tightly cinched. Ruebin untied the expert knot, and slowly pulled the bag open.
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