Once they reached the beach, they began walking along the shoreline, circling the island at an unhurried pace. Krüger could not help but stare in disbelief.
"You weren't exaggerating," he muttered. "There truly are turtles everywhere in this godforsaken place."
The sailor walking beside him chuckled softly. "That's right, sir. This island has always been a favorite stop for smugglers. I've passed through with other crews before—though the last time was five years ago, or so."
Krüger nodded, absorbing the words as his boots sank lightly into the sand. The beach was dazzlingly white, almost painful to look at under the Caribbean sun. It reflected the light so fiercely that even the sea breeze seemed warm, thick with salt and the faint scent of rotting seaweed.
