Amsterdam.

Itotia Waiyaki
Nov 6 · 4 min read
Amsterdam.

The task wasn't going to be easy. But that is why they were paying 777 million dollars. The Arab wondered about the price, he couldn’t remember why they had settled on it. But it didn't matter now. The ball was rolling.

He felt tense, he didn't know why, even though he had rehearsed this day for almost year. He had been coached well. Everything was as described to him.

A two and a half hour drive from Safi to Marrakesh, straight to the airport and take a direct four hour flight to Amsterdam. Going through customs was not a problem. He was instructed to pick a the line with a woman.

There had been nothing to worry about. Easy as Sunday morning. He was a nobody, Invincible. He had never been photographed before, not since a couple of days before, when he was having his passport photo taken.

He had learned a bit of dutch, just enough to blend in and take a cab from the airport to the coffee shop. The route was just as he had been told it would be, the turns, the bumps and the shops.

Right down to the cost of the cab and the name and decor inside the coffee shop. It had a brown interior, yellow lit with jet black seats. He had walked in and immediately spotted the man with a buzz cut and a black Levis bomber. Just as described to him over and over again.

He walked towards him at the back of the shop and sat. The man with a buzz cut looked tired, he was probably in his late forties.

‘Hi, I’ve ordered some coffee and a pastry for you, you must be tired.’

‘I am, thanks.’ the Arab said, as a waitress appeared with two steaming cups of coffee and a danish.

She set them down neatly and left.

‘We are willing to pay 777 million.’ The Arab said.

‘Okay, the package will be ready in 48hrs.’

‘Okay, the money will be in the account by then.’

The man with a buzz cut nodded, drained his coffee and stood up.

‘Have a safe trip.’

‘Thanks.’

He threaded his way to the counter, paid, headed to the door and vanished in the mid afternoon traffic.

The Arab picked up his mug and took a sip, slowly. He was to supposed to leave exactly 35 minutes after the man with a buzz cut had left. It would mean he was right on time to check in for his return flight to Marrakesh.

He was sweating now, as he took a bite of the soft danish. He wasn’t quite sure if it was the steaming cup or the realization of how close they now were.

He remembered all the meticulous preparation.

He remembered what he had been told would happen if something goes wrong. 777 million dollars and zero cents was a lot of money. He remembered the story they had been told of Genghis Khan and his burial party.

How they had carried his body back into Mongolia, Killing everyone that saw them. No witnesses. How every member of the military escort had been killed down to the last man who killed himself. No witnesses.

777 million dollars and zero cents is a lot of money. They would all be killed if it went wrong. Down to the last man. It would be a disgrace, to them and their families.

It wasn't going to fail because of him though, he said to himself. He had done his part.

He remembered how they had all sat in a hot room in Safi, draped in white robes, sited in cushions, discussing everything.

Half of the discussion was along the lines of not counting chickens until eggs were hatched. Ancient proverbs were quoted. Affirmations recited. Cautious ritual reminders that nothing had yet been achieved.

But the other half of their discussion was about counting those chickens. They counted them again and again. Glorious, dreamy speculation. They had made a lists of different cities. Which had to be included and why. They smiled and rocked in their cushions. Then they reminded themselves once again not to count their chickens.

The Arab took one last bite of his danish and drained his coffee. He checked the time and thirty five minutes had passed. He slowly got up and headed to the door.

He got out and paused for a second admiring the city. It was the first time he had been outside of Morocco. Outside of Safi. He hailed a cab and told the driver to take him to the airport, international departures. All in dutch, just as he had been taught.

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