Peter felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around with sick dread. Two armed men stood behind him. One grabbed Peter’s suitcase by the handle.
“Moroccan Security Services. We need you to come with us.”
Thirty minutes later, Peter waited in handcuffs, the eight packages of cocaine he’d tried to smuggle now stacked on the table in across from him.
The official shook his head. “You were very foolish, young man.”
Just then a familiar figure walked in. It was the dealer, Omar. Except instead of the expensive suit he’d had on when he sold the cocaine to Peter, he wore the same uniform as the Moroccan Security Service. Omar caught sight of Peter and laughed. He hoisted a duffel bag onto the table and proceeded to pack the cocaine inside. He turned to the official. “No time to chat today. I’m meeting a Brazilian in two hours.”
You would think when I’m the one finding the prompts I might have an idea what to write about when Saturday morning rolls around, but it turns out I’m not that smart. I was stumped. Then, google to the rescue–I came across this headline: Brazilian Arrested with 6 Kgs of Cocaine at Casablanca’s Mohammed V Airport. What was astonishing to me was the related articles at the bottom of the page:
Turkish Passenger Arrested with 2 Kg of Cocaine at Mohammed V Airport
Peruvian Passenger Arrested for Cocaine Trafficking at Mohammed V Airport
Ghanaian Flier Arrested with 9.6 Kg of Cocaine at Mohammed V Airport
Of course my go-to is always to jump to wild conspiracy, and The Moroccan Smuggling and Security Service was born. Plus, these guys just look scary.