An Ordinary Day Read Online Free

the three men who were accompanying the suitcases and then said to Maistry, ‘Look, cannot open these, please? They are locked, yes?’
    Maistry looked at Abrahams and said, ‘Judy, please pass me the master key.’ She reached under the counter and produced a small pair of wire-cutting pliers. ‘Sir, I can open this suitcase – with this – or you can open it for me without this.’
    ‘Wait,’ the diplomat said and tugged again at his tie, which still seemed to be suffocating him. He produced a cellphone and walked a few steps away where he conducted a soft, strained conversation in Arabic. The queue behind this group was growing, and there were loud protestations coming from the tired travellers, protestations that had no effect on Maistry.
    The diplomat returned. ‘Who is in charge, sir?’ he asked, hands clenching together as if he were crushing something between them.
    ‘I am in charge, sir. I’m the duty customs officer and the law permits me to search any bag that I consider to be suspicious. And frankly, sir, I now consider these suitcases to be suspicious.’
    ‘I am Mr Albirai, Libyan ambassador to South Africa. You are, sir?’
    ‘Prem Maistry, customs officer, South African Revenue Service.’ The handshake was formal and rigid. He hoped Albirai’s attitude would not be as unyielding as his handshake.
    ‘Mr Maistry, let me be brief. My people have travelled far, please, they are tired. They just wish to go to the hotel and sleep.’
    ‘I understand, Excellency. So let’s get finished here. Have them open their cases and you can be on your way.’
    ‘I would like you to waive inspection on these suitcases.’
    ‘I can’t do that, sir.’
    ‘I can give my personal assurance that there is nothing dangerous inside these suitcases. I can vouch for them.’
    ‘Thank you for vouching for them, Mr Albirai. I would still like to confirm their contents though.’ Albirai clenched and unclenched his fists. Maistry didn’t have anything against the man, but he was making the night longer than it needed to be.
    ‘I must insist, sir,’ Albirai said, barely getting the words out.
    ‘Sorry, Mr Ambassador, but it’s not negotiable.’
    Albirai slapped his forehead so hard with his hand it left a red imprint. ‘You … you …’ he shook his head, unable to find a word that would adequately describe his frustration. Albirai’s rage took Maistry by surprise and he considered calling for security. The ambassador reached for his cellphone again, mumbled to himself, thought better of it, and thrust it back into his pocket. He barked an order in Arabic at the three men accompanying the cases. They looked incredulous for a few seconds and then fumbled in their pockets for keys and proceeded to unlock the cases.
    Maistry concealed his surprise well when the first suitcase was opened. Inside, neatly stacked in bundles, were piles of new us dollar bills.
    Maistry looked at Albirai who shrugged his shoulders. ‘Official, yes, for our delegation.’
    Maistry reached under his counter for a wad of documents. ‘I assume, sir, the other cases also contain foreign currency?’
    Albirai nodded.
    ‘How much foreign currency are you declaring to me?’
    Albirai looked perplexed at the directness of the question. All diplomacy seemed to have vanished. ‘There is … ah … twelve million us.’
    Maistry was distracted by a figure running towards them. It looked like trouble: a tall, gangly character in his late fifties, dressed in a 1970s-style black suit and wearing horn-rimmed glasses. Only bureaucrats still wore 1970s suits.
    ‘Ah,’ said Albirai, visibly relieved, ‘Mr Cloete, please, we have these …’
    Maistry froze in amazement as Cloete somehow aligned his centre of gravity in such a way that he managed to bow down very low without falling over. His bowing and scraping muscles had obviously been well honed during a long career in the diplomatic service. ‘Excellency, Excellency, a thousand apologies –