I milled amongst the horde walking towards the Olympic stadium. Today’s the most lucrative day in my calendar. Despite warnings about people like me I was positive there’d be rich pickings.
Diving in, I bumped into an elderly gent in a trench coat. Mumbling apologies, Slipping his wallet into my pocket, I ducked into an alleyway to check the contents. Damn, no cash! Still, the AMEX card could be a gold mine.
Back in the throng, I lifted a purse from a little old lady and a stack of tenners from a youth wearing combats. Fifty pounds for five minutes work. Next up was a tall, bearded Middle-Eastern gent. Stumbling into him, I easily retrieved the leather case from his knapsack. Seconds later I examined my haul. Lots of paperwork in Arabic but wait, what’s this? It looks like a blueprint of the stadium. What do these red crosses mean?