“An hour after the World Cup Trophy went missing here at the Lusail Iconic Arena, the Qatari authorities in a desperate countermeasure to apprehend the thieves and retrieve the World Cup Trophy have ordered the total lockdown of the city of Lusail.” Liam began from a close-up. Right now, the snow had let up some, thus allowing for clearer visibility. “The order, which we have reasons to believe was issued by the Director of the Qatar State Security has come into full effect throughout the districts of Lusail as I speak.”
“The lockdown which came after police roadblocks were set up across every district of the city some fifteen minutes ago has been said to have caused a ripple effect throughout Lusail and has brought traffic and all activities within the city to a standstill.” He paused for a moment to catch his breath before he continued. “News coming in from across the city indicated the heavy presence of Police and Al Fazaa units throughout the streets of Lusail, which has brought about the closure of all highways and thoroughfares, and hence, causing great hindrance to the movement of people within and without the city.”Now, the camera zoomed out for a wider-angle shot of Liam holding the microphone to his mouth. “Scenes reported from across most of the districts, most notably the Marina district suggested the closing down of many of its malls and shop-fronts.”“Also reported is the city-wide case of the police traffic stop, which has since begun on all streets along with pedestrians’ stop and frisk.” Again, Liam took a brief pause before he continued in the same breath. “Same thing has been observed on all metros and tram stations across the city, as passengers were reported to have been stopped and frisked by the police before boarding a train or tram. While all outbound transits to neighboring Doha and West Bay Lagoon have been suspended in every station and substation throughout the city.”The camera zoomed further out from Liam a little more as he continued rapidly. “It appears the effects of the lockdown doesn’t end here in Lusail alone, as the news reaching us at the moment from the capital city of Doha, has indicated similar restrictions taking root in some part of the port city as well, particularly at both international airports; The Hamad International Airport and Doha International Airport that serves as the major air traffic hub for both cities, where it is said that things are beginning to heat up after the airport authorities put some security measures in place.” He scratched at an itchy spot on his forehead and took a firmer grip on the microphone before he progressed. “I must stress the point that there’s been no official report or statement from anyone in the Qatari government confirming the disappearance of the World Cup Trophy, or, the issuance of the lockdown as yet.” There was a brief stop again as Liam paused for yet another breath. “Now, that we can all stand on common ground and agree with the fact that the World Cup trophy has since left the stadium. The real question that remains as I round off my report for the hour is; could it be possible that the World Cup Trophy is still within the city limits of Lusail, or, has already left the city of Lusail?”“It’s with this last deet of news that I’m wishing the Qatari government and her law enforcement agencies good luck in apprehending those responsible for stealing the World Cup Trophy, and I bring to a close this news update.” Liam finished, looked away from the camera, and toggled off the microphone.Data analyst, Kaboul Alsam was finding it hard to get his work done as he sat before his workstation, some safe distance from the operator and the grid of CCTV monitors in the stadium’s control room. To begin with, enhancing the picture from Cam #25 with Face Hallucination—an algorithm-based resolution enhancement technique used in low-resolution imagery to enhance human identification at a distance through pixel substitution—was not turning out as smoothly as he had first thought. Neither are his attempts to reduce the high signal-to-noise ratio of the picture and get a clearer resolution of the image of the stewards captured in its background with the program coming off as good. Nor is the Director standing this close to him and breathing down on his neck helping, either. He had thought having worked for six years at the Qatar State Security Service, where he had helped crack and solve several cases under intense pressure and scrutiny would be enough to help check his nerves in a
Chapter Eleven Commander Ali strode briskly out of the control room into the adjoining hallway. Ignoring the nods and subtle greetings from his agents and police officers alike, he listened to the brassy voice of the Minister of Interior from the other end of the call.“Have you anything of worth on the robbers of the World Cup as yet, Director?” the hectoring voice of the older man boomed through the phone’s speaker. Commander Ali was hesitant, contemplative even in his response. “We have nothing of worth, for now, Mr. Minister,” he said and quickly added. “But we will have something pretty soon, I promise you.”“You better do, because this is dragging for too long, and it’s becoming a sort of a menace and disgrace for us all.” The voice returned over the sound of indistinct noises in the background.“I understand, sir,”“No, you don’t, Director,” the voice refuted, “because if you do, you will have an answer for me already. And will be raining hell as we speak on those SOBs—S
Chapter TwelveAmman smiled for the first time in the last one and a half hours or so. And knew in some bigger part of him that this was because he had met the Director’s absence in the control room the moment he had walked in and for no other reasons.Although he had initially returned to the control room to fill him in on the progress of most of the activities he had recently put in motion, he had felt instead instant relief for not meeting him here.This means a respite from the boring monotonous routines of the last hour!Wiping the last traces of the smile from his face and ignoring the operator seated dead ahead before the bank of monitor screens, he edged toward the eastern part of the room; where the data analyst sent from HQ, sat ensconced in a chair across a computer screen. “How’s it coming?” he asked as soon as he was only some inches away from him. Startled by the sound of the voice, Alsam wheeled around abruptly in his seat to meet the face of his CSO—Chief Secur
Chapter ThirteenI am super late for work!World-famous TV personality—Layla Naseer—knew this even without ever daring a glance at the digital clock on the air-smoothed dashboard of her Ford Escape Hybrid 2022 Edition, as she rounded a corner in the western part of the Wadi Al Sail district of downtown, Doha, Qatar. Ignoring the incessant buzzes of her cell phone mounted on the car phone holder atop the dashboard, and at the same time trying hard to keep herself from being nervous any more than she already had, she put her foot down on the gas. And stared rather absentmindedly at the needle on the speedometer dial as it shifted to 120km per hour.The Director would be madly crossed at me, she concluded in her mind at the thought of his several calls she had decidedly ignored today. This recent one, of course, would make it fifteen in total.As if not arriving at work one hour after she was due to resume, as well as ignoring the Director’s calls and that of her secretary a couple
Chapter FourteenIn one of the private study rooms in his exotic residence—The Green Palace—Prime Minister Qabid El Ahmadi after a literal day in hell laid back in an Ottoman. His gaze fastened on the live broadcast of the Al Jazeera Network‘s newscast—the Newshour presently airing. After the events of the last hour had gone by in a dizzying blitz for the PM. Such that he could barely recall the details in full himself. The PM had sat down to watch the TV. Anything to get his mind off the scenes he had bore witness to earlier. No matter how hard and long he thought of it now, it still felt too rapid for him to grasp… almost like a slideshow. One minute, he was in the company of the Emir, the FIFA president, and other prominent leaders of the world in a skybox about to watch the biggest show on planet Earth. In another, a thick curtain of smoke had gone up and taken over the stadium. And before he or any of the dignitaries he was with could realize what was happening, a wall of b
Chapter Fifteen Forty-five minutes after the call and a rather steaming hot shower.The tall, trim black man, now prettied up in a smoky black three-piece suit climbed into the backseat of a New York’s hallmark yellow hybrid taxicab he had flagged down on 21st Street. “Brooklyn Heights,” he said to the squash-faced Caucasian driver the minute he was fully settled in, catching the subtle nod of acknowledgment from him. Dropping the brown leathered briefcase he carried on his person beside him on the seat, he brought his hand up to his neck in a vertical motion. To carefully loosen his knotted striped necktie for comfort at the same time the cab pulled gently away from the curb into the busy streets of Queens, New York.Done with that now, he sagged into the seat. His left and right arms sprawled gingerly over its top in a striking regal-like pose.Now seated in this manner, he caught the smug look on his reflection in the car’s rear-view mirror. At that, he managed an inconsequ
Chapter Sixteen Breathtaking!That was the only word Ander could come up with on the spot as his steely blue eyes scanned the massive lobby of the Doha Museum of Art. He had realized from the moment he stepped into the lobby that the interior of the museum was no less spectacular than its exterior. Actually, he somewhat found the museum grander and postmodernesque on the inside than the outside.In an unresplendent, subtle kind of way, the interior of the museum with the fusion of modernistic trends in architecture and deep rootedness in Islamic historical identity oozes unprecedented magnificence and up-to-date refinedness through several geometrical patterns and abstract arts of the Islamic world that bedecked its spaces. This was evident on the sprawling marbled floor embroidered with crisscross patterns and shapes, the domed ceiling tapestried with Islamic art mosaics and designs; and even, on the centerpiece of the central atrium—the narrow double staircase that curved upwar
For seven years, Mr. Josua Hermann had lived in Qatar. Six out of that seven years, he had spent as the General Manager of one of the biggest hotels in the oil-rich country—the Waldorf Astoria Hotel. Since becoming a naturalized citizen here in Qatar, he could scarcely recall for once a scenario where he had seen on the part of any organs of her executive branch the willful exercise of force or aggression on her citizens. Let alone claim that he saw with his own eyes any form of human rights violations on many of his cruises across the capital city in his stable of sports cars. Or while eating in one of the high-end restaurants in Lusail. Nor when shopping at the big malls across the country. Unfortunately, he was bearing witness to all that presently. All the GM could do as he momentarily stood at the end of the long, axminstered hallway on the hotel’s third floor, was gape pie-eyed in startling disbelieve at the clutch of men across from him in the hall. The men, a baker’s doz