Chapter Eighteen

The heat was up by a notch across town, at the Cielo Hotel.

Hotel guests were thrown out of their rooms by eager beaver agents whose willingness to knock down doors after a few unanswered raps were only outmatched by their eagerness to roughhouse someone. Anyone. Hotel’s security and staff were brushed aside like they mean nothing as the records were taken without their official consent. While every room and suite was turned upside down within minutes in search of the world cup trophy and the suspects.

The message was clear and explicit: This was no ordinary search anymore, but a shakedown. And giving your full cooperation is non-negotiable.

About 1.4 km from the Cielo—give or take, a three minutes car ride—at the West Bay Lagoon, Doha, where the Ritz-Carlton Hotel overlooks the sweeping shades of blue of the Arabian Gulf, an entirely different scene was unfurling itself:

All activities—both indoor and outdoor were grounded to a halt at once as several suited agents streamed into