2023-12-30 01:04:33
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Chapter Twenty-eight
Liam. They had tailed the SUVs all the way from the Sports District in Lusail to the headquarters of the Al-Jazeera in Doha. Of course, it’s not been an easy ride though. They have had to identify themselves to every cop at every road blocks. Liam had even made the best of the situation, seizing the opportunity to make a report of the situation of things across the country. The hardest part had been how to escape the police at every roadblock and Terry stop they encountered on their way here. He was beyond shocked to find a roadblock on every block from the Sports District in Lusail all the way to Doha. But thankfully, the BBC logo on their van, couple with a flash of an ID here and there had proven sufficient enough to buy them a passage at every point of the trip.Thiago Silva was washing out his tinted terracotta hair back to his natural black when his burner rang beside him on the washbasin/vanity. Like the burner which he kept on his person at all times, the disguise—the facemas
Chapter Twenty-six
Mr. Ahmed Al-Shahbaa, director of the Al Jazeera TV network was winding down in his office having gotten through yet another stressful day at work. Already, the black suspenders holding his black slacks and shirt together were nowhere to be found anymore. Now it was lying somewhere in his briefcase stowed away under his Elm desk. The sleeves of his white-stiffed-fronted shirt were rolled up to the elbows, exposing deeply tan, slender forearms covered by a fine coat of body hair. His head of sable hair, frosted at the edges by a wisp of gray found rest on the headrest of his executive swivel chair, while his overly long legs were thrown heedlessly over the varnished top of the same Elm desk.His job at Al Jazeera was not the hardest in the world. But surely, every day in office in this position at one of the top-flight news agencies in the world must have counted for something. Today, however, seemed to be so different. Different in that it was most overwhelming in every sense of
Chapter Twenty-five
Director Julia shut the door gently behind her. She had managed to escape into the cocoon of her office at last, after spending the last hour between meetings with some concerned personnel of the museum. These meetings as was expected were intended to ensure that Mr. Leigh’s inspectorial visit to the MIA went smoothly and without kinks.Apparently, having something go wrong was the last thing she wanted while he was here. Heaving an obvious sigh of relief, she shuffled from the door toward the center of the room almost hesitantly. Her feet already leaden in her pumps barely left the Persian rug that took up a third of the office space as she made her way to her desk. She didn’t waste time once she got to it. She just slid the swivel chair bracketing it back a little, then plopped right into it. Today, for her had been a most eventful day, to say the least. Aside being the Qatari National Day; one in which they usually received a large turnout here at the MIA. It also happened t
Chapter Twenty-four
One-and-a-half hour after he arrived at the mews.The tall, trim black man still was unable to get a breather. Much less sit his ass down for a minute. This considered with the fact that he had been up since 5:00 am after a mere two-hour sleep and had also managed a one-hour long session of exercises meant he was far spent at the moment.So far, it was thanks to the excess caffeine in his system that he was still kicking and functioning at full throttle. As it is, he was already into his twelfth cup of coffee for the day. And it was just 11:30 in the morning.Just as he anticipated earlier, he had assumed the command of the emblematic ship that was the mews as soon as he had stepped in through its backdoor. Overseeing the highly-prioritized activities going on around there ever since then. While at the same time delegating the less-prioritized, but nevertheless important ones into good hands.Now, holding a disposable paper cup that holds the coffee in his left hand and peeking ov
Chapter Twenty-three
Several miles from the Green Palace, a wizened grey-haired man in a blue blazer worn over white, razor-sharp creased pants and balmorals paced up and down the expansive terrazzo floor of the command center in silence. Gnarled arms folded and gingerly tucked behind his stooped back. His mind shuttered against the low drones of computers and the beehive chatters around him. But otherwise, fixated on other things.Other things like the closed surveillance footage of the Lusail Arena splashing across the rank of computer screens around him. The conflux of communication—both inbound and outbound—as well as the ongoing strings of investigation into the likely scenarios that might have led to today’s awful events being carried out by half of the room’s occupants. But despite his obvious concerns about these things. The simple fact remains, he wasn’t so much concerned about them as much as he was with one thing in particular: The intercom mounted on a table somewhere in the room.This was
Chapter Twenty-Two
Prime Minister Qabid El Hamdi took one last glance at the three faces standing like posted sentries across from him. Faces he knew all too well. Faces of individuals who had served under his administration for so long that he now trusted them completely with his life. Soon as Al Jazeera had faulted the gagging order placed by the government on all media agencies in Qatar, the need to go public with the disappointing news of the stolen world cup trophy had become not only apparent but inevitable. Therefore, his study has been instantly transformed to make it scenic enough for his address to the nation broadcast under the ever-efficient guidance of those three. As expected, a whole lot has been put in place to make this realizable: one such thing is the at-the-ready camera crew assembled immediately by his Chief of Staff that now hung about the study. Same with the ad-lib speech scrolling horizontally across the teleprompter’s screen which was churned out courtesy of his Press Secre
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