The Great Heist

Prologue

All the world was here in Qatar. 

Most notably in Lusail—a coastal city in the southern municipality of Al-Daayen—and approximately twenty-three kilometers north of the city center of Doha. 

For three weeks on, the planned city had witnessed and recorded the biggest influx of people arriving in the city proper and the country as a whole. Hence, leading to an upward surge in the number of people in the city from roughly 450,000 to about 600,000. This among other things, had spurred city officials and the Qatari government into taking necessary actions to make stopgap plans to create more accommodations and breathing space within the city—which was initially proposed to have the infrastructure to accommodate a mere 400,000 people.

Today was no different, either. Despite the nippy climate of late December, the traffic on this Sunday evening on all major freeways, thoroughfares, and causeways throughout the city of Lusail was heavy and near-congested. The lightest and most accessible traffic available only at the tramways and the Metros.

The ironic fact about all these, however, is, that the sudden rise in the tide of vehicles and human traffic through the city of Lusail has nothing to do with the ongoing Qatar National Day—a national festival celebrated annually on every eighteenth of December throughout the state of Qatar. But rather from the great event slated for the same day. 

The literal storm center was the Sports District and the ten-acre-long premise around its main attraction—The Lusail Iconic Stadium, where a crowd of football fans pressed along a concourse toward the stadium in large waves. The fans, dressed either in their favorite jerseys and long overcoats or combinations of both with shawls have traveled from every part of the world into the district through the Lusail LRT and the Doha metro, to watch the biggest showdown on earth which was about to go down within the hour.

Taking center stage in the district, like a ghost ship lost at sea was the 80, 000-capacity Lusail Arena. Its sleek shape and intricate details, a subtle homage to the svelte bodies of the belly dancers known to the Middle East region; as it is also a huge reminiscent of the art’s motifs found in art pieces and decorative wares across the Arabian world. 

The ultra-modern stadium built by the British firm Foster + Partners and Populous, and inspired by the dhow—a lateen-rigged sailing vessel— common and famous to the region around the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean is a step change from conventional architectural designs and methodologies with the remarkable application of light and shadow which gave its golden exterior a muted glow and rare metallic luster even in the thick snow flurry. This fact is made more apparent by the way its bold body doubled over in flawless asymmetrical and undulating trims, like a coiled giant King Cobra. 

From inside this giant architectural masterpiece, which seemed to be gliding over unseen waters from a distance—a mere illusory effect created by the reflective pool of water and moat surrounding it—rose the blast of music and the explosive report of fireworks. The fireworks in their dazzling spherical confetti showers shoot forth from the muzzles of mortars erected around its slopping, retractable cable-membrane roof, as the closing ceremony of the Qatar 2022 FIFA World Cup gets on the way.

Performing live on the big sheet, which covered the length of the natural grass of the pitch and bore the figure 8—or, the infinite symbol— which was the official emblem of the competition alongside a company of dancers and performers was an artist ensemble of Davido, Trinidad Cardona and AISHA—all part of a new movement of young, talented artists making their break on the international music scene. 

Aisha, garbed in a flowing sequined, gossamery gown filled the stadium and the two-mile radius of it with her sonorous voice. She glided across the scene, like water on rock between American singer; Trinidad Cardona, dressed in a white Thawb topped with a Keffiyeh, and Nigerian Afrobeats superstar: Davido, who on the other hand was dressed in the unflawed combinations of Nike’s Air Jordan sneakers and sweatsuits.

The trio’s performance of their Single—'Hayya Hayya’ (Better Together), which was produced by Redone and made the Tournament’s Official soundtrack came to an end moments later to the applause and cheers of the eager spectators, who now filled each row and column of seats in the stadium to the max. And was followed soon by a performance by Qatari pop sensation—Syed Maimunah—who sang famous Qatari folk music accompanied by the Ardah dance—a stylized martial dance performed by rows of children to the accompaniment of several percussion instruments.

Right after her performance and the clearing up of the turf for the match, a deep, heavy hush fell over the whole stadium for a brief moment. The stadium came alive once more with the thunderous crackle of spectators, as Didier Deschamps strutted out of the tunnel onto the pitch with a Limited Edition Louis Vuitton travel case.

The silver-haired French man, who was a two-time winner of the cup.—first as a player in 1998, and as a coach in the previous edition of the prestigious competition—fiddled with the travel case’s push button, brought out the 18-karat gold World Cup Trophy and presented it with a flourish to the crowds, the Heads of States in presence, and the world at large.

That done, the tall French National team coach set the malachite base of the trophy down with great care on the pedestal stationed right at the mouth of the touchline. Then spun around on his heels, and headed back into the tunnel. 

A short while later, the two opposing teams led by the Italian referee—Daniele Orsato with German assistants Felix Brych, Mark Borsch, and fourth official; Stefan Lupp, and their side’s captains filed out of the tunnel onto the pitch to the chants and cheers of their fans raising their colors high. 

Just then, the voice of the PA announcer seated in the skybox on the fourth tier of the stadium came over the PA system. “Here they come now straight out of the tunnel. Two super heavyweights of world football: Brazil, in their glorious canary yellow shirts and blue shorts; and England, in their pristine white shirt and navy blue shorts.”

The announcer continued at the same time the players were lining up. “The stage is set. The atmosphere is supercharged. And the world is feverishly waiting as the biggest event on earth nears its start. Here’s a quick reminder that this is not the first time both teams are squaring off in the face-off that has often been tagged by the media as the ‘Clash of autonomy over the round leather game’. Both sides have in fact battled each other a good twenty-six times, which has culminated in eleven draws, with eleven wins for the Seleção, and just four wins for The Three Lions.”

“The plus side this time, however, is, never for once in the history of the beautiful game have both sides faced each other in a World Cup final. And if that meant anything at all, it’s the fact that we’re in for a thriller this evening.” There was a small pause over the PA system before he eventually added. “Here’s the team list for both sides. The Brazilian starting XI for the World Cup final in Qatar are: Goalkeeper; Allison Becker…, Captaining the Brazilian side in what would be his final World Cup at Centre Back: Thiago Silva…, pairing alongside him in Centre-back is Marcos Aoás Corrêa..., Playing from the right and left full-backs are the duo of Danilo and Alex Sandro respectively—” 

The announcer was cut off then by the sudden reverberant blast of explosion, which sent a shock wave through the whole of the stadium and its perimeter. 

At the same time, the atmosphere around the stadium went from charged with excitement and organized to agitated and panicky. As the players and match officials either dipped instinctively into a crouch or laid down flat on their stomachs. While the spectators, coaching staff, and the bench, on the other hand, made a beeline for the nearest exits.

It took a minute or two for any of the players or match officials to snap out of the shock, and for any semblance of normalcy to be restored amongst the spectators. Worse, even longer for the ball boys, stewards, and most of the coaching staff and the bench on both teams, who have taken shelter in the tunnel at the instance of the explosion to return to the pitch.

The voice of the announcer returned over the PA an instant later, this time with no hint of thrill or excitement at all. “I think a bomb just went off somewhere very close to the stadium. And it would be an understatement to say, the eighty thousand people present here in the stadium were scared to shit for a minute there.”

“I’d wager scared don’t just do enough justice to what we just witnessed here, Zalman. I think shaken or fried would do.” A second voice said this time.

“Well, I believe there’s really nothing to be scared of. I tell you, apart from being the biggest event here on earth, this game is one of the most secure events there is.”

“Yeah, there’s really nothing to be scared of other than the blast of a bomb.” The second voice said, chuckling. “That’s a joke actually. I second that. With all the powerful and important Heads of State present here to grace this final, I doubt if there’s really a thing to be worried about. Anyways, I hope the blast is nothing fatal. And that security personnel have things under control.”

The first announcer resumed his recital of the team list once more, as if a bomb hadn’t gone off just five minutes ago. “Midfielders: Casemiro, Paqueta, Neymar Jr.”

“Forwards: Rodrygo, Richarlison, Vinicius Jr.” This time, the sound of his voice over the PA competed with the hums and chatters of the spectators, who have picked up their chanting from exactly where they left off earlier.

“Now on to England Starting XI—” 

He was cut off mid-sentence again. On this occasion, by a new wave of protracted chorus of gasps from the spectators. 

However, it didn’t take long for the announcer to realize the reason behind the latest chaos, now spreading like a lichen amongst the spectators. He had his answer the minute he noticed the giant wall of smoke that rose high from every conceivable corner of the pitch and settled over the stadium as a thick heavy fog.

All around him in the stands, the spectators, irrespective of age and sex were thrown into instant agitation; shoving and pushing their way through the teeming crowds in the struggle to get away from the stadium and the smoke that has many of the crowds choking already.

Through the billowy smoke that now settled over the pitch below like ominous stacks of nimbus cloud, the announcer thought for a moment there in the glass walls of the skybox that he caught some movements behind the screen of smoke. But discarded the thought the moment it emerged in his mind due to lack of visibility.

Everything afterward happened at double time. From the players and match officials being herded out to the tunnels by a group of policemen in flak jackets and helmets, to the Heads of States in attendance being huddled around by their body men, and a pack of stewards in light green bibs invading the pitch in waves.

When the particles of smoke finally settled down, half the crowds in the stands dispersed with it, and those that remained and stayed behind were left in a daze of disbelief as the World Cup Trophy has disappeared from its place on the pedestal.

Half of the world that watched from their various homes felt the same.