The Great Heist

Chapter Six

The stress was becoming almost unbearable for Amman.

This was evident on his face as he cannonballed in the wake of the Director with several other agents of the Qatar State Security down the narrow stretch of the hall that led into the dressing rooms. Even though he had been mentally trained and equipped for situations like this, he felt this was too much for anyone to handle, trained or otherwise.

Not when he had barely seated or rested in the past hour. Nor have time to reflect. Not to talk of smoking to clear his head.

Already, he had lost count of how many times he had been to this part, or anywhere at all in the stadium.

Yet, here he was again. Walking down the whitewashed walls of this same hall, after being dragged down here by the insistent Director. He had sent two agents to fetch him while he was busy attending to other things that needed urgent attention like; seeing to it that the search and stop continued without a hitch, and also that security measures were still in place now that half of the police and Al Fazaa units have been dispatched to set up checkpoints on every block in the city.

What a bad day, indeed, to be at work, he thought, cursing softly under his breath.

“The footage,” Commander Ali said over his shoulder, drawing him from his thoughts. “I assume you have seen them.”

“Yes, a couple of times already,” he answered, quickening his pace to come within hearing distance.

“And I take it that you already know that our suspects may have posed as stewards to succeed at stealing the trophy.”

“Definitely, sir. But, I do have trouble identifying their faces due to the smoke.” Amman revealed, wondering what the Director was driving at with this.

“And it has never crossed your mind to get one of the analysts at HQ down here. Or, has it?” Commander Ali asked, striding stiffly like a robot ahead of him.

Amman was momentarily thrown off by this. Not just because the Director had uttered the words with an edge of frostiness to his tone. But because he hadn’t had time in the last thirty minutes to consider the option himself.

“No sir. I have had too many things on my plate that the thought of it hasn’t crossed my mind yet.” Amman admitted truthfully, never breaking stride.

“Make that your priority now, Amman. Get an expert analyst from HQ here as soon as possible. We’re losing daylight already as we are, and as you know; every minute counts.” Commander Ali lectured, making a sharp turn at a bend in the hall.

“I’ll see to it that it’s done—”

Commander Ali cut him off just as they arrived before a waxed, wooden door, bearing the plaque ‘Dressing Room A’. “Well, see to it! And also see to it that all the stewards are rounded up for questioning,” he continued at the same time he turned the doorknob. “I want to know how many of them are there, and what each one of them knows.”

“Very well, sir,” Amman said, stepping into the elaborate dressing room behind the Director.

Despite himself, Amman couldn’t overcome the temptation of taking in the breathtaking view of the dressing room a third time. The wide rectangular dressing room was out of this world. It was more like an executive suite of a five-star hotel in setting and grandeur; with its bright white walls, better accented by the dashing array of lighting fixtures that hung on its white lineated ceilings, like stars. The panels of walled-in lockers that formed a ring of bulwarks around the room. Likewise, the state-of-the-art Jacuzzi at its rear.

The only blemish, however, on the elaborated façade of the dressing room Amman knew was the giant hole, hollowed out perfectly on its northern wall.

The silence that followed the Director’s discovery of the enormous hole in the wall was one that Amman could swear with his life was saturated to the extent that the sound of a needle dropping could be heard clearly in the room.