The Great Heist

Chapter Eight

In another part of Qatar and approximately fourteen miles from the city of Lusail, Director Julia Riviera of the Museum of Islamic Art Doha paced the length of her streamlined office, looking from the telephone on the desk across her to her IPS Spitfire wristwatch.

It’s already 4:30 pm, she thought with a drawn-out sigh.

The director, a midget woman in her late fifties with prominent cheekbones and discerning ocean-blue eyes was not the type to worry or wait for so long on someone. More reason she had always loved dealing with people that stick to time all her life.

But today, she was doing both, which was quite unusual for someone like herself. No thanks to the honored guest she was due to receive here at the museum. 

What’s taking him so long?

As she continued with her pacing, her eyes flew to the telephone, then, to her wristwatch unconsciously again.

He was due to be here thirty minutes ago, she mulled over anxiously, biting her nails. Why is he not here already?

Maybe, he’s stuck in the traffic… Or, had a run-in with airport security or an official. Perhaps, because of the restrictions that must have been put in place already by the authorities at the airport…

She couldn’t help considering these possibilities as she thought of what could best explain his tardiness, while she continued pacing along her small office.

Earlier, she had heard the news of the fiasco at the Lusail Arena on TV, feeling truly sorry for the World Cup organizing committee; the law enforcement agencies, and the Qatari government as a whole, who have put in so much effort to make the football tournament a memorable one. Only to have it blow up in their faces in its final moments.

The optics must look really bad for the Qatari government at the moment.

But, that shouldn’t be the case, since he was officially invited here by the Al Thani family—the famous ruling monarch family in Qatar in collaboration with the Qatar Museums. This came to her as an afterthought after some time.

No Airport security or officials in the whole of Qatar would dare interfere with Al Thani's interest, she reasoned in a different light. At least, no one in his right mind. For an act of defiance to the Al Thani is as much defiance to the state of Qatar herself.

While this went on in her head, she was galvanized into the present by the shrill ring of the telephone on her desk.

This better be good news!

Reacting too fast for someone her age, she half-walked, half-trotted over to the desk, snatched the receiver from its cradle, and brought it to her ear.

“I have him and his team here in the museum already, Director.” A plummy voice declared from the other end.

“Good,” she said tersely, sighing in relief. “I’ll be down there with you in a minute.” She finished, returning the receiver to its place.

He has a team?

But I thought he worked alone, she pondered inwardly.

Her mind was fixated on this only for a few seconds before she gathered her thoughts and decided none of that mattered anymore. So long as the man was here now and can render a good service.

Adjusting the fit of her bespoke two-piece suit on her well-figured body, she walked out the door to meet with her august guest.     
                         
                    ***
Renowned art specialist Ander Leigh stared in awe at the Doha Museum of Islamic Art, spanning a staggering 45,000 m² on an artificial peninsula on the Corniche from about three hundred yards.

From that distance, the modern museum, taking its designs and plans after other ancient architecture across the Islamic world stood out from the projecting peninsula and against the gauzy Doha skyline, like a giant vessel docked in the harbor.

His expert gaze took in at once the haphazard geometrical shapes and patterns, that make up its five-story frontal and gave it the unerring appearance of the decks on a ship; the besnowed central tower that jutted out like a funnel and houses its high-domed atrium, and its cream-colored limestone façade that captures the constant changes in light and shade even on a snowy day like this.

Give it to Pei to always come up with a masterpiece, he thought, fascinated.

Having seen the museum a couple of times, mostly in pictures, or on a TV, he couldn’t help noticing how magnificent the building looked now that he had come face-to-face with it for the first time.

Used to settings like this one and visiting over one hundred museums across the globe in his ten years’ career—The Louvre, the Prado, and the Cairo Museum of Islamic Art—he felt a sudden pang of guilt at the thought of not visiting the Doha Museum of Islamic Art until now.

Well, it's not like it’s all my fault, he thought, taking a quick recourse.

Even though, he’d have loved to come to the Doha MIA earlier. It was not like he could just go around jet-setting from one museum to another. The fact is, most of his visits even to the museums that he had been to were strictly on a business or official basis.

He’s an art specialist, not a museumgoer, after all.

As he waited out in the open for the Museum’s Director alongside his team and Saad—the gangly man sent to fetch them at the Doha International Airport—shortly after the jet officially sent to fly them trans-continent had taxied on a private runway at the Doha International Airport, his gaze darted across to the purpose-built park on the eastern and southern façade of the building.

The forecastle of the great vessel, he thought.

From there, his gaze moved further out across to the two bridges that connected the southern front façade of the museum with the peninsula on which the park was located.

Looking away now, Ander watched through the spritzy snow shower as a sprite woman in a navy blue two-piece suit approached their position in quick, smooth strides. Her full lips thinned in a smile.

Seeing the woman was closing in on their position, he brushed off imaginary creases from his own Brioni suit and patted it at the right places. Apparently, in a vain attempt to look his dashing best and presentable.

Finally, the woman stopped short before him with a slender hand extended in greeting and her smile widening. “I’m Julia Riviera, the Director here at the Doha MIA. It’s nice to finally have you here, Mr. Leigh.” She said, blowing out a stream of fog.

“Trust me, it’s a pleasure to be here, Mrs. Riviera,” he returned warmly, giving her hand a strong grip and shake.  “And more pleasurable to find out that your English is so fluent.”

“Well, eight years in the States made sure of that,” the director said with an even broader smile.

“Honestly, you know I was actually expecting some Raghead with a long nose as the Director,” he confessed in a brutally honest sort of way. “And I was already prepping myself to put up with the accents, and you know, probably a translator. Then, I see you walking right toward us, and boom!”

“You really must be relieved then, to find out that you wouldn’t have to put up with any of that anymore.”

“You bet I do!” he conceded with a smile of his own. “Good to know the Hajjis are learning to put those who truly know how to run things at the helm of things.” He added in a whisper.

“I must confess to your face that you had me worried a bit, and I was beginning to have second thoughts.” The Director adroitly steered the course of their conversation, slipping her hand out of his bigger, stronger one, and returning it to her side.

“Oh that, I truly am sorry we came thirty minutes behind the appointed time,” he said with his earnest and sincerest look. “You must forgive me and understand that I’m a man that loves to keep to time. But, we do seem to have encountered some unforeseen circumstances on our flight here. And it has also come to my notice that there’s been so much going on around here lately, you know, the World Cup trophy going missing and all.”

“Well, the authorities are handling that as we speak,” the director said outright with a hint of indifference.

“Please, do meet my team, Director,” he said this time, gesturing to the group of groomed individuals in dark suits that stood beside him; each carrying different suitcases, which obviously held some apparatus. “I bet you must have heard or read somewhere before that I don’t go anywhere without my team, Director.”

‘I’m sorry to break it to you, but I have never heard or read of that anywhere until now,’ the Director would have loved to say but instead chose to stay silent.

“Matt Gordon here is our conservation technician,” he began the introduction, indicating the shaggy-haired man with glasses. “And this is Leon Ziegler; our specialist conservator-restorer,” this time he gestured at the wiry man to his right, who was wearing a goatee and soul patch. “This is Thaddeus Anderson, our art authenticator.” He continued, pointing at the chubbiest man in the group. “And finally, meet Keenan, our conservation scientist, and as it is, the only lady on the team.” He finished, jerking his hand at the sylph of a lady, whose mocha bangs free-fall down her forehead in wavy curls.

“Well, it’s nice meeting you all,” the director said, beaming a smile as she gave each member of his team a handshake. “I have heard and read so much about you, Mr. Leigh.” She added soon after she was done greeting his team.

At the mention of that, he instantly pulled a face, as if to say; ‘And what’s it you’ve heard about me?’

Seeing the look on his face, the Director quickly made a follow-up, “Only good things, I must admit,”

“Well, on the contrary, I must say you do have a way of staying off the radar because there’s really not much to be read about you out there,” he said matter-of-factly. “Trust me if there’s, which I’m sure there isn’t, given how many magazines I have pored through to get to know you, then I wouldn’t be expecting some long-nosed Mullah in the first place, Director.” He joked.

“Please call me, Julia,” the director quickly objected to his use of formalities.

“Oh, we already got on to the first-name basis, aren’t we Julia?” Ander said, impressed. “Well… while we are at it, I would also like to be addressed as Ander.”

Again, a warm smile came to play on the director’s scarlet, plump lips as she said, “I don’t seem to mind that either, Ander,”

“Now, I think I like the sound of that better,”

“We should go inside already,” Julia informed, indicating the weather with a flick of her hand. “Come right this way.” She said, leading the way.

Ander followed the lead of the Director immediately with his team towing right after.

“That there is our education wing,” Julia began in an attempt to initiate small talk, pointing behind her as they advanced toward the museum’s entrance.

He followed her outstretched hand with his eyes to the adjacent building connected to the museum by a large courtyard. “Read you had a library and a restaurant here, too.”

“Yeah, that’s IDAM. IDAM is an idea conceived from our goal of creating a restaurant that serves the best of French Mediterranean cuisine.” She explained. “You really need to try one of their food while you’re here because it’s believed that a visit to the MIA is incomplete without a slice at IDAM.”

“Duly noted,” he said with a curt nod of his head and added. “I also read somewhere that the great I. M. Pei had to come out of retirement to draw up the plans for this museum himself.”

“Yeah, that’s actually true,” Julia said with a tight smile. “If you know that, then, you must also know that we also foot the old man’s six-month all-expense-paid trip through the heart of Arabia and North Africa.”

“That too,” Ander confessed, chuckling.

“I wasn’t here until two years ago, but I’m guessing they made the old man an offer he couldn’t resist.”

“Must cost quite a fortune to be able to do that,” he retorted, giving her a crooked smile.

“Everyone has a price, you know, and that’s if you’re willing to pay,” Julia pointed out, “so, what do you think of our troubles? Do you think it’s worth it?” Julia asked, doing a great job of keeping up with the younger man’s pace.

Ander squeezed his face in a rather comical way and said, “As I am a huge fan of I. M. Pei, I would say the old China man never ceases to amaze.”

Just like he had done earlier, the Director made a face, which he sagely interprets as; ‘Is that all you have to say about our masterpiece?’

Reading a meaning to this, he quickly came up with something on the go. “Actually, I’m truly impressed with what I see. What a sight and what nice scenery to have it on. I hope that is fair enough?”

“Yeah, it sure is, fair enough,” she admitted, coming to an abrupt stop in front of the glass double doors to let the man in first. “Right after you, please.” She said this time to his team, watching as they all walked in.