The Great Heist

Chapter Thirteen

I am super late for work!

World-famous TV personality—Layla Naseer—knew this even without ever daring a glance at the digital clock on the air-smoothed dashboard of her Ford Escape Hybrid 2022 Edition, as she rounded a corner in the western part of the Wadi Al Sail district of downtown, Doha, Qatar.

Ignoring the incessant buzzes of her cell phone mounted on the car phone holder atop the dashboard, and at the same time trying hard to keep herself from being nervous any more than she already had, she put her foot down on the gas. And stared rather absentmindedly at the needle on the speedometer dial as it shifted to 120km per hour.

The Director would be madly crossed at me, she concluded in her mind at the thought of his several calls she had decidedly ignored today. This recent one, of course, would make it fifteen in total.

As if not arriving at work one hour after she was due to resume, as well as ignoring the Director’s calls and that of her secretary a couple of times already was not bad enough; she had even broken several traffic rules on her way here, today.

She was certain to get a speeding ticket from the Qatar traffic police.
But that was the least of her problems at the moment. As it were now, she has a more pressing problem than that. That imperatively being, arriving at work within the next ten minutes.

And that she must do at all costs!

I just hope the Director will understand my position in all these, she thought with a heart full of hope. That none of it was in any way my fault.

Or, how was she supposed to know that the twenty-four kilometers ride from Lusail—her residence—to Doha—her workplace that she had always made under thirty minutes would drag out for almost an hour and a half? How was she supposed to know some thieves from nowhere would steal the World Cup trophy today, of all days, and disrupt everything for everyone, including herself?

She knew she ought to feel some remorse or cringe at the strangeness of her train of thought. But surprisingly, she felt nothing of the sort at the moment. Rather than that, what she felt was guiltless conviction and refuge in the apparent fact, that there were no wrongs or faults on her part to be held responsible for her tardiness.

After all, she had left her home in the Waterfront Residential district at the same time she did every other day. Took the same route she had taken to work for the past three years since she moved to Lusail. Better yet, she had graciously declined her husband’s offer to eat before leaving for work and had avoided other things that might have resulted in her not being punctual to work.

But, despite everything, she had been unfortunate enough to be caught up within the city limits of Lusail when the first roadblock had been set up in the city. Before she knew what was happening, she had found herself snarled up in the gridlock that ensued shortly after all outbound and inbound transits had been grounded to a halt throughout the city.

It had taken efforts, relentless pleading; flashing her ID into the faces of several cops, and even, her reputation as a top Media personality to get past the police roadblock on the Doha expressway, very close to the Gharrafat Al-Rayyan to finally arrive here in the city center of Doha.

Coming up now on Khalifa Street in the same Wadi Al Sail district, she could easily see her destination—the Qatar Radio and Television Corporation complex—come fully into view. The complex which also serves as the headquarters of Al Jazeera Network where she works spreads out stragglingly before her.

Taking a hard right at the next turn on the street, she slammed on the brake, bringing the car to an abrupt stop before the complex’s entrance gate.

Having no luxury of time at all, she honked thrice; drumming her fingers impatiently on the car’s steering wheel while she waited for one of the securities on the property to come out of the sentry box by the entrance gate.