So, I have some good news. After some time in absentia in the literature section, I have decided to make a comeback. This time, with a book I've been working on for over a year now. First, I need y'all to understand that I have decided to bring The Great Heist back for the same reason I had it posted here a while back—for publicity and awareness. As for those who may ask why I took this story's page down in the first place, my answer to you is that I did so for two concrete reasons (I wished it were actually two, but let's make do with that figure for now): First, the novel Had Been entered into a competition (still is, by the way), and as per the competition's guidelines, all entrants must not have their books published or posted on any platforms for the duration of the competition (Now, I know some will say why bother again then since the competition is still onGoing? My answer to this is, the Reason is known only to me). And I would like to keep it this way.

My second reason, which is secondary to the first but nevertheless important, is, because I couldn't continue the story at the time due to some reasons (which I'm intentionally withholding), and for the fear of plagiarism. (Mind you, the fear persists even now, 'cause I can't have someone from nowhere steal my IP—Intellectual Property—from me without batting an eyelid). I mustn't forget to add for those who will still be intending to do this, that they will be doing so at the expense of a fine (that's even if they are lucky), or jail time. To these bad eggs, it's in your good interest to know that this book has been copyrighted; and any copies or publications of it seen anywhere without the author's consent and approval will be seen and treated as an infringement of that right under the law.

Now, that this is out of the way. I must air out my agenda for this book to (you) my audience. Please know that at the forefront of my agenda is to promote this book and garner as much readership as I can, so as to get it the right publicity it deserves (hopefully, this earns me the big break I've been pining for). To this end, I have some things put in place. However, I'm aware that to achieve this, the support of (you) my readers is needed. Which is why I would like to first inform you that I will be posting this book on two platforms—Wattpad and Nairaland. (My reasons for this course of action, I intend to keep it close to my chest as well). Anyway, I would like to clarify from here on out that the order of updates will come in this manner—Wattpad before Nairaland. However, for those who will not be able to rein in their curiosity and excitement over the book, a link will be dropped here for them after each update On Wattpad (This I'll be counting on, actually).

As part of my agenda this time around, I have also decided to put in motion a plan to make the most of my posting this story here on Nairaland. Meaning that I wouldn't mind earning as little as a stipend from posting my story on this platform. (I'm not ashamed to say this if that's what you're thinking).

Seeing that there are no incentives whatsoever coming from the part of the Nairaland management to the writers on here. I am, hereby, unabashedly declaring that I wouldn't mind a stipend or even tips from any of my audience for the great work I will be doing here. (Please do know that this is in no way a form of extortion or any means of Baiting any of my readers into sending me money, as this is opposed to the code I lived by and that of this platform. That being said, I feel I need to make you understand that this decision was solely arrived at by me as a means to make something for myself as a writer (This is after I quit my job as a Freelance ghostwriter). And seeing that I will be focusing only on this story at least for the foreseeable future, There arises the billion-Naira question: What must a man do to survive?

It should be noted, however, that I'm not forcing this down anyone's throat. This message is entirely for those who will feel obliged to enrich me through the abundance of their hearts alone. My account Details will be dropped later on as we progress with the story.

As for likes, shares, and mentions, I promised I wouldn't be bothered as much by them (For the time being at least). As I am sure, They will come aplenty in the coming weeks (This is not to sound cocky or anything).

To those who are familiar with the book already, I would like to give you a heads-up that some changes have been made since you last read this book here. (However, note that these changes are not only minute but also insignificant. And tends to redress the technical aspects of its writing, rather than affect the overall plot of the story).

Lastly, On the issue of updates. As always, I'm not making any promises. Other than the fact that this story will be updated twice a week. For now. The days of which I can't currently specify. (Note: This, however, may change with time).

Without further wasting your time. Let's get right down to business.

Wait!!!

There's one more thing I need to add…

Also, I think it is right to inform you (all) at this point that I intend to keep this page as interactive as could be. So, brace yourself, 'cause I will be throwing out questions to you. In return, i will be expecting your candid responses and savvy inputs, in order to be able to see things in a new light and better finesse the plot of the story.

With That said, I think that will be all. For now.

Wait!!!

I think there's one more thing I'm missing… (Pay me No Heed, i'm just messing around with ya).

The first two chapters of The Great Heist have already dropped on Wattpad. You can check it out this minute via this link:https://www.wattpad.com/story/351603617?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create&wp_uname=arkyub&wp_originator=JB4JG98NDq5%2FGVOCEmnz3DTsnlOo4gZxkWLI4TvfWnlbBHLhjHyUlxZ%2Flfn18Arq1%2FJO%2Bm90Bg6Y8345GqivojefGdAsPGAjYPY1lVcq8mJxAZQg5F4m4Mp47ya6ka0z

You can also watch the book trailer on YouTube via:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ic8sauT5SzM?feature=shared

Before update begins tomorrow, let's start with a roll call: muhammed50, metalgear11, silverlinen, Blossompowerpuf, everton4life, WriterX, Apollux, Xavier55, Emperordynasty, holarbolu, Rosemary33, Bam17, kayo80, OluwabuqqyYOLO, Epluribusunom(m), arkonpoint, obehiD, Cynthialinlin, Divepen1.

Dedication:
This book is specially dedicated to Silverlinen—my brother and one true Stan on nairaland and the World beyond it—and anyone who has ever soaked garri before.

DisclaimeR/Author's Note:

This story despite its likeness to reality is entirely a work of fiction. However, all artwork, Intelligence agencies, locations, sportspersons, royalty, and dignitary names mentioned in this book belong to real people and places and are not imaginary.

Copyright © Akinbami Hayoub Adeoye 2023

This book is subjected to copyright and may not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, licensed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the author, or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text will be treated as a direct infringement of the author’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Salahdin:
Before update begins tomorrow, let's start with a roll call: muhammed50, metalgear11, silverlinen, Blossompowerpuf, everton4life, WriterX, Apollux, Xavier55, Emperordynasty, holarbolu, Rosemary33, Bam17, kayo80, OluwabuqqyYOLO, Epluribusunom(m), arkonpoint, obehiD, Cynthialinlin, Divepen1.

Yo!!

Salahdin my broski

I am here, so where the rest of them at?

Y'all should come around fr, things are about to go down.

ObehiD, Bam17 i really want you both to check this out.

Facts:
The World Cup football tournament is the most-anticipated, the most-watched, the most-talked-about event on planet Earth.

The World Cup is the most prestigious association football tournament in the world; not only that, but it’s also the most widely viewed and followed single sporting event in the world. The cumulative viewership of all matches of the 2006 World Cup was estimated to be 26.29 billion with an estimated 715.1 million people watching the final match, a ninth of the entire population of the planet. At an estimated cost of over $14.2 billion, it was the most expensive World Cup to date.

A combined 3.572 billion viewers – more than half of the global population aged four and over – tuned in to world football’s ultimate competition, according to audience data for official broadcast coverage of the 2018 FIFA World Cup.

Qatar is by far the only country with the highest buying value of any country in the Art market.

Sheikha Al-Mayasa Bint Hamas Al-Thani, the sister of Qatar’s ruling Emir Tamim bin Hamad Al-Thani as the Chairperson of Qatar Museums alone, reportedly bought Paul Gauguin’s ‘When Will You Marry? In February 2015 from the Rudolph Staechelin family for about USD 300 million, Cezanne’s The Card Players in 2012 for USD 250 million, as well as Mark Rothko’s White Center—Yellow, Pink, and Lavender on Rose—in 2007 for USD 70 million, and works from other artists like Andy Warhol, Roy Lichtenstein, and Jeff Koons.

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.

silverlinen:


Yo!!

Salahdin my broski

I am here, so where the rest of them at?

Y'all should come around fr, things are about to go down.

ObehiD, Bam17 i really want you both to check this out.

Welcome my brother. Help me tell them say we're at it again!

Here we go, folks! The first update was promised and delivered (I'm sorry it came late, though).

As stated above in my note to the would-be readers of my work, I hinted at keeping this thread as interactive as possible. As a result,
Here's my question to (you) my readers for this prologue:

Question 1: Fiction aside, In your View; do you think it's possible to steal the World Cup? (Don't just read! Share your views with me).

Oh, wait! Did I mention that chapter two of the story has just dropped on Wattpad?

Here's the link to the story for those who would love to stay ahead of every update: https://www.wattpad.com/story/351603617?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_reading&wp_page=reading&wp_uname=arkyub&wp_originator=85sroadJfG7vm%2B1XT1sQM2n4Y1ekSbZ1RFd3nsrNzRqnGM0y9c8S9ptjG0C8WhahdmB0CRCgoao1zGNE6%2BLFHrqJWOF%2FADoaoAtY3P1T2YRmi1s4VYqcOXEc33ukJIeZ

Ibunkun1, meneski, ashatoda, WriterX, Apollux
Something's cooking over here.

Here and Reading This looks good!

i don sidion for front sit gidigba

WriterX:
Here and Reading This looks good!

Welcome aboard, bigi man.

Abdulreheem:
i don sidion for front sit gidigba

Welcome brotherly... I'm sorry I forgot to mention you.

So, I have decided to bless you with not just one but two updates, today. That sounds super cool, isn't it?

Chapter One

The Lusail Iconic stadium was a madhouse.

Presently, its 105 m x 68 m (344 ft by 223 ft) grass pitch was nothing short of a crime scene from a mystery flick with the current buzz of activity. Everyone from standard security personnel at the stadium to stewards, and the smart-looking police officers and their counterparts from other Qatari Intelligence agencies—mainly, the Qatar State Security had one thing, or the other to attend to at the moment.

This had been the new normal in the stadium ever since The World Cup Trophy had been pronounced missing by FIFA Officials. And had lasted for about thirty minutes, or so, with each and every one of the men responsible for security and policing present here at the stadium being thrown into total restiveness.

Things happened really fast after the smoke incident. Men from the Rescue Police Department—otherwise known here as Al Fazaa— heavily dressed and equipped as stormtroopers had stormed the scene, joining with the stewards and the stadium security personnel to evacuate at once the high-profile targets present at the arena. The list began with the Emir of Qatar, the FIFA President and his retinue of high-ranking FIFA officials, and other powerful Heads of State. Followed by the crowds—women and children first—before men as it was protocol.

Neck-deep in the onerous task of ensuring the safety of lives and possessions at the stadium, none of the men had noticed the World Cup Trophy was being moved from its place on the pedestal before its actual disappearance. Even those that did, hadn’t a cause to worry then since it had been with the stewards, which as it appears at the time was also standard protocol.

It was not until much later that the real tragedy struck. When the FIFA officials, who after an overdue time of expecting the trophy to return to their care declared it missing.

All hell had broken loose then. Every stadium security personnel and policeman trained men as they were had been tossed into instant action, fanning out, and covering every ground of the stadium in search of the missing trophy.

Security protocols have been set in place almost instantly. The stadium itself had been placed on lockdown. Stop and search of the spectators within the walls of the stadium had been initiated as well. After being searched, spectators have been advised to exit the stadium proper via a single entrance.

After a long time of searching and combing through most of the sections of the stadium, a police posse eventually stumbled upon a hole in the wall in one of the dressing rooms.
Further searches by the same team of policemen had yielded the discovery of the hole in the wall linking to one of the malls in the Stadium’s shopping complex.

The search continued much afterward. Better yet, a wider search net had since been cast by the stadium securities to apprehend the suspects responsible for the disappearance of the World Cup Trophy.

But, unfortunately, all those efforts put in by every one of these men had yielded nothing of worth so far.

In other words, the World Cup Trophy is still very much missing, and yet to be found.

***
Outside the stadium was no different.

In fact, the precinct around the football stadium, which features major facilities such as the circular plaza, shopping centers, car park, and the wide pedestrian concourse that extends outward from the water was crowded with an overflowing mass of crowds.

Among these are policemen and stewards, who coordinated searches at major strategic points of the ground. The scrum of reporters and their mobile trucks pooling around the area closest to the Police line. And also, the stern-faced military policemen stationed within the stadium’s perimeter, who were on red alert, and looked ready and set to bring down even a fly at the slightest detection of threat.

Amidst the crowds of tastefully dressed men of the press and their collection of trucks affixed with satellite dishes pointing skyward was willowy, palish-complexioned Liam Nielson, dressed in a long, knee-length beige down jacket and blue denim jeans. Young, reedy Liam Nielson was having the longest streak of luck for a day in his career as a field reporter for the BBC One Channel.

As a fresh-off-the-boat Communication student from England’s prestigious Oxford University, his wildest dream had been realized two years earlier, when he had been recruited as a junior staffer in the English Giant broadcasting firm.

Liam had worked from the background as a content creator at the BBC StoryWorks in his first year as a recruit at the Beeb. There he created engaging custom content for the BBC’s global creative content division alongside several others.

Having struggled in that division for some time, he had applied internally for a job at the editorial department of BBC Radio 5 Live but had gotten instead the position of a secretary.
The job had come with the description that his work was not limited to clerical duties alone, but also covers writing, typing, and editing news and sports content, which he can never take credit for.

His first breakthrough came when he took an interest in a story involving a series of murder cases in Oxfordshire, a town in southern England and northwest of London. ‘The McClusky case’ as it was famously known to the public, which he ran and did background investigations on for several weeks did not only make the headlines of every major broadcasting station throughout England but sent shock waves through the United Kingdoms as a whole.

The story, which had given the police the edge to apprehend the suspect responsible for the murders had made him an overnight success. And as such, had earned him the spot of a junior field reporter at BBC One—BBC’s flagship network.

Further successes didn’t follow until three months later when he was assigned the position of a field reporter for BBC One’s live coverage of the Qatar 2022 FIFA World Cup. That had been the biggest break of his life at that point.

As it is now, things were about to get even better. Liam Neilson was just about launching his career straight into the stratosphere with the most anticipated piece of news of the century.

Who would have believed a small boy from the small inland county of Berkshire would be reporting live from the biggest event in the world, within just two years at the BBC? [/i]he thought proudly for a moment. [i]Who exactly would have believed such?

Shaking off the thought and others like it, Liam Nielson stared into the focus of the camera a few feet away. Puffed out a few shaky breaths as he readied himself to unload on the millions watching the BBC One channel from across the world the news that would echo down the history book as one of the world’s greatest tragedies.

As he bided his time, he couldn’t help but wonder why he was feeling apprehensive. Nor could he miss how the fingers of his right hand wrapped around the handle of his Rode Reporter Omni Dynamic XLR microphone had become shaky all of a sudden.

Could this have resulted from the weather? Or, from my anxiousness? He wondered to himself for some time on the spot, coming to an agreement with the latter in a heartbeat.

“We’re go in three…, two…, one!” The voice of his videographer from the spot across him, prompting him with a count of his fingers pulled him from his short absorption.

Gathering his thoughts, Liam ignored his inner trepidations, gave his videographer a subtle nod of acknowledgment, and began. “Hi, this is Liam Nielson reporting live from the Lusail Iconic Stadium in Qatar for BBC One.”

He sucked in a breath before droning on, “Fifteen minutes after a bomb went off some five hundred yards from the Lusail Arena, the much-awaited World Cup final match between England and Brazil has been suspended indefinitely. This comes right after the 18-karat gold World Cup Trophy has been declared missing. The Trophy valued at around £16 million in today’s gold market was declared missing by FIFA Officials immediately after the smoke incident resulting from the heavy use of flares and smoke grenades in the arena. Which has been explained by the authorities as a smokescreen employed by the perpetrators of this crime to carry out their despicable acts.”

There was a brief pause before he continued. “Police and other Law enforcement agencies have since risen to the challenge, placing the Arena and everything within a two-mile radius of it on total lockdown, while also, initiating a stop and search for the spectators.”

“Here’s an exclusive, exclusively for our viewers at home,” he said with a tightly drawn face before he added, “I have it from a reliable source that the police had discovered a hole in one of the dressing rooms in their search through the stadium. And we have reasons to believe this giant hole found by the police fed into one of the shopping malls in the Lusail Arena shopping complex. From this, I think it’s safe to assume for now that, the World Cup trophy may have left the Lusail Iconic Stadium already. And that I tell you is a possibility the authorities are not ready to consider as yet. However, the big question now remains; where’s the World Cup Trophy, and who are the masterminds behind its disappearance?”

The loud whirr of a patrol helicopter high up in the sky drowned out his voice for thirty seconds, or thereabouts.

When his voice finally returned over the microphone seconds later, the camera had panned away from him, and now laterally covered the Bell 407GX patrol helicopter doing a flyby in the distance. “What we just saw now in the Lusail skyline is a patrol helicopter. And from the look of things, it appears the hunt for the World Cup Trophy may have just begun.”

Watching his videographer bunch his hands into a fist as he signaled for a wrap, he quickly added on a final note. “That will be all for now on BBC One’s live update from the Lusail Iconic Stadium. More updates to follow within the hour."

Chapter Two

Since the completion of over 70% of its infrastructure in 2018, the planned city of Lusail was witnessing an unprecedented record of activities on its streets so far.

This was currently evident on all streets within the Sports district and its axis; as people—mostly locals— from all walks of life gathered around as bystanders to witness what seemed to be a rather unexpected ending to the greatest event on earth which they have been a witness to for a month now.

However, it appears this new surge in activities was not about to end just yet. Because a new wave of siren wails split the Lusail air, as a motorcade barreled down the Al-Khor Coastal road of its Sports District.

The fleet, led by the sweepers—three Porsche Panamera police cruisers—and guarded at the rear by four Toyota Land Cruiser V8s breezed past the crowds of bystanders lining the Al-Khor Coastal road on both sides in a stream. Then, followed a sharp right at a turn into the stadium’s proper, before coming to a screeching stop in the large expanse of its parking lots.

What happened afterward saw a slight drop in the temperature around the stadium and its parking lots. As full-vested policemen holding large K9—canines—on thick leashes and sleekly-dressed agents from the Qatar State Security poured out of the vehicles in droves, and stood guard around the only Porsche Cayenne amongst the fleet.

Barely seconds later, the death seat door of the Porsche Cayenne popped open. And out came a strapping man, whose toned six-feet-two physique hinted at regular visits to the gym. Similarly, his slightly tanned olive skin, straight big nose upturned at the bridge, hard jawline and defined cheekbones were enough telltale indicators of his Arabian ancestry.

Commander Ali Daei, the shaggy-haired young Director of the Qatar State Security spared a cursory glance at the stadium bowl’s elaborate exterior the instant he stepped out into the crisp evening air and scrunched up his nose in pure distaste.

Why spend so much on building a stadium when there’s so much that could still be done for the Nation’s Defense and Intelligence? [/i]He thought resentfully for an instant there. [i]Such a total waste of money and resources!

Tossing the thought from his mind there on the spot, Commander Ali made briskly toward the Stadium’s northwestern entrance and was followed in tandem by the agents and team of policemen in his entourage.

Halfway to the northwestern entrance of the stadium, he was met by a short barrel of a man in a trench coat and cargo pants.

“Nurahib bialqayid,” the man said once within earshot. His breath jetted out in a cloud of condensation in front of him. Welcome Director.

“What’s the sitch on ground, Amman?” Commander Ali asked in passing, never breaking his strides.

Amman, who was just about to stop dead in his tracks for the Director fell right back in step behind the muscular man before diving into details. “The trophy is still very much missing, sir. I had the police and stewards initiate a lockdown of the stadium at the instance of the incident. We have also blocked all access to the stadium and are now coordinating a stop and search of the spectators in the stadium at ‘Entrance Gate One’.”

“That’s some balls you got rolling already, Amman.” Commander Ali said with a brief nod of approval as he approached the Stadium’s ‘Entrance Gate Four’.

“I would also like to add that, we found a hole in one of the dressing rooms that link to one of the malls in the stadium complex,” Amman informed, taking two steps at a time to keep up with the Director’s brisk pace.

The information, however small and insignificant seemed to carry some weight, because the Director slowed his pace a little, and echoed. “A hole in the wall?” He picked up the pace seconds later. And so did his details, who had slackened their pace at the same time as him.

“Yes, a hole sir. It was discovered by some uniforms some minutes after the trophy went missing.” Amman explained. “Our working theory earlier is, that it’s likely to be the escape route used by the robbers, but it appears it isn’t.”

“And by that, you mean there is a higher chance the trophy has left the stadium. Don’t you, Amman?” Commander Ali said, making the first eye-to-eye contact with him.
Amman was hesitant before giving a response this time. “I think that’s a possibility we may have to consider now, sir,”

“If we are considering that angle at all, I want to believe you have set in motion some plans to retrieve the trophy as we speak.”

“Definitely sir,” Amman said with some confidence. “I have sent out a helicopter patrol and I also intend to have the cops initiate a roadblock on every street within a five-mile radius.”

“Just a five-mile radius? It’s the World Cup trophy we’re speaking of here for God’s sake, Amman.” Aggravated by this, Commander Ali halted in his tracks at once. “That won’t do. Not anymore, Amman.” He spelled it out this time. “What would do now is, scramble all police units in the city, and have them turn every city block into checkpoints.”

“I will see right to that, sir,” Amman assured, patting the pockets of his cargo pants for his walkie-talkie.

“Well, see to that already, Amman. We don’t want the robbers; whoever they are to get out of the city. Do we now?” Commander Ali said this time in a clipped tone and comport that reveals he was done talking.

Keying into this as well, Amman walked away toward the direction they had come, leaving the Director and his details on the spot.

The instant Amman was out of earshot, Commander Ali turned to his details and said. “I hope someone among you guys at least knows the way around here because I think I may need some help getting to the control room.”

There you have it, good people.

Here's today's question, by the way: If you were in Amman's shoes, what would you have done differently at the discovery that the World Cup trophy is missing?

And remember the golden rule: keeping this thread buzzing and interactive.

So, don't hesitate to air out your opinions!!!

silverlinen:


Yo!!

Salahdin my broski

I am here, so where the rest of them at?

Y'all should come around fr, things are about to go down.

ObehiD, Bam17 i really want you both to check this out.

Awe. I didn't think anyone would still remember me on this platform. Will check it out. Thanks, Silv. It's been hell long, fr.

Bam17:


Awe. I didn't think anyone would still remember me on this platform. Will check it out. Thanks, Silv. It's been hell long, fr.

Well, you're not forgotten ma'am.

Bam17:


Awe. I didn't think anyone would still remember me on this platform. Will check it out. Thanks, Silv. It's been hell long, fr.

Wouldn't forget my famz on here

Yeah, been a long time really... been giving you loads of dm's on insta though, you aren't replying, thought you were busy.

interesting

silverlinen:



Wouldn't forget my famz on here

Yeah, been a long time really... been giving you loads of dm's on insta though, you aren't replying, thought you were busy.

Awe. I don't even have Instagram on my phone anymore. Like, I cut down on anything that has to do with social media. Been going about my final year stuffs. Like, the stress in it is nothing to write home about. I just can't wait for it to end.

Salahdin:


Well, you're not forgotten ma'am.

Awe. I'm glad, Salahdin. I'm definitely going to read your story. Gosh, I had no idea people were still posting stories on Nairaland. Like, it's been long on this platform.

I'm dazzled by this write-up. You are just too good!

Bam17:

Awe. I'm glad, Salahdin. I'm definitely going to read your story. Gosh, I had no idea people were still posting stories on Nairaland. Like, it's been long on this platform.

I would pretty much love that. And I promise to return the favor (I see you have a new book here already: Crushed).