God's Own Hand

Disclaimer: This story does not in any way reflect my political, religious, or moral views. It's just a story of what might have been.

The explosion ripped through a crowded area of the Jerusalem shopping district shortly after six pm. Dozens were scythed down like so much grain by the blast. Shrieks of pain and wails of anguish quickly broke the moment of stunned silence.

Quickly on the scene, police and emergency crews surveyed the carnage and provided what comfort they could to the injured. They were, unfortunately, experienced at such things, given the political climate of their city. Far too many victims would not require their aid.

Policemen interviewed witnesses and several spoke of a man who had cried out to God, thus drawing their attention, before seeming to disintegrate in the force of the blast. Further questioning revealed little.

The man had been young, perhaps in his twenties, nondescript in appearance, much like any other on the street that evening. Little matter. Ascertaining the body of the perpetrator would not be difficult.

Earlier that day, a young man had been shaken from his trance-like state of prayer by his handlers. "It is time," was all that was said when his dark eyes focused on their faces. Today he thought as he stood up. Today is the day.

He washed quickly, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He was ready. Today.

After changing his clothes he walked into the small kitchen. One of the men had laid out some food for him. Nothing much, just bread and fruit. He walked past it. I don't feel like eating.

"You should eat," came a voice behind him, "you will need it today."

The young man hesitated. I'm not hungry. The man looked at him. He stashed some fruit in his pocket and picked up a piece of the bread to nibble on.

The other man nodded. "It's time to go." He turned and walked out, the young man following.

Leaving the safe house, the young man climbed into the passenger side of a battered Land Rover while one of his handlers took the wheel. The other man drove separately. I wish I could drive myself today, he thought distractedly. The Land Rover was registered to the driver and security was tight at the Barrier. Coming through in someone else's vehicle would arouse suspicions. He frowned. They probably wouldn't let me through. It never occurred to him that the driver's main purpose was to make sure that he didn't change his mind and run.

As they drove through the streets of the small community

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