Emerging from his car, he clutched his duffel bag tightly and strolled down the sidewalk, trying to look as normal a pedestrian as possible, minding his own business on the busy street. In truth, his palms were sweating, and he was checking out every person that walked past him, fearful that one of them might suddenly pounce and grab his bag. It was his first job, and there was no sense in not being paranoid and edgy. After all, in his line of work there was no space for failure. Once you failed, you were finished. He said a quick prayer to his God, hoping for success in his holy task. ‘It was God’s will to have His people protect their own rights, even through the means of war. I am the will of God.’ To calm his nerves, he tried to whistle as he walked towards his destination. It didn’t work. He just went out of tune every time somebody squeezed past him. Finally, he gave up. ‘Stay calm, go with the flow, try to blend in.’ those were the words that were drilled into his mind since he joined the academy when he was ten. It should have been second nature to him after 12 years. Yet now, it seemed as if all his training had deserted him.

After what seemed like eternity, he arrived in front of the embassy. ‘At last’, he sighed with relieve, out of the earshot of two guards standing in front of the gate. In reality, he had only walked five blocks. He took a quick glance at his shirt and pants, and the tag hanging from his shirt pocket. It simply read: ‘Ahmed Kathreda; Reporter; Al-Jazeera’ with his photograph printed on the left hand corner. Mustering all his will-power, he forced a small smile onto his face and walked towards the gates with his bag around his shoulders. ‘Take big and steady steps, so that you look confident. Remember that you are carrying out God’s will, and He will not fail you.’ The words of his mentor in the academy rang in his ears. He could hear his own heart thump as he flashed his tag towards one of the guards and walked past the gates. ‘Made it!’ he whooped in his heart, congratulating himself; ‘and they didn’t even check my bag.’ ‘Maybe this won’t be so hard after all,’ He muttered softly to himself. With each step he took towards the glass doors of the embassy, his confidence grew. Mentally, he tried to keep his emotions in check. Overconfidence was a trap he was determined not to fall in to.

Once in the lobby, he quickly slipped into one of the cushioned seats away from the receptionists’ counter. The embassy was packed with people patiently awaiting the arrival of the foreign minister, and he was confident nobody would take much notice of an Arab reporter from an Arab news agency in an Arab embassy. He rested his bag on his lap, one hand slowly reaching for the zip. With a quick glance around to ensure that no one was looking, he swiftly unzipped the bag and checked the contents inside. After making sure that everything was in order, he took out the day’s newspaper, zipped his bag and flipped through the world news. It was an old trick, but it effectively covered his face. He wasn’t afraid of people recognising him. Nobody would. It was the security cameras that he was hiding from. After all, if he succeeded, the identity of ‘Ahmed Kathreda; Reporter; Al-Jazeera’ would be useful later on in his career. Keeping one eye on the clock on the wall, he browsed the headlines splashed across the pages: ‘FOREIGN MINISTER TO BEGIN TALKS IN EMBASSY TODAY’; ‘NEW AGREEMENTS SET TO BE MADE IN THE BEST INTERESTS OF BOTH SIDES’. Pictures of the ambassador and the foreign minister accompanied the story. ‘Bullshit! It was just in their best interests, not ours! In time, God will punish these hypocrites!’ He cursed in his heart, careful not to voice his views out loud.

Fifteen minutes passed. ‘It’s time,’ he thought. The nerves gripped him again, but he fought to control it. Slowly, unassumingly, he folded the newspaper and opened the bag once more. Flipping on the small switch, he hastily covered the mechanism with the newspaper and zipped the bag. Standing up slowly without drawing too much attention, he dropped his bag on his seat, and made his way towards the toilets. His heart thumped louder with each stride he took. In his head, he repeated the words: ‘Stay cool, stay cool…’ He lowered his gaze to the floor, determined to avoid the glances of the other people in the embassy, afraid that they might see the fear in his eyes. By the time he reached the emergency exit near the toilets, he was almost overcome by nausea. Deftly slipping out, he hurriedly moved past the gates and the guards. He prayed that they would not notice the bag missing from his shoulders. When he was finally outside the embassy, he even managed a small wave at the guards before disappearing into the hoards of people walking on the street. ‘The hard part was over!’ Now he just had to wait. With a spring in his legs, he made his way to his car and jumped into the driver’s seat. Once inside he uttered a quick prayer of thanks. He had trusted in God to aid him. Now his sacred task was almost complete.

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel for the whole of ten minutes. He could barely contain the excitement and anticipation building in his chest when the clock counted down the minutes and seconds. He tried not to think of the consequences if he failed. ‘No, it was impossible. God is on my side.’ He pushed it to the back of his mind. Beads of perspiration slowly slipped down his forehead as the moment grew nearer. He waited with bated breath as it reached the final minute. ‘Just a little while more…’ In his heart he was now urging for time to past faster, fearing that his plot would be foiled in this final sixty seconds. He counted, ‘Twenty seconds, ten seconds, five seconds…’ At the final second the whole street seemed to stand still and silent. In his eyes the people stopped walking at mid-stride, and the traffic on the road ceased to move. Suddenly the conversation on the streets stopped, and so did the screeching of rubber tyres. It was as if he could hear the noise if a pin fell. Then, it happened.

BOOM!

A huge explosion ripped through the lobby of the embassy, the bright light blinding him momentarily; the noise deafening. Fire spilled out from the window shafts and the door which he had walked past just minutes ago. The two guards were knocked off their legs by the seismic repercussions of the explosion, their head hitting the pavement. Immediately the whole lobby of the embassy was engulfed in flames, and it slowly crept towards the upper floors. The screams of the people on the street as they fled could be heard clearly even in his car. People in cars and offices nearby burst out of their doors and ran off on foot as fast as they could. He watched quietly in his car as pandemonium erupted before his eyes. He was numbed by the explosion -- his explosion. He had succeeded, but he felt no gratification. Instead, he could feel the fear of the people outside flow through every vein in his body, gripping his soul. Every face he saw was contorted with terror, running in the opposite direction. He bit his lips tightly to avoid from screaming out loud himself. He had meticulously planned every stage of this explosion, but nothing could have prepared him for the real thing. Even he was rattled by the destruction he himself caused. Five minutes passed, and he finally managed to move. He gripped the steering wheel tightly until his knuckles turned white and drove away from the scene. He just wanted to get away from it as quick as possible. As he drove, he glanced down at his body. His legs were shaking as they pressed the pedal, and he could hear the sound of his teeth chattering against each other. This time he was heading to the airport. He had a plane to catch.

The same time next day he was already in the middle of no where. In a small hut, he flipped through the newspapers. His name tag and clothes from the day before was thrown on the floor, temporarily forgotten. The headlines on the front page screamed: ‘EMBASSY BOMBED! 30 DEAD! 70 WOUNDED!’ He read through the story slowly. It didn’t matter to him if the foreign minister was safe. His job was only to cause terror. ‘It was only meant to be a warning, not an assassination attempt.’ A pang of guilt gripped him as he saw the casualties list, particularly the name of the ambassador, and he quickly said a word of prayer. ‘In a war, sacrifices are needed to ensure success.’ That was the only comfort he could afford himself now. He would need to stay strong. In his line of work his heart needed to be as hard as stone. There would be a time when his services would be needed again.