up the child if anyone tried to rescue him or even touch him.  He seems to be wearing a belt of some kind.  Oh, my God, it’s a belt of dynamite!  The shooter has a belt of dynamite strapped around this child, and he has made intentions that he will blow up this child with no warning if anyone even touches him!  Oh, my God!”

     “Oh, my God, my child!  My son!”

     She so wanted to see him, touch him, hug him, as she looked around the barricade to see her son walking towards the policeman.  She made her way through the parents who begged her to stay with them, and a few men who tried to hold her back, but she broke through them, and made her way up the side of the barricade.  She wanted her...

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