Hand of God (?)

Nursing his gourd of mate, Thierry is telling for the umpteenth time how he and Butch managed to thwart the attack of the one-armed bandit.

“There we were, caught between a rock and a hard place, we did not fancy our chances.”

“Not a donkey in hell’s chance, what with all those bullets pinging around us.”

The camera swivels round to where Butch sits, pipe in hand, like some amiable lawyer at the hearth.

Thierry goes on:

“In point of fact, we were taken as much by surprise as the Mullah there.”

The camera swivels round to where Mad Mullah Mustafa lies, like Cacofonix at the end of every Asterix, tongue tied and bound.

That damn Mullah, says Khalid Twelve – a.k.a. the Beeston boy. Better keep his clap shut, or they going to fix him damn good.

Everyone is nodding in agreement. The Mullah certainly got his comeuppance.

Flashback of the Mullah looking up into a shaft of blinding light

He cries out

As the AK47 is ripped from his hands.

“To quote Maradona, must’ve been the hand of God.”

Thierry passes on the gourd to Khalid Two who places his lips tentatively over the bombilla.

A discussion breaks out.

Where indeed did the shaft come from? – Was it friendly Pledeians or that aforementioned Klingon ship lurking on the dark side of moon come to check up on earthling weapon technology?

The improbable deus ex machina has the jihadistas scratching their heads at the mysterious ways of – as Butch puts it - He who pulls the strings.