The Last Infidel by Spikes Donovan Page A

a star made of pure silver.  He looked closely at it, turning it over in his hands, and said, “Number thirteen?  You’ve got to be kidding me, Bashar.”
    “You’ve always said the thirteenth hole was your lucky hole!”  Bashar laughed.  “This pass, this shield, will expire, as will all of my passes, on the morning of the sixth.  I can only hope word of that will not have reached any of the soldiers.  It might help you get out of Murfreesboro.  But it might not.”  Bashar ran his fingers through his thick, black, oily hair.  “But there’s something else.  The ring around Murfreesboro has been tightened.  Every exit, every road, is being watched. And a few smaller units are now, as of last night, taking up positions on every road. You will not get as far as you did a few nights ago.  And yes, you can have your truck back because you still have work to do.”
    “You’re a study, old man,” Cody said.  “You kill like there’s no tomorrow and yet you somehow seem human.”
    “I will forget you said that,” Bashar said.
    “Why me, Bashar?” Cody asked.  “Of all the people in this big, wide world, why me?”
    Basher smiled and nodded.  “I will assure you that I am faithful to the writings of Mohammed and loyal to Allah.  You have paid the jizyah , the capitation tax they levy on all the non-Muslims that they do not kill.”
    “You mean the ones you don’t kill?”
    “The ones they do not kill, enslave, or take as wives.  You have paid in labor because you have built the mosque.  It is with a clear conscience I can offer you this way of escape.  But it is also possible for others to stop your escape.  No one will question me – not even the imam.”
    “Why not let the others go?” Cody asked dutifully, concerned for those who worked with him.  “Why can’t you allow Jose to escape?”
    Bashar smiled, but he rolled right on, changing the subject.  “After today, we will no longer speak to one another like this.  It will be better for both of us – and I know you will understand.  And if I should see you on the street, be sure I will make life difficult for you because I am also being watched because our relationship is suspect.  I will single you out tonight – but know I do so with great pain and anguish and that, in another time and place, we could have played a round of golf.”
    Cody nodded and, after a brief pause, said, “A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.”
    “You taught me that,” Bashar said.  “But you ask me why you and not the others?”
    Cody nodded. 
    “I once promised myself I would never tell you or anybody this because, for security reasons, we had to keep it secret,” Bashar said.  “You, my friend, once protected my son Jadhari, and you took a bullet for him when he was very, very small.”

{ 13 }
    Cody Marshall sat at the small, wooden desk in the basement of the Greenspan Realty and Auction building.  He was leaning forward with his arms on the table, caressing the hands of Lisa Maddox, the mother of Marcus, the woman who lived in the basement of the destroyed Emmanuel Methodist Church.  The single oil lamp, trimmed to a minimum, glowed faintly in the small, damp space. 
    “And you saw him take Marcus?” Cody asked, as he looked into Lisa’s dark, sad eyes.  “You saw Jadhari take Marcus?”
    Lisa, her eyes glistening in the light, and her mouth contorted in sorrow, nodded her head and said, “Yes.  Jadhari and five men.  I couldn’t shoot – I was trying to get my gun unjammed and . . . and the next thing I knew, they were gone.”
    “Nobody saw you?”
    Lisa shook her head.  “I’m a coward,” she said softly.  “I couldn’t bring myself to save him and I---”
    “No, Lisa,” Cody said, his voice reassuring and gentle.  “You came to me because you know that I know people.  I will get Marcus back.  Look at me, Lisa.  Look at me.”
    Lisa lifted her face.  Her dark brown eyes, awash with tears, and