Born of War by Anderson Harp Read Free Book Online

become a part of rumor. Parker had gone off the grid. They all left him alone.
    â€œYeah, I got it.”
    But Parker wasn’t thinking of four weeks from now. He was thinking of what had just happened in a city farther south.
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    William Parker watched Moncrief’s taillights as they crossed over the ridgeline heading back to the county highway. He stood there for a minute in complete darkness on the front porch. The disappearance of the truck left a silence and then, as if it were a machine spinning up, he heard the woods become alive again. He opened the heavy wooden door and turned on the lamp on the table. The door was never locked. It didn’t need to be. The room had that smoky smell from the stone fireplace. It was brutally quiet. The absence of someone lay over the farmhouse like a soaked towel covering a face.
    He hesitated for a moment before putting his pistol case and rifle bag against the wall. Parker took a swig of the water from the bottle and then went back outside. He walked around the lodge to a large shape barely visible in the darkness. A motion detector caused a light to come on revealing a blue tarp. He pulled the cover off to reveal a black truck. It had not been used often but was built for the country. It was a GMC Sierra off-road that had been brand new only a year before.
    Parker reached under the edge of the Ranch Hand bumper and pulled out a key. He climbed into the front seat and turned on the engine. It was his only link to the outside world. He pushed the scan on the radio, turned up the volume, and listened to it travel through the stations until it hit on a news channel.
    â€œ. . . an act of terrorism has again struck on American soil.”
    Parker wanted the facts.

C HAPTER S IX
    O mar heard the news as he headed across Canada and neared Toronto. I am a Banu Najjar. Omar considered the thought. He learned of the importance of his tribe from his uncle. It was his uncle who taught him the importance of the faith. It was his uncle who taught him that death meant little if one died for Allah.
    The elder was to be followed without question and only the bearded ones were to be respected. His branch of the tribe came from Syria and before that from Yemen. It was said that Muhammad spoke of his tribe. As soon as he returned from his first trip to Syria as a young man Omar began trying to grow his beard.
    His beard left a patch of bare skin on his cheekbones so it was neither uniform nor attractive. The beard was important. It carried with it the sign of manhood and leadership.
    A clean face. Omar thought of how repugnant that was as he looked back on his high school days in Daphne. It would make the journey much safer if he shaved before he passed through the Western airports; however, it would create the opposite effect when he reached his destination.

    He tuned the radio while his wife drove the Nissan.
    Toronto. He stroked his beard as he thought of the past.
    â€œWill we see my family?” Fartuun spoke over the sound of the radio.
    He put up his hand to silence her. Omar had changed his clothes and put on a Toronto Blue Jays hat. He wore sunglasses. She was uncovered, which was what the infidels did; however, it was important that they blended in as they neared the city. On other trips the customs would be followed; however, this was an escape—not a regular trip.
    It was the beard that worried him the most. But he had a plan.
    â€œAt that next gas station stop and I will change.” He had bought a dark, pinstriped, vested suit with a white button-down collar shirt. The tie was important. It was crimson and blue. The dress would break him out of the “profile.”
    â€œYou can stay for an extra day or two but first you must take me to Pearson,” he said. “They will be knocking at your door if you stay too long. You must follow me to Egypt as soon as you can.” Pearson International Airport in Toronto had a flight to Europe nearly every