The Last Infidel Read Online Free PDF Page B

of red fabric hanging from it.  He motioned for the recon team to stop, and he waded over to Tracy, telling her they had reached the position.  They were on time.  1130 hours.  Everybody, including probably the guards, would be downshifting, either eating or sleeping.
    “I’ve got it from here,” Tracy whispered, as she climbed up onto a pile of limestone rocks.  The team, who remained in the water, fanned out along the river’s rocky edge and watched the bank.  Tracy quickly changed into a pair of old, worn out jeans and a dirty tee shirt, and handed all of her gear back down to a team member.  The only thing she kept was a silenced Glock 33, a .357 semiautomatic pistol wrapped and sealed in a waterproof plastic bag.  She nodded at the man closest to her, and the team quickly vanished into the darkness, leaving nothing but a swirl on the surface of the river.  So far, so good: they had not been ambushed.
    Tracy had an uncomfortable feeling coming back to the Old Fort Golf Course.  She’d learned to play golf here, and she had too many memories of the place – all of which haunted her dreams like ghosts, because all of the people she remembered from this place were ghosts.
    The finger-shaped isthmus, now a camp that held women, girls, and small boys, began as a fortress and supply depot for Federal Troops following the defeat of General Bragg’s Confederate Army in the winter of 1863.  Then it became a golf course and a park, then it was transformed only recently into a prison camp.
    If Americans living south of Tennessee could hardly understand the mindset and culture of Islam, what they heard about Golf Course Camp, information they gleaned from captured Muslim soldiers and a few escapees, was incomprehensible.  A specially-organized unit, one that travelled in the rear of ISA combat troops, took control of captured towns and cities minutes after the last shots had been fired.  With the help of dogs, any remaining civilians, whether man, woman, or child, were rounded up, separated according to age and sex, and graded.  Men and women over the age of fifty, and children under the age of five, were summarily executed by beheading.  Able-bodied men were marched off to work and certain death.  Young boys, girls, and beautiful women, regardless of their ages, were sent to Golf Course Camp where they went up for auction.
    Rumors of atrocities taking place at Golf Course Camp had caused considerable alarm in the south and in the west, though Tracy Graham gave little credence to the idea that new arrivals, when first captured, were strung together by a single strand of hundred-pound test fishing line with hooks through their noses and marched into the compound.  But one thing did worry her.  One report suggested the camp was guarded by older American women.  These were women who wouldn’t bring a silver dime in an Islamic brothel filled with drunk Muslims. They were women who had converted from Christianity to Islam only to save themselves from execution.
    Climbing up the rocky bank, holding onto exposed tree roots, Tracy got her first sight of Golf Course Camp.  She panned her eyes from the left to the right in moonlit darkness, taking it all in with a single sweep of her head.  Oil lamps – a necessity in modern America following ISA’s use of EMP weapons to destroy the electrical grid and every solitary item that depended on electricity – dotted the camp from one end to the other.  Long wooden shacks, probably engineered and built by ISA captives, ran along the inside of the fence not twenty feet from where she knelt.  A guard carrying a lamp walked along the fence fifty yards to her left, moving away from her.  She saw another on the right.
    “Any day now, darling, or are you going to sit there all night long?” A soft, pleasant voice said.
    Tracy froze in place, not moving a muscle, not batting an eyelash.  She cut her eyes slowly to the right, seeing nothing.  Somebody must have been