book ico on Publica

Heres Just a sample from the beginning of the Novel , a dipping of a toe in the water as it were?
Chapter 2.

The Last Bakery in Aleppo.

Abdul looks at the space where his father's head once sat upon his broad shoulders, the words his father had just spoke rung in his ears and he held in his hands a Jar Covered in Silver Filigree through which glistened the golden sheath. Concealed and protected within, the ancient Glass vessel, held, beneath a Lid of fine ornamented be- jeweled blue lapis lazuli . A blue glass that shimmered as  off the beaches of the Mediterranean Sea. Within this sacred Vessel was the most sacred of ceremonial Doughs, the most secretly and jealously guarded of all Aleppo's secrets. More jealously protected down generations of his family more so than the Codex of Aleppo's Central Synagogue the Site of the Cave of Elijah. This was history and the key to the sustenance of generations a direct line back to before history began, a starter dough born of the first undomesticated grains and the Yeast from the air breathed by the first civilisations of sedentary populations. These were the grains which formed the metrics for measurements from which the noble science of metrology sprang. The grains which defined the weights and measures of rations for the slaves of Pharaohs and the origins of all measurements from which all science and mathematics became codified. The Grains that made this dough produced the sugars and the carbohydrates that nourished the bodies and fueled the thoughts of the mothers of all invention. In his hands, Abdul's held a link back to the beginning of all that we know, and all that we take for granted. And now it fell for him to take the Holy Sour Dough to a safe place, far away, over many seas and lands to make good and redeem promises made long ago between contracting parties whose promises were sealed in blood and sacrifice and whose code had spread to the four corners of the world. Secrets now bleeding from the severed head of his Father yet locked still in the mind of His son who stood momentarily shocked.
He heard voices, The White Helmets, the mercenary army of the Black orders of usury, the challengers of the nobility of the dough.


An interrogation, a blast of machine gun fire, screams, more interrogations,


Abdul  knew he must move fast through the route known to his elite class of baker; to flee again the tumult that Aleppo had become. Fleeing a war about Monetary Hegemony and a war about Vested interests in the monopoly supply of necessities. They were looking for what he held in his hands the truth of Mans wealth and debt to agriculture and the universal access to and the production of Bread. The White helmets were closing in he knew he must say his goodbyes and hold on to his grieving for later and hold onto the Vessel in his hands even tighter the freedom of Good and the freedom of all Men of all the holy books depended on his reaching the place of safety. Abdul Knew he must retrace the route of civilisation and trade and ensure that the Dough of Life be spread again to the four corners of Humanity. For as the Middle East burned and as the Powers of Finance Capital and Usury sought to extinguish the knowledge of Dough , the Brotherhood of bakers knew that as long as the idea of self-sufficiency and the Breaking of freshly baked bread lived, the Global domination of the means of sustenance and trade would always evade that Blackhearted breed of Man who would see orphans starve rather than yield control of the destinies of Nations and reliquish their grip over and offence to  the nobility of populations.


He turned and ran.
As the White Helmut Leader rounded the Corner to the courtyard of the last Bakery in Aleppo, so Abdul had vanished, as elusive as the fresh odour of newly baked bread invisibly seduces the senses, so Abdul had evaporated


the white Helmut cried out.
"Damn, there's the old guy, where's the son? Damn it!"


He lifted the radio transmitter to his Mouth.

"White leader to Carrier Group One, Target on the run, Mission failed, advise telling Langley to alert Drone strike force to seek and destroy. Repeat Target at large, Advise arm Drones and seek and destroy, civilians expendable The Target is at large."


In a fit of Rage the White helmet turned and pointed his M17 at the corpse of Abdul's father, emptied the magazine into the Still warm and not yet stiff corpse,
​
"damn you, Fucking Rag headed animal."


A picture of democracy early one morning in the last bakery in Aleppo,
this is where our story and Abdul's Journey Begins.