Free The Dying Time (Book 2): After The Dying Time by Raymond Dean White Page A

calls me Nicolo, or even Nicky. He hadn’t meant to imply that the King was to blame. He glanced swiftly at Prince Anthony, his only source of possible support. Anthony, who had looked interested at the mention of tiny planes, was studiously ignoring him. Nicolo knew he must take great care not to offend the King further. The injustice of his situation rankled though.
    “The Freeholds is a very close knit community, Your Majesty,” Nicolo said softly. “They don’t trust strangers. The same is true of the people in Utah. These places take time to infiltrate.” Unspoken were the words, more time than you gave me. “Anyone attempting to do so must have a solid cover. Still, we are seeding agents in both communities. We’ve made a good start, but we’re not established yet. However, by the time Your Majesty launches the invasion, my people will be in place.”
    “They’d better be,” the King threatened, switching off his temper like an electric light. Though Joey often pretended to lose control, he rarely did. He smiled inwardly as Nicolo’s posture softened and the man began to relax. Fear was Joey’s favorite tool.
    “One of my men has located an ideal invasion site, Your Majesty,” Nicolo continued, trying not to sound as relieved as he felt. He believed he would survive now. It was touch and go there for a minute. He had saved this small piece of dessert for last, hoping to change the subject.
    “And where might that be?” Prince Anthony asked, offering token support now that the battle was over. Anthony’s casual dress, baseball cap, tee shirt and jeans, contrasted sharply to John’s crisp uniform; but it was Anthony who, without conscious effort, projected the airs of royalty.
    “Western Utah, Sire, near the town of Nephi.”
    “And what, if anything, has this fiasco taught you about our future subjects’ military capabilities?” Prince John interjected. He wasn’t letting Nicolo off the hook so easily.
    But for the first time in what felt like ages, Nicolo was ahead in the game. He had been expecting such a question and had his answer ready; an answer he knew would please the King. “They appear to have no armor or artillery,” he replied.
    “No armor?” questioned the King. His smile, which had vanished with the bad news, was threatening to return. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a disaster after all? An increase in the slave drafts would replace the soldiers lost in the probing attacks.
    “No artillery?” asked Anthony.
    “None,” Nicolo stated, with a tentative smile.
    “You’re certain,” John challenged, upset at seeing Bonetti weasel out from under his father’s disapproval this way. If Nicolo was gone he might be able to absorb the Royal Intelligence Service.
    Nicolo’s smile almost faltered, before he reasserted complete control over his face. It went against his nature to make statements he couldn’t hedge, but this time he felt confident he could predict the future accurately.
    John caught the brief flicker in Bonetti’s smile. But then Bonetti had white, even teeth, like Anthony and John tended to notice good teeth, comparing them with more than a touch of envy to his own rotten mouthful.
    “As certain as I can be this early in the game,” Nicolo stated. “Of course, we don’t know anything about the Mormons in Utah yet, but while the Freeholders were able to hide a couple of small aircraft, there’s no way they could have hidden tanks and howitzers.”
    “Why wouldn’t they have armor?” the King asked. Tanks were among his favorite toys.
    “Roads, Your Majesty,” Nicolo explained. “These areas experienced massive earthquakes and they’re only beginning to recover. Roads there are blocked by landslides, downed bridges and wrecked or abandoned cars. The quake damage is so severe in some cases roads simply end in canyons or cliffs. The whole area is such a mess, the troops attacking the Freeholds were forced to disable and abandon their light tank along the