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

way.”
    “At least we can do something about roads!” Anthony stated. If there was one thing the slave gangs of the Empire were good at, it was repairing roads.
    “What of that other matter?” the King asked, bringing up old business. John smiled widely, forgetting for the moment to hide his rotten teeth. Jamal caught a flash of red and glint of light off John’s beret as the prince nodded toward him.
    Nicolo’s smile faltered. Shit! Of all the times to bring that up. Just when he thought he might escape with his hide intact. “Your Majesty, we are still looking. There are hints the Garcias have fled to Wyoming or Colorado. Perhaps once we begin the invasion Your Grace would spare me a few men to continue the search.”
    “Done,” the King scowled. He certainly wasn’t pleased with what Nicolo had called “mixed results”, but he enjoyed the man’s transparent terror. Fear, Joseph believed, was his greatest ally and Nicolo Bonetti must be reminded that his past betrayal would never be forgotten. Even Joseph’s sons feared him. Right now, though, he wanted a private conference with them, so when he spoke again his tone brooked no argument. “And speaking of done,” he said, glancing at both Nicolo and Jamal.
    “Of course, Your Majesty,” the Intelligence Chief said, bowing low as he and Jamal withdrew from the room.
    The King’s eyes sought his sons. “Recommendations?”
    Prince John was the first to respond. “A Navy launched assault force of twenty thousand troops. Beachhead in Utah. Another probing attack against the Mormons to test their strength.” He glanced at Anthony and added, “now that the element of surprise is lost.”
    Anthony ignored the jibe and joined in. “The Navy can re-supply the troops until they become self-sufficient. It would help if John and I took to the field directly. These people may not be numerous, but we’ve seen what they can do against inferior commanders. Besides, I think those planes Nicky told us about might be ultralights and that’s given me a few ideas of my own that I’d like to try out.” Anthony was always vying for his father’s favor, especially if it involved overshadowing John.
    Seeing the look in his father’s eyes he hastily added, “These States are important to our destiny, Father. Once we have them our Empire will control almost all that we know remains intact of the United States. Then we can turn our attention to Canada and Mexico and the rest of the world.” The twins’ language was always somewhat stiff and formal around their father, neither of them wishing to offend him in any way.
    Joseph nodded uncertainly. He no longer cared to have his sons engage in combat, due less to any overwhelming parental concern than because, aside from Jamal, they were the only two men he trusted.
    “Besides, Father,” Prince John said, for once agreeing with Anthony. “It improves morale when our troops are led by a Prince Royal. It lets them know the prize is worth taking. And between our training and our security squads the man hasn’t been born who can touch either one of us in combat.”
    The King looked at the twins and knew it to be true. Mirror-images, both stood seven-feet-two-inches tall and weighed well over three hundred pounds, none of it fat. They were almost as big as Joseph.
    Only in dress and attitude did his sons differ. That and their teeth--Joseph was almost ready to order John to a dentist. The stench was hard to ignore. If only John wasn’t so afraid of drills. Still, Joseph thought his boys were worthy to be successors to his realm. He was even proud of them in his own way.
    “Permission granted,” he said. He waved a massive arm toward the slave. “Drinks! Drinks for me and my sons!” he roared. “We’ll celebrate our victories, past, present and future.”
    The table slave jumped to comply, opening and pouring Dom Perignon into the enormous hand carved crystal decanters that served the three giants as wine glasses. Her