Page 25 of Nazab

Mr. Lawson gave him a sharp look and Oliver blinked at him, pretending to be befuddled. “Rahab suggested we keep the slaves out of the city so they don’t try to revolt,” he said.

“Oh, that makes sense,” the politician said. “How many mercenaries do we have now?”

“About seven thousand trustworthy men have been chosen to guard Manhattan,” Creel reported. “More are arriving daily, but the survivors are so malnourished and starving that they’re practically useless.”

“We don’t have any female militants left?” Oliver asked in confusion.

“I arranged for them to be moved to other locations outside the city,” Mr. Lawson said with his upper lip lifted. “Women are weak and they cause too much of a distraction for my troops. It’s best not to have them close by to cause any trouble.”

“I imagine the whores are kept busy,” Governor Giamano joked, almost pitying the female captives. At least they were fed daily and they had a roof over their head.

“They’re serving the purpose they were created for,” his ally said in an uncaring tone. “Women are only good for cooking, cleaning and making babies.”

“We should think seriously about plans to repopulate Manhattan,” Oliver mused. “There are far too few people left now. Humanity will be in danger of extinction if our numbers fall too low.”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking, sir,” Creel agreed. “We have a couple of paramedics now. They should examine all of the women we’ve gathered so far. The ones who are healthy and young should be kept separate from the others. Only men with the right sort of genes should be allowed to get them pregnant.”

“Of course,” the politician agreed with the same fixed smile in place. “I’ll leave that task in your capable hands, Mr. Lawson.”

“You can count on me, sir,” Creel said, snapping him a salute despite having never served a day as a soldier.

Their meeting came to an end a few minutes later. The prepper let himself out, closing the door behind him. Oliver’s smile dropped away and he took the roll of antacids out again. Chewing a tablet, he withdrew his journal from the drawer to scribble his thoughts down about the meeting.

“I can already guess exactly who Mr. Lawson thinks should impregnate the women,” he muttered. Creel would no doubt be the first in line. He and his friends would spread their seed as far and wide as they could. None of them would be happy until their ilk had control of their entire country. Sometimes, it was hard for Oliver to decide if Rahab or Creel Lawson posed the bigger threat to his position.

Chapter Nineteen

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CLOSING GOVERNOR GIAMANO’S door, Creel paused to stare at it for a few moments. The guards in the hallway were all his men. He’d replaced every militant in the building with people he could trust. Nodding at his fellow preppers, he headed back to his office further down the hallway.

Mr. Lawson glanced at Ivy Roche’s door on his way past her office. “She’ll end up in the building we’ll be filling with breed-worthy women,” he said with a smirk. He planned to be the first to try to knock the snooty young woman up.

Snickering to himself, the prepper returned to his desk. He sat down and rested his chin on his palm. Something had changed with the governor. “He used to be vague and dreamy, but he’s been sharper lately,” he said. It was still easy to manipulate the Italian-American, but he had a feeling his boss wasn’t as befuddled as he seemed.

“He’s still losing his damn mind, but at a slower pace now,” he figured. While he wasn’t a psychiatrist, Creel was shrewd when it came to figuring people out. He could tell when someone was faking it and Oliver Giamano was faking it big time.

“He needs to go,” Mr. Lawson muttered, sitting back in his leather executive chair and crossing his arms. “Giamano might have a fancy education, but I’m wilier than he’ll ever be. I know what this country needs to get back on track.”

He’d always planned to take over eventually, but had decided to take things slow. Xathan was at the top of his kill list even though the bald creep had managed to get Manhattan up and running again.

“I’ll kill Xathan first, then I’ll wipe out Rahab and the rest of his steroid using biker friends,” he said cunningly. That would take a lot of planning, or it could end in complete disaster. Creel couldn’t dispute that the huge, muscular men with red-tinged eyes were dangerous.

“Some of them are downright crazy,” he said. He’d heard rumors about Rahab going on killing sprees in the other boroughs. Lachial and Vetis, the blond weirdos, also had a reputation for slaughtering people without due cause.

All of the Soldiers of Chaos motorcycle gang were hardened killers, that much was obvious. Creel’s troops would have to lead them into a trap in order to take them all down with minimal casualties on their side. How they were going to do that was still a mystery.

“I’ll think of something,” the prepper said confidently.

Creel’s mind went into overdrive as he tried to come up with a workable scheme. The main problem was that his enemies were so widely scattered. Some of them patrolled Manhattan, but the others were spread out throughout the other boroughs. How could he draw them all into one place? Overwhelming force would be needed to eliminate them, since they seemed so damned hard to kill. Their enemy biker gang they called the Knights of Order had killed off a few of Rahab’s crew, but there were still far too many of them left.

“Boss, we’ve got a bunch of survivors incoming towards the Lincoln Tunnel. Over,” one of his minions said through his walky-talky.

“Roger that,” Creel said. “How many are we talking about? Over.”

“At least two hundred. Over,” was the reply.

“Call for reinforcements. I’m on my way. Over and out,” Mr. Lawson said. He’d felt like getting some action. This would give him the perfect opportunity to leave his office.