Chapter 33 Dave #2
Losham studied his face for a moment, searching for something. Sincerity, perhaps, or competence, or the reassurance that the Eight took his concerns seriously. Whatever he found must have been adequate because he nodded and turned away.
"The engineer estimates two weeks to reach the chamber," he said over his shoulder as he started walking back. "But he could be overestimating or underestimating. Keep an eye out for me on the actual timeline."
"As you wish," Number One said.
Rami followed Losham up the ramp that had replaced the collapsed basement stairs, and a moment later their footsteps sounded on the floor above.
The collective turned its attention to the work zone.
The soldiers weren't slacking, but the speed of their work was much slower than when they had been watched by Losham.
The collective skimmed their surface thoughts.
Most of them were thinking about their task, which was tedious and monotonous, and they resented having to perform menial work that should be done by humans.
Lifting and hauling rubble for hours on end was not what soldiers were meant to do.
Other thoughts wandered to the same subjects that occupied most soldiers during boring duty.
Food, women, grievances about their superiors, the next shift rotation, and so on.
Three of them, however, had something extra layered beneath the mundane thoughts.
Dave waited for the names to surface so they could report them properly to Losham, but people didn't think of their own names. Those had to be harvested from the minds of others and identified with specific faces.
The first name they managed to attach to a face was Toger, and he was reporting to one of Kolhood's subordinates. He had no opinion about Losham or the excavation except for his disdain for the humiliating task.
The other was a tall soldier named Naren, who was currently lifting a section of collapsed wall.
He reported to Hocken's network and was less resentful about the excavation because spying for Hocken came with benefits.
As the boss of the brothel, Hocken had arranged more visitation credits for him, and that was worth the hard work.
The third was the crew supervisor. Bertax was his name, and he served both Hazok and Kolhood.
Three spies out of the twelve was a lot, but it wasn't surprising. It was exactly what Losham had expected.
A probe for assassination plans came up with nothing. The three spies were intelligence gatherers, not operatives. Their instructions were to observe and report, not to act. If the brothers were planning a move against Losham, they hadn't communicated it through these channels.
That didn't mean the plans didn't exist. It only meant that they were being kept at a higher level, among the inner circles that Dave still couldn't safely penetrate.
The crew supervisor is the most useful, Number Five thought. His dual loyalty means he receives instructions from two separate chains of command. If we monitor him, we can track what both Kolhood and Hazok are planning.
As the workers paused for a water break, clustering around the portable cooler, Dave spread through the basement.
The debris field stretched from the far wall to within a meter of the temporary support beams. It was denser toward the center, where the collapse had been most severe.
Two weeks seemed like a reasonable estimate. If the crews maintained their current pace, they would reach the chamber in twelve to fourteen days. If they encountered unexpected obstacles, it could stretch to eighteen or twenty.
We need to report this to Onegus, Number One thought.
It would be their third communication using the device they had been provided. Last night, Number One conducted the check-in at twenty-two hundred hours, standing on the hotel roof where the ambient noise covered the whispered conversation.
They also need to know about the spies, Number Three added.
When the soldiers finished their break and returned to the debris field, Dave watched them for another minute, then turned toward the ramp.
Number Four stopped, his eyes catching a crate that was half hidden behind a pile of broken concrete and twisted metal shelving. It was large, made of wood, and the collective recognized it immediately.
Before the first explosion, when Dave was taking inventory of everything in the basement, they had cataloged this crate. It contained old books.
It was pushed against the wall by the force of the collapse but otherwise undamaged. The wooden sides were intact, and the partially dislodged lid revealed a glimpse of cloth-bound spines stacked in neat rows.
Sullha loves books.
The thought surfaced in the collective, originating from Number One.
Sullha reads everything she can get her hands on, and the library in the enclosure has a pitiful selection.
It had more books now than when they had been children, but it was still very limited.
During his previous visits, Yaaf had nothing to bring her. The truth was that he hadn't even thought of bringing her a gift, but the books were right there, and he knew that Sullha would love them.
Number One walked to the crate, lifted the dislodged lid, and looked inside.
The books were in good condition despite the dust that coated everything in the basement.
There were at least a hundred of them, hardcovers in several languages.
English, French, Arabic, and Russian. The subjects were varied.
One on the history of the Eastern Hemisphere, a couple of novels, a book with diagrams on the cover, a thick volume bound in dark blue cloth with gold lettering that looked pretty.
He didn't know what Sullha liked to read. The novels were probably the safest choice, but she was also thirsty for knowledge, so the history and mathematics books might interest her as well.
Picking up one of the novels, he tucked it inside his shirt, pressing it flat against his abdomen where the fabric of his uniform concealed the shape.
The others followed, each one tucking a book under their shirt.
Eight soldiers with eight stolen books.