Shift - Omnibus Edition by Hugh Howey Read Free Book Online Page B

rain from the week before had finally let up, and the traffic in DuPont Circle was at a crawl. Heading up Connecticut and leaning into a stiffening breeze, Donald wondered why the meeting had been moved to Kramerbooks of all places. There were a dozen superior coffee houses much closer to the office.
    He crossed a side street and hurried up the short flight of stone steps to the bookshop. The front door to Kramer’s was one of those ancient wooden affairs older establishments hung like a boast, a testament to their endurance. Hinges squeaked and actual bells jangled overhead as he pushed open the door, and a young woman straightening books on a center table of bestsellers glanced up and smiled hello.
    The cafe, Donald saw, was packed with men and women in business suits sipping from white porcelain cups. There was no sign of the Senator. Donald started to check his phone, see if he was too early, when a Secret Service agent caught his eye.
    The agent stood broad-shouldered at the end of an aisle of books in the small corner of Kramer’s that acted as the cafe’s bookshop. Donald laughed at how conspicuously hidden the man was: the earpiece, the bulge by his ribs, the sunglasses indoors. Donald headed the agent’s way, the wooden boards underfoot groaning with age.
    The agent’s gaze shifted his way, but it was hard to tell if he was looking at Donald or toward the front door.
    ‘I’m here to see Senator Thurman,’ Donald said, his voice cracking a little. ‘I have an appointment.’
    The agent turned his head to the side. Donald followed the gesture and peered down an aisle of books to see Thurman browsing through the stacks at the far end.
    ‘Ah. Thanks.’ He stepped between the towering shelves of old books, the light dimming and the smell of coffee replaced with the tang of mildew mixed with leather.
    ‘What do you think of this one?’
    Senator Thurman held out a book as Donald approached. No greeting, just the question.
    Donald checked the title embossed in gold on the thick leather cover. ‘Never heard of it,’ he admitted.
    Senator Thurman laughed. ‘Of course not. It’s over a hundred years old – and it’s French. I mean, what do you think of the binding ?’ He handed Donald the book.
    Donald was surprised by how heavy the volume was. He cracked it open and flipped through a few pages. It felt like a law book, had that same dense heft, but he could see by the white space between lines of dialogue that it was a novel. As he turned a few pages, he admired how thin the individual sheets were. Where the pages met at the spine, they had been stitched together with tiny ropes of blue and gold thread. He had friends who still swore by physical books – not for decoration, but to actually read. Studying the one in his hand, Donald could understand their nostalgic affection.
    ‘The binding looks great,’ he said, brushing it with the pads of his fingers. ‘It’s a beautiful book.’ He handed the novel back to the Senator. ‘Is this how you shop for a good read? You mostly go by the cover?’
    Thurman tucked the book under his arm and pulled another from the shelf. ‘It’s just a sample for another project I’m working on.’ He turned and narrowed his eyes at Donald. It was an uncomfortable gaze. He felt like prey. ‘How’s your sister doing?’ he asked.
    The question caught Donald off guard. A lump formed in his throat at the mention of her.
    ‘Charlotte? She’s … she’s fine, I guess. She redeployed. I’m sure you heard.’
    ‘I did.’ Thurman slotted the book in his hand back into a gap and weighed the one Donald had appraised. ‘I was proud of her for re-upping. She does her country proud.’
    Donald thought about what it cost a family to do a country proud.
    ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I mean, I know my parents were really looking forward to having her home, but she was having trouble adjusting to the pace back here. It … I don’t think she’ll be able to really relax until the