The equipment came through the southeast artery at the fourth hour past midnight.
Lyss counted the carriers. Nine. They moved in pairs: two abreast, spaced ten meters apart, the last man walking alone at the rear. Professional interval spacing. Not the loose clustering of cult devotees filing to assembly. This was a logistics operation.
She pressed her face closer to the viewing slit. Her low-light vision resolved the details that darkness hid from human eyes.
The first pair carried an oilcloth-wrapped crate suspended from a wooden pole across their shoulders. It looked light, given their steady pace and level shoulders. The second pair carried a longer, cylindrical wrapped object. Behind them, the third pair hauled several flat panels bound with leather straps, followed by a fourth pair bearing an open, skeletal wooden mounting frame.
The last man carried nothing. He walked with his hands free, head turning at regular intervals to check the tunnel behind him. Rear security.
