Agents of the Glass (16 page)

*
The address has been redacted for protection of the operative.

Silas met with Andy at the bodega before school, “gluing” the earpiece into place well inside Andy's ear and showing him how the camera worked. His final instructions were to pretend to be enthusiastic about everything and to move around as much as possible, listening and observing. It was, Silas reminded him, an opportunity for the Agents to gain some much-needed intelligence on the inner workings of their greatest enemy.

“Most importantly, listen to what I tell you. Keep an eye on Winter. Stay close, so I can
hear
her, too. And take pictures of everyone she talks to.”

“Don't forget—I'm going to be with Jensen, too,” said Andy. “I don't think she's very good at blending in. And she hates that Decameron lady.”

“Right. Jensen's not exactly a potted plant, is she? I have to admit, I'm a fan. Her reviews of the NTRP reality shows are
classic.
This could turn out to be an interesting day.”

“It's already been kind of interesting.”

“What do you mean?”

“Somebody was following me. He was waiting across the street from my apartment building. I think I surprised him, coming down earlier than usual. I'm pretty sure it's the same guy as before. I was going to take a picture, but he was gone before I had a chance.”

Biting his knuckle, Silas took a deep breath. “And this happened on your way here this morning? Just now? Why did you wait so long to tell me?”

“I'm sorry—I didn't think it was that important. There wasn't anything to tell. I barely saw the guy.”

“Do me a favor. Let me decide what's important, all right?”

Andy stared at his shoes and mumbled, “I said I was sorry.”

“Okay, let's drop it. We can talk about it later. You need to get moving.”

Without a word, Andy pulled on his jacket and started to go.

“Wait,” said Silas. “I shouldn't have snapped like that. I know you're doing the best you can, and this is all still really new for you, and you still have lots of doubts about what we're doing. It's not fair. I'm asking you to trust me completely, but there's still lots I haven't told you, lots I
can't
tell you—at least not for now. So, are we okay?”

Andy looked Silas directly in the eyes and nodded.

“Great. Good luck today.”

A black limousine, courtesy of Deanna Decameron, picked up Andy, Jensen, and Winter at Wellbourne Academy and whisked them off to the NTRP building at Park Avenue and Forty-Fifth Street. Silas, meanwhile, was sitting with his back to a wall in a coffee shop on Forty-Third Street, watching and listening to the feed from Andy's audiovisual equipment.

“Right this way,” said Decameron, taking them through the security checkpoint, where bags were opened and pockets emptied before they passed through a metal detector.

“Put the pen in the tray with your phone and watch,” Silas told Andy through his earpiece. He smiled to himself as the boy spun around instinctively, forgetting for a moment that Silas was
inside
his head. Andy stepped through the detector, replaced the pen in his pocket, and then kneeled, pretending to tie a shoelace.

“Is that right?” he whispered.

“You're good to go,” Silas said. “If you have a problem, just tap on the pen twice and I'll try to figure something out.”

“Sandy, you coming?” nagged Jensen. “Try to keep up with me.”

In the luxurious, wood-paneled elevator, Decameron pushed the button for the sixty-fifth floor, and they began their ascent.

Jensen broke the usual elevator silence: “What does NTRP have to do with education, anyway?”

“You may think of us only as a TV network, but we're so much more. NTRP is an international conglomerate—into a little bit of everything,” said Decameron, looking straight ahead. “Our executives are true visionaries. They invest in companies that…share their vision of the future.”

Jensen's eyebrows lurched upward. “What does that vision look like?”

Forcing a smile, Decameron turned to Jensen. “That's what you're here to find out. But it's all about building a better world for you…and your kids and grandkids.”

“And the money to do…whatever it is they do…comes from all those god-awful reality shows? Their ‘quality programming'?” Jensen asked, punctuating her final words with air quotes.

“Technically, from the advertising revenues that those programs generate, yes. You'll see representatives from several of the advertisers here today. In fact, you'll probably get some great stuff from them.”

“I'm not here to ‘get stuff,' ” Jensen grumbled. “I'm here to do a story. You remember what that was like, don't you, from when you were a journalist?”

“Jensen!” said Winter. “That is so…rude.”

Decameron smiled, waving off the insult. “Don't worry, Winter. I'm used to it. Jensen, say what you want about our programs, but the fact is that our ratings go up every week. We're giving the people what they want.”

“Hmph,” said Jensen.

“The website says that this building has sixty-six floors,” said Andy, eager to change the subject. “I looked last night. How come the buttons stop at sixty-five?”

“That's very observant,” said Decameron. “You're right: There
are
sixty-six floors. The executive offices are on the top floor, but you need a special key to get the elevator to stop there.”

“Is that the only way up there?” Andy asked.

“There must be stairs, too, I'd imagine,” said Decameron.

“Have you ever been up there?”

Decameron glanced at him, her head tilted to the left, measuring him. “A few times. Ah, here we are.” The elevator doors opened, and they found themselves in an enormous room marked by a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that stretched the entire width of the building.

Even Jensen was impressed. “Whoa. Check that out.”

It was an ideal October day—paint-box-blue sky, pristine white clouds, and clear, clean air—and the view out over the Hudson River and New York Harbor went on for miles and miles.

“Pretty cool, huh?” said Winter, elbowing Andy in a friendly manner. “I wouldn't mind having an office up here someday.”

“Not if we have anything to do with it,” Silas whispered in Andy's ear.

“Okay, that's enough looking,” said Jensen, returning to her usual state. “Where's the food? Ms. Albemarle promised that they would feed us.”

At that moment, a set of double doors swung open, revealing a buffet table drooping under the weight of all the food on it.

Decameron pushed them toward the table. “Dig in. Who knows, there might even be enough variety to make Miss Huntley happy.”

“I wouldn't count on it,” said Andy.

The first surprise of the morning came quickly. Victor Plante, the head of television programming at NTRP, spoke briefly about his network's commitment to improving the education system, even bragging a bit about the pilot program at Wellbourne Academy. Without mentioning them by name, he pointed out that student journalists from Wellbourne were present, and he encouraged the other “big shots” at the conference to seek them out and to take a few minutes to interview with them. And then he invited NTRP's “shining new star,” as he called him, up to the podium to be introduced. A man in the first row of seats bounded to his feet and jogged to the front of the room.

“Oh, no,” said Andy, not believing his own eyes. “What is
he
doing here?”

“Do you
know
him?” Winter asked.

“It's my…father.”

Victor Plante greeted Howard Llewellyn at the podium with an exaggerated smile and a two-handed handshake. “NTRP is proud—no, make that
thrilled
—to announce that Howard Twopenny and his radio program will be joining our little family, effective immediately! And we're moving him up to a premium time slot. Starting at nine o'clock tomorrow morning, he will be tellin' it like it is on our network of radio stations from coast to coast. And here's the best part: Howard and our creative team are working on a talk show with an exciting new format…for NTRP TV! We're hoping to roll it out in January.”