Agents of the Glass (36 page)

“Hi, Detective,” said Andy, removing the blood-soaked T-shirt from his forehead.

“Andy—holy cow! That is some cut. Is that the—”

“Same spot as the last time? Yeah. Weird, huh?”

“You definitely need stitches,” said Zhariah. “That looks pretty deep.”

“So…you didn't see…anything?” Andy asked Detective Cunningham.

“What do you mean? We saw the concert. Great show, by the way, Karina.”

“But after the…when the lights started…you didn't notice anything strange?”

Cunningham looked at Zhariah; they both shrugged. “Nothing that I recall,” he said. “The band was playing, and then…they weren't.” As the words came out of his mouth, he knew they didn't make sense, but he couldn't understand why. “Well, I'm glad everybody else is okay. Take care of yourself, Andy.” He spun around and went back down the steps, more bewildered than when he had arrived.

Howard and Abbey got Andy to his feet and started guiding him to the door.

“Andy, can I have a minute?” Silas asked.

“It's okay, Mom,” Andy said, in response to her worried look. “It really doesn't hurt that much.”

Silas looked him up and down, shaking his head in wonder. “I don't understand. How did you do it? You drank a gallon of that gassed-up soda. The flashing lights, the holograms…Everyone else who had the soda was completely catatonic. Why didn't it affect you? I know there's more to you than meets the eye, but…
how?
”

Andy grinned at him, a line of blood still running down the side of his face. He wiped some on the back of his hand and held it out. “I'll bet you didn't know my blood was green, did you?”

“What are you talking about? Your blood is red. Just like mine.”

“To
you,
maybe. I'm color-blind. Red looks kind of greenish to me. And green stuff looks brown. Blue and yellow are okay, I guess. The way I understand it, those two look the same to me as they do to you.”

“How long have you known?”

“I don't know—a long time. It's not like I notice it—I've never seen anything different. Remember when you and Reza and Mrs. Cardigan were showing me all those pictures, and you were talking about all the colors? I thought about saying something, but it didn't seem that important. The funny thing is, I'm pretty sure Mrs. Cardigan knew all along.” He pulled up his pant leg to show Silas the wool socks she knit for him…in blue and yellow.

“I'll be darned. How'd she know?”

Andy pointed across the stage at his mom. “She's color-blind, too.”

“But…I thought it was strictly a male thing.”

“Nope. Girls, too. Only not as often. But here's the best part: I'm about ninety-nine percent sure that's why Ilene Porter wasn't affected. When Jensen asked her about the images she saw, do you remember how she answered?”

“She said they looked like an old black-and-white movie,” said Silas.

“Exactly. I didn't think anything about it at first, but after what I saw in the Loom, I started to put it together.”

“It makes sense. I'm sure we can find out for sure. Someone in her family must know. Does anyone else know about you? You didn't tell anyone? Good, let's keep it that way. We may be able to use that. One more question: When you were in a trance—was that real?”

He laughed and then winced in pain. “Just pretending. I was waiting for the right moment. It was more exciting that way, don't you think?”

On Friday, exactly a week after the concert, Andy sat in the school library, staring at the 233dotcom terminal that had been installed on Wednesday afternoon.

Mr. Brookings, the librarian, paced around the room, muttering under his breath. “They take away all my books and give me this monstrosity. No one knows how it works. For all I know, the damned thing is plotting to kill me, like the computer in
2001: A Space Odyssey.
Look at it. Every time I get close, the lights go crazy—like it doesn't like me. Well, the feeling is mutual, pal.”

A senior girl opened the library door and stuck her head in. “Excuse me, Mr. Brookings? Is Andy Llewellyn here? Dr. Everly is looking for him.”

The librarian looked toward Andy. “Mr. Llewellyn, you're being summoned for an audience with Her Majesty. Better look sharp, young man.”

Andy ran his fingers through his hair and tucked in the half of his shirttail that was hanging out.

“Oh, much better,” said Mr. Brookings.

Andy followed the girl to the reception area and was ushered immediately into Dr. Everly's office. Detective Cunningham was there, along with the reporter Zhariah Davis, a man he didn't recognize, and his parents—all of them looking very serious.

“Andover, please come in. Sit down,” said Dr. Everly.

“W-what's going on?”

“We want to talk to you about a very serious matter,” said Detective Cunningham. “A
police
matter.”

Andy tried to swallow but couldn't. Suddenly, his blazer felt extremely tight around his shoulders and he had difficulty breathing. He turned to his mom for support, but his stomach flopped when he saw the disappointed look on her face.

Cunningham stood directly over him, glaring angrily. “Did you really think we were going to let you get away with it? Did you?”

“What are you…I didn't do—”

“Don't try to deny it, kid. We've got you
cold.
”

The unknown man handed an envelope to Andy. “Maybe he'll know what you mean when he sees
this.
”

Fingers trembling, Andy opened the envelope and took out a single piece of paper: a check, made out to Andover James Llewellyn, for ten thousand dollars.

“I don't get it—”

Everyone in the room burst into laughter, with Detective Cunningham's eruption almost breaking the window glass.

“Andover, I'd like you to meet Mr. Upshaw, the president of the First Mutual Bank,” said Dr. Everly. “I'm sorry if we frightened you.”

Mr. Upshaw took Andy's hand in both of his and shook it long and hard. “Andy, on behalf of the bank and myself, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. With your father's permission, Detective Cunningham told me the whole story—how you returned the money after the robbery but didn't want anyone to know. The check is a reward, a token of our appreciation. We will continue to honor your request not to go public with the story, but we insist that you take this…with our eternal gratitude.”

Abbey smothered him with hugs and kisses, and Howard clapped him on the back.

“You're sure you don't want to be in the papers?” Zhariah asked. “The city—heck, the
world
—needs stories like yours. I could make you famous. I thought that's what every kid in America wanted these days.”

“Not me,” said Andy. “I'm fine just the way I am.”

The next day, a drizzly fall Saturday afternoon, Andy reached into the cooler at YouNeedItWeGotIt! and pulled out a bottle of GoodTimes root beer.

“That stuff will kill you,” Silas said, standing behind him.

Andy didn't even flinch. “I've been expecting you. You want one? I was thinking of switching to cream soda, but I feel…I don't know,
loyal,
I guess, to root beer. Do you know what I mean?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Do you have a little time? Let's take a walk. And maybe I will have a root beer—thanks. I guess you can afford it.”

“You heard, huh?”

“Of course. What are you going to do with the money?”

Andy twisted his lips to the side in his favorite expression. “Don't know yet. For now it's in the bank.”

“The one—”

“Yeah. Funny, isn't it?”

They stopped at Andy's building to pick up Penny and then wandered into Central Park, north of Ninety-Sixth Street, chatting about school, the best places for pizza, and how the model of the
Indefatigable
was coming along (the hull was nearly complete, thanks to some expert advice from his grandfather, but lots of work still remained) before Andy finally blurted out, “So, are we ever going to talk about what's going on with NTRP? Or am I done with all that?”

“You're not done with it unless you want to be done with it,” Silas said. “After the concert, Mrs. Cardigan and I had a lot to talk about, and we decided it would be best to leave you alone for a few days, until things settled down. I'm sure you and your mom—and your dad—had plenty to discuss, too. But if you're ready to talk…that's why I'm here.”

“I'm ready.”

“Good.” Silas pointed at a park bench. “Let's have a seat. First, tell me about Winter. What's the latest news? She's back in school, right?”

When de Spere's machine exploded, it sent a sliver of glass flying into Winter's left eye. Silas had used all of his contacts in the hospital but had not been able to determine what damage had been caused. No one knew or was willing to tell him whether the doctors had been able to save the eye.

“She has a patch over her left eye,” said Andy. “When she saw me, she looked right at me with her other one. She didn't say anything. She didn't even look mad. Like nothing had happened.”

Winter, Silas knew, would never waste time and energy on being angry. She
would
want revenge, and she had the resources of NTRP and St. John de Spere himself at her disposal. Silas didn't want to tell Andy
that,
so he reassured him that the Agents were keeping a close eye on her.

“NTRP is already expanding her role at the network. That first segment she did, the interview with Karina, was a huge ratings hit for them, so they're going to sit her down with all kinds of big names. In a few weeks, she's going to be one of the most famous teens in America. After that, who knows? De Spere, I'm sure, has big plans for her. Her own show. A website. Political office. With her abilities and his help, the sky's the limit. I've seen the two of them together, on a park bench not far from here, laughing and talking as if they didn't have a care in the world. At this point, God only knows what they're planning.”

“I'm not afraid,” said Andy. “We'll be ready for them.”

“That's right. We will. And you know why? Because there are some things in life that just
are
black-and-white. Maybe you see that more clearly than most because you're color-blind, but the truth is simple: We're
right
and they're wrong. What you did at the concert was a real victory for our side, but that was only one battle. The war goes on. NTRP will be back; you can count on that.”

“I don't think we'll have Jensen. She's dropped out of the Broadcast Club, and the other day she even told me about something that happened on
How Far Will You Go?
that she thought was hilarious. She used to
hate
that stuff.”

“Don't give up on her. Mrs. Cardigan likes to say that nothing lasts forever. If there's a way to get Jensen back, to reverse the process, we'll find it. I promise.”

“And we'll be even stronger now that we have Fallon back, right?”

Silas smiled. “You know, I think today is the first day you've said
we
instead of
you
when you were talking about the Agents. You really are one of us now. But to answer your question, yes, we will be stronger with Fallon back at the table, even though she was never actually gone. We've had another change that I should tell you about. Benson Siraji, the Agent who sits in the Humility chair, has gone missing somewhere in southern Tanzania, near where your mom was working. We haven't heard from him since the day after the concert. He sent a message that he was on his way to Arusha, his home city, for a few days and would fly back to New York. Somewhere, somehow, something went wrong. So until we find out exactly what is going on, I'll be sitting in for him in meetings.”

“Will…you…and me…will we still be a team?”

“Afraid so. You're stuck with me, kid. Unless I end up in jail for the murder of Ilene Porter. Your friend Detective Cunningham is still snooping around the hotel where she died, and it's only a matter of time till he finds a security camera with
this
face on it.”

“Funny thing about him,” said Andy. “After the thing at school where they gave me the money, we all went out for pizza. Mom and Dad invited him up, just to thank him, I guess. Well, Penny did not like that at all. He was trying to be friendly with her, but she wouldn't go near him. She sat across the room and just stared, showing her teeth. I never got the chance to look at him with my glass, but…Penny knows what she's doing.”

“Good girl, Penny,” Silas said, rubbing the spot behind her ears. “That's
very
interesting news. A little disturbing, maybe, but I'd rather know it now than later.”

They walked back across the park without saying much more, pausing outside Andy's apartment building. The sun had dropped below the buildings to the west, and the temperature had fallen with it. Directly above them, a streetlight came on, and Silas reached out to shake Andy's hand.

Andy hesitated. “Are you sure? I mean, I know you—”

Silas stood firm, moving his hand closer until Andy grasped it.

Well, that's Andy's story—at least the part that we're allowed to show you for the moment. If you're ready to join us, don't tell a soul about what you've read here.

In the meantime, go have a root beer.

I'll be in touch.