Agents of the Glass, page 19
WN: Wow, that’s an awesome story. Now let’s talk for a minute about your critics. Not everyone is a fan of your music or Operation THAW. A lot of people think it’s wrong to pressure—or, in some cases, require—kids to do community service. They say that the whole idea is un-American, that it sounds like socialism, that it’s sending the wrong message to people who need help. How do you respond to that?
KJ: [Laughs.] Ah, you’re talking about my old friend Howard Twopenny. Look, I’d love to live in Howard’s world—at least the way he thinks it is, a black-and-white place where everyone starts out equally and the hardworking rise to the top and the lazy end up on the bottom of the heap. But that’s just not the way it is, Winter. I’ve seen plenty of hardworking people out there struggling to make ends meet. And plenty of lazy ones who are doing just fine. The folks at NTRP have gotten rich by focusing their cameras and microphones on all the worst aspects of human nature and completely ignoring the rest. I know I’m wearing some serious rose-colored glasses, but I think—no, I know—they’re wrong.
WN: But why is it up to kids to fix the problem?
KJ: I wouldn’t say that it’s “up to” kids. If Howard Twopenny doesn’t want his kid to spend two hours a week volunteering, that’s fine. But if you ask me, kids need to get out there and see the world for themselves—the good and the bad—and let’s face it, sometimes kids need a little push. I know I would have when I was that age.
WN: Funny you should mention Howard Twopenny’s kid. He’s a student right here at good old Wellbourne: our producer, Andy [Llewellyn]. Hey, Andy, could you come out here? Here he is. Howard Twopenny is your dad, right?
AL: Yep. That’s him, all right.
WN: So, whose side are you on, Andy? Your dad’s or Karina’s?
KJ: Oh, let’s not put him on the spot here. Tell you what, though. Andy, you tell your dad that I want him to be my personal guest at the concert Friday. I mean it. I would love for him to come and see for himself. To hear some of the stories—not just about what these kids have done, but about how they have been changed by volunteering a couple of hours a week. Will you ask him for me?
AL: Um, okay. You’re serious?
KJ: Absolutely. I’ll leave two tickets for him at the door. You tell him that I am going to be so disappointed if he doesn’t show.
WN: Do you think he’ll come, Andy?…He’s shrugging. Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. Getting back to the concert: Karina, you kept the location under wraps for a long time—any secrets you’re willing to share about Friday?
KJ: Hmm. I guess it would be all right to let the cat out of the bag—the goody bag, that is. Before the concert, we’re throwing an all-you-can-eat pizza party, and everyone is going to get a tote bag packed with goodies.
WN: Lucky kids! We’re just about out of time, so let me thank you again, Karina. It’s been such a thrill, and I can’t wait for Friday.
When Winter called for him to join her on the set, Andy had been in the process of snooping through her email, which she had left open on her tablet in the control room. Unfortunately, he was caught off guard when he heard his name, and he left a message open when he stood to go on to the set. To make matters worse, the moment the interview was over, Winter asked one of the boys in the control room to bring her the tablet so she could take a picture with Karina.
“I’ll get it,” said Andy, rushing into the room.
“Too late,” said Luke Toller, a ninth-grade computer whiz with a major crush on Winter. “I’ve got it, Howie Junior.”
Luckily for Andy, Karina saw the look on his face when Luke started to hand the tablet to Winter.
She reacted quickly, taking a step toward Luke and pretending to trip on the rug at the same time. Her left hand flung forward into his, sending the tablet flying across the room and onto the hard tile floor, where it landed with an unhealthy crunch. An awkward silence followed as everyone cringed, waiting for Winter’s reaction.
“You…idiot,” she snarled at Luke, who seemed to be shrinking into the floor.
“It was totally my fault,” said Karina, picking up the tablet. “Ouch. That doesn’t look good.” The shattered screen had gone completely black. “Let me get you a new one. And I have a guy who can retrieve everything you have on this one. He’s amazing. Used to work for the government, real hush-hush kind of stuff. Okay? Come on. Let’s not end the day on such a bummer. It’s just a tablet, right? Not nearly as important as a friend.”
Winter forced a smile and even apologized to Luke. “Sorry I freaked out on you like that. It’s…I mean, my life is on that thing.” She took the remains of the tablet from Karina. “Thanks, but you don’t have to replace it. It was an accident. My…dad is pretty good with stuff like this. He’ll be able to get what I need from it.”
“It was quick thinking on Karina’s part,” said Silas when Andy told him about the incident with Winter’s tablet. “She’s always been like that. Now tell me about the email.”
“I only saw it for a second,” said Andy. “Maybe not even a whole second. It was from a weird address—just a long list of random numbers and letters. Impossible to memorize. The message was…‘Cotwo delivery at WA cafeteria on Friday afternoon. More details to follow.’ That was it.”
“Cotwo delivery? You’re sure? With a c or a k?”
“C. C-O-T-W-O.”
“All right, I’ll check it out. Maybe it’s the name of a delivery service. Anything on Jensen yet? Heard from Detective Cunningham?”
“He’s supposed to call me….Here he is right now.”
Andy answered his phone, hitting the speaker button so Silas could hear.
“This a good time?”
“Yeah, it’s cool. Did you find Jensen? Is she okay?”
“Slow down. We haven’t found her, but I have some news.”
Andy sat, expecting the worst. “Oh, no.”
“She’s in California. At least that’s what she says in her letter.”
“Letter?”
“Arrived here at the precinct yesterday, finally made it into my hands an hour ago. Looks legit. I haven’t had the experts look yet, but the handwriting seems to match the sample you gave me.”
“What did she say?”
“The whole thing was staged, she says, to make it look like she was being arrested. She wanted to create a little drama—those are her words, not mine—and give the people in her building something to talk about, so she hired a couple of actors. She claims she’s going to visit relatives in California for a while. We’re waiting to hear back from her parents to confirm that. We checked the airlines, trains, buses. No sign of her yet.”
“It’s a fake,” said Andy. “She would never use the word drama like that. She hates people who do that almost as much as she hates her uncle—and everything about California, for that matter.”
(New York Inquirer, Around the City news brief)
PHILANTHROPIST MISSING
Noted philanthropist Ilene Porter, the Porter Paper heiress with an estimated worth of nearly three billion dollars, was reported missing yesterday by her personal assistant. Although few details have been made available, a source revealed that police have reviewed security camera footage from the Newgate Hotel and have a number of “persons of interest” in the case. —Zhariah Davis
I’m fairly certain that I’m included in the list of “persons of interest” mentioned by Ms. Davis—not an ideal situation in the middle of an already complicated situation. The last thing I need is to be dragged into a police station for questioning. Not that it would be the first time. Or, likely, the last. Don’t worry, when you get into trouble—and you will—the entire army of Agents will be there to back you up. Remember, we have friends everywhere.
Andy left his building early Tuesday for Penny’s morning walk, but as he made the turn onto York Avenue, he spotted Billy Newcomb and Silas, waiting for him in the Twenty-First Street Mission van.
“Get in out of the rain,” Silas said.
“I don’t have time. I’ll be late to school. And Penny hasn’t eaten.”
“You’re taking the day off. At least the morning. We’ll feed Penny.”
“I have a math test today! I studied two hours for it.”
“You can make it up later. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Come on.”
Grumbling, Andy slid the side door open and climbed into the middle seat in the back. Penny hopped in after him, excited at the prospect of a ride.
“Don’t you want to know where we’re going?”
“Does it matter? It’s not like I have a choice.”
“What if I told you it might help us find Jensen?”
Andy grunted. “How?”
“You’re going to visit your dad at the NTRP Broadcast Center. He goes on the air in a few minutes.”
“I guess that explains why he was in such a hurry. Wait…how is that going to help find Jensen?”
“There are some interesting guests scheduled for today: Roscoe Mertyn and Sylvia Langhorne, two philanthropists from the Halestrom Conference—former philanthropists, that is. Billionaires, both of them, and not people who are easy to get close to. I’m dying to hear what they have to say, but even more important, I want to know what Penny thinks of them. And don’t take any unnecessary risks, but if you can sneak a peek at them through your Lucian Glass, that would be helpful, too. I have a hunch about something, and you’re going to help prove it.”
“You think that NTRP got to them with Operation Tailor?”
“So, you have been paying attention,” said Silas. “That’s what I’m thinking, yes. Last night, after I found out who the guests were, I went through a ton of records and found something helpful. They both attended an event where Mr. Nakahara—remember him from the meeting at the Mission?—was present with his dog. No lumen. He’s sure.”
“So, if they have one now…”
“Exactly.”
The security guard inside the NTRP Broadcast Center eyed Andy up and down, then pointed at Penny with a scowl. “Where’re you goin’, kid? You can’t bring that mutt in here.”
“I’m here to see my dad…Howard Llewell—er, Twopenny?”
Instant backtracking by the guard. “Wha…you’re Howard’s kid? I’m really…Come on in. Sorry, son,” he babbled. “Can you just sign in right here? Thanks.” He reached down and awkwardly patted Penny on the top of her head. “Really sorry about that, boy.”
“She’s a girl.” Andy was enjoying the moment, this feeling of power that he had simply because of who he was—a very dangerous feeling.
“Oh, right. Of course. Sorry, she’s a beauty, too. Take the elevator to the fifth floor. I’ll tell the receptionist that you’re on your way.”
It took Andy and Penny under a minute to reach the studio on the fifth floor, but the greeting they received there was very different from the one they’d first gotten at the front door.
The receptionist (gorgeous, familiar-looking) met him at the elevator as if she were greeting the Queen of England. “Andy! It is so nice to finally meet you. Your dad has told us so much about you.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?” said Andy. He really did wonder what his dad had said about him.
She forced a laugh and ignored the question. “I’m Gerri—that’s with an i—and this beautiful girl must be Penny. Omigosh, she is so sweet. Can I get you anything, Andy? A Coke? Blueberry muffin?”
“No thanks. I’m just here to see my dad. Can you take me to the studio where he does the show? I haven’t even seen it yet. Isn’t there a place where you can watch what’s going on, you know, without being heard?”
“Absolutely. Follow me.” She glanced at the clock. “I’m afraid he’s about to go on the air, so you won’t be able to talk to him until the news break on the half hour.”
“That’s all right. I just want to watch for a while.”
Gerri-with-an-i led him through a set of heavy soundproof doors and into an empty auditorium-style room with thirty or forty seats facing the glass studio wall. In an enormous, thronelike chair behind the glass sat the man himself, Howard Twopenny, with his two guests. He didn’t see Andy and Penny enter, which was just fine with Andy, who wanted to give Penny a chance to get a good look at the guests.
“What do you think, Pen?” he whispered.
It didn’t take her long to decide. As she stared at Roscoe Mertyn, her lip began to quiver and she gradually bared her teeth, emitting a low growl.
“Easy, girl.” He checked the room again, making sure no one could see him, and pulled his Lucian Glass from beneath his shirt. A quick glance through it confirmed what Silas had suspected and Penny had just told him: Mertyn had a clear lumen lucidus. To Andy, a newcomer to the world of the lumen, it seemed pale and weak compared to Winter’s, but there was no doubt it was there.
During a commercial break, Sylvia Langhorne stood and moved close to the glass wall, her back to Andy. Penny had the same reaction, and the Lucian Glass again established the existence of the lumen lucidus. Two for two.
So it was true. Mrs. Cardigan, Silas, and the Agents had all been clinging to the hope that NTRP’s ability to create the lumen was limited to the weak-minded or those who were seriously lacking in any of the eight qualities that the Agents regarded as essential, but now that hope seemed to be dead and buried. If NTRP was able to “flip” two of the most generous people in the nation, was anyone safe?
That sums it up pretty nicely, don’t you think?
Just how serious the situation was became apparent a few minutes later, when Howard Twopenny’s show went on the air.
“Folks,” he began, “I think you all know how I feel about charity. I’ve made myself pretty clear: It’s for losers.”
Cringing, Andy sank lower in his seat.
Howard continued: “If you still have doubts, go to my website and read a few of the entries in my world-famous Charity Is for Losers contest. If you’re still not convinced, I have a feeling that today’s guests might bring you over to my team. Until very recently, they were at the very top of the list of the most generous people in America. Over the past twenty years, they gave millions—tens of millions—to charities of all shapes and sizes. But no más, amigos. Both of my guests, along with a number of their formerly generous friends, have turned off the money spigot, and they’re here today to tell us about it and to talk some sense into those of you out there who are still intent on giving away your money to losers who can’t take care of themselves. Welcome, Mr. Roscoe Mertyn and Ms. Sylvia Langhorne.”
“Thank you, Howard,” said Sylvia.
“Glad to be here,” added Roscoe.
“Let’s cut right to the chase. A lot of people are wondering, What happened? Why the sudden change of heart? Ladies first.”
“At some point, it all becomes pointless,” Sylvia said. “You give a million dollars to an organization, and six months later, they’re back, asking for more. Nothing ever changes. I’m a very successful person, and I’m not going to apologize for that. Yes, I started out life with a little money, but I’ve worked hard, and you know what? I like getting results. I’m used to it. I simply got tired of feeling that I didn’t matter. Only my money.”
“But surely you must have done some good, made a few lives better.”
“Perhaps. A few months back, I was listening to bright-eyed eager-to-do-gooders pitch their ideas, clinging to this naïve belief that their generation would be the one to wipe out poverty and corruption and suffering and unfairness, and then…something…happened to me. I don’t want to say it was a bolt from the blue, but it happened almost that fast. One morning, I woke up and I knew that I had donated my last dollar.”
“How about you, Roscoe?” asked Howard. “Similar experience?”
“I’ve never quit at anything in my life, but the fact is, this is a battle we can’t win. It’s impossible, like a high school basketball team trying to beat the Los Angeles Lakers. At some point, it becomes useless even to try. So I decided to sit this game out, so to speak.”
Silas, listening in the van, cringed as he listened to Roscoe and Sylvia. Despite what they were saying, he still felt sorry for them, because he knew that it wasn’t real; they had been manipulated, possibly genetically altered. As he began to wonder if the process was reversible, the show took an interesting turn.
“Before any of you liberal dingbats call in and accuse me of telling only one side of the story, let me bring on my next guest, Mr. Sawyer Neale the Fourth. Is that right? The Fourth?”
Winter’s father, who had been waiting in the greenroom, sprang into the studio, shaking hands and smiling like a politician. “Thanks for having me on, Howard. My wife is a big fan.”
“But not you, I’ll bet,” said Howard, grinning.
“I think you’re very…entertaining,” Sawyer said.
“Ah, a diplomat. Fair enough. Well, you’ve been listening to what Roscoe and Sylvia have to say about charity—what do you think? Let’s see, my producer wrote down some figures here….According to public records, your foundation gave away about seventy-five million last year. Will you be joining these two on the sidelines?”
“No, I won’t, Howard,” said Sawyer. “Look, I can sympathize with Roscoe and Sylvia, feeling that it’s all uphill, all the time, but that’s no reason to quit. My daughter mocks me mercilessly, says I’m a hopeless optimist. I can live with that. She also complains about the service requirements at her school, but you know what? It’s good for her to see firsthand how people who aren’t as fortunate as her live.”
