Free Agents of the Glass by Michael D. Beil

Billy, nudging Andy.
    Without another word, they followed Silas down the eighteen stairs to a simply decorated room with a round table with nine chairs around it. There was nothing special about the table or chairs; it’s all simple wooden furniture, the kind you can buy anywhere. It took Andy about five seconds, which is faster than most people, to realize that the room itself was round.
    Two of the chairs were occupied, one by a stern-looking man of thirty-one in jeans and a well-worn crew-neck sweater, the other by a seventy-six-year-old Japanese gentleman in a hand-tailored three-piece suit. They both nodded greetings at Billy and Silas while eyeing Andy with a mixture of surprise and, in the case of the younger man, suspicion.
    “Was it necessary, or wise, to bring him here so soon?” he asked in a posh British accent.
    “It was my decision,” Silas responded. “And Mrs. Cardigan has given it her blessing.” He guided Andy to one of the empty chairs and stood behind him. “I understand your concerns, but in no time at all, I am certain, you will share my confidence in Andy. Some introductions are necessary. The distinguished-looking gentleman in the suit is Mr. Nakahara, and this is Martin Gardner.”
    Mr. Nakahara bowed his head at Andy. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, young man.”
    Andy smiled back at him, wondering whether he should bow in return and why Mr. Nakahara had said
finally.
His first meeting with Silas, at ModelWorld, had been just a few weeks earlier. Since buying the model of
Indefatigable,
he had barely had a chance to admire its thousands of parts, let alone actually begin construction. “Thanks. I…Um, it’s nice to meet you, too,” he said, adding an awkward bow at the end.
    “Sorry I’m late, everyone,” said a woman, rushing into the room in a traditional hijab that covered her head and neck but not her face. “Traffic was—Oh, hello there. You must be Andy. My, you really do look—” She stopped mid-sentence and smiled broadly at him. “Hi, I’m Reza Benali.” She shook his hand enthusiastically, then turned to the others. “Mr. Nakahara, it’s been too long. You gave us quite a scare in Moscow. Wasn’t sure you’d be back on your feet so quickly.”
    “There’s still a lot of life left in this old body,” he said. “I’m like a fine old automobile—the older I get, the more time I spend in the shop.”
    “Well, next time, wait for help before you take on three of them at once. Martin, how are you? You look pale. And you’ve lost weight. Everything okay?”
    “I’m fine. Can we please get started? You have a long way to go to convince me that this isn’t a waste of my time.”
    “Ah, there’s that cheerful, positive attitude I know and love,” said Reza.
    “It’s not my job to be cheerful. We’re dealing with a serious threat, and Silas brings us a
kid.
An
untested
kid.”
    “Enough, Martin,” said Mr. Nakahara. “Let us not forget that the threat of whom you speak is also quite young.”
    Andy turned to Silas, his eyes pleading for support.
    “Sorry about all this, Andy,” said Mr. Nakahara. “Martin, you’ve made your point. Now let Silas do his job.”
    “I agree,” declared the voice of a woman.
    Andy spun around in his seat and found himself facing a tiny woman with bones as fine as a sparrow’s, standing at the bottom of the stairs. Well into her seventies, she had the face of a much younger woman, with dark, piercing eyes that sparkled when she saw him. In her hands, she carried a canvas tote filled with balls of yarn, a pair of knitting needles sticking out of one the color of rust.
    “I didn’t think you were coming today,” said Silas. “You should have let me know. I would have—”
    She held up a hand to stop him. “Last-minute change of plans. I’m fully capable of finding my way here on my own. Besides, it’s time I met our new friend. Hello, Andover. I’m Mrs. Cardigan…like the sweater. I’m so pleased to meet