Free Agents of the Glass by Michael D. Beil Page A

you.”
    Andy stood to greet her. “Hi…I, uh…It’s nice to meet you.”
    “Mrs. Cardigan is our…Well, if it’s okay with her, I’ll just start the presentation, and we can get better acquainted later.”
    “A capital idea. Andover, do you mind if I sit next to you?”
    “N-no. That’s fine.”
    “I think he prefers Andy,” said Reza. “Don’t you?”
    “Yes, ma’am,” said Andy.
    “Andy it is, then,” said Mrs. Cardigan. “Can’t say as I blame you. Andover is a little stiff-sounding, a bit like the butler on a PBS series.”
    She took her knitting from the tote and quickly counted the rows that she had already done. Andy watched with amazement as her fingers began to fly, wrapping the yarn this way and that—without her so much as glancing at the sock that was rapidly taking shape.
    “Great. Let’s move on, then,” said Silas. Using a remote control, he turned on the projector mounted above the table. While it warmed up, he inserted a flash drive into a notebook computer, tapped a few keys, and then motioned to Billy to dim the lights. “We have a little slide show for these occasions. Don’t worry if you can’t remember everything we tell you today. If it’s really critical, we’ll let you know.”
    The first slide appeared on the screen:

    Silas began: “If you remember from our very first conversation, I told you that I worked for a group that I called the Agency. Well, it’s actually a bit more complex than that. The full name is the Agents of the Glass. The symbol that you see there was first drawn by Brother Lucian more than eight hundred years ago.”
    “There are eight Level 3 Agents,” added Mr. Nakahara, “each representing one of our core ideals: Compassion, Intelligence, Integrity, Loyalty, Courage, Dignity, Discipline, and Humility.”
    “Today, we have Dignity, Loyalty, and Integrity—we’ll leave who’s who for later,” said Silas. “Billy and I are Level 2 Agents; we’re both in what we call Special Services. You’ll be meeting the others soon. Except for Discipline. That spot is unoccupied at the moment; the previous occupant…” He glanced at Mr. Nakahara, who shook his head ever so slightly.
    “Perhaps it’s best if we leave that for another time, too,” said Martin. “Until any doubts we have about Mr. Llewellyn have been erased.”
    “Play nice, Martin,” said Reza.
    “How do you get to Level 3?” Andy asked, hurt but trying to ignore Martin’s insults.
    “Excellent question,” said Reza. “Finding the right person has always been difficult, and in today’s world, I’m afraid, it’s become nearly impossible. The people you see around this table have been chosen by the other members, based on their words and their deeds—their
character.
We have all known each other a long time, and we trust each other completely—or we’re supposed to. That’s why Martin is so testy. You see, we were betrayed by one of our members.
That’s
the reason the Discipline chair is empty. We’re still deciding what to do about it.”
    “And in a tradition that goes all the way back to Lucian,” said Silas, “there is always a ninth chair reserved for a very special person, someone who is, in a sense, at the center of the circle, someone who is at the intersection of all eight qualities.” He turned and looked straight at Mrs. Cardigan. “Someone like her.”
    Andy sat up a bit straighter in his seat, and Mrs. Cardigan put her hand on his arm to put him at ease. Silas clicked to the second slide, which had the heading
Lucian’s Army.
    “Here’s where the rest of us come in, Andy,” Silas said. “You and me, along with hundreds of others in the city and around the world, are the foot soldiers in the battle against chaos and hatred and greed, all the things that our enemies hold dear. Billy, Melvin at the hobby shop, the woman at the bodega, all the Level 1 and Level 2 Agents—we’re all soldiers in Lucian’s Army.”
    “Everyone at this table