stories became more and more critical.
Then he clicked his way into the picture files, and things got really interesting.
For the past three months, Jensen had staked out the NTRP headquarters at Park and Forty-Fifth and followed the network executives all over the city, snapping pictures by the hundreds wherever they went—office buildings, restaurants, parks, you name it. Most of the photo files were organized by subjects’ names, but there was also a large file labeled
UNKNOWNS.
Andy skimmed through the list of names and clicked on the only one he recognized: Deanna Decameron. There she was on the steps in front of the New York Public Library, and then at a coffee shop, sitting across from Carl Quimby, host of NTRP’s
The Family in Penthouse A,
a reality show about a dysfunctional but fabulously wealthy Park Avenue family. In a third, she was standing outside an office building with an unidentified, strikingly handsome man somewhere in his forties, impeccably dressed in a shark-gray suit and wearing dark sunglasses. His hair—the same color as his suit—was pulled back from his face in a ponytail that hung down the middle of his back.
Andy opened the UNKNOWNS file next and began to scroll through the contents. The man with the ponytail from the picture with Deanna Decameron appeared with a number of on-air personalities from NTRP and in a dozen or more photos with others, some of whose names and faces were vaguely familiar to Andy, from the worlds of politics, business, and entertainment.
It was getting late, and Andy was about to shut his computer down for the night when he aimed the cursor and clicked on one last photo in the UNKNOWNS file.
“What?” he said out loud, immediately zooming in on the two men in the center of the picture, who were sitting on a park bench and engaged in what appeared to be a serious discussion. On the left was the man with the ponytail, on the right was Howard Llewellyn.
But that wasn’t all. Partially cut off on the far left side of the photograph, a few benches away, sat another man, his face partially obscured by the newspaper he held.
Silas’s
newspaper.
Silas’s
face.
There was more—a second photo of the same two men standing outside the entrance to the NTRP building. And in the background, pretending to be in the midst of an important conversation on his phone—guess who. Silas again.
When the time comes, you and I will meet face to face, but until then don’t expect to find any more pictures of me. And don’t bother looking for the ones that Andy found—they’re long gone.
Silas had, of course, heard about the incident in the park. What Andy didn’t know was that Penny’s collar had a GPS tracking device on it, and the second they were out of sight, Billy Newcomb hopped out of the van and set off after them. While Andy was spying on the joggers, Billy was spying on him, and when the chase began, he was ready to step in if necessary. He had smiled when Andy turned off the path just after the bend—it was a classic method for “shaking a tail,” and Andy seemed to know it instinctively.
“The kid is a natural. He’s going to be just fine,” he told Silas after making sure Andy and Penny made it home without any further trouble.
“Maybe. Or maybe he got lucky. Do we know who the guy was?”
“I ran his picture through the database, and he didn’t turn up. We’re looking into it.”
“Keep me posted. And keep a close eye on Mr. Llewellyn. He appears to have a rebellious streak. Let’s hope there’s no more surprises.”
Later that afternoon, Silas checked in with Andy by phone.
“How’s everything going so far? How’s Penny?”
“Great. Great.”
“You okay? That was a lot to absorb in one day. You have any questions?”
“Uh…no. Not right now. I’ll let you know.”
“I just want to say…everybody was
really
impressed with you, Andy. They—we, that is—have a tremendous amount of confidence in you. But I need you to promise me
Then he clicked his way into the picture files, and things got really interesting.
For the past three months, Jensen had staked out the NTRP headquarters at Park and Forty-Fifth and followed the network executives all over the city, snapping pictures by the hundreds wherever they went—office buildings, restaurants, parks, you name it. Most of the photo files were organized by subjects’ names, but there was also a large file labeled
UNKNOWNS.
Andy skimmed through the list of names and clicked on the only one he recognized: Deanna Decameron. There she was on the steps in front of the New York Public Library, and then at a coffee shop, sitting across from Carl Quimby, host of NTRP’s
The Family in Penthouse A,
a reality show about a dysfunctional but fabulously wealthy Park Avenue family. In a third, she was standing outside an office building with an unidentified, strikingly handsome man somewhere in his forties, impeccably dressed in a shark-gray suit and wearing dark sunglasses. His hair—the same color as his suit—was pulled back from his face in a ponytail that hung down the middle of his back.
Andy opened the UNKNOWNS file next and began to scroll through the contents. The man with the ponytail from the picture with Deanna Decameron appeared with a number of on-air personalities from NTRP and in a dozen or more photos with others, some of whose names and faces were vaguely familiar to Andy, from the worlds of politics, business, and entertainment.
It was getting late, and Andy was about to shut his computer down for the night when he aimed the cursor and clicked on one last photo in the UNKNOWNS file.
“What?” he said out loud, immediately zooming in on the two men in the center of the picture, who were sitting on a park bench and engaged in what appeared to be a serious discussion. On the left was the man with the ponytail, on the right was Howard Llewellyn.
But that wasn’t all. Partially cut off on the far left side of the photograph, a few benches away, sat another man, his face partially obscured by the newspaper he held.
Silas’s
newspaper.
Silas’s
face.
There was more—a second photo of the same two men standing outside the entrance to the NTRP building. And in the background, pretending to be in the midst of an important conversation on his phone—guess who. Silas again.
When the time comes, you and I will meet face to face, but until then don’t expect to find any more pictures of me. And don’t bother looking for the ones that Andy found—they’re long gone.
Silas had, of course, heard about the incident in the park. What Andy didn’t know was that Penny’s collar had a GPS tracking device on it, and the second they were out of sight, Billy Newcomb hopped out of the van and set off after them. While Andy was spying on the joggers, Billy was spying on him, and when the chase began, he was ready to step in if necessary. He had smiled when Andy turned off the path just after the bend—it was a classic method for “shaking a tail,” and Andy seemed to know it instinctively.
“The kid is a natural. He’s going to be just fine,” he told Silas after making sure Andy and Penny made it home without any further trouble.
“Maybe. Or maybe he got lucky. Do we know who the guy was?”
“I ran his picture through the database, and he didn’t turn up. We’re looking into it.”
“Keep me posted. And keep a close eye on Mr. Llewellyn. He appears to have a rebellious streak. Let’s hope there’s no more surprises.”
Later that afternoon, Silas checked in with Andy by phone.
“How’s everything going so far? How’s Penny?”
“Great. Great.”
“You okay? That was a lot to absorb in one day. You have any questions?”
“Uh…no. Not right now. I’ll let you know.”
“I just want to say…everybody was
really
impressed with you, Andy. They—we, that is—have a tremendous amount of confidence in you. But I need you to promise me
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