The Nameless Benefactor
The speech came through the radio in a crackle of static, like a voice from the bottom of a well. Alistair Van Derlyn sat at his writing desk in the apartment on Central Park South, a glass of sherry in his left hand, and listened to a boy he had never met become a man the entire city was listening to. "My name is Marcus Webb," the voice said, and it was deeper now than Alistair remembered --...
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