One of the only spots still left untouched was Hank’s secret laboratory. She was going to get around to it, but every time she thought about tackling it, she found herself turning to Maria’s journal instead. Nadia had been slowly working her way through the list, one item at a time. The New York Hall of Science had been incredible. The first two Star Wars films, however, had been middling at best. Or were they the middle two…? Nadia had trouble caring enough to keep it straight. Apparently, they got much better. (She’d promised Ying they could watch the next one together tonight, and now she was going to be late!)
Nadia was enjoying herself, checking off item after item, certainly. But she still felt as though with every item on the list, she was…chasing something. Something she didn’t quite know how to reach. Waiting to feel a certain way or think a certain thing or to be told how she should feel about what she had just done…She didn’t really know what she was waiting for, really. But she knew she hadn’t found it yet.
And Nadia still hadn’t told Janet about what she had found—the lab or the journal.
Not because she didn’t want Janet to know. It wasn’t that at all. It was just that Nadia wanted to spare her machekha’s feelings. Nadia had no idea what else could be in the lab that might trigger some unpleasant memories or emotions in Janet. Hank hadn’t been a good partner, regardless of the reasons, and Nadia didn’t want to be insensitive about that. And she never wanted Janet to feel like Nadia didn’t appreciate everything she had done for her. Nadia could never repay Janet for her kindness over these last few years. Complicating things with Maria’s journal just seemed…
Complicated.
And Nadia was too busy right now for complicated. She was definitely too busy right now for A.I.M.
“Just the three of you, then?” Nadia called back to the A.I.M lackeys. She knew there were only three agents; she’d searched the area thoroughly while tiny before revealing herself. Nadia was just distracting them for a moment while she hit the comms button on her helmet, connecting with the Pym Philanthropy front desk in a flash.
“Wendy, there’s only three of them and I am watching them all,” Nadia relayed quickly. “Take your team out the back. Jarvis is waiting in the van.”
“Got it.” The girl on the other side of the line sounded relieved and grateful all at once. “We made the call and got the rest of the street shut down. We’ll help the neighbors evacuate. You got this, Nadia.”
“Definitely!” Nadia replied with confidence. This wasn’t her first time taking on A.I.M. She knew what she was up against.
Nadia had been leaving her weekly therapy appointment and heading for the bus when she’d gotten the call from her friend Wendy, who worked Pym Philanthropy’s front desk. Wendy als
o planned their parties and loved pigeons. Nadia sometimes stopped in on her way back to the labs to chat with her, and it was always a delight.
Which is why, when Nadia heard how worried Wendy sounded on the call, she’d headed straight over. Suit on and particles activated, Nadia had spied on the location from the top of an organic coffee shop across the street that sold the most delicious crepes. Did she have time to stop for a crepe?
After, Nadia decided. Because there was simply no mistaking the three A.I.M. agents clearly…what did they say in Ying’s movies? Casting? Caring?
Casing. Casing the joint! They had been casing the joint.
Here was the thing about A.I.M. For a supposed covert international technology cartel dedicated to overthrowing the world’s governments, stealth was not really their strong suit. Their suits, in fact, were lemon-yellow biohazard gear with noisy black boots and a matching belt (didn’t they know that belts and shoes did not have to match? That was, like, the first thing Shay had taught Nadia about fashion). Today their biohazard suits were black, and while they might have been able to get away with something like that in Williamsburg, it was considerably more conspicuous in Cresskill, New Jersey.
Their accessorizing didn’t help their situation, either. If the oversize guns on their backs didn’t scream “evil baddies,” the cold, lifeless eyes of their identical helmets certainly did—thin, opaque visors embedded in perfect cylinders with flat tops.
Nadia giggled to herself. They were just…they were bucket-heads. Sure, they were dangerous and evil and a threat not to be taken lightly.
But they wore buckets on their heads. Like Goth Devo.*
And they were here at Pym Philanthropy.
“You know this isn’t our lab, right?” From her vantage point in the air, Nadia made a mental note of the location of all three agents. One by the front door, one on the street, one in the alley trying to sneak away unseen. “This is a charitable organization. We do stuff like science parties. You would probably like it!”
The agent on the street pulled a large gun-shaped apparatus off his back and aimed it at Nadia. “Time to get squashed.”
Nadia rolled her eyes. Villains. You’d think they’d spend more time coming up with their snappy zingers, but no. They were always satisfied with the same garbage. Honestly, it was kind of disappointing.
The A.I.M. agent pulled the trigger on his weapon the same moment Nadia hit the trigger on her Pym Particles, shrinking instantly. She watched the ignition on his flamethrower like it was happening in slow motion.
NADIA’S NEAT SCIENCE FACTS!!!
Military-grade flamethrowers and flamethrowers for regular people* (???) use different flammable liquids. Regular people (who own flamethrowers…?), like the A.I.M. agent in this situation, use propane-operated flamethrowers. Military-grade flamethrowers use gel-like substances (napalm-esque) because they’re more viscous—they don’t soak into the ground or dissipate as easily. That means they can be left to sit sticky on surfaces for longer periods of time and can still be ignited later. They’re very dangerous!
Propane-operated flamethrowers are less dangerous, as far as flamethrowers go. Which is to say, still extremely dangerous. We are talking about flamethrowers, here. The propane gas escapes the tank via its own pressure. As it exits the nozzle, the gas undergoes piezo ignition. If you have ever lit a camping stove or even a lighter, you are familiar with piezoelectricity, which is the electric charge that can accumulate in materials like quartz under pressure. When quartz is struck quickly—by, say, a spring-loaded hammer—it releases an electrical discharge. When that high-voltage discharge comes into contact with the propane gas…
Kawoosh! You have your flames! I am assuming this A.I.M. agent’s suit is flame-retardant.
That is about to be very lucky for him.
Nadia narrowed her eyes. She zipped around the flames, the air warping around her from the heat, and flew behind the guy who was still under the impression that he was aiming his flames at her. Nadia centered herself behind his propane tank, and—