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“And this…” he said, “this isn’t really C-4, is it?”
“Silly Putty,” said Meed. “The color should have been a giveaway.” She pulled off her beret and let her copper curls loose. “What did they teach you at those Mensa meetings anyway?”
Meed was exhausted. But the events of the day had reminded her that she could not relax. Especially not now. And neither could Doctor Savage. She could see that he was learning, getting more resourceful and creative every day. More independent. But there were bigger challenges ahead. She had to stop going easy on him.
CHAPTER 34
Eastern Russia
14 Years Ago
THE THIN COPPER coin was no match for concentrated nitric acid.
As soon as Irina let the disk drop into the beaker, the solution started to foam and bubble. Within seconds, all that was left of the metal was a cloudy green mist. At the next lab station over, Meed was working with magnesium, causing a bubbling hiss and a burst of orange vapor.
All along the rows of black-topped tables, the students tested their caustic mixtures on an assortment of materials—cloth, metal, plastic, wood—and watched with fascination as the powerful corrosives did their work. Ilya Lunik, the bearded instructor, paced along the tables, mentally scoring the teams on accuracy and laboratory technique.
Lunik, a fastidious man in his late sixties, was a master chemist, one of the most brilliant of his generation. His coursework included formulas he had perfected years ago for the Russian government. He still kept those formulas in his head. During the Cold War, he had also dabbled in sedatives and poisons. But acids were his specialty, and his research had been widely respected in the darkest corners of the Soviet Union.
There had been no patents for his work, of course. No inventor’s royalties or prestigious medals. Only personal pride. And the satisfaction of passing his knowledge on to those who could put it to productive use. He walked to the chalkboard and started scrawling a complex chemical diagram.
For once, Irina and Meed were not the first team to finish their assignments.
While the other students recorded their observations diligently in lab notebooks, the dark-haired girl and her partner were deviously searching for other items to destroy. A pencil eraser in hydrochloric acid. A strand of hair in sulfuric acid. A fingernail clipping in hydrobromic acid. Lunik had just finished his work on the chalkboard when he heard the room erupt in excitement. One of Irina’s solutions had produced a thick white cloud, and the other students had abandoned their stations to observe the spectacle.
“Irina!” shouted Lunik from the front of the room. “Stick to the protocol!”
As soon as Lunik turned back toward the chalkboard, Irina thrust her hand at him in a rude gesture. The thick vapor blocked her view of a beaker on a tall stand. As she pulled her hand back, she accidentally knocked against the support. The beaker fell and crashed onto the lab table. The contents spattered on a bare patch of Irina’s right arm just above her rubber glove. Instantly, her flesh reddened and bubbled. Irina fell to the floor, slapping her other gloved hand over the wound. She gritted her teeth, trying not to scream.
Lunik whipped around, his chalk crumbling against the board. He rushed to Irina’s side, bent over her—and did nothing. As she writhed and twitched on the linoleum floor, Lunik looked down and said just three words to the class.
“Don’t move. Observe.”
This would be an object lesson, and a powerful one. The students were frozen in place. All except one. Meed lunged toward a side table and grabbed a gallon of distilled water. Lunik held a hand up to block her.
“No!” he said firmly.
Meed pushed past him. She uncapped the container and dropped to her knees at Irina’s side, then poured the clear water in a torrent over Irina’s forearm, which was now bright scarlet with ugly white patches. Irina arched and moaned with pain. The other students jumped back as the water splashed and seeped across the floor, afraid that the mixture might dissolve the soles of their shoes.
“Meed!” shouted Lunik, furious and red-faced. “Mistakes must be paid for!”
Meed set the water jug down and stood up. She grabbed a flask of hydrochloric acid from the lab table. She grabbed Lunik’s collar and held the flask over his head.
“Are you willing to pay for yours?” she asked.
Lunik stepped backward, shocked into silence. In his career, he had dealt with Kremlin bosses, the KGB, and professional torturers. All of them paled beside this copper-haired girl.
She was barely sixteen. But she was truly terrifying.
CHAPTER 35
Chicago
“FIVE MORE! RIGHT now! Don’t quit!” I was doing hundred-pound leg presses with Meed shouting into my ear. Her heavy metal playlist blasted from the ceiling speakers. Top volume. It was hard-core, so loud that it felt like it was actually penetrating my organs. Screams. Aggression. Raw fury. That’s what it took to get me through my two-a-day workouts, which had gotten more and more intense. I gritted my teeth and kept working the weight machine. I felt like a machine myself. My muscles were burning, almost exhausted. But Meed would not let up. She punched my shoulder—hard.
“That last rep was half-assed!” she shouted. “Give me an extra!”
I was into the fifth superset of my morning session. With my last rep, I was finished with legs, moving on to arms and back. I was panting, sweating, aching. I used to think a set of tennis was a solid workout. I had no idea. “Toy exercise,” Meed called it. “Wimpy and soft.” My soft life was definitely over. I’d almost forgotten what that life was like.
