Chapter Two: Interests and Pursuits.
A crowd had gathered, curious over the shouting man's antics. They erupted into panic at the sight of the dynamite strapped on his body. Seconds ago, Giant-Man had already sensed something was wrong when the well-attired man began unbuttoning his spring jacket. Now, the sight of the explosives verified Hank's cautiousness. At twenty feet, the hero had the strength of at least seventy men. His first impulse was to grab the man and hurl him into the sky to prevent a greater the loss of lives besides the lone bomber himself. But when the suicide bomber reached into his pocket with his right hand, Giant-Man knew that the explosion was not a surety. The necessary charger was now coming out into full view.
With lightning reflexes, Hank stretched out and pressed the sides of the bomber's right wrist with his left thumb and index finger. As expected, the man instinctively reacted to the pain by opening his hand and dropping the detonator into the three fingers of the same giant hand. The charger was then swallowed up by Giant-man's hand.
When the bomber tried to reach for his torso, the towering hero suspected that there was another way to activate the explosion. Giant-Man's free hand captured the bomber's searching fingers and pulled them away from the explosives.
"No, no , no", the would-be assassin yelled as he sat on the sidewalk kicking at Hank's hands.
The suicide bomber then screamed, "This time the—"
Suddenly a red boot shot out of nowhere. The heel caught the screamer squarely on the side of his head and the man screamed no more. It pays to team up with a former dancer, Hank thought.
The knockout kick didn't have to be that strong, the heroine secretly admitted to herself. The extra oomph was ignited by a spark of anger towards her partner. In the past Hank would always seek her advice and approval of things. Going against her wishes to ignore this dangerous shouter just brought back memories of his most recent independent behaviors. Several times Hank had phone conversations with his sister Erica. She and Jan didn't get along, so Jan expected Hank to tell her when and what they talked about- but he'd "forget." Then he moved a second lab assistant into a bedroom located on the same penthouse floor as their bedrooms. That was more than disturbing for a woman who was as territorial as Jan.
The heroine's anger diverted away from the source a second time. Jan shook her head looking at the six National Guardsmen pointing their rifles at the downed bomber.
"Let me guess," she said. "You were going to shoot him to prevent him from going boom and taking out the whole block. And did we figure out what would happen if a bullet hit his chest or, if you hit his skull, what'll happen when he falls forward on the dynamite?"
She turned to her beau and sharply said, "Let's get out of here."
They returned to their previous sizes and the Wasp took her companion up above the street lights.
Opening a small window into her resentment she scolded, "Are you happy? You stop to help the freaking idiot and he had a going away present for you under his jacket."
"Absolutely. Did you think he wasn't going to use the dynamite elsewhere?"—Hank turned around to see that Steve Rodgers had joined the soldiers who surrounded the bomb-carrier.— "And maybe at that other place, there would be no one around to keep his hands off of the detonator.
"So yes, I'm glad I stopped and put an end to his scheme."
The Wasp didn't want to argue the point when he pictured the scenario in that light. But she continued to pick at him on subjects that she felt sure she could win. Jan started with his idea of moving away from Manhattan and then for his inability to sleep away from home. Both went unanswered.
On their way to the river, the duo anchored themselves on a car's truck until it made a northern turn. Then the wasp flew her partner onto another car that was heading in the right direction. The car exhausts added to her irritation towards Hank.
"Why didn't you bring the copter, Mr. Cute-But-Dumb?"
"Because two weeks ago, Thor had utterly shattered it when he was under the Enchantress' spell. Gee, I could have sworn you were sitting next to me when it happened. It must have been your twin sister."
"I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT THE REAL COPTER, DIM-WIT! I was talking about your toy."
Hank explained that the tiny two-seater that could accommodate the insect-sized duo was an answer to every bird's prayer. He had installed an experiential electric force field to ward off winged predators. But he wasn't confident about using the electrical defensive device in the rain. The Ant-slash-Giant-Man had no intention of gaining another identity as the Barbequed-Man.
In minutes, the couple's car-to-car hitch-hiking brought them to the Eastside Highway. On the other side of it was the river that separated the Manhattan from Queens.
"Next time," the Wasp complained, "let's just come in our regular size. Then you can carry a wallet and pay for a damn taxi. Is that okay with you, cheapskate?"
As was becoming the custom in their relationship, the Wasp's verbal stings had reached a point that caused Henry to tense up for a few seconds. In the beginning of their co-habitation, a few things that Hank did were soundly criticized. For the past month-and-a-half, NEARLY EVERYTHING that the man did seemed to merit her criticisms. And, to Henry many of those were over-the-top rants.
After taking the time to suppress his reaction, he calmly replied. "I already explained about the unwanted attention that comes when wearing a top coat in summer to cover our costumes."
When the Wasp rose over the highway, taking Ant-Man with her, Hank added, "Now we could buy clothes larger than our sizes and hide our costumes under them. But then you would look fat."
Hank was pretty sure that he shut up the appearance-conscious heroine. That wasn't the case.
Jan said, "We could bring regular clothes in a satchel and demand that no one looks into it."
"But we would still have to find a place to change before entering the grounds…. We could enter a diner's bathroom and come out in costume. Then there would be all those people who saw our faces going in and who suspect that the brunette and her male companion were the Wasp and Giant-man. Are your investments big enough to pay hush money to all of them for maybe… forever?"
Jan smirked, "For a big brain, you sure can't get around mundane problems, can you?"
Back at the sidewalk in front of the Avengers Mansion one slim, long-faced man grimly surveyed the scene as the New York City police took away the awakened suicide bomber. He walked casually to the 5th Avenue corner and looked towards Central Park as rain droplets began to chat with each other upon his raincoat.
A dark limousine then pulled up before him. Being alone on the corner, the tall, slender, mustached man was free to talk to the driver.
"I have been observing them for these past days. Tell the master that the one he is looking for is not with them.
He turned his attention back towards the mansion and then again to the driver.
"The master should know that there was a little excitement here —a bomb threat. Certainly that should have caused that individual to come out of the house and make his presence known."
The man drew a frustrated breath and continued, "I'm going to check out of the hotel and I'm coming back to base."
The driver's low tone was barely audible when he answered back.
"What?" the thin fellow asked. "You mean catch up with Cannon? I have an informant who…."—the man in the car interrupted him— "An entirely new person, now?"
The driver continued to talk. The long-faced man let out an annoyed groan— "I got it. He's unbelievably intelligent and he could be a mutant. I got it. I will see to it.
"Not now— I have no pen on me, you dolt. Call me with the address and phone number at the hotel in a half hour. …Yes, I'll call this Starr fellow immediately."
The driver hurled an insult at him and drove off with a laughing cackle. The slim faced man was tempted to react— to teach the round faced leech a well-deserved lesson. But he thought better of it. He was supposed to attract no interest and there were too many people in the street now.
The man raised his arm to hail a taxi cab. Among a sea of vehicles, a few cab drivers swerved their way toward him in an attempt to get his fare. The man smiled under the strengthening rain. Many tried, but only one driver was skillful enough to get to him. It was yet another practical illustration of life that the master always espoused. The superior is deserving of rewards, not the inferior.
On the borderline of New York's Queens County and Long Island's Nassau County was an out-of-the-way restaurant that served excellent food. But the menu wasn't the reason that Klaus Voorhees sat with an amused face. He alternated his sunken, predatory brown eyes between the steak he was carving and the man who had invited him to eat.
Klaus' last encounter with the long haired hero, Thor, resulted in defeat. He and his then partner, Mr. Hyde, ended up in the hands of the police. But they could not keep the Cobra for long. Since then, he had eluded law enforcement with little effort.
This completely bald, utterly dangerous figure now sat in a restaurant opposite a little, thin, Hair-receeding twit who knew where Klaus could be found. Voorhees opened his mouth and began to uncoil his smooth, beguiling baritone voice.
"So you say your employer had the information as to my whereabouts. I should be thankful that he didn't turn me in, shouldn't I?"
The thin, mousey man stopped eating. Looking at his intimidating guest the small man again resumed his nervous push of his glasses back to the upper portion of his nose. In the midst of the chatter of the filled dining room, he answered.
"Well, he thinks the world of "—the man whispered the word—"Cobra." Returning to his normal tone, he added, "He thinks you would be a valuable addition as his body guard."
"Hmm, even with my reputation?"
The smile on Voorhees's face emitted a danger that rattled the smaller man. The little man arched his eyebrows and put down his eating utensils as if a lead weight mysteriously entered into his stomach.
"Yourrr reputaaaatioooon."—the man looked down to his plate and then at the jacketed, but tie-less guest with a nervous smile. "Yes, well your talents make you, ah, a sought-after employee."
Klaus' hated the sight of weaklings. But at that second, the frightened reaction that he produced on the feeble twerp was most gratifying. The little man pushed his chair away from the table. He wiped his mouth, not conscious of the steak sauce that assaulted his yellow tie.
"Mr. Voorhees, you have my card. Please consider this very lucrative offer. I know my employer can pay you richly."
"Must you go, Mr… ?"
"Arthur Shapiro. It's on the card."
"Yes, I keep forgetting. Mr. Shapiro, you haven't finished your meal."
"That's all right. I have to watch what I'm eating. You finish your food. It's on my account and, of course, all you wish to drink. I-I-I had a previously taxing rendezvous earlier and it seemed to have tired me out."
"Reeeeally?" Klaus Voorhees asked. With raised eyebrows, Klaus' face openly doubted Arthur's assertion.
Arthur walked backwards from the table in an apologetic manner.
"Yes. I was seeing an acquaintance whose home may be in foreclosure, you see. And anyway, I need to learn when to say stop to rich foods."
The un-costumed Cobra smiled as he watched Shapiro leave hastily. Shapiro dieting? He was a twig of a man already. The seated figure leaned back and lifted the wine to his mouth. If his millionaire boss was as easily intimidated, Voorhees thought that this was definitely an "offer" he'd take.
Finally, the tiny couple had successfully reached the banks of the East River. The wind was still manageable, Henry thought. It took seconds for Ant-Man's sensors to summon a flying ant. He then used his hood's miniature devise to phone across the river. Henry waited for his new lab assistant to answer.
Yolanda… She was a sweetheart. Instead of resting on down periods from her lab work, she volunteered at Happy Valley Day Care Center two blocks away. She said the pre-kindergarten children invigorated her. Henry hoped so— he was worried about the soon-to-be nineteen-year-old suffering an early life burn-out.
Like Jan, his second "Yollie," had features that reminded Hank of Maria. Well, forgetting Yolanda's ice-white hair, she had Maria's height, her laughter, and face width. At times, her ice-blue eyes appeared as hazel as Maria's. She was the daughter of Olesya and Anton Vanko. Her father, of course, was the genius inventor and former Soviet Communist. Anton created the armored would-be assassin, the Crimson Dynamo. He was defeated by Iron Man and later convinced to defect to America. In Eastern Russia, Anton also devised the destructive helmet of a future Soviet hero, The Unicorn.
Milos Masaryk was the KGB agent assigned to be Anton Vanko's body guard. Nearly a year after the scientist's defection, the communist leadership ordered Milos to don the helmet and bring back Anton. Vanko was to finish the Unicorn deign and then be executed.
Unfortunately, Vanko was already dead. He gave up his life saving Iron Man from a second Crimson Dynamo. Boris Turgenov, one of the KGB's best hit men, entered Stark's Industries and stole Vanko's armored arsenal.
He was close to finishing off Iron Man. But heroes rise to the occasions without special protective attire, fully knowing that their chances of surviving their courage acts are bleak. Anton's untested Molecular Descrambler Laser stopped Turgenov. In backfiring, the weapon also took the hero.
The Soviets did not believe that he was dead, however. They were convinced that Anton had to be hiding somewhere in America. Therein came Yolanda's importance. Family members hid the girl when news of Anton's defection was heard over the outlawed station, Radio Free Europe. Soviets officials launched a search to find her— the fear for her safety would flush the traitor out.
Weeks before the hunt for Yolanda was initiated, Anton, as a valuable inventor in Stark Industries, asked Tony Stark to pull in payback favors from US officials to track down his only child. Short lived allies were produced when crooks behind the Iron Curtain were accepted extra pocket money. Days later, Yolanda had a sudden urge to become a fisher-gal. The young lady was on a boat that hit an unexpected storm— unexpected if Soviet mariners ignored the weather warnings available to them.
The novice, young fisher-girl was washed overboard and "drowned" at sea. Hours later, someone named Yolanda Vanko (funny, how many girls could have that name) was resting inside of the United States Consulate in Japan.
The years passed almost as quickly as her change of aliases. Miss Vanko had proven to be her father's daughter. She was smarter than the teachers that Stark had assigned to her. She graduated valedictorian at a prestigious university before her sixteenth birthday. Tragically, Anton's final heroic sacrifice had prevented him from being there. Equally tragic was the unwanted attention that the press gave the young genius. In her cap and gown, her image appeared in local newspapers and that made some States-side Russian informants raise their eyebrows.
After the graduation, she was whisked to many places around the country to continue her Graduate Degree. Finally at eighteen, Yolanda demanded a regular residence. Stark wanted Yolanda far from her late father's surrounding due to the fact that not all Soviet Spies had been detected and imprisoned. Some were still spying the gates of the industrial plant. But Stark also wanted her near enough so that he could personally check up on her every week.
Funny how his past check-ins were really conducted by his Executive Secretary Virginia Potts. She proved to be a great friend to Yolanda. What a pity that recently their time spent together was drastically cut due to conflicting schedules. Still, Yolanda admired her and even took her last name in one of her aliases.
Henry Pym was the premiere biologist and Stark felt that second to himself, he was the world's top robotics specialist. Certainly his brains would entertain the super-intellectual Miss Vanko. Adding to that qualification, Pym was integrity-screened to become a sometime contributor to Stark Industries. That made the billionaire feel comfortable with the man.
The final point of persuasion was the fact that Dr. Pym had obtained many government grants to secure a good income. Stark was convinced that the biologist/ electronics wizard/ inventor could provide a cozy environment for an assistant. Hence, Henry became Stark's choice of "custodian." She's been under his roof ever since.
The interchange between the two mega-minds— Yolanda and Henry— was so free, so challenging (in a friendly way), so mutually entertaining that a keen ear could have picked up a change on Dr. Pym's side.
Whenever he donned the Giant-man mask, the size-changer spoke in a lower tone. He also took on the western Tennessee twang that he picked up from his brother-in-law back in those pre-Ant-man months while staying with Mr. and Mrs. Collingsworth. That "twang" may have made him sound like a southerner to a Yankee, but folks from the real south would have called him an out-of-towner.
At any rate, while Henry had his mask on, he found it hard to break away from his pseudo voice— even in front of Jan. But a few weeks of entertaining conversation with his new assistant ensued. It didn't take long for Henry to feel relaxed in front of her; upon hearing Yolanda's voice, Henry's natural vocal cadences and tone surfaced even behind Giant-man's mask. It was something that had gone unnoticed by Jan Van Dyne. Considering the older woman's growing sense of violation to her territory, that was a good thing.
Now, on the Manhattan side of the river, Henry waited for Yolanda to pick up the phone. His 'Hello" was answered by singing praises about his mastery in electronic communication.
"Your brilliance knows no bounds, Henry." Yolanda said. " Most so-called geniuses specialize in one field. You own both the biochemistry field and electro-technology."
"Finally," Henry responded with a smile, "I got you off that 'Dr. Pym' stuff. But don't make too much of this. I just built this upon the principal of the already invented walky-talky. The real geniuses are Tesla, then later Hings and Gross."
"Oh, but you are modest. I still insist that your contribution can revolutionize the telephone. Your wireless communicator can break into traditional phone lines. I believe that one day everyone will walk around with their own personalized telephones. They will tell time, pick up weather reports, play music, take photos—"
"You've been reading my papers. I'm honored that we share the same vision."
"Yes well, I couldn't resist. And the best aspect of all is that your phone would be small enough to fit in one's pocket. You will be recognized as the father of modern communications."
"Forget being a lab assistant. I need to hire you as a PR-woman. Please be there with your pocket book and I promise to bake cheesecake for dessert tomorrow. ….. Yes, I finally have my sister's recipe."
"Oh, how do you say, 'Pick me up at the Queens Bridge Park' in Spanish?" the young woman asked her student.
Henry laughed. He tried to sidetrack her by asking if her homing devise was still in her purse. It was easier for hid cybernetic impulses to find her that way instead of looking all over the park.
Yolanda answered in the affirmative, but she would not let her pupil off so easily. The harder she pressed him, the funnier it seemed to Henry. Finally, he repeated his pick up request in Spanish. His playfully teacher gave him an A-minus because he took too long to finish.
Off to the side, the Wasp folded her arms. She moved into Henry's sight to show her disapproval over their more-than-official talk. Her anger grew knowing that the dim-wit didn't notice.
After Yolanda hung up, Henry began to chuckle and say, "I was never good at foreign languishes. But she's just eighteen and she's mastered English and a dozen other tongues. Quite a –"
Henry stopped himself remembering Jan's reaction the last time that he had complimented Yollie's superior intellect.
"She can master any tongue she wants,' Jan snapped, "except yours. It stays in your mouth, understand?"
He mounted a flying ant and resisted commenting on her off-color remark.
Jan continued with a snide, "Well, at least I should be thankful that you didn't call yourself her biggest fan for the third time this week."
Henry was about to argue that there was nothing inappropriate with that. He merely admired her for overcoming strong adversities in her life to now appear to rival her amazing father in ingenuity. Before he could speak, the Wasp flew off. Maybe it was just as well that he said nothing.
Jan's superior wings allowed her to move in front, but not too far so that the Ant-Man couldn't see her. It was yet another of those traits that she was beginning to unveil— her competitive taunting.
But Hank wasn't biting. He didn't want to race the flying queen ant so as to exhaust her. Both rider and transporter would be taking a dip into the cold water. He would survive, since his Ant-Man costume was insulated, but his winged steed would not. Henry was satisfied with the speed that the insect was traveling.
Leaving one flying ant on Welfare Island, Henry mounted a fresh winged carrier to conclude the trek. As was the case on the first leg of the flight, they managed to whisk over the waves with no problem. Suddenly there was a distant patter on the water behind him. THE RAIN WAS COMING!
Hank pressed his carrier to speed up— to stay in front of the coming cannonball-like droplets. His anxiety eased as the ant's own sense of self-preservation took over and infused enough strength into her wings to seemingly win the race. But as the Wasp disappeared into the bushes of the destination—Queens Bridge Park, a strong gust of wind jetted the ant and her driver up and away from the shore.
"Steady girl," his cybernetic impulses feed into the insect's mind. "Don't fight. We have a little time before the rain catches up. Don't exhaust yourself. Wait until the wind dies and then make your way down."
Just then a rush of urgency instinctively filled Hank's heart. What was it? It couldn't have been the sudden wind up-sweep.
Suddenly a feminine voiced yelled his name and he was knocked off of the ant. Jan's arms wrapped themselves securely around his chest, keeping him from falling. Then the horrible happened. A robin, which looked like a whale in Hank's eyes, swallowed the flying ant.
If the red-chest bird was satisfied, the bird's stalker was tantalized. Unbeknownst to the Robin, she was targeted by a small hawk. An Osprey was nearly 50 feet above her. The Hawk was two feet bigger than Jan and the Robin, but finding the Wasp's colorful uniform more enticing, the young Osprey changed her menu. Known to top off at 35 miles an hour, Jan should have had no problem out-distancing the bird. But the dive in which the hawk was embarking increased the predator's speed to approach 80. Add to that equation that the two Avengers spotted the dive late, and they realized a real alarm.
The Wasp raced towards the bushes of the park with the hawk right behind her. The Ant-man, intending to scare the bird away, said, "I need to spring up to normal size— you keep going."
"Sure— and you float unhurt on the jagged rocks by the water or on the park's spiked gates! No way!"
"Two seconds is all I need, then I'll go back—"
Jan wasn't listening. Her eyes spotted Yolanda Vanko on the other side of the iron park fence. The young lady didn't realize what danger the diminutive duo was in, but her open pocket book looked like a welcoming haven.
"Finally, Kremlin girl has a use besides being a paper weight," Jan said resentfully.
The beeping of the homing devise guiding him to his new assistant's purse became louder. But it was dwarfed by the flapping of the hawk's wings that increased in alarming volume behind them.
Finally, as they neared Yolanda, the predator re-directed her flight. Both mini-Avengers made it into her handbag. Yolanda peeked into the pocket book and then closed the top just as the rain began hitting the handbag.
"Mmmmm," the Wasp then purred. In the dark confine, she and the sullen Hank were safe and dry, enjoying an embrace. Jan wasn't upset since she clinically rationalized that death is a constant in the wild. But she knew how connected Henry could become to the insects that had interactions with him. The death of the flying ant was just a way of nature, she reminded him. It gave her a thrilling sense of empowerment when she held him at vulnerable moments. In addition, these were the times that he was most open to hugs.
Judging by the noise of the rain against the bag, Jan figured that the girl-genius was getting soaked. Life couldn't get any better, could it? Actually, if she ended up looking like a wet alley cat, yes it could.
Rats. That Yolanda-broad must have known that they were cuddling. The ride was getting bumpy. Once they reached the penthouse, Jan was going to return back to human size and find that cactus Hank was experimenting on. Then she'll show Yolanda the meaning of a rough ride.
Senator Harrington Byrd rushed his girlfriend off the phone when he heard his wife's car pull into the driveway. He grumbled inwardly, thinking that the old bat should have played three more hands of cards with the other fat old hens who she calls friends.
It didn't matter, really. Phone intimacy was nothing like actually being there with his pants lying on his mistress' bedroom floor. Besides, he should be preparing himself for this week's speech on the Senate floor. He had to take down Stark Industries.
Anthony Stark, himself, was either a clock without a main spring or just a cover for the communists. How else to explain that Stark regularly had his inventions "stolen" by the enemies of the state? Commies like Scarecrow and Natasha Romanov almost got away. It was always left to Iron Man to retrieve the technologies and clean up the mess. If it wasn't for his body guard who knows which America-hater would have those weapons?
Then again, was it an act? Was the metal-man in on the deal? How could anyone be sure that the Iron Man recovered the inventions before the U. S.'s enemies had a chance to x-rayed and examined them?
Senator Byrd is going to charge his fellow Senators to open up an investigation on the playboy industrialists. His associates have to be raked over the coals also; all of them, including that pretty-boy-Pym jerk. Byrd wouldn't be surprised if they were all connected with the Red. Or at least, they were too irresponsible to have a hand in National Security weaponry development.
Even if Stark wasn't a traitor, all that whoring around was just as bad. It left him brain drained and susceptible to espionage thievery. In that case, Stark should be exposed as an incompetent who was too preoccupied with into what warm woman he could stick his vitals.
It's shameless how he flaunts his many women in front of the cameras. His immorality certainly isn't a good influence on the youth of America. Speaking about the youth, the Senator took up his phone and deactivated the "last call dialed" feature. No telling if his wife Martha will accidently hit the wrong button and dial Meagan.
Cross References: Tales of Suspense #46, 52, 56, Journey Into Mystery # 98, 106; Avengers # 7. Arthur Shapiro is an original character written for this story.