Three heads turned in the direction it was coming from and six eyes saw a thin man in a highly decorated gray uniform. He stood only a little taller than Banner, but his posture and emaciation lent the impression of great height. His bright gray eyes were magnified by clear aviator glasses, and his severe crewcut was interrupted by a deep scar reaching from above his ear to his jawbone, following a line where his sideburn should have been.
“Ve haff arrived at ze end uf ze furst leg uf our journey,” he said in clipped German tones. “You vill pleeze follow me.”
From behind the man came a dozen black-garbed crew members who began hacking apart one side of the cage with axes and hatchets. The three prisoners moved to the opposite end of the box while the wood chips flew.
“You vill excuse ze sorry lack uf a door!” shouted the thin man. “But ve built zis leetle room around you.”
By then the group had broken through and four men encircled each captive. The uniformed German clicked his heels, spun on one, then stalked out. Banner and the two Wittenborns were given no choice but to follow. They were led through several rooms of modern equipment which literally sparkled. Banner couldn’t help but notice the American brand names stamped on all of them. I.C.M., Stoning International, and Sugarwell computers were built up everywhere.
Finally, they were led outside into blinding sunlight. Each tried to shield his eyes until a semblance of vision returned. Meanwhile, the German humorlessly wheezed. Banner was the first to see that they were on the deck of a sleekly beautiful ocean cutter which floated on a sparkling, calm sea. All around them were the latest in technological advances. They had been transferred by a well-organized, well-trained group of professionals onto a brutally modern ocean-going craft of some sort.
“Where are we?” asked Rosanne, still shielding her eyes. “What is this?”
“Zis,” said the German, “is a sea-vorthy hovercrafft. Und I vould prefer to answer all your questions after ve make ze nezezzary transfer.”
The three were shepherded to the side of the ship, where another boat waited. The two ships were as different as a filet mignon and a dead cow. While their initial prison had been on a beautifully maintained craft equipped with futuristic outfittings, their next transport was a black, smoke-belching wreak of a wooden tub, complete with bananas.
And while the crew members of the former were well-developed examples of black-garbed manhood, the men who populated the latter had uniforms of stained, torn undershirts, bandannas and patchwork pants, and expressions of sullen hatred combined with evil anticipation.
“You vill stand zere, yes?” said the German, pointing to a patch of deck directly opposite a large winch on the facing banana boat. Suddenly their guards sprouted guns and the three had no choice but to walk to the spot where the German was pointing.
“A little to ze right,” he said. “Zere! Vonderfull. Perfect! Now just relax. Loozen up, pleeze. Nozzing to vorry about . . .”
The German gave a sign and the air was filled with a whooshing sound. Then Banner heard the winch’s engine turn on, and suddenly he was flying through the air, feet first. He heard Rosanne scream and Tony swear as he spun head first above the water. He felt himself falling and the ocean filled his vision. He closed his eyes and tried to pull his arms up, but they were somehow pinned to his sides. Just before he was about to smash into the sea, what seemed to be a gentle hand covered his body and held him, swaying, just above the water’s edge.
Banner heard the banana boat’s winch complain, and then he felt himself rising. He opened his eyes to see that he was covered with a fine mesh sack which was attached to netting connected to the other boat’s winch. The vibrating and bumping they had felt earlier in the wooden chamber must have been the two crews setting up this little surprise. They were certainly getting good mileage out of it. Both decks were lined with laughing sailors.
Banner turned his head and saw both his fellow captives likewise stuck in clear, heavy-duty Baggies. They were all being slowly pulled aboard the wooden ship to the accompanying song of naval mirth.
“You musst forgive us!” shouted the German. “It has been a long trip. Ve could not resist haffing a leetle fun.”
The fun continued as the trio was raised over the banana boat’s hold and then lowered onto a layer of crates twenty feet inside. Several hands appeared to hack the mesh from the netting, and the three spent the next few minutes unwrapping themselves. Smelly sailors encircled the hold’s square opening and pelted them with coarse remarks and fruit.
Banner heard the German shout a farewell, and then a deep, husky voice responded. He then helped Rosanne from her sack as catcalls and whistles filled the air. Bruce helped her to her feet, getting a tight smile as thanks. Tony had already risen and started snarling insults back at the dull faces above them.
Another kind of face appeared. It was a wide face, completely encircled by a black-and-gray-tinged beard. The thick mop of hair was the same combination of colors, but the eyes were brown and intelligent. This new person barked some words in a foreign language and suddenly the barrage of chatter stopped. The face then returned its attention to the three below.
“You are hungry,” he said as a command. “I will see to it. Do not fight and everything will be fine. Wait quietly and I will come for you.”
Minutes later they were given a makeshift tour of their new jail. Their host was Russian. He spoke, moved, and acted like a bear—a shambling, big man who seemed gentle but probably had a deep well of violence rumbling just below the surface. He had to have, Banner reasoned, especially given the caliber of crew aboard the ship. None of them had been able to look at him and Tony with anything but derision—and no one had been able to look at Rosanne with anything but lust. To keep these animals in line, the bear had to be very powerful, indeed.
The ship mirrored its captain and crew. Outwardly slovenly, its rotted exterior covered an engine of quiet power and steering of easy mobility. Even though it seemed to be in slum-like disrepair, there was no rotten smell and Banner could not spy one insect or rodent, even in the deepest bowel of the boat—where their new quarters lay.
It was all just a cover, Banner realized. The impression of inferiority was all that was needed to avert suspicion. Banner’s supposition was verified by the Russian himself as they settled down in the eating quarters, a simple, self-contained box lined with wooden tables and long, backless benches. Their meal was a thick stew of unknown origin served in coarse wooden bowls.
“Contrary to what you may already believe,” said the bearded man, “you have been held captive for several days. You were kept unconscious and fed intravenously while being moved out of American waters.”
“How did you do it?” inquired Banner while the Wittenborns glowered on. “With all the U.S. power on the lookout, how did you manage to slip by? I would think that no plane, boat, train, or car would miss being paid attention to.”
The Russian leaned back and barked a harsh laugh, slapping the table with one large hand.
“That is the point!” he roared. “No transport did escape attention. But you must understand the psychology of your searchers. When they are about to embark on a mission, they separate their thought processes into two camps—‘them,’ and ‘us.’ The ‘them’ are the enemy, and the ‘us’ are the good guys. Now, have you ever heard the quaint Western expression, ‘Who will police the policemen?’ ”
“Yeah,” said Tony. “So?”
“So what happens when the ‘them’ are one of ‘us’?”
The Russian looked at three blank faces as the surrounding ten armed guards rocked with laughter.
“Do you not see?” exclaimed the Russian with relish. “You were taken off the initial seaplane by one of the United States’s own Coast Guard cutters staffed with bribed and turncoated militia, then moved to an American Navy hovercraft, piloted by our German friend. While he was sailing the open sea, stopping other ‘suspicious’ ships for searching, you were in his hold all the time. It was ju
st a matter of slipping into international waters and delivering you to us. The General has a wider range of influence than anyone can imagine.”
After the Russian had finished speaking, Tony leaned back, picked up his bowl, and hurled it into the face of the guard sitting to his left. Then his elbow shot back into the man who was sitting to his right. With a mighty heave, he pushed the table over on the four guards sitting opposite him. Suddenly, the quiet room was turned into an inferno of roaring men. Tony roared louder than any of them.
“You’re not getting me! I’m not going back to the madman! Not me!”
He punched the first guard he saw with all the strength of his nearly seven feet of bone and muscle. The man danced back like a broken rag doll. The second charging guard received a kick in the stomach. He flipped over like a dropped boomerang. The last two men were felled by a swinging stool. It bounced off the face of one and hit the other just above his left ear. Both dropped like cut trees.
Tony hopped over their bodies right into the outstretched fist of the Russian. The air was immediately knocked out of him and he stumbled back a few yards. The captain put one large boot on a nearby bench and stomped down. The other end of the wooden plank shot up and caught Tony on the chin with a loud smack. Rosanne shrieked before her brother slammed to the floor with all the stinging power of a bad belly flop.
The captain had yet to utter a word or change his bemused expression.
By the time Tony hit the dirt, the first two guards caught by his sudden onslaught were back on their feet.
“Bring him down to solitary,” said the Russian calmly, vaguely motioning toward the still form. “And lock him in tight.”
He turned to where Rosanne and Banner still sat in shock. “As for you two, let this be a small lesson. Even if he had gotten out of this room, there are many more men outside the door, and beyond them are a jungle and a beast-infested river. The end of your voyage would be far more pleasant with us.
“Understand,” he continued, in an affable tone, “Miss Wittenborn would never be allowed to throw her life away. We have been instructed to break both her lovely legs if she should try.
“But you”—he turned toward Banner—“whoever you are, we’re not sure where you got the General’s card or even if he intends to see you at all. Until we get further orders, you are as safe as the lovely lady and her hyperactive brother. But, if for some reason we should see fit to feed you, bit by scrawny bit, to the alligators, I don’t think it would even ruin our appetites.”
The captain turned around to see Tony being borne out on the shoulders of four men. The remaining six were groggily rising to their feet.
“All right, you pansies!” the Russian shouted. “See if you can take the other two to their quarters without knocking yourselves out.”
He turned back to face his two stunned captives. “C’mon, kiddies,” he said in a perfectly flat Midwest American accent. “Beddy-bye time.”
Five
“It just wasn’t like him,” she said. “It just wasn’t like him at all.”
Banner turned over so he could hear her better. “I have never seen Tony raise a hand against anyone, let alone a room full of hired killers. To see that practiced wimp suddenly turn into a raging prizefighter was almost beyond belief.”
“Like I was saying before,” said Banner softly, “everyone has an inner reserve of strength. They just need a certain moment of stress to set it off.”
The two were sitting in a wooden hole approximately the size of a large den. Instead of the slats that had enclosed them before, the room had one metal door, locked from the outside. Their carpeting consisted of two large mattresses which had seen better days. There were a small sink and toilet behind a plain wooden partition. Otherwise, there was no light, no air conditioning, no color TV, and no room service. Tony was nowhere to be found.
They sat in silence for a while. Neither could imagine what his future would be. To Rosanne, it was all a nightmare not yet taking form. All she really knew of the General was the awful stories her father had told her of his irrationality and viciousness, of his executions on a whim, of his secret police and his continual thirst for power and demand for respect. The thirst could be quenched through money and violence, but respect, the demand for it, could never be satisfied, except through play-acting. Was she actually under the influence of such a monster?
As for Bruce, this seemed only a fantasy to him. Even with his incredible Curse, he could not fully grasp that he was involved in this wild plot: a maniacal dictator’s plan to secure the greatest thermonuclear, neutron, and gamma specialist in the world; a General whose minions included professional criminals of seemingly every nationality; a man with enough influence to have at least one of every type of sea, land, and air-borne armament in the world. How did he, Banner, get swept up in all this? Where did the Hulk get that card? How would he get out of it? For a split second a horrible image swept into his mind: he saw a terribly enraged face of green. Its expression was a horrible combination of hatred and childlike bewilderment. In tandem, these two emotions created a legitimately frightening aura of limitless brutality and total moral ignorance. Banner choked on the vision for a moment, and then, thankfully, it was gone.
“Bruce? Are you all right?”
“Yes . . . I’m fine. Just exhausted, I guess. Confused.”
“Yes. So am I.”
Silence encircled the room again.
“Bruce?”
“Yes?”
“Could you . . . could you hold me?” The voice was quiet, but not childlike at all in its intensity.
Banner moved over to where the voice came from and put his arms around Rosanne. She wrapped her arms around his waist and settled her head on his chest. They both half-sat and half-lay very comfortably in the stifling room.
“Bruce,” Rosanne finally said, “what would it take to tap our hidden reserves? How can we get out of here?”
Banner felt a lump of bitterness growing in his throat. The unknown beyond the darkness of their prison created awful pictures of what might be. And he could sense his total inability to do anything about it.
“It’s just not possible,” he whispered. “None of this is real enough yet. We’ve been kidnapped, but we haven’t been physically confronted with danger yet. It’s just the anticipation of that danger we’ve had to face. Your brother must have been more aware of our fate than I am. Nothing . . . nothing means enough yet. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes, I think I do,” she sighed. “It’s like going to a horror movie and then walking home at night. You’re ready for the vampire to come jumping out and you’re scared out of your wits, but you keep walking and somehow you get home.”
“And right now we’re waiting for the vampire to jump out,” said Bruce.
“But . . . but I don’t think I’ll ever get home.” On the last word Rosanne’s voice cracked and she began to cry quietly.
Her tears stopped and her arms tightened convulsively around him as they heard the lock being unbolted from outside. The door swung silently outward and four or five men appeared, silhouetted by their own flashlights. One arm moved up and shone the light directly in Banner’s face.
“You,” said a thick voice. “Come. The captain wants to see you.”
Banner tried unsuccessfully to seal his eyes from the glare, but he managed to say, “I’m staying right here.”
As soon as he spoke, one of the shadowy bunch split off and hustled over to where the two sat. Rough hands pulled at both of them. Then Banner felt himself being lifted up and a sharp metal point was jabbed under his chin. He heard the girl cry out once. Then there was a heavy thud and some quick scuffling. He tried to look down, but the sharp edge at his throat kept his head directly in line with the beam of the flashlight.
“Quiet, the two of you,” said the foreign voice. “Man come to captain. Woman stay.”
The pressure of the weapon under his jaw directed Banner toward the door. The scuffling behind him had
not stopped, but it was cut off by the door silently being shut behind him.
“Hurry,” came a voice into his ear. “We go. No noise.” The point of the knife was now in the back of his neck. Hands still held him at his elbows and shoulders, and the small group began moving hurriedly down a dark passageway. Only a few dozen yards down, they stopped again, and one of the flashlight-carrying forms opened another door.
“In.”
“What are you doing with that girl?” Banner barked.
His reply came in the form of a solid blow to his stomach. He fell back against a bulkhead wall and tried to catch his breath. Another knife appeared at his throat.
“No talk. In,” said the attacker.
Suddenly the entire boat lurched. The knife scratched across his neck and his assailant fell sideways, cursing. Flashlight beams bounced about as the other crew members tried to keep their balance. Banner saw his opportunity, and, with a yell, he grabbed one of the flashlights from a stumbling man and sped down the corridor. He felt like shouting at the top of his lungs, but he locked his teeth together. He didn’t dare raise an alarm before he could see what chance he had at escaping and bringing help. And since his escort had been so intent on silence, he did not think they would risk attracting attention, either.
Banner bounded down the dark halls until his flashlight beam spied a closed latch. He quickly turned off the light and spun the door open. The next moment he found himself on the upper deck of the banana boat. The ship was running along what seemed to be a river, although Banner could not definitely spot land. His only clue to his whereabouts was some far-off glimmers of fire which could have marked the shores. These and the moonlight were the only forms of illumination. The ship itself was making headway without the use of its on-board lights.
Bruce ran across the upper deck and slid down a ladder to the main deck area. He stopped for a moment and listened carefully. He heard no movement on or below deck—not even an engine chattering. The only sounds were of the water wake slapping against the hull and the faraway beating of what sounded like a drum.
Marvel Novel Series 03 - The Incredible Hulk - Cry Of The Beast Page 5
