“The government can’t do this to us,” he complained. “Whatever happened to the first amendment? The people’s right to know?” He slapped a hand over his eyes and groaned. “And what’s Jameson going to do to me when I come back without a story?”
But something big is up and that’s for sure! A naval officer in charge of an atomic-powered aircraft carrier doesn’t go into mini-fits for every little thing that goes wrong—unless, of course, his bosses at NASA are hit with the third piece of bad luck in less than two days and he happens to be the guy in charge when it happens.
Peter thoughtfully rubbed his chin. First I bust in on a computer theft pulled off by a bunch of really well-organized professional hoods and find out they ripped off NASA programming. Then NASA itself is taken for additional software on the next unmanned flight, a job that implies an equally well-organized mob. And now StarLab disappears right out from under their noses—
—Stolen!
Put them all together and you don’t get mother! You get an organization that’s beginning to look very big and very powerful!
“He’ll fire me for sure,” Coswell moaned. “I just know he will. I’ll be out of a job—and we’ve still got twenty-two and a half years to go on the mortgage.”
It takes whole oodles of hardware to heist about twenty-five tons of red-hot metal from midair—not to mention the know-how! If they out-technology NASA, they must know something! Yeah, there’re some pretty heavy minds and big bucks backing this caper, and last time I looked, people doing good deeds don’t go around boosting satellites from Uncle Sam without so much as a “How’s your mother, Ed?”
“You’ve got to help me, Peter,” Coswell pleaded. “You’ve got to tell Jameson that nobody could get anything from those navy guys. They just wouldn’t talk. You know, you were there. He’ll believe you!”
I’ve got to find those bozos I busted. Whatever they’re after is up in outer space and that kinda stuff tends to be a bit on the dangerous side!
“You’ll do it, won’t you, Peter?” Coswell stared ahead into the gloom that hung over the dock. “You’ll tell Jameson there was nothing I could do, right?
“Peter?”
Coswell looked around, but Peter Parker was no longer walking beside him. He looked toward the gate and saw the young photographer there, frantically hailing a taxicab cruising by the shipyard.
“Awww, Peter,” Coswell moaned miserably as the cab, with Peter Parker inside, sped away from the gate. “What am I going to do about Jameson . . . ?”
Now just why am I finding this so tough to do?
Spider-Man clung to the face of the apartment building across the street from the police station on Manhattan’s 80th Street. He crouched like a gigantic spider beneath a protruding air-conditioner sleeve watching the movement of blue uniforms and blue-and-white cars in front of the precinct house.
I’ve been wanted by the boys in blue so many times for so many things I’m not sure they’ve had enough time to get all the wanted posters with my picture off the walls. I’d hate myself in the morning if I went sauntering in there and those guys decided the station was the Alamo and I was a Mexican!
Spidey sighed and began crawling down the building. Well, if I want to get any information on the great NASA rip-offs, inside is where I’ve got to go, like it or not. I’ve just got to play it slow and cool.
The Wall-crawler dropped lightly to the sidewalk, straightened his shoulders and marched with determination to the station house.
He skipped nimbly past an oncoming car and trotted to the opposite side of the street. Several police officers by the precinct door stopped their conversation and watched the Web-slinger approach.
Sheesh! That’s all I need to do right now—have one of those guys slap me with a summons for jaywalking!
“Are you for real, buddy?” one of the cops grinned as Spidey came to the door.
“Just here on business, friend,” Spider-Man said, keeping his tone light.
The cop lifted his cap and scratched his head. “I mean, are you really Spider-Man or what?”
“Guilty,” Spider-Man admitted. Whoops! Wrong choice of word!
One of the other officers squinted at the costumed youth. “Ain’t Spider-Man still wanted?” he asked the first cop.
“Naw. Not anymore.”
“You sure?”
“I haven’t seen anything on him lately.”
“Excuse me,” Spider-Man said as he stepped gingerly past the two officers into the station house. “I’ll just go inside while you two argue this out. If you decide you’re supposed to bust me, you’ll know where I am, right?”
Inside, the police station was a bustle of activity. Cops and plainclothes detectives rushed through doors, up stairs, down stairs, to telephones. In the midst of all this was a lone man, a haven of sanity in the middle of madness, who sat calmly at his desk. The desk sergeant did not look up from his reports when Spider-Man walked up to him.
“ ’Scuse me, Sergeant.”
Sgt. Dave Orleans said, “Yeah?”
“I was wondering if you could help me,” Spidey said.
The man looked up and pursed his lips. “Well, well, well, what have we here?”
“I come in peace,” the Web-slinger said. “I need a little help with something I’m working on.”
“Oh? Who are you?” Orleans asked calmly.
Spidey looked down the length of his body at the dark-blue-and-red costume. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself, but considering the getup I thought that might be overdoing a bit. I’m Spider-Man.”
“Spider-Man.”
“Uh-huh. You know, climbing walls, slinging webs, catching crooks. That kind of thing.”
“No kidding,” Orleans grinned. He took off his glasses. “I should’ve known that Spider-Man would come waltzing into my station this afternoon. Yesterday it was Captain America, today’s Spider-Man, tomorrow’s supposed to be Iron Man, and if we’re lucky, for Sunday we’ll get the whole damned Avengers in!”
“You must be a riot in the locker room, Sarge.”
“C’mon, pal. Anyone can put on a funny costume and say he’s Spider-Man, though Lord only knows why he’d want to.” Sgt. Orleans put on his glasses and turned back to his reports. “Now make like a tree and leave, buster, before I run you in for disturbing my peace,” he ordered without looking up.
“Isn’t there anything I can say that’ll convince you, Sarge?”
Sgt. Orleans flipped through a stack of papers. “Uh-huh. Good-bye would do wonders for your credibility.”
“Yeah, but, Sgt. Orleans . . .”
“You’re getting on my nerves, kid,” the officer snapped and jerked his head up angrily. “I’ve got . . . a . . . lo . . . ohmigod! You’re standing on the ceiling!”
Spider-Man, arms folded across his chest as he stood upside down on the dingy green ceiling, said, “I’ll bet that’s how come you’re a cop, Sarge. You’ve got the most amazing powers of observation! Now, has my little demonstration convinced you of my identity or do I have to bring in Dillinger before you’ll believe me?”
“I believe you,” Orleans said. “Believe me, I believe you.”
Spidey dropped from the ceiling, somersaulted and landed nimbly on his feet in front of the desk. “No applause please,” he said. “I just want to have a few words with the three dudes busted for the computer break-in a couple of nights ago.”
Orleans eyed the Web-slinger suspiciously. “What d’you know about that?”
“I busted them for it.”
“Oh.” The sergeant looked disappointed. “Right. Well, you can’t see them.”
“Even if I promise not to use the rubber hose on them? Honest, Sarge, all I want to do is ask them a couple of questions.”
“You still can’t see them.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re not here anymore is why. They were charged, booked, arraigned, and bailed out.”
“Wonderful.”
“They walked out of here
about three, four hours ago.” Sgt. Orleans leaned forward in his seat. “Say, what the hell’s going on, anyway?”
Spider-Man was already walking toward the door. “I don’t know. That’s what I wanted to ask them.” He waved over his shoulder. “Thanks for the fun and games, Sarge.
“I’ll be in touch.”
Thirteen
Now why the hell can’t I move, Bruce Banner wondered idly to himself. Somehow, the answer did not seem too important to the young scientist. He knew he was lying on his back on a soft, warm surface, his arms and legs strangely immobile. But he felt warm and secure, well rested as if after a long, refreshing dream.
“Dr. Banner.”
The feminine voice floated through his mind. He remembered it from . . . somewhere. A dream?
“I know you can hear me, Dr. Banner. You’ve been under sedation since yesterday but your bioreadings indicate your system’s free of the drug by now.”
Then why am I so sleepy?
He suddenly realized he had not answered the voice aloud as he had thought. His eyes snapped open. “Who . . . ?”
Dr. Irvine and Leslie Winters stood watching the young scientist from the other side of a thick pane of glass. He realized he was strapped to a long examination table in a small chamber.
A prisoner!
“He’s awake, Dr. Irvine,” Miss Winters said, her voice crackling electronically from the speaker on the wall of the chamber.
“What’s going on?” Bruce shouted. He strained against the leather straps that held him to the table, but as Bruce Banner, his muscles were inadequate for the task. “What’re you doing to me?”
“Calm down, Dr. Banner,” Irvine said reassuringly. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
“But it’s all right,” Bruce said. “Really. There’s no danger of me turning into the Hulk again—not as long as I’m not placed under any strain,” he called, trying to sound reasonable. “Please unstrap me.”
Dr. Irvine smiled pleasantly. “Ah, but we want you to undergo your rather remarkable transformation, my friend. In fact, our plans depend on it.”
“Plans?” Bruce sagged onto the table.
Irvine started to speak but stopped when a door opened out of Bruce’s line of sight. “Mr. Pendergast, Prof. Warner,” he smiled. “You’re just in time, gentlemen. Dr. Banner is awake now.”
“Excellent, Doctor,” the tall, impeccably dressed man said as he stepped in front of the window. Pendergast glanced at the bound man on the table with cold, merciless eyes. “Welcome, Dr. Banner. We’ve worked for a long time to lure you here.”
Bruce Banner studied the slim man with a puzzled expression. “Lure me? Where?” He strained once again against the straps as he angrily demanded, “What the hell are you talking about? Why am I being held prisoner?”
“Because we’ve a great need of your alter ego, Dr. Banner,” Pendergast explained evenly. “We planted those stories about the institute discovering a cure for gamma-radiation poisoning in the hope it would draw you to us.” Pendergast allowed a cold, humorless smile to cross his solemn face. “Needless to say, Doctor, there is no cure, though even you will have to admit our methods were clever.” The smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. “But now we have you and the only thing that interests us is the Hulk.”
Bruce was confused. How had he gotten here? What had happened at the airport in Chicago to cause the change? And how had they convinced the bestial Hulk to accompany them to this place—wherever the hell this place was!
“You’re insane,” Bruce exclaimed. “What possible good can the Hulk do for you? There’s no way in the world you could control him.”
“On the contrary, my dear colleague,” Dr. Irvine chuckled. “The means of controlling your more primitive half is not only within our capability, it’s already been implemented.”
Dr. Robert Bruce Banner gritted his teeth. He breathed deeply, trying desperately to remain calm. He could feel his face flush as the blood pounded through his veins. I’m being used, he thought bitterly. The awesome power of the Hulk at the command of men engaged in an obviously illegal endeavor frightened the young physicist almost as much as the man-monster himself. I must remain calm, he told himself. I mustn’t allow it to happen. As long as I resist the change they can’t use the Hulk!
“Come now, Doctor,” Irvine crooned sweetly, eyeing his captive’s pale, sweating face with satisfaction. “It is going to happen, you know. You can’t keep the Hulk locked away inside of you forever.
“Not if you wish to leave this cell alive.”
Bruce looked into the other man’s face. “What . . . ?”
“The walls,” Irvine said. He reached over and pressed a button on the wall beside the observation window. Machinery began to hum behind the walls. “They move.”
Bruce looked and saw that the walls had indeed begun to move, slowly crawling across the floor toward him. The young scientist’s eyes shone with panic and he gulped for breath. God, no! his mind screamed. His heart beat like a tom-tom in his thin chest, triggering unknown physical changes within his radiation-mutated body.
And no matter how hard he fought to resist it, Bruce Banner knew it was, as always, inevitable!
Pendergast watched the young scientist writhe on the table with mild interest. Banner’s handsome face was contorted, as if he were in great pain.
The walls moved steadily across the floor toward the table.
“Arggghh!”
Dr. Irvine watched in fascination. Prof. Warner stepped before the window, absently fingering his scraggly beard. The young man on the table was changing before their eyes, seeming to grow larger as they watched, his skin taking on a light-green hue. The leather straps around his wrists and ankles creaked as he pulled against them. They snapped easily this time, freeing the young scientist.
He rolled off the table and landed heavily on the floor. He lay there with his whole body trembling. There was no reversing the horrible metamorphosis that gripped him now. His skin grew a darker green, his scrawny muscles thickened and his narrow shoulders broadened. Within seconds, he was struggling to his feet, growling deep in his throat at the approaching walls.
The Hulk was awake.
And he was angry!
“Simply amazing,” Prof. Warner whispered in awe. “I never knew the human body was capable of such a remarkable change.”
Irvine nodded happily, his eyes wide with delight.
But the green mammoth did not see the men who stood outside his cage studying him with clinical interest. His attention was drawn immediately to the steel walls rumbling toward him from either side. He did not know where he was or how he had gotten here, but that did not matter now. There was danger and that was what was important.
The jade giant charged one wall with a savage roar. His massive green fists rose and then fell against the wall like a wrecking ball. The steel wall buckled under the Hulk’s assault. The mechanism that pushed the wall forward ground to a halt.
“Hah!” the man-brute barked. This was one of man’s stupider attacks. It was so easy to smash.
The Hulk slapped his hands against the other wall and pushed back at it. But the big green creature’s bare feet could not find purchase on the slippery metal floor and he was shoved back until he was slammed into the opposite wall.
He snarled angrily and braced his back against the wall. He swung his feet up to rest against the steel panel that tried to crush him. The Hulk began to straighten his body. The machinery that moved the wall could not long compete with the Hulk’s incredible strength, but then, it wasn’t really built to. The wall was shoved back, its motors silenced.
“Phenomenal,” Prof. Warner exclaimed.
“Yes,” Irvine agreed. “But we knew he was powerful, Abraham. The crucial test comes now.”
The Hulk turned from the crumpled walls and looked with hate-filled eyes at the men outside the cage. “Huh! You thought walls could kill Hulk!” he bellowed. “But walls of steel could be smashed.” He rai
sed a clenched fist before the glass window. “And so can walls of glass!”
Daniel Irvine held a microphone to his mouth. “No, Hulk,” he said softly. “Put your hand down.”
The words buzzed in the green Goliath’s ears, words that told him not to crash his way out of this prison, even though he knew he must. He shook his head, but the words were still there and he stopped, lowering his arm.
“Very good, Hulk,” he heard in his head. “Now sit down.”
The creature dropped to the floor and sat docilely with unblinking eyes.
Pendergast nodded his approval.
“How is this done, Daniel?” Prof. Warner asked.
Dr. Irvine smiled, enjoying the opportunity to show off his accomplishment. “With ultrasonics, Abraham,” he said with pride. “You see, I planted a small receiver in Banner’s ear which, when activated, emits high-frequency sonic vibrations. These interfere with the Hulk’s rather limited thought capacity, thus making him susceptible to my commands, broadcast through the receiver.”
“How soon can we begin?” Pendergast asked.
“Anytime now, Mr. Pendergast.”
“Fine. The helicopter is waiting outside to transport you and your charge to the target area.” Pendergast turned and left the room.
“On your feet, my big green friend,” Dr. Irvine ordered into his microphone. “We’re taking you on a little journey now . . .”
The Hulk rose and stood as still as a jade statue in the center of his cell, awaiting orders.
“—into the heart of a live volcano.”
Fourteen
Fun is fun, but swinging around Manhattan tends to lose its appeal after the first three hours!
Spider-Man swung his dark blue-clad legs out before him, propelling himself through the air high above the New York streets. He flew from webbing to webbing, methodically crisscrossing the city. His senses were alert, searching. As soon as he was near those he sought, his spider sense would let him know.
Assuming they’re still in the city!
The Web-slinger dropped to a ledge and perched there for a moment searching through the night. I suppose I shouldn’t complain. All things considered, things haven’t gone so well for me in a long time. A bunch of two-bit thugs up to no good isn’t anything all that new that it should bug me. They’re around somewhere and sooner or later our paths are going to cross.
Marvel Novel Series 11 - The Hulk and Spider-Man - Murdermoon Page 9
