A NOVEL BY PAUL KUPPERBERG

MURDER MOON

Packaged and edited by
Len Wein and Marv Wolfman

PUBLISHED BY POCKET BOOKS NEW YORK

Another Original publication of POCKET BOOK'S




POCKET BOOKS, a Simon & Schuster division o£

GULF & WESTERN CORPORATION

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, N.Y. 10020

Copyright © 1979 by Marvel Comics Group,
a division of Cadence Industries Corporation

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce
this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever*
For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue
of the Americas, New York, N.Y. 10020

ISBN: 0-671-82094-X

First Pocket Book printing November, 1979

10 987654321

Trademarks registered m the United States and other countrie;

Printed in the U.S.A.

To Aim DeLarye-Gold and Mike Gold
and
their dining room table.

Chapter




"GAMMA BASE, THIS IS SKY SPY ABLE.

We've spotted your bogey, headed due south in Sector
Charlie. Over."

The army helicopter swept out of the sky from the
southeast, its rotors beating a deafening tattoo in the
still, dry air over the New Mexican desert. Before
the two men in the military aircraft stretched a seem-
ingly endless expanse of sand, shimmering golden yel-
low in the glare of the midday sun. For as far as they
could see there was nothing but the sand, bleak and
foreboding and devoid of even the slightest sign of
civilization, of life—save for the lone figure that
trudged wearily through the stifling heat far below the
speeding chopper!

"Roger, Sky Spy Able. Can, you confirm bogey as
Target Green? Over."

Captain William Martin squinted through his green-

10               MURDERMOON

tinted sunglasses at the solitary figure moving steadily
into the distance. "Can't be sure from here, Gamma
Base," he said into his microphone. "Hold while I
take her down for a better look. Over."

"We read you. Sky Spy Able. We're holding on
Alert Minus One."

Martin pushed down on the control stick and sent
the chopper into a sharp descent toward the barren
landscape. "Think it's him, Max?" he shouted to his
companion over the din of the whirling rotor blades.

"Let you know in a sec, Cap'n," Lieutenant Max
Wilson shouted back. He raised his binoculars and
peered through them, focusing on the figure below.
"Well, it's a guy, all right," Wilson muttered. "Big
fella, too. And he's—he's—"
"He's what?"
". .. green?"

Martin's head jerked up in surprise and his hand
tightened on the throttle. "Green? You sure. Max?"
he asked, his voice tense with expectation.

Wilson shook his head in uncertainty. "Hard to say,
sir, what with the heat distortion and ... holy cow!"

The big man had stopped dead in his tracks as the
helicopter passed over his head. He was a giant of a
man, clad in the tattered remains of a pair of purple
trousers, fully seven feet tall, with thick, rippling sin-
ews. As he stared up at the aircraft, his eyes were dull
and brutish beneath a protruding brow.
And his skin was a deep emerald green.
The Incredible Hulk's lips curled into a savage
snarl of rage at the copter. Though his thoughts were
muddled, confused, the sight above sparked a hint of
recognition in his bestial mind. He dimly remembered
that thing in the sky, or things just like it, and he re-
membered it with hatred. Many times in the past they
had come after him when he desired nothing more
than to be left in peace.

But always they attacked him.
Always they hounded him.

MURDERMOON                11

'Wo/" he roared. "Everywhere Hulk goes puny
men follow."

The Hulk flexed his thickly muscled legs and pro-
pelled himself into the sky toward the speeding air-
craft as effortlessly as a normal man might step up
onto a curb.

"But no more! Hulk will smash!"

Lt. Wilson saw the green-hued man-monster grow
in his field of vision through his binoculars. He
whipped them away from his eyes and stared, at the
approaching figure in awe. It just wasn't possible!

"Come in, Gamma Base," he shouted hoarsely into
the mike. "We confirm bogey in Sector Charlie is
Target Green! Repeat, we have the Hulk in ..."

"You mean he's got us," Martin cried.

The helicopter shuddered, its nose dipping suddenly
toward the ground a hundred yards below as the
Hulk's massive hands wrapped around the craft's
landing gear. "Jeez," Martin hissed through clenched
teeth. "H-he's pulling us down, Gamma Base. I can't
stay aloft!" The army pilot wrestled frantically with
the controls, but it was a fight he could not hope to
win. All he could do was watch in wide-eyed terror
as the ground seemed to rush up toward the service
ship, dragged down by the Hulk's ponderous weight.

"We copy. Sky Spy. We have gone to Alert Zero.
Reinforcements are on their way. Over."

With a spine-wrenching jolt, the Hulk landed, hold-
ing the copter above his head. The machine struggled
against the green giant's hold, its rotors beating use-
lessly against the air.

"Stupid men try to stop Hulk with stupid ma-
chines," the man-brute .growled.

Martin and Wilson clawed desperately at the buck-
les of their safety harnesses and released them. They
leaped from the cockpit to the relative safety of the
burning sand. Wilson grunted and scrambled to his
feet. With a trembling hand, he pulled the pistol from
the holster at his side and leveled it at the monstrous

12                MURDERMOON

- being that held the helicopter like a small, frightened
bird.

"Cap'n . . . ?"

Bill Martin rose slowly to one knee and gestured
at the other man. "Put that damned thing away, Wil-
son!" he ordered harshly. "You can't hurt him with it
but you can make him madder'n hell."

The Hulk stared with emerald eyes full of rage at
the man with the gun. "Puny man," he grunted. "Puny
man wants to hurt Hulk with toys, but Hulk cannot
be hurt by you!"

Casually, the man-monster tipped the helicopter to
the sand, then dashed it against the ground like a toy.
The still-whirling rotors dug into the sand with a loud
screeching before breaking off and flying through the
air. The Hulk turned to face Wilson with the twisted
remains of the landing gear gripped like a club in
his mighty green fist. With a snarl, he advanced to-
ward the frightened army officer.

Wilson blanched and screamed incoherently ^in
fear. His finger tightened spasmodically on the trig-
ger.

Bang! Bang!

The green Goliath growled in annoyance as the
bullets bounced harmlessly off his thick, virtually in-
vulnerable hide.

"Now it is Hulk's turn, little man!"

Suddenly, the desert calm was shattered by the dis-
tant scream of approaching sirens and the steady, loud
chopping of propellers in the sky overhead. Like an
army of invading locusts, the closely grouped horde of
approaching helicopters darkened the distant sky. The
speeding military vehicles on the ground kicked up a
billowing cloud of sand in their wake.

The Hulk growled menacingly.

Wilson backed away from the man-brute, his breath
leaving his lungs in a shuddering sigh of relief. The
cavalry had arrived!

His bestial mind quickly forgot about the two army
men in the face of this newer, more potent foe, and

MURDERMOON                13

the big green man absently brushed Wilson aside. The
lieutenant sprawled in the sand several yards from
the Hulk, bruised, but otherwise uninjured.

"Go away!" the Hulk roared to the skies.

But they kept on coming.

Captain Martin rushed to his comrade's side. "You
all right?" he whispered quickly.

Wilson shook his head. "I'm still breathing," he
said.

"Good." Martin yanked the other man to his feet.
"If you want to keep breathing, though, we'd better
get the hell out of the area. 'Cause any second now,
those guys are going to start lobbing everything
they've got at the Hulk and I sure as hell don't want
to be caught in the middle of that shooting match!

"C'mon!"

All the emerald-skinned mammoth's attention was
riveted on the approaching helicopters. He did not no-
tice the two men scrambling for safety.

The lead helicopter swooped over the Hulk.

"Dr. Banner!" A voice was calling to him from the
chopper's PA system. "We do not wish to harm you,
Dr. Banner. Repeat, we will not hurt you if you sur-
render to us now."

"Bah! Don't talk of puny Banner to Hulk! The
Hulk is not puny Banner, Hulk is Hulk!" the behe-
moth roared, shaking his emerald fist threateningly at
the heavens.

"I ask you one more time, Dr. Banner! Surrender
yourself to one of our helicopters and we will not
hurt you!"

With a savage snarl of defiance, the green Goliath
whirled and loped over to Martin's downed chopper.
He dug his thick, powerful fingers into the twisted
metal body and with scarcely a sign of effort, hefted
it above his head.

"Hulk said Banner is gone and Hulk knows!" he-
bellowed. "Because Hulk is the strongest one there
is!"

With a grunt, he heaved the wreckage at the hov-

14               MURDERMOON

ering chopper. The pilot shouted in surprise and tried
to wheel his craft out of the speeding missile's path.
But the Hulk's aim was true and, with a scream of
tearing metal, the wreckage sheared the tail section
from the copter.

The Hulk's emerald lips curled with a growl of
satisfaction as the damaged aircraft, struggling to re-
main airborne, spun like a wounded bird to land with
a crash in the sand.

The clank of machinery caught the green mam-
moth's attention next and he turned to see a huge,
specially modified military tank wheeling steadily to-
ward him. The mounted cannon swiveled on the
tank's turret and took aim at the man-brute.

"When will stupid men learn to leave Hulk alone?"
he yelled angrily at the steel-blue metal creature. It
continued rolling on.

The tank fired, belching flame and smoke from the
cannon, and the Hulk leaped. The missile whizzed by
him and, a second later, the great green man landed
heavily atop the tank.

"Hulk will teach puny men," he grumbled. He
crouched and grasped the cannon in his emerald
hands. He tugged it toward him, wrenching it free of
its mooring.

Then the man-brute leaped to the ground, swinging
the heavy cannon like a massive baseball bat.

Thwoom!

The big tank tipped, one side lifting off the ground
from the force of the mighty blow. It hung balanced
on one tread and then began spuming in a circle like
a child's toy before toppling over on its side.

The man-monster turned to face two more similarly
modified tanks rumbling toward him across the desert.

"Men still want to fight Hulk, eh?"

In reply, both cannons fired simultaneously. The
shells hissed through the air and thudded into the
sand on either side of the Hulk. With a loud whoosh,
the shells burst open, releasing their noxious cargoes
of gas into the air. The fumes swirled around the Hulk,

MURDERMOON                                     15

the golden cloud enveloping him as if attracted to him
in some mysterious way.

The man-monster swung his muscular arms wildly
before him, trying to disperse the gaseous cloud that
was already beginning to sap his prodigious strength.
He remembered clouds like this from other times,
other places. And though his primitive mind was
veiled by a foggy haze of rage and hate, he knew one
thing for certain:

"Hulk must fight cloud!"

Like a maddened bull, the green-skinned behemoth
charged from the gas, swiping angrily at the wispy
tendrils that clung to and followed his giant form. The
first thing he saw through stinging eyes was another
one of the tanks.

With an unintelligible roar of rage, he leaped to-
ward it. He landed directly in front of the rolling tank
and, planting his feet firmly in the sand, threw his
weight against it. The armored machine shuddered
and the driver gunned the engine. The treads spun
wildly in the sand, digging in as the mighty Hulk
strained against the tank. Then, his muscles knotting
beneath his glistening, emerald skin, the man-brute
forced the tank slowly back. Gears screamed in pro-
test as the driver urged his vehicle forward to roll over
the superhuman obstacle, but in this meeting of ir-
resistible force and immovable object, the object won.

Oily smoke billowed from the tank's engine as the
Hulk shoved it backward across the sand toward the
remaining tank.

Klaang!

Both machines buckled under the violent impact.
And, though the damage to the second tank was not
great, the other tank wedged tightly beneath it effec-
tively immobilized it.

The Hulk stepped back and surveyed his handi-
work with a savage snarl of satisfaction. He looked
about. The helicopters had retreated, maintaining as
much distance and altitude as was possible while still
keeping the emerald colossus in sight. But there was

16               MURDERMOON

something else up there, beyond the hovering chop-
pers—several tiny dots that grew larger even as the
Hulk watched.

And then the sky was alive with the rapidly ap-
proaching whine of speeding jet fighters.

They roared out of the east, a quartet of rocketing
fighter planes flying in tight formation. They zoomed
in low, overflying the Hulk and then climbing back
into the sky. Still in formation, they executed a smart
180-degree turn and headed back in toward their tar-
get.

"More stupid men in metal birds!" the brute
grunted. "They think they are safe from Hulk way
up in sky."

He bounded over to where he had dropped the dis-
lodged camion and hefted it in his jade hands. Whirl-
ing, he tossed it into the air like a javelin.

"But stupid men are wrong!"

Like a missile, the heavy cannon streaked skyward.
It tore through the wing of the fighter on the right
wing of the formation before the astonished pilot saw
what it was that had hit him- Suddenly, though, he
had lost control of his fighter and was spiraling down
toward the ground. He ejected just seconds before his
plane exploded against the desert floor in a billowing
mushroom cloud of flame and black smoke.

The other fighters veered off, breaking formation.

They formed a line and, one by one, passed over
the green Goliath as, one by one, they fired small
missiles from beneath their wings.

The missiles seemed to take on a life of their own
as they streaked toward the Hulk. Instead of striking,
they buzzed about the man-monster like a swarm of
mosquitoes, circling the Hulk as if seeking an opportu-
nity to strike.

They were drones, computerized slave mechanisms
guided via radio from a bunker more than a dozen
miles away. Miniaturized cameras in the missiles'
noses allowed their operators to home in easily on the
large green man. And, when they did, the three oper-

'               MURDERMOON                17

ators gave three simultaneous radio commands to
their flying charges.
Fwhit!

Shiny steel cables, no more than an inch thick, shot
from the missiles. Guided by computerized sensors,
the cables snaked toward the Hulk. They slithered
from the missiles and whipped around him.

Growling in annoyance, the Hulk flailed his mas-
sive arms at the silvery tentacles. His hand wrapped
around one cable, but before he could put it out of
commission, a second cable wound its way around his
neck.

The jade giant's hands flashed to his throat, des-
perately trying to dig his fingers under the cable and
tear it away. But the steel snake's hold was firm and,
before the man-brute realized it was happening, the
others were winding their way around his massive
body. Within seconds, the cables had enveloped him
like a cocoon woven of solid-steel strands.

He struggled .in the stifling bonds, but with each
moment the trap thickened and tightened around him.
Cautiously, the choppers moved in to take a closer
look, certain now that the great green menace was
at last subdued. After all, they reasoned, those cables
were made of a new, nearly indestructible alloy de-
veloped for Gamma Base by Stark Industries. Nothing
alive, they were told during the course of their brief-
ing, could snap them.

Not even the Incredible Hulk.

The man-creature snarled savagely. He was securely
trussed up from neck to knees, his mighty arms pinned
awkwardly to his chest.

"Let Hulk go or Hulk will make puny men sorry!"
he roared.

The Hulk gritted his teeth, growling. They would
not release him, he knew. Every tune they caught
him in their traps they took him away and put him
in a cage.

And the Hulk hated cages.

18               MURDERMOON

Even more, the Hulk hated being tied up like a
helpless weakling, like that puny Banner!

And what the Hulk hated, the Hulk smashed!
His massive muscles flexed under the metallic co-
coon. They bulged like thick, knotted ropes under his
skin, exerting the full power of the Hulk's Gamma
radiation-mutated strength against his bonds. Beads
of perspiration stood out like tiny, shimmering em-
eralds on his forehead as he strained, his anger
growing greater with each passing moment of frus-
tration.

And as the jade-hued giant's anger increased, so
did his strength!

With a sharp snap, the cables began to break. With
a mighty roar, he threw the shattered strands aside.

"Hulk has had enough of puny men and machines,"
he growled to the men in the hovering choppers.

He leaped into the air, flying toward the nearest
helicopter with his arms stretched out before him like
a battering ram. The pilot saw the green mammoth
flying toward the cockpit in time to duck, for, in the
next instant, the great, green projectile smashed
through the transparent bubble and continued sky-
ward. The pilot took one look at his shattered con-
trols and bailed out.

The Hulk continued on, twisting his body in mid-
flight to swerve toward the second copter. This time,
though, the pilot realized it was impossible to avoid a
head-on collision with the green giant. He pulled free
of his safety harness, checked his parachute and
leaped from the aircraft. Within seconds, that air-
craft was reduced to falling debris by the Hulk's em-
erald fists.

With ground-shaking impact, the colossus landed
in the now flaming debris-littered desert. He snarled
once at the men scattered about him and jumped into
the air, this time his powerful leg muscles propelling
him miles through the sky.

Within seconds, the great jade giant was gone from
view.

MURDERMOON                19

Captain Bill Martin squinted into the sun after the
receding figure. "I'll be damned . . ." he muttered,
looking stunned.

"You said it, Cap'n!" Lieutenant Max Wilson
breathed. "Did you see the way that monster snapped
those cables like they were string!"

"Yeah. Jeez, I hope the next time he shows up, he
doesn't do it here!"

Wilson shook his head in wonder. "Those cables
were supposed to be indestructible. And he—that
stupid brute, broke 'em like they were nothing! It's—
it's impossible!"

Martin continued staring into the distance long after
the Hulk had disappeared. "Yeah, well, that's the
beauty of being that stupid, Max. The Hulk's too
dumb to know that most of the things he does are
impossible."




Chapter 1

NEW YORK ON A WINTER NIGHT HAS

a strange, almost eerie feel to it. If, as on this night,
a still-falling snow continues to cover the streets, the
high-intensity street lamps cast harsh, angular shadows
on deserted sidewalks. The occasional taxicab or bus
that glides over the white-packed asphalt hisses almost
silently between the darkened buildings, the snow
seeming to absorb the sound, the lights shimmering in
the falling crystals.

From the air, some thirty stories above the street,
the scene seems even stranger. The few people that
hurry huddled through the storm look distant and un-
real in their land of cold shadows to the dark blue- and
red-clad figure clinging to the stone facade of the
Sperry Rand Building on 51st Street. Well, one nice
thing about the cold, he thought as he shivered in the
harsh December wind, it tends to keep the criminal
element indoors at night.

20

MUKDERMOON                21

And that makes this little friendly neighborhood
Spider-Man about as useful as Ouster's medic at Little
Big Horn!

The youth called Spider-Man shivered again in
the darkness high above the city. The costume may be
flashy, but it sure ain't gonna make it as the latest
thing in winter, wear! I wonder if any of the other
superheroes in town wear long Johns under their
costumes?

He lifted his arm and fired a thin strand of almost
indestructible chemical webbing at the building across
the street. It stuck to the stone face and Spider-Man
leaped into the air. As he swung, he fired another
strand from the web shooter under his gloves at the
neon-lit facade of Radio City Music Hall.

He landed lightly on the snow-covered theater
marquee and trotted along it until it turned to
run along Sixth Avenue. Guess I won't worry about
that till tomorrow. As for tonight, I still have the
thrilling prospect of several hours of studying and
general book cracking before I grab me seventy or
eighty winks.

The Web-slinger swung smoothly up the quiet, de-
serted street. At least the exercise's warming me up.
Still, I wish I had pockets in this getup. A taxi'd be
just as warm and a whole heck of a lot easier. But
I doubt I could find a cabbie in this city who'd want
to take an 10 U from a guy wearing a mask!

Spider-Man paused at 73rd Street, clinging by his
fingers and toes to the face of a building as he caught
his breath. He took in large lungfuls of cold, crisp air.
Hey! The pollution doesn't taste all that bad frown!

Suddenly, the Wall-crawler's masked face jerked
up. His head began to tingle fiercely with the unmistak-
able sensation of his unique spider-sense, a sixth sense
that warned Spider-Man whenever danger was present
or nearby. In this instance, however, it was the latter,
for, even as the tingling flared up in his skull, Spidey's
eye caught a flash of light moving across the roof of
the office building across Sixth Avenue.

22               MURDERMOON

Hello! Looks like studying's just been bumped from
this eve's agenda, 'cause whatever light through yon-
der window breaks, it sure isn't the sun, and the way
things work out in this business, I just ain't lucky
enough for it to be my Juliet!

He swung across the street and scampered easily up
the side of the building like the arachnid from which
he took his name. Most lights inside were off. This
late, even the most diligent of workers would be long
gone.

Spider-Man peered carefully over the ledge to the
roof. No one was there, but the fresh cover of snow
was disturbed by many sets of footprints and the
door to the stairs .was ajar. Looks like there're some
late-night visitors on the prowl. Gee, I guess I've got
my work cut out for me after all.

It's so nice to feel wanted!

The Wall-crawler turned and started down the side
of the building. He crisscrossed the facade, this time
checking carefully in each office for sight of the bur-
glars.

His search was quickly rewarded.

Spidey clung outside the eighteenth-floor window,
watching as four black-clad intruders moved about
inside with the aid of a pencil-thin light from a flash-
light.

/ don't know what's in there, but whatever it is, it's
obviously worth stealing! So, no sense me hanging out
here in the cold like a side of beef... .

Spider-Man swung onto the ledge outside the win-
dow and crouched there for several seconds. The in-
truders had stopped across the room before a heavy
door marked "Private," their backs to the window.
The man holding the flashlight knelt. He inserted a
slim piece of wire into the lock and probed delicately.
It was a considerably more complex lock than most
people used on their front doors, so the task required
all the tall man's attention. The others watched their
leader tensely. They had not noticed the costumed
figure perched outside, watching their every move

MURDERMOON                23

through the opaque one-way lenses in his macabre
mask.

But that would change soon enough.

The tall man felt the pick push against the tum-
blers until they were all properly aligned. Then, with
a deft flick of the wrist, the lock clicked softly. A
gentle nudge from the dark-garbed man and the door
swung open. The kneeling man grinned to his compan-
ions.

"Piece o' cake," he whispered.

The man with the flashlight stood as the others
filed by him into the office. Each man was dressed
the same, in black slacks, turtle neck, and wind-
breaker. When the last man was in, the tall man, with
a last look around the deserted office, followed them.
The door snapped shut behind him.

A short, dark man with a black mustache said,
"Okay, Jocko."

The tall man clapped his companion lightly on the
shoulder. "It's going real smooth, Mandez," Jocko
said, winking.

Mandez looked at his watch and frowned. "Yeah,
well, we've got seven minutes to get the stuff and get
back to the roof to meet the chopper."

"Relax, man," the big man smiled. "Ain't a safe
been made that I can't crack in less'n half that time."

Jocko ran his hand along the wall by the door and
found the light switch. When the lights came on, they
saw they were in a large, windowless office, decorated
in modern plastic and chrome. The desk was a clear-
plastic top set on four curved shiny legs. Filing cab-
inets were gleaming steel; bookcases, crammed with
well-read manuals and bulky computer readouts, were
made of chrome tubes and Lucite shelves and assem-
bled against a wall between framed reproductions of
modem computer art.

"Okay, boys," Jocko grinned, rubbing his hands
vigorously together. "Let's see where these turkeys
hide their goodies."

The quartet spread out and began ransacking the

24                MURDERMOON

office, pulling drawers from cabinets, papers and books
from shelves and pictures from walls. Within mo-
ments, the once-neat example of industrial interior
decorating was reduced to a room full of smashed
and twisted junk. A small safe stood exposed on the
wall, the silver-framed picture that had covered it
lying broken across the room.

Jocko stood before the safe. He had instantly recog-
nized the make and model. Cracking, it would be a
cinch.

The tall man nibbed his fingertips lightly against his
jacket. "All right, guys. Grab a bunch of papers from
the cabinet there while I open this here cigar box. The
man said to make 'em guess what we was after."

He began working on the safe, his trained fingers
slowly twirling the dial as he kept his ear close to the
thick metal door. Jocko had broken into a lot of safes
in his day, but never, before this time, for anybody
else. Now, tonight, he was using his valuable skills for
a stranger, a man Jocko had never met. Orders came
over the telephone. Money was left in unmarked en-
velopes in his mailbox. All very mysterious.

But whoever the guy was, his cash was green and
that was what counted.

"Five minutes," Mandez whispered tensely, check-
ing his watch for the fifth time in half a minute.

"You worry too much, Mandez," Jocko ch«cMed
softly, concentrating on the delicate task at hand. He
felt rather than heard the second tumbler click into
place. "Now relax, man. I'll be inside this sorry excuse
for a cracker box in a second."

Mandez nodded, consulting his watch again. Jocko
was right. He was too jumpy tonight, though he didn't
know why. Maybe it was the weird guy who hired
them having insisted on so much secrecy and having
the gang follow his timetable. The small dark man did
not like it when he and his companions weren't in on
the planning and didn't control the proceedings. He
liked to handle things his way, otherwise he had the

MURDERMOON                25

paranoid feeling that something just had to go
wrong.

There was a knock at the door.

The four men froze. Mandez tiptoed over to the
door and put his ear to it for several seconds, listening
carefully as his hand snaked out and clicked off the
overhead light.

"Well?" Jocko hissed impatiently in the sudden
darkness, his fingers unmoving on the dial.

Mandez shrugged, his eyes shiny in the darkness.
"I don't hear anything," he whispered back.

"Awright." Jocko clicked on the penlight and shone
it on the safe. "Keep the lights off while I finish this."
He snapped his fingers at the two men standing si-
lently in the center of the room. "And you guys.
Stand by the door—and don't use your guns unless
you have to!"

The men started toward the door through the dark
as Jocko turned his attention back to the safe. One
more turn of the dial...

Click!

There was another knock, this one much louder.

"Jocko!"

The tall man turned to his companion. "Be cool,
Mandez," he grinned, reaching under his dark wind-
breaker. He withdrew a pistol. "And don't keep our
mystery guest waiting."

Mandez swallowed hard and yanked open the door.

"Say hey, Web-slinger fans! Spidey's here!" The
Wall-crawler stood casually against the door frame,
his arms folded across his chest. "I saw you kids still
had your light on and wanted to know if I could join
your pajama party."

"Spider-Man!" Mandez screeched.

Jocko cursed to himself. Those idiots hadn't given
him any room in their carefully planned schedule to
deal with trouble, especially trouble of this size. Keep-
ing his eyes on Spider-Man, Jocko .surreptitiously slid
his hand into the safe and felt carefully around. His

26               MUKDERMOON

fingers closed around a small plastic case: a tape cas-
sette. He quickly shoved it into his back pocket.
And now for Spider-Man.

The tall man moved away from the safe and aimed
his gun at the Wall-crawler. "Maintain the pose,
Spider-Man," he said slowly. "Me and my boys got
what we came for and now we're leaving. Peacefully,
if you let us, but don't think that means I've got any-
thing against blowing your head off."

Spidey chuckled and stepped into the room. "My
goodness gracious me, we are feeling hostile tonight,
aren't we, Sluggo?"

"Go ahead and laugh, man," Jocko growled. "We'll
see how much you laugh with the wind whistling
through your face!"

Spider-Man put up his hands in a pacifying gesture.
"You don't mean you plan to shoot me with that gun,
do you?"

Jocko raised his gun higher. ''Move out of the way,
Spider-Man," he warned. "There ain't nothing wrong
with this gun."

"Sure there is, friend," Spidey said. "There's all
kinds of gunk clogging up the barrel." The Web-
slinger curled the middle fingers of both hands to de-
press the two small buttons secreted beneath his
gloves. Twin strands of webbing shot from the nozzles
at his wrists and flew accurately across the room to
their target.

Jocko pulled the trigger a split second later. The
bullet struck the already-hardening webbing material
and exploded, shattering the gun in the man's hand.
He howled in pain and dropped the smoldering,
ruined pistol.

"Gee, that was fun," Spider-Man said. "Anybody
else wanna play with me for a while?"

"Damnit," Jocko screamed, cradling his wounded
hand to his chest. "Get him, you idiots!"

" 'Get him'?" Spidey asked. " 'Get him'? Can't you
creeps ever use some new material, y'know, some-
thing with a little snap and some of the old pizzazz.

MURDERMOON                 27

You can't imagine how dull it gets listening to a whole
bunch of clowns who sound like they learned to talk
from a 1938 John Garfield movie."

The two black-clad men moved toward Spider-Man
from the center of the room. The costumed youth's
pose was casual but he was inwardly tensed, ready
to move at the slightest provocation. And that came
soon enough as the thug on Spidey's right lunged for-
ward, his hands reaching for the Wall-crawler's
throat. Spidey caught his wrists in his gloved hands.

"Hi, sailor," he said. "New in town?"

He moved at the exact second as the second thug,
swinging the first man's body around to intercept a
clenched fist. The captured man grunted in pain as
the blow skipped off his ribs and he tried to pull free
of Spidey's grasp.

Still holding tight, the Wall-crawler swept his
booted foot past his captive and kicked the second
thug in the shin. While the punk hopped on one foot
holding his wounded leg, Spider-Man released the first
man's wrists. The man looked in surprise into the star-
ing white orbs for a moment and then smiled, draw-
ing back his fist.

"Don't wt cocky, punk," Spidey said.

His webbing shot out, snagging the man's raised
hand. Spider-Man jerked the web leash forward, send-
ing the startled burglar stumbling toward him. "Come
to papa," the Web-slinger said lightly. The man's face
smacked into Spidey's gloved hand with a sharp crack
that sent his head snapping back. With a deep sigh,
the thug crumpled to the floor.

Spider-Man turned to the other man who stood in
the center of the room with a look of pain on his face
and a gun in his hand. "Just what is this strange fas-
cination you creeps have with those things?"

"They shut up wise guys, wise guy!" the man
growled. He pulled the trigger.

The Wall-crawler was moving the instant he saw
the thief tense to fire. He crouched and sprang up at
the ceiling. His fingers touched the soundproofing ma-

28               MURDERMOON

terial and stuck. He swung his legs up and plastered
his body against the ceiling as the bullet whizzed
harmlessly by beneath him. The crook cursed and re-
adjusted his aim. Hanging by his feet, Spider-Man
reached down and grabbed the gunman's arm. He
pulled him off the floor.

"You really oughta see the view from up here,
chuckles. It's simply breathtaking!"

The crook's feet kicked helplessly in the air, but the
Wall-crawler's hold was firm—almost supernaturally
strong. The man opened his mouth to speak, but the
costumed youth stifled his words with a gag of web-
bing. "No, don't speak," -Spidey pleaded. "It'll just
spoil the atmosphere."

More of the thick, viscous webbing was wrapped
around his body until the burglar was thoroughly
bound and Spider-Man could stick the still-struggling
man to the ceiling like a giant caterpillar nestled in
its cocoon.

The Web-slinger dropped to the floor and regarded
the trussed-up thief. "Whew! Whenever you get out
of that glop, junior," he said, shaking his head in dis-
belief, "you're gonna be the biggest, ugliest butterfly
anybody's ever seen!"

A sudden, sharp tingling in his head made Spider-
Man whir) around, alert. It didn't take Ion" for him
to see what his spider-sense was trying to tell him: ex-
cent for the two thugs he'd just fought, the vandalized
office was empty.

A www . . . heck!

Spidey ran toward the open door. 7 was having so
much fun with those goons I forgot about the other
two. What -would all my loyal fans fay if they heard
I let the bad fuys fet away, with the loot, yet!

. . . Whatever the loot happens to be.

He raced out into the darkened outer office. To his
rieht he heard the echo of rubber soles s^opi'n" rbvth-
rrpcni'v a"?inst a linoleum floor. Harsh, barp'v audible
wh^^rs ronr"'"^ the footsteps from the darkness.

"Jocko . . .?"

MURDERMOON                29

"Yeah man, it's cool! I got it, I got it!"

Not for long if I've got any say in the matter,
sweetums!

Spidey took off after the whispers. His uncanny
spider-sense helped him avoid obstacles in the dark
office as he followed silently behind the noisily retreat-
ing crooks. They were headed for the stairway to the
roof.

The Web-slinger raised his hand, intending to en-
. snare the fleeing thieves in a sticky web. Whoa, there,
m'boy. Not so fastf I may as well make a couple of
bucks out of this burglary even if the burglars won't!
I'll let 'em get to the roof where I can get a couple
of good shots of yours truly capturing the alleged per-
petrators. I can always sell whatever I get to Jolly
Jonah Jameson for the Daily Bugle.

And even if he doesn't want to print them, they
still maice dandy dart boards.

Spidey chuckled to himself as he ran. No wonder
you were able to get to where you are today, Mr.
Parker! You use the old noggin!
Though the costumed youth could have easily
caught up with, and, with little more effort, overtaken
the thieves as they pounded up the narrow stairwell,
he held back. He undipped a miniature camera from
his belt buckle and checked it over. Okay, film's all
loaded, shutter's on the right setting for nifht. . . .
Okay gang, let's get ready to roll 'em! A clion!

The Web-slinger paused at the doorway and took
a moment to web the small camera to the top of the
frame. He nren'ed the automatic timsr i"""i h^a.rd the
mechanism whirring, beginning to click off pictures of
the b;.ir"lars runr"ng across the roof.

They stopped by the edge of the roof, neerin"; anx-
iously through the falling snow into t'ie dark sky.
"What's the time, Mandez?" J.ocko demanded.
"Whore's the damn chopper?"

M-'r'i^z checked his wrist. "It'll be about another
minute."

"Nope. ",'iess a"ain, clowns."

30               MUKDERMOON

Spider-Man sauntered across the roof, smiling to
himself beneath his mask.

"Huh?" Mandez whirled, pulling a pistol from his
jacket pocket.

"I said you're wrong, bunky. You haven't got a
minute," Spidey called to the trembling man as he
walked evenly into the gun's range. "Matter of fact,
your time is just about up."

"Jocko?"

"Kill 'im!" the tall man roared angrily. He tenderly
clutched his throbbing hand to his stomach, gritting
his teeth from the pain. The burglar was certain the
exploding gun had broken several bones in addition
to severely burning him.

"Do it, man! Shoot Spider-Man!"

Mandez reacted automatically and instantly to the
shouted command by squeezing the trigger. His sights
were set squarely on the eerie black spider emblem
on the costumed crime-fighter's chest. At this range,
the dark little man couldn't miss.

Spider-Man threw himself headlong across the mot-
tled roof material, rolling his lithe body into a
smoothly executed somersault until he stood on his
hands before Mandez. His dark blue-clad legs pumped
out and rammed into the short man's stomach. Mandez
gasped, doubling over in pain. Spidey bounced to his
feet and grabbed the thief by the front of his jacket
before he could topple over.

"No matter what the National Rifle Association
tells you about guns, cutie," he lectured patiently to
the gasping, red-faced man, "don't believe them!
You've just had a firsthand taste of how badly a per-
son can get hurt because of them." He let the moan-
ing thief slide to the ground.

Spider-Man faced Jocko and folded his arms across
his chest. "Well, looks like it's just you and me now,
babe. You wanna surrender peaceably or do I have
to play patty-cake on your face with my fist first?"

Jocko opened his mouth to snarl a reply, but at
that moment, both men noticed a hard roar that filled

34               MUKDERMOON

He pulled a package wrapped in old newspaper and
string from the dusty shaft, replaced the cover and
dropped to the floor. Then he reached up and pulled
off his mask.

Peter Parker ran his hand through his tangled
brown hair before tearing open the package. Inside
was a set of clothing which Peter began slipping over
his costume. Bless you, wash 'n wear! He removed
his gloves and folded them neatly into his back
pocket. Since I started leaving a set of clothes here
at the Bugle I've had a lot fewer hassles getting
around, even if a lot of folks here are beginning to
think I only own one shirt!

When he finished dressing, Peter trotted down the
stairs to the top floor, deserted now, far past midnight,
and switched to the elevator to the forty-second floor.
With any luck whatsoever, the Idi Amin of the New
York publishing set won't be here this late.

Peter stepped from the elevator into the subdued
atmosphere of the Bugle's city room. Most of the
desks were deserted, their typewriters covered for the
night. The cleaning crew had already been through
the room, emptying wastebaskets that, during the day,
overflowed with crumpled wads of Bugle copy paper
and crushed Styrofoam coffee cups. A lone copyboy
weaved through the deserted desks with an armload
of the day's first edition, tossing the freshly printed
copies on the few occupied desks. The reporters man-
ning those desks put aside their work and leaned back
with their feet up to read leisurely the fruits of their
day's labors.

The great information-gathering beast was, for the
moment, at rest.

Peter waved to the one or two familiar faces on the
night shift as he walked through the long, brightly lit
room. He could see the lights were also on in Joe
Robertson's o'ffice. Peter rapped on the door and
opened it several inches.

"Anybody home?" he asked, looking inside.

The middle-aged black man seated behind the desk

MURDERMOON                35

in the generous-sized office looked up from the papers
in his hand. "Peter," he said in surprise. "What brings
you here in the dead of night?"

"I can't help it, Robbie," Peter grinned, stepping in-
side. "I got homesick for the company of the talented
and lovely J. Jonah Jameson, so I thought I'd bop on
by and say howdy."

"Why do I doubt that?" the Daily Bugle's city editor
laughed. He leaned back comfortably in his chair and
picked up his pipe from the desk. "However, if you'd
really like to see our fearless leader ..."

"No, no thanks, Robbie," Peter said quickly. "It's
too soon since I last ate to risk it."

Robbie filled his pipe from a leather pouch. "Then
what, may I ask without sounding ungracious, does
bring you here, Pete?"

Peter fished in his shirt pocket and came up with a
small roll of film. "Ah, yes, my friend," he said in his
best, none-too-good, W.C. Fields impersonation. "It is
late, but the evil perpetrators of vicious deeds of ne'er-
do-well work not by the clock. Witness this, the evi-
dence."

"That was awful!" Robbie chuckled, lighting his
pipe.

"The shtick or the photos?"

"Let me put it this way, son," Robbie said, thought-
fully puffing on his pipe. "You don't see us paying you
for your comedy routines, do you? And speaking of
that which we do pay you for, what have you got?"

Peter winked at the city editor. "Touche," he
laughed. "But seriously, folks. There was a ..."

"Robertsoni"

The door flew open and crashed into the wall as J.
Jonah Jameson stormed angrily into the room, a piece
of teletype copy clutched in. his tightly clenched fist.
"Robertson," the grizzled, gray-haired publisher of the
Daily Bugle fumed. "Do you know what this is?"

Robertson's dark features remained passive despite
his boss's tirade. J. Jonah Jameson was not the easiest
man in the world to work for, but when it came down

36               MUKDERMOON

to publishing a first-rate newspaper, there was no bet-
ter man. His temper was, as far as Robbie was con-
cerned, just another part of the job.

"Looks like something off the wire, Jonah. Is it im-
portant?"

Jameson planted himself in front of the city editor's
desk and fixed Robbie with a look that would have
withered a lesser man. "Oh, no, not really," he
growled sarcastically. "It's just that there was a break-
in at a government-employed computer-processing firm
not a mile and a half from here and the wires got to it
before we did!"

"Then I'd better get on the stick," Joe Robertson
replied, reaching for the telephone.

"No need to waste your dime, Robbie," Peter piped
in. "I've already got the story for you."

Jameson flinched at the sound of Peter's voice and
turned slowly. He took in the young photographer
seated behind him and groaned. "Parker, for crying
out loud! Don't you ever go home and sleep?" He
turned to Robbie. "What? Has he got a cot in the back
room or something? Why the hell is he always around
whenever . . ."

"Nice to see you too, Mr. J.," Peter cut in dryly.

"What is it with this kid?" Jameson pleaded with
Robbie. "How come he's always around here, like a
bill collector? I can't even get away from him in the
middle of the night."

"Uh, Jonah."

"What?"

Robbie calmly struck a match and relit his cold
pipe. "I believe the boy has something for us on that
very subject.*'

"Does he really?" Jameson scowled at Peter. "Why
don't you let the rest of us in on it then?"

Peter settled comfortably in the chair and smiled.
"Well, since you asked so nice. You see, there I was,
walking along the street, just minding my own busi-
ness, mind you, when ..."

"Get ore with it, Parkeri"

MURDERMOON                 37

"Remember your blood pressure, Mr. J.," Peter
warned. "Anyway," be hurried on before the dour-
faced publisher could reply, "I caught sight of a fracas
on a roof on 72nd and rushed up there for pictures.
And what did I find but your friend and mine, Spider-
Man ..."     -

"That name again!" Jameson groaned, slapping a
hand over his eyes.

"I knew you'd be pleased. So, Spidey did a little
breaking and entering on their heads but, just like the
movies, a helicopter made a daring rescue and I'll bet
you'll never guess who got pictures of the whole she-
bang."

"Think you're real clever, don't you, kid?" Jameson
asked snidely.

Peter shrugged. "Moderately so, compared to the
next guy. Especially when you consider the guys I'm
usually next to."

"Then how come, smarty, you didn't stick around
long enough to get a few of the facts? Like the fact
that the company robbed was engaged in work for the
government, specifically NASA. Like the fact that it
appears the burglars were after the newly completed
programming material for NASA's next unmanned
space shot. Like the fact that they somehow got away
with the loot even though the cops got three of them."
Jameson fished a cigar from his vest pocket and
jammed it in his mouth as he glared at Peter.

The young photographer grinned sheepishly. "Oh,
didn't I mention? It seems, ah, that one of them got
away from Spider-Man."

Jameson's hand, holding a lighted match halfway to
his cigar, halted in midair. "Did you say Spider-Man
let one of them get away?"

"He didn't let the guy get away, he just managed
to..."

"Forget it Did you get pictures of Spider-Man blow-
ing it?" He gasped as the match bumed down to his
fingers and dropped it to the carpet.

"Uh, yeah, but there are also some of .. ."

38               MUKDERMOON

A smile spread sickeningly across Jameson's face as
he finally touched another match to the top of his cigar.
"Did you hear that, Robbie?" he puffed contentedly.

Robbie smiled thinly. "I heard, Jonah."

His boss's fanatical hatred of the Web-slinger was
legendary in New York. A week did not go by without
the Bugle at least once sporting headlines in large type
about the menace the costumed crime-fighter posed to
the city. Robbie had watched as, over the years, that
hatred had grown, until it was almost all-consuming.
But, like Jameson's temper tantrums, it had become so
much a part of everyday routine that the city editor
hardly noticed it anymore.

Jameson grinned broadly, puffing happily on an El
Ropo special. Peter thought the older man's face
would crack under the unaccustomed strain of previ-
ously unexercised muscles being brought into play.
Seeing Jameson smile is about as rare as a tap-dancing
mud shark—though not nearly as pretty! "I might be
interested in buying those pictures, kid," Jameson said.

"I had a hunch you might, Mr. Jameson." Peter
held up the roll of film.

Jameson plucked the film from Peter's hand. He
chuckled. "You'll be happy to hear that your photo-
graphs are going to be on page one of the next edi-
tion, Parker. A little recognition oughta make a snotty
punk like you real happy."

"In lieu of more money, it'll do, I guess," Peter
Parker said.

"Good." Jameson started for the door, whistling
tunelessly to himself.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you," Peter said.

"Enormously, Parker. I love it when that damned
Wall-crawler falls flat on his foolish red-masked face."
The grizzled publisher allowed himself a short laugh
at his nemesis' misfortune and left.

"Get him," Peter scoffed. "I'll bet he's a real laugh
riot at funerals and natural disasters."

Joe Robertson tapped a pencil against his desk.

MUKDERMOON                39

"Oh, don't let Jonah bug you, Pete," he smiled. "Be-
neath that rough, gruff exterior . .."

"... is a rough, gruff man." Peter stood and jammed
his hands in his pockets. "Believe me, Robbie. I've
learned to live quite well with the fact that Jolly Jonah
would rather see the Internal Revenue man come
around to do an audit than me." He grinned. "Heck,
considering the people he likes, I like to think of his
hating me as sort of a status symbol."

Robbie stood and came around to the front of the
desk. "Glad to see you're taking it so well. Come on,
I'll buy you a cup of coffee. It tastes awful, but it's
cheap."

"No thanks," Peter smiled. "I've had the coffee here
before and my doctor warned me never to let it hap-
pen again. Naw, I think I'll just mosey on home and
grab some sleep. It's already way past my bedtime."

"Mine too, actually."

"Yeah, what are you and Jameson doing here this
late anyway?"

"The regular night man's out sick tonight so I drew
double duty. As for Jonah," Joe Robertson inclined
his head toward the Bugle publisher and editor-in-
chief, bent over a teletype machine in a glass-enclosed
office, reading the latest bulletin clattering over the
wires. "It's hard to say about him. He's about as dedi-
cated a newsman as I've ever met and I guess this
newspaper's about the most important thing in his life.
He spends a lot of nights here."

Peter could sense the dedication Robbie felt toward
his boss. No matter what hassles Jameson put him
through, his city editor remained loyal. True, there
were less headaches and more money waiting for him
at any number of papers across the country, but, like
J. Jonah Jameson, Robbie was a dedicated newsman.
And most of the action happened at the Daily Bugle.

Jameson tore a strip of yellow paper from the wire
and rushed across the room. He spotted Robbie and
hurried over, brandishing the paper.

Without a word, he handed the copy to Robbie.

40               MURDERMOON

Joe Robertson scanned the typewritten report and
his forehead creased into a deep frown as he read.
"Interesting," he muttered, chewing on the stem of his
pipe.

"What's up?" Peter wanted to know.

"Seems somebody broke into an office at the John-
son Space Center in Houston, Texas about an hour
ago," Robbie said, looking up. "The only thing they
took, according to this report, was some new data hav-
ing to do with an upcoming unmanned flight."

"Sound familiar, Parker?" Jameson asked, blowing
a stream of blue, pungent smoke toward the young
photographer.

Peter coughed, nodding in agreement as he turned
red. I'll be . . . two robberies involving NASA materi-
als on the same planned flight taking place on the
same night. Maybe coincidence does stretch pretty
far at times....

But if it does, how come my spider-sense is tingling
like the Kingpin was breathing down my neck?




Chapter 4

HE FELT COLD.

He could not understand how that was so.

His last thoughts, seen through an emerald haze in
his muddled consciousness, were of great heat. A sea
of shimmering gold stretched endlessly before him.

And rage.

But now the heat was gone, the yellow sea receded.

And the rage spent.

He wrapped his thin arms around his narrow chest,
shivering in the bitter cold. He could feel the hard,
frozen ground against his back, the chill of metal
against his neck. With a moan, he drew his knees up
to his chest. But the biting cold would not go away.

And then he awoke.

It took Dr. Robert Bruce Banner several seconds to
pry his tired, bloodshot eyes open. The lids felt like
lead, his whole body heavy with fatigue as if some sort
of parasite had drained the last iota of strength from
his frail body.

41

42               MURDERMOON

And in a way, of course, that was exactly what had
happened.

The cold winter sun sent a stab of pain through the
handsome young scientist's dark eyes. He groaned mis-
erably. But it was always this way, he thought. Al-
ways the same painful weakness, the same fear and
uncertainty.

Where had he been?

What havoc had he wreaked this time?

And where, in God's name, was he now?

Bruce Banner rose slowly, leaning against the brick
wall for support. He saw he was in an alleyway. He
had been asleep against the wall, curled in the fetal
position with his neck pressed against one of the many
trash cans that shielded him from view from the street.
As usual after one of these episodes, the young scien-
tist was clothed in nothing but the tattered remains of
his trousers, worn and stretched out of shape about his
waist.

He staggered from the alley onto what was obvi-
ously the main street of a small town. The two-lane
thoroughfare was clean, the stores that lined it neat
and homey looking. Across the street from where he
stood, Bruce could see a drugstore, an insurance agent
and real-estate office, a dress shop, a small movie
theater, and an ice-cream parlor. He was somewhere
in the midwest, he decided.

Bruce leaned against the cold wall, shivering. He
had to get some clothes, get into something warm be-
fore he froze to death. He didn't know the exact date,
he seldom did anymore, but he was sure it was some-
time in late December, probably just after Christmas.
Time had little meaning to Bruce Banner these days.
It merely represented an extension of torment to the
young scientist; that many more times it would happen,
his curse. That many more times that anger or frustra-
tion would build in him, causing the change to take
place in his body until he was no longer Bruce Banner.

Until he became the awesome Hulk!

Bruce shuddered in a chill wind. Forget all that

MUBDERMOON                43

now, he told himself. It's over—if only for the time
being. For now, I've got to get organized and get my
hands on some clothing!

He shoved his hands into his ragged pockets and
felt around for the small wad of paper he knew was
pinned there. He pulled it free and brought the five
twenty-dollar bills out. It was money he tried to keep
on Mm at all times for just such situations. He never
knew where he would wind up after a spell as the
Hulk, but he was always sure he would need the
money.

The street was empty. From the position of the sun
in the sky, Bruce could tell it was just after eight in
the morning, at least an hour before the townspeople
would be up and about in the streets of the small
town. He rubbed his goosefleshed skin as he hurried
up the street. As he suspected, there was a men's cloth-
ing store between the post office and green grocer.
Hand-printed signs in the window advertised profes-
sional tailoring, dry cleaning, and several brands of
blue jeans. It also noted that Fletcher's Men's Wear
opened its doors to the public at nine each morning.
A big red "Closed" sign hung in the window. Bruce
could not wait an hour.

He began pounding on the glass door, hoping the
proprietor was either in early or lived in the rear of
the shop.

"Hello," he shouted. "Anybody here?"

"Coming, coming," a man called from inside. "Don't
break down the door."

Bruce huddled in the doorway, slapping his thin
arms for warmth. Hurry, damn you, he thought an-
grily.

The' shade was lifted from over the glass and a
round, red face peered out at him. The little man
started at first sight of the ragged young man. "What'd
you want, mister? I don't open for about an hour
yet."

"I need to buy some clothes," Bruce called through
chattering teeth. "It... it's an emergency."

44               MURDERMOON

The face looked him up and down. "Look, I'm
sorry, but..."

Bruce pulled the hundred dollars from his pocket
and waved it in front of the man's face. "I've got the
money to pay," he cried.

The little man, obviously Mr. Fletcher, pursed his
lips and looked the half-naked young man over one
more time. At last he nodded, disappearing behind the
shade. In seconds, the lock clicked and the door swung
open.

"You're sure a mess, mister," Fletcher said, shaking
his balding head. "What happened to you?"

Bruce stepped quickly inside, the warmth of the
small, dark shop enveloping him like a thick, com-
fortable blanket. He closed his eyes in relief.

"Mister?"                                     '.

"Mmm? Oh, I'm sorry."

"I said," the man repeated in a slow, midwestem
drawl, "that you look awful. Been in an accident?"

"Yes." Bruce nodded. "Yes, you could say that,"
he muttered softly.

Fletcher frowned. "Well, have you been to the po-
lice?"

"There's nothing the police could do." He laughed
bitterly. "I don't think there's anything anybody can
do."   •

Jim Fletcher stared hard at the young man. He had
always felt he was a fairly shrewd judge of character,
that he could size up a man in a glance. But this time
. . . well, maybe he'd been a bit hasty letting this one
in.

Banner sensed the little man's shift in reaction to his
strange appearance and even stranger manner and
smiled quickly to compensate. "Listen," he said lightly.
"It really wasn't anything serious, though it didn't do
my clothes any good as you can see." He laughed.
"But nobody was hurt."

Fletcher nodded slowly. "Sure. What can I do for
you?"

"The works, I guess. Nothing too expensive,

MURDERMOON                45

though." He held up the money. "I'm on a fakly tight
budget."

Within minutes, Bruce Banner was stepping from a
dressing room in the rear of the shop, dressed in a
blue-denim work shirt, blue jeans, and warm, heavy
hiking boots. Just being dressed again made him feel
better, almost forgetting that mere hours ago he had
been a rampaging engine of destruction, doing things
he would only find out about if he chanced on a news-
paper article or television newscast recounting his ac-
tivity.

Bruce selected some extra underwear, socks, and a
spare shirt, as well as a small overnight bag which,
along with a warm, down paika, be bought. The pur-
chases left him with less than twenty dollars in his
pocket.

Mr. Hetcher directed Bruce to the drugstore up the
street when the young scientist asked him about a
place to eat. Thanking the little man, Bruce left the
clothing shop. He was warm now, and his mind and
body both felt better for it. The horror of his other self
did not seem as nightmarish with the simple addition
of warm clothing. Maybe, he thought, the clothes do
make the man.

Or maybe they merely served to hide the truth and
make the facade more presentable.

A small bell tinkled over the door as Bruce stepped
into the drugstore. The word that sprang immediately
to the young scientist's mind as he looked the store
over was "quaint." Against the far wall stood an old,
well-used display counter behind which worked the
white-coated pharmacist. A long display rack with
magazines, newspapers, and comic books shared an-
other wall with a cosmetics display. Opposite that was
a lunch counter with six of the eight stools filled by
men eating breakfast. Through the center of the store
ran racks filled with toiletries and household items.
Old signs still hung on the walls, signs advertising prod-
ucts Bruce remembered from his childhood but that
had long since vanished or changed over the years,

46               MUKDERMOON

and signs for soft drinks and patent medicines that
would have been familiar to his parents.

The young scientist smiled genuinely for the first
time that day. He recalled a drugstore much like this
one from his childhood, in the small town his grand-
parents lived in. Memories of hot summer afternoons
spent reading crisp, new comic books while sipping a
huge ice-cream soda in the cool of the dark little store
flooded his mind. That was a simpler time—a better
time.

Bruce scooped up a copy of the only newspaper in
the rack and went over to the counter. He hung his
new parka on one of the hooks against the wall and
took a seat next to a small, nervous-looking man wear-
ing a gray suit several sizes too large for his bony
frame. He was the only man seated there not clad in
overalls and muddy, battered work shoes. He glanced
up quickly when Bruce sat down next to him. He
snubbed out the nonfiltered cigarette he was smoking
and concentrated on his cup of coffee.

"Good morning," Bruce smiled pleasantly.

The man stopped his coffee cup halfway to his
mouth and snapped his head in Banner's direction.
"Oh?"

"Relatively so, at least," Bruce conceded, extending
his hand. "Name's Banner. Bruce Banner."

The nervous little man slowly replaced his cup and
took the proffered hand for a brief, limp shake. "Oh.
Ernest Hughes." He took a loud sip of coffee. "I own
the insurance place down the street."

"I'm just passing through myself." Bruce glanced
down at the masthead of the newspaper on the
counter. The MacDermont Chronicle-Eagle, he read.
MacDermont Point, Kansas.

Kansas?

Last he remembered, he had been in Nevada.

The Hulk really gets me around, he thought bitterly.

"Oh?" Hughes reached for another cigarette from
the pack in his jacket pocket and lighted it.

"Yes," Bruce said. "Although I have been thinking

MURDERMOON                47

of finding a place to settle down for a while. And this
town, well ... it seems to fit the bill pretty nicely."
Now what made me say that? Bruce thought. He'd
never had any such thoughts, but even as he heard
himself say it, he realized it might be what he was
looking for after all. How long had he roamed the
country seeking a cure from science for his curse?
Maybe it was time he sought a cure in himself. In a
town like MacDermont Point, Kansas, there could be
little to cause the dreaded anxiety that triggered his
metamorphosis.

"Oh. Yes, Mr. Banner. We've quite a friendly com-
munity in MacDermont Point," he said, his voice full
of either civic pride or professional interest in the
young man as a potential customer for his real-estate
office. "Very neighborly, very peaceful."

"Peaceful." Bruce Banner savored the word. "That's
what I'm looking for."

The waitress came hurrying over from the kitchen
through a door behind the counter with a plate full of
fried eggs, sausages, and home-fried potatoes. Bruce
Banner watched with hungry eyes as she passed him
and placed it before a burly man in overalls. He
hadn't realized how hungry he was until he saw the
food.

The waitress wiped her hands on the seat of her
yellow uniform and looked up the counter. She saw
Bruce and smiled. She was a pretty girl in her early
twenties, tall and slim and quite beautiful. Her long,
striking red hair was tied back in a ponytail. Her
pretty green eyes sparkled.

"Hi," she said, full of cheer. "How're you today?"

"Fine," he smiled back. "And you?"

"Great. Can I get you something?"

He laughed. "Food."

She laughed with him, a bright, sweet sound.
"Should I bring out one portion or should I keep it
comin' until you tell me to stop?"

"That's not a bad idea," the young scientist grinned.

48                MURDERMOON

"But first, let's see how I do with a couple of scrambled
eggs, bacon, and heaps of home fries and toast."

She nodded and went to the kitchen to place his
order and then came back to fill his coffee cup. "You
from around here, mister?" she asked.

He shook his head and gingerly tasted the hot,
black liquid. Bruce couldn't remember anything ever
tasting so good. "No," he said at last. "I suppose you
could say I'm on the road."

"Really?" She brightened. "I love to travel," she
said, leaning on the counter. "Not that I get to do all
that much of it, mind you. You been to a lot of
places?"

"I get around," Bruce admitted. "Er, by the way,
I'm Bruce."

"My name's Shannon. You staying in town, Bruce?"

"Maybe," he shrugged. "It all depends on whether
or not I can find a job and a place to stay. Actually,
it all depends on the job, otherwise a place to stay is
out of my range."

A bell rang in the kitchen. "Be right back," Shan-
non said. She disappeared into the back room and was
back in a moment with Bruce's breakfast. He dug in.

Shannon watched him eat with a bemused smile.
"Looks like you don't get to eat all that often."

"It's been a while," he said between mouthfuls.

"I'll bet. Hey, what kind of work is it you do any-
way?"

Bruce put the last of the potatoes into his mouth
and washed it down with a swallow of coffee. "Just
about anything, actually. Farm work, construction,
handiwork, small repairs. I'm what you might call a
jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none."

"Can the jack jerk?"

"Come again?"

"Do you think you can handle soda jerking?"

"Sure. I mean, I don't see why not," he shrugged.
Mixing an ice-cream soda, he thought, had to be easier
than mixing chemicals. "Why? Do you know of a job
somewhere?"

MURDERMOON                49

"Yeah. Here."

"Here?"

"Sure. It doesn't pay much, but you get all the
banana splits you can eat," she grinned. "What d'you
say, Bruce?"

"What else can I say? You've got yourself a soda
jerk, lady." They shook hands across the counter.
"Shouldn't I talk to the boss about this?"

"Don't have to do that. He trusts me to do all the
hiring."

"Oh yeah? You manage the store for him?"

"Kind of. The boss is my father."

*'Ah," Bruce smiled. "The boss's daughter."

"That's right, buster," she snarled playfully. "So
don't get any ideas about trying your city-slicker ways
on me."

"Don't worry, ma'am. I'm just a country boy at
heart.

"Hey, Shannon," Bruce said. "I really appreciate
the job. That's half my troubles down."

Shannon smiled. "How'd you like me to make that
two out of two?"

"An apartment?"

"Well, not exactly an apartment," she laughed.
"More like a room, but it's in a good boardinghouse
not far from here. And I know there's an available
room that I'm sure you can get."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Really," he said. "I sup-
pose it's run by your grandmother, right?"

"Don't be silly, Bruce," she said. "Mom owns the
house."




Chapter 5

THE PLAIN RED-BRICK HOUSE ON WAR-

ren Street stood behind a white picket fence in a yard
shaded by two large, stately elm trees, bare now of
their leaves. Bruce swung open the gate and walked
to the front door after checking the address against the
one Shannon had scrawled on the back of a paper
napkin.

He rang the doorbell.

A grayer, heavier, and older version of Shannon an-
swered after the first ring. "Yes?" she inquired pleas-
antly.

"Mrs. O'Neal?"

"Yes."

"My name's Brace Banner, ma'am."

"Oh, yes," the woman stepped back from the door
and gestured for Bruce to enter. "Shannon called me
and told me about you, Mr. Banner."

Bruce followed Shannon's mother into the warm,

50

MURDERMOON                51

pleasant house. They passed through the parlor, a
room full of overstuffed, antique-looking chairs and
sofas and little bric-a-brac scattered on shelves and
atop the grand piano that stood in front of the window.
They went down a narrow hallway to the stairs with
Mrs. O'Neal chattering away a mile a minute about
the splendor of MacDermont Point the whole time.
She asked the young stranger any number of questions
but did not seem the least bit interested in waiting to
hear his replies before rushing on with her commen-
tary and gossip.

Bruce Banner liked her immediately.

"There are four boarders living here, Mr. Banner,
along with Shannon, Mr. O'Neal, and myself," she said
showing him the second-floor room.

Bruce nodded, looking around the room. It was
large enough for one person, with a bed, a chest of
drawers, a small writing desk, and a closet—with just
enough space left to move around. The oriental rug
on the floor was worn threadbare in some spots from
too many years of feet, and the furniture was old, but
well kept. In all, the room was comfortable and, like
the rest of this Kansas town, very warm.

"Do you like it, Mr. Banner? The rent's twenty dol-
lars a week and that includes breakfast and dinner.
And I'm sure you'll like our other boarders. There's
Mr. Abernathy, the retired dry-goods man; Miss
Pritchard, the grammar-school teacher; Mr. Walsh, the
young law clerk; and Mrs. Taylor, Andy's widow. A
fine group pf people."

"It's wonderful, Mrs. O'Neal. I'm sure I'll be very
comfortable here," Bruce jumped in when the woman
paused for a breath.

"I'm so glad," the woman beamed. "Shannon said
you were a nice young man."

Bruce's eyebrows went up. "Did she?"

"My, yes. She spoke very highly of you." She leaned
in close to Bruce and whispered conspiratorially.
"Frankly, I'm glad she's finally showing some interest

52               MUKDERMOON

in young men. Shannon's never seemed very interested
in the boys in town."

Bruce smiled, well aware that he was in for this
wonderful little woman's life story unless he did' some-
thing fast. "Well, thank you, Mrs. O'Neal. Now, I
think I'd like to take a little nap, if you don't mind."

"Of course, Mr. Banner. Shall we see you for din-
ner?"

"Does, eh. Shannon usually eat at home?" he asked
casually.

"Oh, yes."

Bruce smiled. "Then I'm looking forward to it,
ma'am."

After dinner, Bruce Banner sat comfortably back in
an overstuffed chair in the warm parlor reading a
newspaper from Topeka, supplied by Dan Walsh, the
young lawyer and his fellow boarder. Dinner had been
as pleasant as he had anticipated, seated across the
table from the radiant Shannon, chatting amicably
with his new friends in the town of MacDermont Point.

Now, Shannon and her mother were in the kitchen
doing the dishes and Mr. O'Neal was locked away in
his den with his drugstore's books. Bruce sat across
from Walsh, in the parlor. Walsh was a pudgy young
man with a crew cut and a loud bow tie. Across from
him sat Miss Daisy Pritchard, a very tidy-looking
woman in her mid-thirties who seemed determined to
live out her life as the stereotypical schoolmarm. Mrs.
Beatrice Taylor, the widow, was a white-faced old
lady who wore her silver hair in a tight bun on the top
of her head. She dozed next to the radio, dressed in
mourning black even though, Mrs. O'Neal had whis-
pered to Bruce in confidence, her husband had been
dead for almost twenty years. Finally there was Hank
Abemathy, a hardy old gentleman who talked to
Bruce enthusiastically throughout dinner about his
days in the dry-goods business.

But Bruce had not minded the banal chatter in the
least. He was happy with his new job and home and,

MURDERMOON                53

especially. Shannon O'Neal. After the years he had
spent on the run, on his quest for freedom, he realized
he missed the security and stability of a home and peo-
ple he could share a life with. Perhaps here, he could
find some of the happiness he craved.

Perhaps.

Shannon came into the^room. "You seem to be fit-
ting in nicely, Mr. Banner," she said, standing over
his chair.

"Feel right at home," he said laying the newspaper
in his lap. "And I haven't had a meal like the one
your mother served up in I don't know how long."

"She can certainly set a table," Shannon said. "How
would you like to walk off some of that food?"

"Sounds nice," Bruce said, happy for the opportu-
nity to be alone with her.

"Great. Give me fifteen minutes to help mom finish
cleaning up and then I'll treat you to the fifty-cent tour
of the town."

Bruce watched Shannon O'Neal walk from the par-
lor with a small, private smile on his lips. He let his
mind wander, trying to envision a life in MacDermont
Point. It wasn't a difficult image to conjure. She
seemed to be everything he might want in a woman,
and beautiful as well. He found it easy to see in his
mind's eye a white picket fence surrounding a wooden
frame house—his own—on one of the town's tree-
lined streets. Children played happily in the front
yard, rushing to greet Bruce as he came up the walk
at night. And Shannon—she came from the house
and , . .

He shook his head suddenly, a sad frown creasing
his forehead.

How could he think such things? A normal life was
forever closed to him. As long as the threat of the
fearsome creature within him existed, ready to rear its
monstrous head at any instant, his life could never be
normal.

With a somber sigh, he closed his mind to those
thoughts and returned his concentration to the news-

54               MURDERMOON

paper. He skimmed through the local section, search-
ing the pages for any items relating to his alter ego's
activities during his last blackout.

The paper mentioned nothing of the Hulk, but a
small story on page eighteen caught his attention. He
read the small headline twice, not believing his eyes:

RESEARCHERS ANNOUNCE BREAKTHROUGH IN
GAMMA-BAY CUBE

It was only a few lines, but they were lines that
made the young scientist hold bis breath in nervous
anticipation.

(Chicago) Scientists at the Institute for Ra-
diation Research (IRR) based in Chicago
announced today a remarkable new cure
for victims of deadly gamma-ray radiation.

The cure, according to IRR spokesman,
Dr. Daniel L-vine, is "a major break-
through in the fight against radiation sick-
ness." In a paper released this morning. Dr.
L-vine said that while they are certain of
their research, additional volunteers are
still being sought for new studies. Volun-
teers should contact the IRR at their offices
at 823 LaSalle Street in Chicago.

Bruce slowly folded the paper, his eyes staring
blankly into space. Was it possible? Could it be true?
he wondered. Could some unknown researcher in
Chicago have come up with the answer to the ques-
tion that had plagued him these many years?

Could it be possible that his long nightmare was
nearing an end?

"I've got to get to Chicago," he muttered suddenly,
almost leaping from his seat. He hurried past the star-
tled boarders in the parlor and started up the stairs.
He stopped, his foot hovering in midair. You can't

MURDERMOON                 55

just leave like this, he told himself; not without telling
anyone—without telling Shannon. He turned and
went into the kitchen where Shannon and Mrs? O'Neal
stood washing dishes.

"Excuse me," he said. "Mrs. O'Neal. Shannon."

The two women turned.

"You shouldn't be in here," the older woman said
with mock sternness. "This is women's work."

Bruce stepped forward. "I'm sorry," he said, look-
ing into Shannon's sparkling green eyes. "I ... I have
to leave."

"Leave?" Shannon laughed in surprise. "That's ri-
diculous, Bruce. You just got here."

"I know," he said miserably. "And I wish I could
stay longer, much longer, but it's imperative I get to
Chicago as soon as possible." He spread his hands in
a helpless gesture. "I wish I could explain it to you,
but I can't. Not now. But believe me, it's terribly im-
portant to me."

Shannon lowered her eyes to the floor. "Oh. I see."

"Shannon, I don't like this any more than . .."

"Oh, this is a shame, Mr. Banner." Mrs. O'Neal
shook her head. "We so enjoy having new people
around the house. Don't we. Shannon?"

The young woman's eyes rose and locked on
Bruce's. "Yes, Mom," she said softly. "We do."

"I hope you understand, Shannon," Bruce said.

"I know," she smiled. "You have to."

"Well." Bruce cleared his throat, not knowing what
else he could say. "I'll say good-bye, then." He started
to leave but stopped at the door. "I ... I almost for-
got, Mrs. O'Neal. What do I owe you for today?"

The plump woman waved her hand before her, dis-
missing the subject. "Phsst," she said. "Forget that,
Mr. Banner. I can't rightly charge you anything with-
out your even having spent the night."

Bruce smiled fondly. "Thank you, ma'am," he said.
"You're a nice person. Good-bye." He looked at
Shannon. "Good-bye."

" 'Bye."

56               MURDERMOON

Bruce pushed through the kitchen door and hurried
up to his room. It only took a minute to toss his few
possessions into the overnight bag and shrug into his
heavy parka. The young scientist wanted to get out
of this house fast, before it became too hard to go.

Shannon was standing by the front door when he
came downstairs.

He stopped several feet before her. "Well . . ." This
was not the time to say what he really wanted to, he
knew. Too much uncertainty still existed in his tumul-
tuous life for him to make any commitment to anyone.
Perhaps if his journey to Dlinois was successful. But
not now.

"I wanted you to know I'm sorry you can't stay,
Bruce," she said.

He nodded, jamming his hands into his coat pock-
ets. "I wouldn't go if I didn't have to, Shannon. I like
it here."

She looked at him hard. "Whatever's in Chicago
must be awfully important then."

"It is; It's what I've been looking for for a good
many years."

"I see." The young woman studied her slender
hands for several seconds. She seemed to be having
difficulty saying what was on her mind. Finally, she
looked up. "Will you be coming back? Someday, I
mean?"

Bruce shrugged. Lord, after only twelve hours in
town, why did this hurt so much? "Maybe. Maybe if
I'm lucky this time and find what I'm looking for. I
don't know."

She stepped aside and put her hand on the door-
knob. "Good luck, Bruce." Shannon opened the door.
The night air blew cold across his face.

"Good-bye, Shannon." He slowly walked from the
house into the dark night. He shivered, but not from
the cold.

Bruce walked down the path to the white fence,

MURDERMOON                57

feeling Shannon's eyes watching him from the door-
way.

"I hope you find it soon," she called softly and then
he heard the door, close.

Maybe this time he would.

Chapter 6




"WHERE THE HELL IS PARKER, MS.

Grant!" demanded J. Jonah Jameson.

Glory Grant, the Daily Bugle's red-faced publisher's
secretary, looked up from her typing. "How would /
know, Mr. Jameson? I am not my Parker's keeper."

"That kid could use a keeper," Jameson grumbled.
"He's just so typical of the kids these days. Snotty,
arrogant, disrespectful. They don't teach them man-
ners like they did when / was a kid. It's all that trou-
blemaker Dr. Spock's fault." He chewed thoughtfully
on the ragged stump of his cigar. "Remind me to
write a personal editorial on that, Ms. Grant. It's a
subject that just cries out for the old Jameson flair."

The attractive black girl nodded and wrote "time
for annual juvenile-delinquency editorial" on her pad.
"You got it, boss."

Jameson headed for his office at the rear of the

58

MUKDERMOON                59

large, open city room. "I want to see that punk shut-
terbug the second he drags his goldbricking butt into
the building," he shouted over his shoulder. "And get
Tim Coswell from Science down here."

"Yessir!" Glory snapped to attention and saluted
Jameson's back. Her hand moved down from her
forehead and her thumb touched her nose. She wig-
gled her fingers at her boss and stuck out her tongue.
"You old slave driver, you," she mumbled as his door
slammed shut.

Glory Grant sighed and returned to work. She
picked up the phone and dialed Peter Parker's num-
ber. It was still before noon so it was possible that
the young photographer was still asleep, but the
phone rang half a dozen times without an answer
before she hung up. Peter was probably on his way
in.

Next she called Tim Coswell, the Bugle's science
editor. Tha young reporter was surprised and nervous
at receiving a summons from the paper's publisher
and he told Glory he would be right down. As she
was replacing the receiver, she looked across the bus-
tling city room and saw Peter Parker, camera bag
slung over his shoulder, whistling happily toward her.

"Good morning, Ms. Grant," he said brightly as he
plopped down on the edge of her desk.

"Peter, m'man!" Glory exclaimed. "Why, we'd just
about given you up for lost."

"Now, now," he said. "There's a whole lot of that
slippery white stuff out there; I think they call it snow.
You wouldn't want me to walk too fast and slip,
would you? I could get hurt."

"You may get hurt anyway," she said, pointing over
her shoulder at Jameson's office. "If you catch my
drift."

"Is that a snow joke?"

"Yeah. You think I'm shoveling it on too much?"

"Well, your sense of humor's not gonna set the city
room off on a flurry of laughter."

"Enough!" Glory shrieked. "One more pun and I

60               MURDERMOON

swear I'll beat myself to death with a rubber
chicken!"

Peter jumped to his feet. "Right! Besides, the lion
awaits this poor Daniel in his den."

"You were scheduled to be eaten fifteen minutes
ago, Daniel," she grinned. "And the lion's gettin' hun-
grier every second you waste out here."

Peter flinched. "Gotcha. See you later, Glory."

"Good luck, Daniel."

Peter pushed open the door to the inner office. I
really need this? After playing superhero and. ace
news photographer all night, I still had to spend a
couple of hours with the physics books. Then, after
two whole hours of sleep, I spend the better part of
the morning filling out little blue examination book-
lets with theories and calculations I'm still not sure I
understand.

And now, to top it all off, I gotta worry about
Jameson when he's ticked off at me. Thank goodness
I've had plenty of practice at it. Jolly Jonah's never
not angry at me!

"Where've you been, Parker?" Jameson barked in
greeting. The grizzled newspaper publisher was seated
behind his desk, puffing angry clouds of blue smoke
into the air around his head.

"All kinds of places," Peter grinned.

"Don't mouth off to me, kid. You almost missed
the damn boat," Jameson growled.

Peter looked at his boss, confused. "If not the boat,
at least your point. What boat are you referring to?"

"The navy ship." Jameson jabbed a finger at the
buttons on his intercom. "Ms. Grant," he bellowed.

"He's coming now, Mr. Jameson," she barked back.

"What navy? Which ship? Who's coming?" Peter
scratched his head. "Where am I?"

"I wonder about that myself sometimes," Jameson
said.

There was a hesitant knock at the door.

"Come in, damn it!"

The door opened and Tim Coswell stuck his head

MURDERMOON                61

in. "Er, Mr. Jameson," he said, clearing his throat.
"You wanted to see ..."

Jameson frowned in annoyance and waved the tall,
blond man in. "Not wanted, Coswell. Had to. What
do you know about StarLab I?"

Coswell stepped inside and gently closed the door.
He reached up and pushed his wire-framed glasses up
the bridge of his nose. "Oh, well... ah, StarLab . . ."

"Don't you know?" Jameson growled, leaning for-
ward in his chair to fix a cold stare on the nervous
man. "I mean, we do pay you to edit the science sec-
tion, don't we, Mr. Coswell?"

Coswell blushed and nervously chewed on his lower
lip. "Yessir," he said, his voice cracking. He cleared
his throat again. "Of course I know ... ah, I know
about StarLab ... sir. Mr. Jameson."

"Then why the hell aren't you telling us about it?"
Jameson yelled.

The nervous science editor flushed even deeper.

Hooboy! Jameson's really got this one cowed. I sup-
pose it is my duty as a fellow cowee to jump in and
lend the poor slob a helping hand.

"Isn't that the satellite that's supposed to be falling
from its orbit?" Peter asked Jameson.

"Yes!" Coswell nodded almost convulsively, flash-
ing the young photographer a look of gratitude. "Yes,"
he repeated, seeming to compose himself. "NASA sent
StarLab into orbit three years ago as their first step in
establishing orbiting space stations. It was inhabited by
three separate crews of three for about a year and a
half. It's been circling the Earth, its systems shut
down, since then.

"About six months ago, NASA noticed that Star-
Lab's orbit was decaying." He glanced over at Jame-
son. "That's when an orbiting body in space, so close
to the planet that it never completely escapes its grav-
itational influence, is pulled closer and closer with
each orbit by the drag of the upper atmosphere until
it finally hits the atmosphere in an uncontrolled re-
entry. In theory, the object bums up in reentry."

62               MURDERMOON

"I know that," Jameson snarled with contempt.
"Oh, right," Coswell agreed, nodding quickly. He
hurried on, "Anyway, they tried correcting the satel-
lite's orbit with small maneuvering-jets on board, but
that was only a temporary solution. Those jets didn't
have enough power or fuel to do the job and prevent
an uncontrolled reentry. And when that does happen,'
it could be big trouble for NASA and some select
portion of the world."

"Why? Does somebody, somewhere collect rent on
the place?" Peter asked. He fiddled restlessly with the
zipper on his camera case.

Coswell started to giggle but caught himself before
Jameson noticed. "Ahem. No, Peter," he said. "You
see, small objects will bum up completely in reentry,
but larger things, especially something the size of Star-
Lab, won't. Part of it will burn, but a large part of
those 100 tons will make it through.
"And it's got to fall somewhere!"
Peter nodded.

"Remember what happened in Canada in 1978
when that Soviet satellite crashed there. They were
lucky that it fell in an unpopulated area, but there
was still the problem of the nuclear materials used to
power the satellite contaminating the area with radia-
tion. It's the same thing in this case, especially since
several of StarLab's experimental and equipment
packages contain nuclear isotopes."

"That's all real interesting," Peter said. "But you'll
pardon me if I ask so what? What am I supposed to
do, take pictures of Tim telling us about it?"

"No, wiseass," Jameson snapped. "The thing's com-
ing down and you're supposed to take pictures of the
navy catching it."

Peter smiled in sudden understanding. "Ohh, that
navy ship."

"If you'd pay attention once in a while instead of
flapping your gums all the time you'd have heard me
say that, Parker," Jameson said. "NASA can't keep

MURDERMOON                63

their blasted tin can up there any longer and they
figure it'll come down early tomorrow morning."

"Where?"

"That they haven't figured yet. You'd think with all
of the money they waste on their blasted computers
they'd know where a stupid hunk of tin was going to
fall," the Bugle publisher grumbled. "They say it'll ei-
ther be somewhere in Asia or a couple of hundred
miles due east of here in the Atlantic. Damned egg-
heads!"

"That narrows it down," Coswell muttered.

"It becomes clear to me now, Tim," Peter said, ris-
ing to his feet. "You and I have drawn sea duty."

"That's almost intelligent, Parker," Jameson said,
spitting the soggy stump of his cigar into the waste-
basket by his desk. "The aircraft carrier USS Alexan-
der Hamilton is docked at the Port of Jersey in
Newark. You two have just enough time to get there
before she sets sail."

Coswell blinked. "B . . . but, Mr. Jameson, sir—my
wife ..."

"You can't take your wife on a blasted aircraft
carrier," Jameson mumbled absently around a fresh
cigar.

"No, I ... I mean, she's expecting . . . how long
will we, ah, be ... away, sir?" the young science
editor stuttered.

"Not at all," Jameson said glancing up angrily. "If
you don't get the lead out and make that ship. Cos-
well. Ms. Grant has your press passes."

"Hope you won't miss me while I'm gone, Mr. J.,"
Peter smiled.

"I'd miss cholera faster than I'd miss you, Parker."
The Bugle's publisher rose, glaring at the smiling
young photographer. "Now, out!" he bellowed.

Peter grabbed Coswell's , arm and pulled him to-
ward the door. "C'mon, Tim," he said. "There's just
no talking to the man when he gets this way."




ClacEplex1

THE MASSIVE DECK OF THE AIRCRAFT

' carrier USS Alexander Hamilton was uncharacteristi-
cally alive with activity two hours before dawn. Uni-
formed seamen manned their stations across the length
of the great warship, its decks alone larger than several
football fields laid end to end. Jet helicopters landed
and took off continually at the vessel's fore, sweeping
off into the sea of darkness that surrounded the
brightly lit ship cutting through the frothy swells of the
cold Atlantic Ocean.

Peter Parker and Tim Coswell stood huddled in
the salty cold of the ship's bridge, leaning against a
railing as they watched the activity below. Despite the
warmth of the clothes they wore, both men shivered
slightly in the cold sea air.

"I wish they'd get on with it," Coswell said through
chattering teeth. "I don't think I can take much more
of this cold."
Peter unslung his camera from his shoulder and

64

MURDERMOON                65

pointed'it at the deck. He began to idly snap photo-
graphs of the men and machines being moved around
below. "These things take time," he sighed. He
clicked off a shot of a sailor signaling a chopper in for
a landing. "According to the last announcement, Star-
Lab should be passing over us in its next orbit in a
few minutes." His telephoto lens caught a sailor in
mid leap from the cockpit of a bulky cargo copter.

Coswell rubbed his hands together. "Yeah, well,
you don't have to worry about filing a good story
with Jameson. / do," he said miserably. "Jeez, I don't
know what the man's got against me all of a sudden,
but..."

"What makes you think Jameson's got something
against you?"

"Come on, Peter," Tim Coswell said glumly. "You
saw the way he tore into me yesterday, didn't you?
Hell, I can't figure it. I don't think I've spoken two
words to the man in my whole life before he called me
into his office."

Peter slapped the unhappy reporter on the back.
"Hey, if that's all that's worrying you, friend," he
smiled, "don't. It ain't you, believe me. Smiling Jonah
Jameson hates everybody."

"Yeah, sure," Coswell said, unconvinced. He turned
to look at Peter. "If he hates everybody, what about
you?"

Peter poked a finger in his chest, looking surprised.
"Me? What've I got to do with the price of hostile
newspaper publishers?"

"C'mon," he said. "I see the way you stand up to
him in the city room all the time. You're not afraid of
Jameson."

Peter laughed. "Boy, have you got the wrong num-
ber, man. I like to think that about the only people
J.J. Jameson likes less than me are Santa Claus, the
Easter Bunny, and Spider-Man." He brought his
camera to his eye. "True, Jameson doesn't scare me,
but then I've been known to take midnight strolls
along the waterfront, so you can't go by me."

66               MURDERMOON

Coswell grinned. "The Easter Bunny?"
The young photographer shrugged. "I know. Some-
times it's really tough to judge a man."

A series of shrill whistles pierced the silence. Peter
looked into the bridge housing and saw the white-
uniformed captain standing in the dull-green light cast
by the radar screens. At last! Something's finally go-
ing to happen. Coswell's a nice guy, salt of the Earth
and all that stuff, but I've been playing Dear Abby to
his "Miserable In New York Journalism" since yester-
day morning and frankly, enough is enough.

"Attention!" the captain said into a microphone,
relaying his words throughout the ship on the public-
address system. The sailors stopped what they were
doing and waited. "NASA Houston tracking station
reports StarLab I has left orbit and is in reentry stage.
Trajectory and radar reports show her to be headed
straight into our laps, men. Let's get ready."

A cheer arose from the assemblage below and
even before it faded, the seamen were all running
to their appointed tasks. A large, hydraulically oper-
ated platform rose from the belly of the great ship,
bringing more helicopters up to the deck. A few took
off immediately, veering off into the slowly lightening
morning sky.

Coswell excitedly nudged Peter with his elbow. "It's
almost time," he said enthusiastically, the prospect of
the excitement to come making the blond science ed-
itor forget his worries.

Peter, in the middle of trying to change the lens on
his camera when the animated jostling began, scowled.
"Yeah," he mumbled.

"We have StarLab I on our screens," the captain
announced.

The young photographer squinted into the darkness,
but it was impossible to see beyond the glare of the
carrier's lights.

"StarLab coordinates, altitude 98 knots, down-
range 11 knots, west."

"Ready, Peter?" Coswell had to shout to make him-

MURDERMOON                 67

self heard above the deafening roar of the choppers.

Peter flashed his companion the okay sign.

"Altitude 85 knots, downrange 9 kn . . ." Without
a sound, the public-address system went dead.

Peter and Coswell looked at each other simultane-
ously.

"Think maybe somebody cut the strings on their
tin cans?" Peter asked after several seconds of silence.

Coswell shook his head. "I don't know," he said.
"Maybe something went wrong with StarLab?"

"What could go wrong? It -was up there and it was
falling to here. It's got to come down."

"But what if it wasn't... ?"

"Then I guess Isaac Newton was just playing a big
joke on everybody with all that 'what goes up must
come down' jive." Peter stared ahead into the sky,
frowning. "Still, they should have said something by
now." He looked over his shoulder into the bridge
housing. The captain was no longer standing talking
into a microphone. He was across the cabin shouting
frantically into a telephone handset and pointing
wildly at the radar. Something is most definitely not
kosher in Denmark.

Activity on the deck had all but stopped. The men
stood in small confused groups, looking to the PA
speakers for further orders. What was happening on
the bridge could only be speculated upon in low mur-
murs by the bewildered sailors. For almost two min-
utes, there was nothing and then, "Attention, all
hands! Operations reports a change in scheduling. We
will maintain present position until signaled. That is
all."

No if ain't, brother!

Change of plans, huh? I wonder how they plan to
put about twenty-five tons of red hot, falling scrap
metal on hold! And seeing as they're not about to tell
us anything until it's too late to do any good—and be-
sides, I'm just too goshdarned nosy to wait—7 think
it's time for me to take a little moonlight stroll around
the deck and find out.
Spidey style!

68               MURDERMOON

Peter turned to Coswell. "Listen, Tim," he mur-
mured conspiratorially. "I think the navy's trying to
put something over on us,"

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah. Why else don't they say anything?"

Tim Coswell considered this for several seconds.
"Yeah," he said slowly. "I think you might be right,
Peter."

"We ought to check it out, don't you think?"

"Well... I dunno. What d'you think?"

"Hey, I'm only the photographer around here, Tim.
As the reporter on the scene, you, as We say in the
darkroom, call the shots and / just take 'em." Peter
looked around as if making certain they were not
being overheard. "But since you ask, I think we
should. Think of what breaking a story like this could
mean to your career."

"Yeah!" Coswell pounded his fist into his hand.
"Okay, let's go, Peter!"

"Um, don't you think we'd cover a lot more ground
if we split up?" Peter asked as he started backing
slowly away from the young science editor. "Y'know,
talk to the sailors, officers, NASA people, like that."

"Right!" Coswell's face was set in a look of deter-
mination as he hurried to the ladder leading to the
deck below.

Peter smiled at the retreating man's back. Jeez., I
probably could have sold him the Brooklyn Bridge just
now if I'd wanted to. Tim's just lucky I left the owner-
ship papers in my other pair of pants today.

Checking to make sure he was alone on the dark
bridge, Peter walked briskly around to the other side
of the deck. He kept close to the cold, damp bulkhead,
ducking beneath open portholes to avoid detection.
When he was safely in the shadows and away from
accidental probing eyes, he stooped and quickly re-
moved his shoes. Then, glancing around a final time,
Peter Parker started climbing up the steel wall.

The young photographer had spied an open port-

MURDERMOON                69

hole at the rear of the large cabin housing the ship's
bridge. It faced the open sea and a narrow walkway
ran beneath it, shielding that section of the wheelhouse
from view from below. Peter scampered up the wall
and then cut across the top of the wall until he came
to the small, open porthole located not two yards be-
hind the captain's back.

Peter clung flat against the bulkhead, making cer-
tain his body was well hidden in shadows. He hung
over the small circle of light in the dark metal. / won-
der if Woodward and Bernstein got started this way?

Inside, the captain was on the telephone, speaking
anxiously to somewhere on the mainland while he
stood over the green-lit radar screens. "Yessir," he was
saying. His face was tight with anxiety. "I fully realize
NASA's position in the situation, but . . ." He stopped,
listening for long moments while impatiently drum-
ming his fingers on the console before him. "No, sir,"
he said quickly. "We've checked, rechecked, and re-
rechecked all the equipment. It's operating at peak
efficiency. What does NASA get on their screens?"
He took his cap off, scratched his head and replaced
it. "Uh-huh."

The captain let out a long sigh of resignation. "Then
what can / tell you, sir? The Hamilton, the Porfsmith,
and even NASA say the same thing and I seriously
doubt that all our equipment would go out in the same
way at the same time."

The agitated commander stared out a window at the
rising sun. "Then I'm afraid we're just going to have
to face it, sir," he said firmly. "Somehow, someway,
StarLab I has disappeared out from under our noses'"

And despite himself, Peter Parker whistled in
amazement from his hiding place outside the cabin
window. It was several seconds later that he realized
his spider-sense had begun to tingle ferociously at the
captain's words.




Chapter 8

"SNOW, SNOW AND more DAMNED
snow!" snarled the burly man sitting hunched behind
the wheel of the tractor trailer, peering hopelessly
through the white-blanketed windshield.

Bruce Banner started and sat up sharply. The man's
angry mutterings had roused him from the light, un-
easy sleep he had been drifting in and out of for the
past several hours. Despite the comfortable warmth of
the truck cab, Bruce was sweating heavily—the cold,
clammy sweat of fear. He blinked and looked around,
wondering what could have brought about his fear.

Then he remembered.

He had been dreaming—vague, shimmering visions
of emerald-colored rage that seemed to have grown
into a constant, horrifying companion to his every
sleeping hour. In his nightmares, the young scientist
was but a spectator standing on the sidelines of a bril-
liant green scene, watching in undisguised horror and

, 70

MURDERMOON                71

revulsion the uncontrollable fury that was himself. The •
man-monster loped through the glistening fog, caught
in a seemingly endless dance of mindless, wanton de-
struction.     •-'       -                   /

Gigantic tanks rolled toward him, only to be re-
duced to piles of twisted wreckage by battering emer-
ald fists.

Helicopters, distorted by nightmare, flew overhead
to be smashed into falling debris.

Jet fighters with hideous, flapping wings of metallic
feathers swept through the sky, exploding into nova-
bright balls of flame when struck by a missile of
radiation-mutated flesh and sinew.

Death was a heavy stink in the air.

But Bruce Banner could only stand and watch, un-
able to move, to escape the rampaging engine of de-
struction that drew closer to the young scientist with
each swipe of its sledgehammer fists. He was trapped,
held as if by an invisible web, awaiting his end at the
mercy of the giant spider that spun it.

The creature drew closer, its features swirling about
its face in an unrecognizable mass of jade. But the
features started taking shape before Banner now. He
stared in horror, his mouth opened to scream a scream
that would not come from his dry throat.

Blank, lifeless eyes stared from beneath the crea-
ture's hideous, protruding brow at the shivering scien-
tist.

Bruce Banner recognized the eyes . . . that face. . ..

And only then could he scream.
• The face of death was his own!

"I says are ya awright, fella?"

Bruce blinked rapidly, drawing a shaking hand
across his clammy forehead. It's all right, he told him-
self. He was safe. The creature was far, far away.

"And always with me," he murmured, unaware he
had spoken aloud.

The burly driver tore his eyes off the snow-covered
road and glanced at the pale young man seated next
to him. "You ain't sick or nothing are ya?" he asked.

72               MURDERMOON

"Jeez, I hope ya ain't sick. It ain't that I wouldn't
wanna help youse or nothin' like that, but, Jeez, with
this weather, I'm awready a half a day behind sched-
ule and if I don't get these ballbearin's to Toledo on
time . . ."

Bruce wearily shook his head. "No," he said softly.
"I'm fine. Really."

The driver turned back to the road, cursing the
slow, snarled traffic along Chicago's Edens Express-
way. " 'At's good, 'cause I just ain't got the time to
help youse now." He made an angry gesture at the
road. "I mean, willya lookit that, for cryin' out loud.
You think they'd do somethin', y'know. Plow. Salt.
Somethin'! But, nah, they ain't gotta drive in this
crud...."

Bruce tuned out the driver's angry mutterings and
stared silently out the side window. It had been nearly
two days since he had left MacDermont Point, hitch-
ing rides along the way that finally led him into the
nearly snowbound city of Chicago and his destination.
The snow had started in the Windy City early yester-
day evening and had continued unabated throughout
the night and into the morning. Thirteen inches of
snow buried the city now.

The young scientist could see nothing through the
steadily falling curtain of snowflakes. It was day, he
knew, but only because a clock on the dashboard told
him so.

"Where are we?" Bruce asked, interrupting the driv-
er's running commentary.

"Messed up, that's where we are," the man grum-
bled. "What, you think I wanna go this way, like it
don't add an extra hun'red miles to the trip goin'
through the city? But they're closin' all th' highways
'cause o' the . . ."

"What I meant was, are we in Chicago yet?"

"Chi? Hell, yeah," the man laughed. "What'cha
think we been ridin' through the past couple o' miles?
Hoboken?" He laughed again at his own joke. "Heh,

MURDERMOON                 73

Hoboken." He jerked his thumb to the east. "Lake
Whatchamacallit—Michigan is over that way."

Bruce nodded even though he couldn't see a thing.

"Lookit, buddy, I'm gonna be pullin' off o' the ex-
pressway and try'n ta cut through the city. You got
any place in particular ya wanna be dropped?"

"LaSalle Street," Bruce said. "823 LaSalle Street.
Do you know where that is?"

The driver laughed and reached over and punched
Bruce lightly on the arm. "Do / know Chi? You kid-
din' me? I spent six months here durin' the war,
y'know." He smiled in fond remembrance. "Yeah, the
war was great. Yeah, now, lemme see. 823 LaSalle's
right over by Water Tower Place, right?"

"I'll have to take your word for it. This is my first
time in Chicago."

"Well, you sure picked a helluva time to come visit-
in'." The driver slapped his hand down hard on the
steering wheel. "I mean, ya ever see snow like this?
Not in New York or Boston or Philly, nope. But Chi-
cago, Jeez, it's always snowin' in Chicago."

The burly man turned all his attention to his driv-
ing, concentrating on pulling his tractor trailer off the
highway through the stalled morning traffic and snow-
drifts without serious mishap. Half an hour later, after
a trip which normally took ten minutes, the driver
pulled his rig over to the curb on Chicago Avenue.

"Last stop," he called as he jammed the gearshift
into neutral.

Bruce Banner reached over and shook the other
man's hand. "Thanks a lot, friend," he said. "I really
appreciate the ride."

The burly man dismissed Bruce's thanks with a
wave of his hand. "Aw, don't mention it, buddy. Glad
to have the company. And take it easy out there," he
warned. "The wind's kickin' up somethin' fierce."

"Will do." Bruce opened the door and jumped from
the warm cab into over a foot of powdery snow. He
waved to the man behind the wheel before turning
and starting off through the raging storm.

74                MURDERMOON

The young scientist hunched his shoulders against
the battering wihd that whipped off the lake. He tied
his hood tightly around his head. The wind churned
the snow into swirling whirlwinds that piled into high
drifts against the sides of buildings, parked cars, and
anything else that did not move. And the snow con-
tinued to fall, adding over an inch an hour to the
heavy accumulation already on the ground. Bruce
could not see more than a few feet in front of him.

He hurried east on Chicago Avenue, then south on
deserted LaSalle Street. 823 was not far away.

"May I help you, sir?"

Bruce Banner brushed the melting flakes of snow
from his coat. "Yes," he said to the pretty young re-
ceptionist seated in the waiting room of the Institute
for Radiation Research's modern plastic-and-chrome
office. "I'd like to see Dr. Irvine if he's in."

The raven-haired girl smiled. "Do you have an ap-
pointment with the doctor?" she asked, reaching for
the telephone on her desk.

"No, I don't."

"Oh, well, then I'm sorry, sir, but the doctor is very
busy...."

Bruce rubbed his red, chapped hands together, a
look of alarm spreading across his handsome features.
"Please, miss," he said. "I... I've just come into town
and it's extremely urgent I speak with Dr. Irvine. It's
about his research. Please."

"Well . . ." The girl chewed thoughtfully on her
lip, looking at the distraught man in front of her desk.
She lifted the phone. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to ask,
would it?"

Bruce breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"Doctor?" she said into the phone, "there's a gentle-
man here to see you. . . . Yes, I told him. Dr. Irvine,
but he insists it's important." She looked up. "May I
have your name, please."

"Banner. Dr. Bruce Banner."

She repeated his name into the phone and nodded.

MURDERMOON                75

"Very good, Doctor," she said and hung up. "Dr.
Irvine will be right out. Dr. Banner. Will you have a
seat?"

Bruce sat down.

Soon, he told himself. Soon.

"Can I get you a cup of coffee. Doctor?" the recep-
tionist asked.

"Yes, please," Bruce smiled at her. He hadn't real-
ized how much he could use one.

The girl got up and disappeared through a side door
leading to the inner office.

A moment later another door opened and a tall,
gray-haired man in a white lab coat entered the recep-
tion area. "Dr. Banner," he said enthusiastically as he
extended his hand.

Bruce jumped to his feet. "Yes. Dr. Irvine?"

The older man nodded, shaking Bruce's hand. "It's
a great honor to meet you. Dr. Banner," he smiled
broadly. "A great honor indeed. I'm what you might
call," he chuckled briefly, "quite a fan of your papers
and books. And, of course, I've heard a great deal
about you over the years."

"I'm sure," Bruce said, laughing bitterly.

Dr. Irvine shook his head in sympathy. "Yes," he
said, "a terrible thing, that accident of yours. It's a
miracle you were able to survive such a massive dose
of gamma radiation—far more than any man I've
come across in all my years of research."

"I suppose it does make me pretty much an oddity,"
Bruce admitted.

"Oh, no, Doctor," Irvine said quickly. "Not an odd-
ity, a victim. But a victim of a disease that now, for-
tunately, has a cure."

Bruce nodded. "I read of your work here at the
institute. The papers reported you had discovered a
means of reversing the effects of gamma radiation."

Dr. Irvine nodded.

"Then it's true?"

"Indeed we have," the scientist said proudly. "Of
course, we're still running a few tests on our findings,

76                MURDERMOON

but I feel safe in saying that my conclusions will be
borne out one hundred percent."

"I know. And I'd like to volunteer my services to
the institute. As a guinea pig and a scientist."

"Why," Dr. Irvine seemed pleasantly stunned, "we
would be honored to have you on the staff, Dr. Ban-
ner. Your early research into gamma radiation was the
basic foundation for all our work here."

"And my .. . condition? Can your cure help me?"

"The Hulk?" Dr. Irvine smiled. "As I understand it,
the gamma-bomb explosion you were caught in irradi-
ated your body's cell structure with a lethal dose of
gamma rays, correct? But instead of causing death,
the radiation caused a freak mutation that triggers the
metamorphosis.

"We've had success eliminating excess radiation in
test animals with similar, albeit less intense cases of
gamma poisoning in the past. . . ." The doctor paused
and squinted past Banner, thoughtfully stroking his
chin.

Without realizing it, Bruce held his breath.

"Frankly, Dr. Banner, I can't think of any reason
why your particular problem can't be dealt with as
easily as those other cases."

Bruce Banner exhaled sharply. Suddenly, it felt as
if a great weight had been lifted from his frail shoul-
ders. A great, green weight of rampaging hatred. He
laughed aioud, a natural enough reaction that the
young scientist had not genuinely experienced in
many long years.

"Then what are we waiting for, Dr. Irvine? Let's
get started."

The secretary walked back into the room carrying
a paper cup full of coffee. "Here we are, Dr. Banner,"
she said pleasantly.

"Ah, Miss Winters," Irvine said. "The good doctor
has graciously consented to join our staff. I'm sure he's
most anxious to tour the facilities and begin work. So
if you would please call the airport and have them
ready our plane for immediate use."

MURDERMOON                                     77

She handed Bruce the coffee with a smile and re-
turned to her desk and the telephone.

"Airport?" Bruce was confused.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Dr. Banner," Irvine said. "I for-
got to tell you. This is only one of several of the in-
stitute's regional offices around the country. Our main
research facility is located in upstate New York, just
outside the city of Niagara Falls." The scientist
frowned. "I hope there's nothing keeping you here?"

"There hasn't been much of anything holding me
anywhere for a long time, Doctor. That's why I'm
here. To change that."

Bruce took a sip of the hot, black coffee while Dr.
Irvine went into the inner office to prepare for the
trip. The coffee tasted good. But then, everything was
good.

Now.




Chapter 9

CHICAGO'S O'HARE FIELD HAS THE

reputation for being the world's busiest airport. Each
day, at this sprawling airfield some fifteen miles from
downtown Chicago, more airplanes take off and land
with more passengers than at any other airport on
Earth.

But as far as Bruce Banner could tell, squeezed
uncomfortably between Dr. Irvine and Miss Winters
on the front seat of the doctor's Land Rover, O'Hare
International was having a tough time living up to
its reputation in the middle of the severest snow-
storm to hit the midwest in five decades. Onto the
seven runways that handled the traffic, snow blew and
drifted faster than the exhausted maintenance men
could sweep it aside with snowplows. The few flights
cleared for takeoff were forced to wait hours at the
end of the single runway that still remained opera-
tional. They stood with taxiing lights blinking in the

78

MURDERMOON                 79

dull-gray day while harried air-traffic controllers
sought a hole in the storm through which to send them
on their way. All incoming flights had been diverted
to other airports outside the area of the blizzard that
held the Great Lakes region in its icy grasp. Most
airlines had canceled many of their flights, stranding
in the terminals untold thousands of disgruntled pas-
sengers, unable to find either transportation into the
city or rooms in the airport's packed hotels.

Soon, O'Hare International Airport would be forced
to close for only the third time in its existence.

"Are you sure we'll be able to get a flight out of
here?" Bruce asked uncertainly.

Dr. Irvine kept his eyes on the snow-covered road
as he maneuvered around cars stalled in the deep
drifts. "Not if we were relying on the airlines," he said.
"But the institute maintains its own private plane.
Ahh, here we are."

The doctor stopped the four-wheel drive vehicle in
front of the main terminal and switched off the ig-
nition. "No sense trying to fight our way into one of
the parking lots," he said. "Of course, our plane
isn't as big or as comfortable as a 747, nor does it
offer much in the way of stewardesses," he smiled,
"but it will get us where we want to go. Shall we?"

Dr. Irvine, Bruce, and Miss Winters piled out of the
jeep and hurried into the main terminal.

There were people everywhere; men, women, and
children filled the relatively few seats; the remainder
of the people huddled in groups on the floor with
their luggage. Outraged passengers crowded a dozen
deep at the reservation counters, demanding the air-
lines end the storm and ship them off to their destina-
tions.

The trio weaved through the crowd, heading toward
the rear of the terminal, just three more stranded,
anonymous travelers among the tens of thousands
there.

"Dr. Banner!"

The shout was heard by Bruce over the subdued

80               MURDERMOON

murmur of the disgruntled throng. He stopped and
looked around, his brow creased in puzzlement. He
knew no one in Chicago....

"Dr. Banner, please," Irvine said, pushing him gen-
tly forward. "We still have a chance to fly out before
they close the airport—if we hurry."
Bruce nodded. "I thought I heard ..."
"Banner!"

The young scientist saw the man shouting his name
now as the man pushed his way rudely through the
crowd with others following close behind. The hand-
some young man wore a blazer with one of the tele-
vision network's logos stitched on the breast pocket
and held a microphone in his outstretched hand. The
mike was attached by a long wire to the hand-held
miniature camera hoisted on the shoulder of the man
behind him. Several of the others in the advancing
group also held minicams or still cameras.
"Reporters!" Irvine hissed angrily.
"What are they doing here?" Bruce asked quickly.
"Probably reporting on the blizzard," Miss Winters
said.

Bruce felt his pulse begin to race. "I ... I'd rather
not have to talk to them."

"Of course, my boy," Irvine said. "I completely
understand." He glanced around and pointed to a
closed door just beyond the empty baggage-claim area
several yards to their right. The door was marked

AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT.

"Perhaps we can lose them in there."

They started for the door, but the reporters, all
expert in cornering unwilling subjects for interviews,
intercepted them. Bright lights were flicked on and
shone in the agitated young scientist's face as eager
reporters thrust their microphones at him.

"Dr. Banner . .."

"Could you comment on ..."

"... the army says you . . ."

". . . the Hulk demolished a special task force. Is
that.. ."

MURDERMOON                81

"... true, Dr. Banner?"

"The New Mexican authorities ..."

"... comment. Dr. Banner . . .",

"Please," Bruce pleaded. "No comment—I . . ."

He felt his chest tighten and he was gasping for
breath. His heart was pounding and the blood seemed
to rush to his head. He was dizzy. He tried to blink
away the blinding lights, but they stayed on him. The
reporters, clinging like leeches, would not go away,
would not stop their incessant shouting.

"Leave me . . . alone . . ." he pleaded. The blood
was pounding in his ears like a drum.

/(was happening!

"What're you doing in Chicago, Dr. Banner?"

"Can you comment on the army's report?"

"Has the Hulk ..."

"Leave me alone!" the frail scientist screamed sud-
denly.

The world shimmered before his eyes, an emerald
haze that'clouded his world. He hunched over sud-
denly as if in great pain and the cluster of reporters
closed in on him.

The last thing Dr. Bruce Banner remembered as he
crumpled to the floor was the sharp tearing of cloth,
for, when he rose to his feet a moment later, he was
no longer the small, frail scientist.

He was the Hulk!




Chapter 10

TWO MEN, CLAD IN BULKY, WHITE

protective gear stepped from the larger chamber into
the smaller room adjoining it. They carefully sealed
the heavy steel door behind them before peeling on
the oversized jump suits they wore and disposing of
them in a chute set into the airlock's wall. The suits,
however, were not worn to protect these crew-cutted
technicians from any hazard within the chamber;

rather they were to guard the thing that rested inside-
from any risk of contamination from outside. Nothing
that had not first been sterilized entered the heavily
protected chamber, not a man, not even the pencil he
wrote with. Even the air flowed through six separate
filters and processing units before it was allowed to be
pumped inside.

The delicate instrument assembled inside the cham-
ber was not built to withstand any other conditions on
Earth, for a single speck of dust inside one of the

82

MURDERMOON                                     83

microscopically tuned and calibrated mechanisms could
sharply reduce its amazing accuracy and efficiency.

. Now wearing plain, unmarked jump suits, the two
men left the small airlock and entered a vast low-
ceilinged room lined with neat rows of computer
terminals, each manned by a similarly dressed techni-
cian. Each man or woman wore headphone and
microphone sets and was busily working at their key-
board and readout screen, entering complex data and
testing various systems. Set in the wall at the front of
the room was a large plate-glass window that looked
into the chamber beyond the airlock. A lone, long
console faced the window and half a dozen men, also
wearing headphones, sat behind it. These men, gen-
erally older than the technicians, were clad in white
shirts and ties, and clean white laboratory smocks.
Behind the man in the center of the console stood
two other men who watched the scientists work with
their arms folded patiently across their chests.

The man at the center console glanced up from his
readout screen and flashed the thumbs-up sign to the
two technicians. He was an older man with white hair
that grew in a wild fringe around his otherwise bald
head. Thick framed bifocals were perched on the
bridge of his nose and the rest of his face was lost
beneath a full, scraggly white beard.

"It's working fine now," he said.

The two men nodded and returned to their desks.

"Well, Prof, Warner?" the taller of the two men be-
hind him asked. He was a slim, handsome man with
finely chiseled features and neatly trimmed sah-and-
pepper hair. He was impeccably dressed in a dark
pin-striped Cardin suit and shiny Gucci loafers. His
eyes were a cold, hard gray. His voice relayed un-
questionable authority in the subdued atmosphere of
the control room.

"We'll begin in a moment, Mr. Pendergast," the sci-
entist said without looking up.

The man named Pendergast nodded and looked into
the chamber. There was not much to see inside, just

84                                   MURDERMOON

a five foot by five foot square swathed in protective
plastic wrapping in front of the window. A small tube
protruded from the front of the box.

A conveyor belt hung from the ceiling at the far
end of the chamber. Clamps held a foot-thick slab
of steel suspended in the air.

Prof. Abraham Warner consulted his computer
readout and nodded his satisfaction. "System M ready
for testing," he said softly into the microphone. "Stand
by."

Warner flipped switches and pressed buttons on
the panel before him. Green lights blinked on signal-
ing the system's readiness. Instantly, information.
flashed across the screen, changing every few seconds
as the systems switched on.

"On zero," Warner said and began counting back-
ward from five. When he reached zero he pressed an-
other switch and the plastic-wrapped box began to
hum ever so slightly. The lens at the tip of the pro-
truding tube glowed bright red.

The tube swiveled in line with the slab of steel. A
pencil-thin beam of ruby-red light flashed from it
and struck the steel dead center. Instantly, a hole ap-
peared in the metal.

Warner manipulated the computer keyboard and
the lens swiveled around in a complete circle. The
center of the slab fell to the floor with a clang, a per-
fect inch-wide circle of red-hot metal.

The red beam disappeared and the conveyor belt
started to move. A second slab of metal rolled into
the room. As soon as it appeared, the lens seemed to
lock on it, tracking it across the room until a wide
beam of red energy flashed from it.

The second metal slab disintegrated.

Steel plates continued to roll by the black box and
its deadly beam that blasted, melted, and shattered
the heavy metal. One plate, with a series of fifty
almost-microscopic sensors implanted in it, was blasted
in perfect sequence by the beam in a span of less than
two seconds.

MURDERMOON                85

Pendergast nodded approvingly as he watched the
demonstration. The short squat man dressed in a black
suit behind him stared in rapt fascination. "Amazing,"
he whispered to the taller man.

"It is, isn't it," Pendergast smiled. "And this is
merely the device's secondary function. Quite a neat
little toy, wouldn't you say, Lloyd?"

"Yessir, Mr. Pendergast," Lloyd replied.

Prof. Warner switched off his device and turned to
the tall man and his assistant. "Well, Mr. Pendergast?"
the aged scientist asked.

"Very impressive, Prof. Wamer," the man said.
"Now if the main mode is operating as well, I would
say we were well on our way."

"It is," Warner assured him. "The microwave
transceiver is ready to be put into immediate opera-
tion as soon as the delivery vehicle is completed."

Pendergast glanced at his watch. "Then it should
be very soon, Prof. Wamer," he said. "Even now,
the remaining hardware we need is safely hidden
away and should be in our hands within the next
twenty-four hours.

"And once we have StarLab, Doctor, our waiting
will be over!"




Chapter 11 /^s

"Hulk said men better leave Hulk alone!"
The giant green man-brute roared as awareness
came to him. The Hulk was bewildered by the strange
surroundings and angered by the thousands of people
who seemed to be closing in around him in the
O'Hare Airport terminal.

He flung his thick emerald arms to his sides, swat-
ting aside those reporters not swift enough to avoid
him. Frightened, the other newsmen backed slowly
away, but their instincts for a story pretty much over-
came their fear of the man-monster. They held their
ground. Photographers snapped pictures and minicam
operators kept their video cameras rolling while anx-
ious newsmen whispered tense, hurried commentary
into microphones.

The Hulk crouched with his wide jade back pressed
against the wall. His dull-green eyes shifted constantly

86

MURDERMOON                87

beneath his protruding brow, watching the reporters
with the look of a wild cornered beast.

His lips turned up at the corners when he spotted
the cameras. "Stupid-looking guns won't stop Hulk,"
he growled menacingly. "Nothing puny men have can
stop Hulk."

The jade giant ambled forward, pulling the tattered
remains of Bruce Banner's new parka from his mas-
sive shoulders. The reporters continued shuffling back-
ward, always staying well beyond the man-monster's
reach.

Then a woman glimpsed the Hulk through the
throng of reporters. Her reaction was extremely typi-
cal of a grandmother from Canton, Ohio who sees a
giant green monster coming toward her in an airport
terminal:

She screamed.

The Hulk started, startled by the sudden piercing
screech. But within seconds, others, alerted now to the
Hulk's presence, joined in the screaming. They began
a mad dash away from the green-skinned behemoth,
running in a blind panic that swiftly turned the thou-
sands of individuals into a single, mindless mob.

"That's right," the Hulk bellowed after them. "Run!
Puny people better run from Hulk because Hulk can
smash you all! Hulk can smash anything!"

He squatted and then sprang up toward the ceiling.
His emerald fists crashed through the reinforced con-
crete ceiling. The Hulk pulled himself up to the sec-
ond level, seeking escape from the screaming, fleeing
mob.

But the upper floor was as crowded as the floor be-
low, thus insuring the man-monster's spectacular ar-
rival a large audience. Startled passengers gaped .in
astonishment as the floor buckled beneath their feet
and split open with a geyser of dust-and-concrete de-
bris. Great green hands grasped either side of the hole
and the muscle-bound body of the Hulk shot up
through it.

He saw still more people and roared in anger.

88                MURDERMOON

There never seemed to be any escape from them.
Everywhere the Hulk went, people waited to hound
him. All he desired was freedom and solitude. All
they gave him was hatred and an abundance of their
number that he could never escape from.

The Hulk loped off in search of that freedom.

To the jade-hued colossus, the O'Hare terminal
seemed to be one continuous maze from which there
was no way out. He bounded past the baggage-check-
in area, his battering fists scattering large piles of lug-
gage that stood in his path. Airline personnel and
passengers alike ran for cover. One man dove for a
phone beneath his counter and called for help.

But the Hulk continued on, seeking any way out of
the-terminal.

Three Chicago policemen stood by the corridor to
the boarding gates, unaware of the rampaging crea-
ture of chaos that loped toward them.

"Think it's ever going to let up, Sarge?" Patrolman
Ron Franks asked, staring tiredly at the masses of
people stranded by the storm. Because of the emer-
gency created by the weather and the impossibility of
transporting replacements to the field, those officers
on duty were forced to stay there until the snow
stopped.

"Eventually," Sergeant Barry Polanski yawned.

Patrolman Dave O'Donnell found himself yawning
along with the sergeant. "Yeah, well, it can't be soon
enough for me. Twenty hours on dutv is more than
enough for me."

"Uh-huh!" Franks agreed. "I don't know how many
more times I can stand explaining to these people that
the city of Chicago has absolutely no control over the
weather."

"Despite what they try to tell you at City Hall,"
Franks snickered.

"You want excitement, join the fire department,"
Polanski said. "You ought to know by now that cops
spend ninety-nine percent of their time waiting for

MURDERMOON                89

something to happen and then writing reports after it
does."

Polanski cast an idle glance into the terminal.
Slowly he straightened, his hand going to rest on the
butt of his bolstered gun. "Uh, guys," he said. "I think
you're about to find out what it's like the other one
percent of the time.

"Look!"

The two patrolmen turned as the seven-foot-tall,
emerald-green behemoth lumbered into view. The
three cops whipped their sidearms from their holsters
simultaneously and aimed them at the Hulk.

"Okay, fella," Polanski ordered. "Stop right there
and start talking and keep your hands in sight!"

The Hulk growled and continued toward the police.

"I said stop!" the sergeant shouted.

Thick muscles rippled smoothly beneath his emer-
ald skin as the Hulk bounded across the floor, his
big, broad feet slapping rhythmically on the cold tile.

"Sarge,"   Franks   whispered   urgently.   "Isn't
that... ?"

Polanski steadied his gun with his left hand.
"Yeah," he nodded.

O'Donnell set his sights on the sweaty green chest
and tightened his finger around the trigger. "Wh . . .
what d'we do?"

The sergeant glanced at first one man, then the
other, and then back at the Hulk. The monster was
almost upon them and showed no sign of stopping.

What else was there to do?

Sgt. Polanski opened fire, signaling to the others to
do the same.

The bullets flattened against the Hulk's thick hide,
as effective as a spitball against a charging rhinoceros.
"Bah," the big man spat out in disgust. "Hulk cannot
be hurt by guns."

The three officers <lived out of the way when they
saw their bullets had no effect on the man-creature.
The Hulk charged past them and swept down the cor-
ridor and through a horrified crowd that pressed

90                                   MURDERMOON

against the walls to allow the awesome creature pas-
sage.

He barreled into the airport's X-ray security station
with the speed of a racing locomotive. The fragile
stand collapsed under the assault of gamma-charged
muscles and the Hulk was through, scarcely noticing
the obstacle he had just demolished.

Up ahead waited more police, alerted by frantic
calls from Sgt. Polanski over his walkie-talkie. Their
guns were drawn and they stood in a line across the
wide corridor between the crowded waiting areas.

"More guns?" the brute-man growled. They were
no more than a petty annoyance here with their tiny
guns. Only when they brought out the bigger, more
powerful weapons and flying machines did men be-
come any of the Hulk's concern. But here, now? It
was far simpler to avoid them.

The Hulk swerved suddenly to his left and leaped
over the counter at a deserted boarding area. It was
then that he noticed the far wall was a single, huge
observation window that faced the landing field.
Through the window he saw the airfield was covered
by a thick blanket of snow. Dark shapes dotted with
multicolored lights moved through it. An empty, silent
Boeing 727 stood by the departure gate, its landing
gear buried beneath the snow.

The man-creature's eyes flashed briefly as he saw
what lay beyond the window. There was his freedom!

He stood in the center of the lounge, gazing at the
windswept snow outside and a twisted smile formed
on his emerald lips. He liked the glistening white
powder from the sky. It was cool and refreshing
against his skin.
Ka-pow! Ka-pow!

One bullet and then another bounced off the Hulk's
back as the police rushed into the lounge, guns blaz-
ing.

Grunting with rage, the Hulk turned and grabbed
the back of one of the rows of seats and yanked them

MURDERMOON                 91

clear of the bolts holding them to the floor. He raised
them over his head.

"Go away!" he cried in warning to the policemen.

Bang! Ka-pow!

The slugs crumpled against his stomach.

"Hulk warned you!" he roared and heaved the row
of seats at the cops, bowling them over like tenpins.
Then the man-monster turned, crashed through the
window, and leaped to the ground twenty feet below.

The Hulk landed in a shower of shattered safety
glass in the deep snow. He inhaled huge lungfuls of
the cold, crisp air and growled with satisfaction—a
deep throaty growl.

Suddenly, a spotlight pierced the white curtain and
landed on the Hulk. He swung his arm up in front
of his eyes against the glare and cautiously tried to
pinpoint the source of this latest discomfort, even
though it did not matter. A discomfort was something
to be smashed and done away with. And no matter
what it was, the Hulk was the one to smash it.

He heard the muffled roar of a diesel engine mov-
ing steadily toward him, bringing the glaring spotlight
closer. He lumbered forward, eyes squeezed shut
against the light. The Incredible Hulk did'not need
to see to smash one of man's machines.

The snowplow driver urged his machine forward
through the blowing snow. He drove in a straight line
toward the giant green behemoth who stood before
the terminal building framed in an aura of light. He
had heard the desperate calls of the airport security
men over the plow's radio and, while headed back to
the garage, had spotted the giant man-thing crash on-
to the field.

His plow would put a stop to that thing once and
for all!

He pushed his vehicle to top speed and lowered
the plow. The driver smiled briefly when he felt the
sharp jolt of his machine connecting with the green
behemoth. The plow continued rolling forward, shov-
ing the creature back.

92                MURDERMOON

But the man's smile vanished as another jolt shook
the heavy tractor and it stopped dead in its tracks.
He shouted in fear and surprise as the snowplow was
lifted smoothly off the snow-covered tarmac.

The Hulk hefted the many tons of machinery over
his head. With a yelp of panic the driver leaped from
the cab and landed on the run in the deep snow. He
disappeared into the safety of the terminal building.

Snarling, the jade-skinned giant tossed the snow-
plow aside. It flipped through the air and landed on
its back on top of a parked fuel truck.
Bahwhooom!

The truck and tractor exploded in a mushroom
cloud of flame and black smoke, lighting the field with
a sudden, eerie crimson glow.

The Hulk roared his defiance at the naming wreck-
age and bounded away from it. Several vehicles were
speeding across the field toward him as fast as the
snow allowed. Inside were men armed with nothing
more than handguns with which to defend themselves
against one of the mightiest forces on Earth.

The four-wheel-drive trucks skidded to a halt in a
semicircle before the Hulk. The men leaped from the
automobiles with guns in hand and took up their posi-
tions, shivering not so much from the brutal cold as
from fear.

His breath forming white clouds of vapor in the air,
the Hulk stood beneath the wing of the 727.

"Hulk has done nothing to you. Why can't you
leave Hulk alone?" the man-brute shouted, his harsh,
rumbling voice sounding almost plaintive to the po-
licemen.

"We won't hurt you," one man called back. "Come
out and surrender and we promise not to hurt you."
"Bah! You think you can hurt Hulk?"
"We don't want anybody hurt, Dr. Banner. ..."
"Not Banner!" The Hulk's sledgehammeriike hands
curled into fists at the mere mention of that hated
name. "Little man Banner is not here! Only Hulk is
here!"

MURDERMOON                93

"Please, Dr. Banner!"

"No . . . more .... puny . . . Banner!" he roared.
His thickly muscled arms lashed out and struck the
airplane's landing gear. With a screech of metal, the
gear crumpled and the plane toppled to one side with
its wing dug into the snow.

"Banner is dead! Now only Hulk lives!

"And Hulk will smash you aU!"_

The man-beast reached over his head, never taking
his beady little eyes from the row of headlights before
him. His fingers curled around the edge of the wing
and, with muscles standing out like thick steel cables
on his back and arms, he ripped it from the fuselage.

He twisted at the waist, holding the dismembered
wing—dangling engine and all—by the narrowest end,
and snapped around. The metal wedge sailed through
the air like an enormous boomerang at the Hulk's tor-
mentors. It whooshed toward the semicircle of vehicles
and landed directly on top of them. The disbelieving
security men barely had enough time to fling them-
selves out of the way before their trucks were buried
under the wing.

But the emerald colossus' rampage had just begun.
He had pleaded with them to leave him in peace, but,
as always, they had ignored his pleas and attacked.
Now it was his turn.

He shambled over to the airplane, now lying top-
pled over on its side, the remaining wing pointing to-
ward the sky. The Hulk crouched beneath the ruined
aircraft and, bracing his broad back against the fuse-
lage, began to slowly straighten. Inch by inch, the
plane was lifted from the ground, almost fifty tons
supported by the awesome strength of the jade-
skinned Goliath. Then, with beads of perspiration
standing out on his forehead, the Hulk was standing
with one hundred and twenty feet of aircraft balanced
on his back.

The Hulk began to walk forward, increasing his
speed until he was running toward the terminal. Sud-

94                                   MURDERMOON

denly he stopped and snapped his body forward,
sending the airplane sailing through the air.

Propelled by the roost powerful muscles in the
world, the plane shot forward and crashed heavily in-
to the glass-walled facade of the squat building. The
plane slid inside, screeching to a slow stop with two
.dozen feet of its nose lodged inside the waiting lounge.

Without pause, he 'turned, his eyes searching for
something else to destroy.

A train of flatbed trailers stood parked against the
wall of the terminal alongside the enclosed boarding
ramp attached to the plane at the next gate. He
bounded over to the baggage truck and grunted his
approval. This would do nicely. He lifted the lead car
in the chain as a child might pick up a toy.

The emerald-green giant snapped the chain of bag-
gage cars through the air like a giant whip and sent it
smashing into the aluminum-sided boarding ramp. It
broke through the flimsy alloy and flew out the other
side to smash with a deafening crash against the side
of the airplane. He pushed against the ramp's over-
sized tires and rolled it into the plane until the metal
accordioned into a flat, ruined mass against the fuse-
lage. He ripped the wreckage free and flung it across
the field.

The Hulk began pummeling the parked aircraft,
smashing through its thick metal skin and tearing
loose large hunks of wires and machinery. He pulled
free one large jet engine and shoved it through the
plane's underbelly. A wing was pounded out of shape,
the flaps hanging from it by partially severed cables.

Minutes later, the Hulk stepped back, breathing
hard. His work was finished.
"Dr. Ba ... eh, ah ... Hulk."

The man-monster turned slowly from the wreckage
and growled, "Urr. Who is bothering Hulk now?"

Dr. Irvine stepped hesitantly onto the field from a
crew entrance. He blinked nervously at the staring
green eyes, devoid of any hint of intelligence and blaz-
ing with bestial fury, that watched his every move.

MURDERMOON                95

"It's me. Hulk," he said slowly. Irvine held up his
shaking hands to show he was unarmed. "I'm your
friend, Hulk. Don't you remember?"

The Hulk snarled, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"Hulk does not know you, little man," he rumbled.
"How are you Hulk's friend?"

"Y . . . you must trust me, Hulk," the scientist said,
fighting to remain calm in the face of the angry man-
monster. "I can help you."

The emerald giant pounded a massive fist against
his chest. "Bah! Hulk does not need help from any
puny man. Hulk is the strongest one there is!" The
big man's brain whirled. All this talk confused the
Hulk, made his head hurt.

The raven-haired Miss Winters stepped from the
shadows behind Dr. Irvine, tugging her hood away
from her face. "Let me try, Doctor," she said softly.

"No," Irvine said quickly. "There's no telling what
he might do to you—and me right now. I don't
think . . ." he started, but the girl brushed quickly past
him and stood in front of the Hulk.

The Hulk looked at the girl, his lips curled in an an-
gry snarl.

"Hulk," she said softly.

"Hunh," the green Goliath grunted.

She extended her hand and reached slowly toward
the big green man. "Do you remember me?" she asked
with a smile.

The green giant cocked his head to one side. The
girl's face slid momentarily through his mind, partially
obscured by a translucent veil of confusion.

"Hulk—remembers," he said at last. "Is girl Hulk's
friend?"

"Yes," she nodded, her smile broadening. Miss Win-
ter's fingers brushed lightly against the big green man's
tough hide. "I'm Leslie," she told him, "your friend."
She laid her hand on his arm.

The Hulk looked at the slim, smooth hand resting
on his arm and then at the girl.

"Less-lee," he repeated slowly. His emerald lips

96               MURDERMOON

curled suddenly into a smile. "Less-lee. Less-lee is
Hulk's friend."

Leslie Winters sighed in relief. The creature's broad
smile had startled her. It was not the smile of an evil,
deadly monster. It was the smile of a young child de-
lighting in the discovery of something new and won-
derful.

"Will you come with me, Hulk?" she asked. "We
want to help you."

The man-beast pondered this for a moment before
nodding. They were his friends because they had not
tried to hurt him like the others did. "Hulk will go
with Less-lee," he announced.

The Hulk put out his massive hand. Smiling, Leslie
took it and together, they went back into the terminal
building. Shaking his head in wonder. Dr. Irvine fol-
lowed.

Half an hour later, while tense security guards
scoured the airport for the^JHulk, a Lear jet lifted into
the sky from O'Hare's runway 32 Right and disap-
peared into the falling snow, traveling due east with
the thick, storm-swollen clouds.




"THAT WAS JUST SWELL," TIM COS-

well grumbled. "A day and a half at sea and what do
we get for our troubles? The runaround!"

Peter Parker brushed a lock of brown hair from his
forehead and sighed as the wind blew it back a mo-
ment later. What the heck? Just another of life's little
frustrations to go along with all the others. The navy's
been playing their soggy cards close to their braided
chests since StarLab made the big bye-bye from the
sky yesterday—and if that doesn't frustrate your aver-
age, everyday mild-mannered reporter, I don't know
what will!

The two reporters slumped moodily down the gang-
plank from the USS Alexander Hamilton to the pier in
New Jersey. It was a dark, dingy afternoon with dirty-
looking gray clouds rolling lazily across the sky. A
light, frozen drizzle fell against Peter's face, further
adding to the young photographer's misery.

97

98                MURDERMOON

Tim Coswell was not much happier.

"The government can't do this to us," he com-
plained. "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 hap-
pens.

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 un-
der 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!"

MURDERMOON                                     99

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 hail-
ing 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 build-
ing. Well, if I want to get any information on the great
NASA rip-off s, 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 determi-
nation 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

100              MURDERMOON

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 gin-
gerly past the two officers into the station house. "I'll
just go inside while you two argue this out. If you de-
cide 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 ser-
geant 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."

MURDERMOON                                   101

"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. Yester-
day it was Captain America, today's Spider-Man, to-
morrow'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 nipped 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 ceil-
ing!"

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."

102             MUKDERMOON

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."




Cheapfier 13

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 scien-
tist. 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 ... ?"

103

104               MURDERMOON

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 exam-
ination 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?" Bmce 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, gentle-
men. 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

MURDERMOON               105

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 primi-
tive 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 fright-
ened 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, eye-
ing 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 to-

106              MURDER MOON

ward 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, trig-
gering 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 scrag-
gly beard. The young man on the table was chang-
ing 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 shoul-
ders 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 inter-
est. 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,

MURDERMOON               107

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 incred-
ible 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 power-
ful, 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
raised a clenched fist before the glass window. "And
so can walls of glass!"

Daniel Irvine held a microphone to his mouth. 'Wo,
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 lis head. "Now sit
down."

108                                 MURDERMOON

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 re-
ceiver in Banner's ear which, when activated, emits
high-frequency sonic vibrations. These interfere with
the Hulk's rather limited thought capacity, thus mak-
ing 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."




Chapter 14

Fun is •fun, but swinging around Man-
hattan tends to lose its appeal after the first three
hours!

Spider-Man swung his dark blue-clad legs out be-
fore him, propelling himself through the air high above
the New York streets. He flew from webbing to web-
bing, 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. / sup-
pose I shouldn't complain. All things considered,
things haven't gone so well for me in a long time. A
hunch 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.

109

110              MURDERM OON

And when they do, I'm gonna make sure they let
me in on their larcenous little secrets! I just hate mys-
teries!

Once again the Web-slinger launched himself into
the night sky. And even more than that, this particular
mystery's keeping me away from one of the more
pleasant ways to spend a cold winter eve . . . namely
hanging out in front of a nice cozy fireplace in the
company of one Ms. Cindy Sayers, lady private eye
and all around nifty person.

The costumed youth chuckled as he swept through
the air. Mr. Parker, you are one lucky arachnid to
have a lady like her . . . especially after a couple or
three bad-news relationships that were about as suc-
cessful as George McGovern's 1972 presidential cam-
paign.

But stability has at last returned to the life of our
boy hero and romance is blossoming! Besides that,
things couldn't be better on other fronts. Aunt May's
in tip-top shape, still worrying about me catching cold,.
God bless her. Who else would call long distance from
her vacation with her cousins in Arizona to remind
me to wear my galoshes?

Even Jameson's paying relatively good bucks for
my photos and my graduate-school studies have been
smooth sailing for tJie last couple of months!

Sheesh, 1 hope I can adjust to the sudden shock of
all this good luck. I'm just not used to it!

Spidey's deliberate search of Manhattan had brought
him back to the southern tip of the island. He swung
through the silence of the financial district for several
minutes, but his senses alerted him to nothing. The
Wall-crawler turned and headed back up north on
Broadway.

As usual, Greenwich Village was as alive and busy
as ever despite the two feet of snow on the sidewalks
and streets, and the arcticlike temperatures that
gripped the city. / don't really think those thugs I'm
looking for are going to spend their first night out of
the hoosegow sightseeing along Eighth Street, do I?

MURDERMOON               111

Naw, dudes like that'd want to go someplace where
they can relax and calm their poor, shattered senses,
like a bar!

Spidey turned on to Mercer Street and landed on top
of the awning over the entrance to an apartment build-
ing. Seems to me they weren't the type to frequent the
bar at the Pierre, so I ought to make a flyby of
some of the, ahem . . . sleazier bar districts in the city
and see if any of 'em set my senses tinglin'l

I just hope nobody sees me there. What would my
Aunt May say if she heard I went to those kinds of
places?

The Wall-crawler fired a strand of webbing at the
dark building across the narrow street and took off
again. He swiftly swung by the dark, dirty waterfront
across town with its dingy bars, but nothing caught
his attention there. He headed back uptown along
Eighth Avenue.

Between Twenty-ninth and Thirtieth streets his
head began to tingle wildly.

Bingo!

Spider-Man grabbed hold of a flagpole jutting from
a darkened office building and swung up on it, bal-
ancing effortlessly on the slim pole. The intense brown
eyes behind the mask searched the streets below.

The door to Al's Tavern on the corner of Thirtieth
flew open and three men stumbled out on to the street,
laughing drunkenly. They stood swaying in the cold
night air for several minutes debating some matter
in loud, unintelligible whispers. Spidey's uncanny sixth
sense gave the costumed youth another hard twinge
as he watched the trio.

/ get the message, spidey-sense! Those turkeys are
the birds I'm looking for!

Walking unsteadily, the three men lurched to a car
parked in the middle of the block. One of them tried
several times to find the door lock with a key before
another pushed him aside and, laughing hysterically,
completed the delicate maneuver. They piled into the
car and drove off.

112              MURDERMOON

Hooboy! Talking to those cuties is gonna be a real
pleasure! I can see it now: I'll be trying to get infor-
mation from them and they'll be telling me a
traveling-salesman joke!

Spidey followed the zigzagging Oldsmobile as it
roared through the streets. Well, try to look on the
bright side, m'boy! Maybe they'll be more useful
swacked than sober. Maybe they'll get careless and
lead me to someone higher up in their organiza-
tion. ...

And maybe sheep will learn to fly.

An hour later, the Web-slinger was beginning to be-
lieve his earlier cynicism was not entirely unfounded.
Enough's enoiifh! These bozos have just been mean-
dering in your basic random fashion like a bunch of
lost tourists! They're not going to be going anywhere
important tonight and I can't afford to wait! So . . .

The short, dark man named Mandez wiped his
thick black mustache with the back of his hand and
smacked his lips in satisfaction. "Ah, this hits the
spot," he laughed and held up a bottle of cheap whis-
key,

Ryan, the muscular blond man behind the wheel of
the Oldsmobile, reached for the liquor bottle. "You've
hit yer spot enough," he said thickly. "Lemme g&tta
shot o'that."

"Jeez," Mandez said. "I've never been so glad to
be outta the slammer in my life! I didn't know we was
heisting government stuff. I don't wanna get into a
federal rap." He rubbed his dark face. "Even though
Jocko got his hand busted, he's the lucky one. He got
away!"

"Ain't nothin' ya can do about it now, Manny," the
man in the backseat said. "Who the hell thought we
was gonna run inta Spider-Man? And gimme the bot-
tle awready, fer cry in' out loud!"

Ryan handed the bottle back. "Hell, at least we
been bailed out like we was promised and they're get-
tin' us lawyers."

MURDERMOON               113

Mandez hiccuped.

Thwump!

"Whazzat?" Nelson, the man sprawled in the back-
seat, sat up quickly, his bloodshot eyes darting about.

Ryan hunched over the wheel. "Dunno," he whis-
pered hoarsely. "Sounded like somethin' landed on
the roof!"

"Yeah," Mandez nodded. He peered through the
windshield. "I don't see nothing, but I can't tell. Don't
take any chances, Ryan. Speed up!"

The driver's foot began to depress the accelerator,
sending the speedometer rising slowly.

Kronk!

Ryan yelped in surprise as two scarlet-gloved hands
crashed through the roof and slammed into his head.

And to think some people need karate!

The car swerved dangerously into the opposite lane
and Spider-Man clung to the roof, staying with it. The
street was clear of traffic at the moment and the car
was allowed clear access to the brick wall of a build-
ing as it jumped the curb.

Spidey jumped off the car's roof at the last instant,
somersaulting to safety on the sidewalk. The heavy
sedan smashed headlong into the wall, the front end
crumbling like cardboard.

The Wall-crawler rushed over to the car. No sign
of fire, good!

He yanked open the doors. The three thugs were
staring at him from inside, shock and surprise on their
faces.

"Now what the hell did you do that for?" Mandez
asked, blinking.

"I was lonely." Spidey shrugged. "I wanted some-
body to talk to. I decided you would make the most
fascinating conversationalists."

"You hadda smash the car?" Ryan said miserably.
"Couldn't ya just asked us ta pull over!"

Spidey jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "C'mon,
guys," he ordered. "Step into my office where we can
talk."

114             MUKDERMOON

Without warning, Ryan launched himself from the
car, wrapping his thick arms around the Web-slinger's
waist. His momentum drove Spidey backward and the
two men crashed to the ground.

Ryan swung wildly at Spider-Man, but the Web-
slinger easily parried the blow and drove his fist into
the crook's stomach. Two swift chops to the neck
sent the felon sprawling on the ground, out like a
light.

Mandez and Nelson, meanwhile, had leaped from
the car and were reaching inside their coats for their
guns.

"You don't want to do that, fellas," Spider-Man
said, rising to one knee.

They drew their pistols.

Spider-Man sprang forward, flinging himself head-
long at Nelson. Before the startled thug could read-
just his aim, the Wall-crawler was knocking him to
the ground. Mandez swung his gun around.

The costumed youth flung himself backward, flip-
ping up on to his hands and kicking his foot out. His
booted foot knocked away the automatic. Springing
expertly to his feet, Spider-Man grabbed the small
man's arm and twisted hard.

"Yeow!" the crook cried, his gun dropping from
numb fingers.

"I told you you didn't want to do that," Spidey
said sharply. "But you do want to talk to me, don't
you?"

"Hey, I don't have to tal . . . unnhh!" Mandez
yelped in pain as Spider-Man yanked sharply on his
arm.

"First let me tell you what it is you don't want to
talk about, sweetums," the Web-slinger said. "Then
you can talk about it anyway!" He gave another sud-
den pull on the dark man's arm to emphasize his
words. "Now then, let's start with who you're working
for!"

"I dunno."

MURDERMOON                                   115

"Am I to believe you don't know who hired you?"

"We never saw 'em," Mandez said quickly. "Our
orders came over the phone."

"How did you get in touch with them if anything
went bad?"

"Hey, listen, man," Mandez protested mildly. "We
don't work for no organization or nothing! Some dude
hired us over the p^one to pu'l off that one job, that's
all! Jocko and me usually work free lance."

"Jocko?"

The little man averted his eyes. He'd said too much.

"Forget it," Spidey said. "He's the one that got
away, right? I don't care about him right now. I'm
looking for bigger fish!"

"I don't know him. Honest!"

Spider-Man loosened his grip on the other man.
"You don't know very much, do you? Problem is,
there's a whole boatload of things I have to know!"

Mandez saw his chance. "There's someone who
might be able to tell you," he offered quickly. "This
dude in the Village's up on all kinds of things going
down."

Spidey leaned closer to the sweating man. "Who?"

Mandez licked his lips. "Guy they call Sunshine."

"You're kidding."

"I swear it," Mandez said. "Sunshine. He hangs out
at the Purple Circle on Christopher Street-."

Nodding his head slowly, Spider-Man released
Mandez. "Sunshine. Purple Circle. Christopher Street.
I'm sorry I asked."

Mandez rubbed his aching shoulder. Now maybe
that damned costumed creep would go away and
leave them alone!

A few minutes later, Spider-Man was leaving,
swinging on a strand of his indestructible webbing to-
ward the West Village."

"Hey! What about us?" Mandez called after him.

Spidey looked over his shoulder at the three men,

116              MURDERM OON

their arms webbed securely to their sides, dangling
like Christmas ornaments from a lamp post.

"Don't sweat it, creep," he called back happily.
"That stuff dissolves sooner or later!"




THE HUGE JET HELICOPTER STREAKED

through the clear, blue skies over the north Pacific
Ocean, practically skimming the still waters with its
landing gear.

A small island lay dead ahead, a tall, tapering
mountain its only noticeable feature. An oil tanker lay
anchored half a-mile from its shores.

The 'copter whooshed past the tanker's bow and
continued toward the island, waiting until the last mo-
ment before it gained the necessary altitude to avoid
collision with the mountain. Its speed decreased as it
reached the peak and began to circle the top.

Dr. Daniel Irvine "lanced out the window beside
the copilot's seat where he sat. "We're there," he said
into the heavy he;' ' et he wore. "Is our passenger
ready to disembark?" He chuckled into the micro-
phone.

117

118              MUKDERMOON

In the cargo hold of the circling chopper, two
orange-jump-suited technicians stood on either side of
a much larger man clad in a silver protective suit.. A
square, silver helmet was fastened to his head and a
heavy tank was attached to his back. He sat immobile
on the floor, his emerald-green eyes staring blankly
through the narrow view plate.

"The Hulk is ready, sir," one of the technicians
said into his mike.

"Did you hear that. Argosy?" Irvine asked.

"We read you. Transport One," a voice crackled
back from the tanker. "We are standing by."

"All right," the scientist said to the pilot. "Take it
down!"

The helicopter dropped sharply and flew over the
top of the mountain where it was throttled back into
a hover. The peak was not a plateau; rather there
was nothing atop the high mountain. Nothing but a
gaping, black hole. The pilot deftly maneuvered the
chopper over to the mouth of the hole, mere feet
from the rocky wall.

"You may stand now. Hulk," Dr. Irvine ordered
gently into the mike.

The seven-foot-tall emerald giant rose obediently to
his feet. One of the technicians stepped to the huge
sliding doors at the side of the hold and pulled them
open.

"To the door, my brutish friend."

The Hulk stepped to the door, obeying the words
that buzzed like an annoying insect in his ear.

"And out you go!"

Without hesitation, the man-brute calmly stepped
from the hovering helicopter.

He landed with a thud on the steep wall of the vol-
cano, his heavy body sending a shower of small stones
clattering into the dark hole. Even after long mo-
ments, they could not be heard hitting bottom.

"I want you to climb down into the hole, Hulk,"
the doctor said softly. "It will be very hot, but be-

MURDERMOON                                   119

tween the suit you wear and your supertough skin,
you should be adequately protected."

Almost mechanically, the jade Goliath began a
slow, deliberate climb into the yawning pit, his hands
and feet smashing out finger and toe holes as he went
along.

"You are to descend until you reach the huge ma-
chine that lies down there."

Mindlessly, the man-brute grunted, continuing his
descent. But soon, he grew weary of the tedious hand-
over-hand repetition into the pitch blackness. He
pushed himself from the wall and allowed himself to
drop into the bottomless pit!

The air grew hotter and hotter as the Hulk fell,
heating the silver surface of his protective suit. In-
stinctively, the green mammoth angled his massive
body, controlling his headlong plunge into the abyss.

He fell for long minutes until, at last, a red glow
became visible far below. It grew larger as he came
closer, until it became apparent the red glow was
from the fires at the very heart of the volcano! The
air around the descending man-creature was un-
breathable, enough to sear even the lungs of the
mighty Hulk were it not for the built-in oxygen sup-
ply he wore on his back.

The Hulk manuevered himself, drawing closer to
the red-hot wall of the volcano. His fingers touched
the wall, then began to sink into the rock, deeper
and deeper as he applied pressure. His massive fin-
gers gouged five deep grooves in the rock as he dug
in, slowing his plunge.

He came to a stop several yards above the sloping
floor at the bottom of the miles-deep pit. Even through
the thick protective suit, the Hulk could feel the great
heat against his emerald skin, but he paid it no mind.
Directly below his dangling feet was a river of molten
lava that flowed between the two shores of red-hot
glowing rock. The walls around him shimmered with
the red-and-blue heat from the Earth's bowels.

He dropped to the near-molten rock.

120              MURDERMOON

Mindlessly he shuffled forward, his insulated booted
feet sloshing through liquid rock. The air burned
around him, making it difficult to see, but still he
shambled on—following orders.

He foHowed the downward-slanting tunnel along its
course, smashing aside burning, red obstructions, wad-
ing through pools of molten ore that mostly covered
his boots but sometimes came up to his waist.

Several minutes later he came to a massive pile of
glowing crimson rocks that blocked his path. He did
not hesitate. Slogging through the sucking lava, he
charged the obstruction.

The rocks seemed to explode as the Hulk bored
through them like a human wrecking ball. He skidded
awkwardly to a halt on the other side, swinging his
large arms to keep his balance.

And there, before the panting, sweating man-
monster sat the glowing, red-hot remains of StarLab
I!

A sensor beeped sharply on the console before Dr.
Irvine in the cockpit of the circling helicopter. The
sensor was connected to one strapped to the Hulk's
chest, tuned to certain insulated instruments aboard
StarLab.

The beast had done it!

"Excellent, Hulk," he cooed happily into the mike.
"Now I want you to pick up the big machine." He
smiled. "Bring it out of the volcano to the boat wait-
ing for you."

The Hulk's hands sank into the molten skin of the
huge satellite. Almost twenty tons of half-melted ma-
chinery was lifted from the ground and shifted slowly
onto the creature's broad back. He staggered under
the enormous weight, shifting the red-hot space ve-
hicle until it was comfortably balanced.

Slowly, the Hulk started back the way he had come.
His recent passage through the tunnel near the Earth's
core had left it clear of obstacles so, despite his bur-

MURDBRMOON                121

den, the green Goliath reached his starting point in
less time than it had taken to find StarLab.

He gingerly placed the satellite on the bubbling
ground. Going back up the way he had come was im-
possible. Two miles of sheer walls awaited him that
way and, though he could make it unhindered, Star-
Lab would have to remain behind.

His dull eyes passed over the walls of the tunnel.
Steaming lava seeped from small cracks at one point,
streaming into a narrow river that flowed into the pas-
sage. He drew back his gloved fist and, grunting, sent
it smashing through the rock.

The red-hot substance cracked easily and more lava
bubbled from the new holes. Several more blows
opened a crack as tall as the man-brute and twice as
wide. Suddenly, a red-hot wave of lava splashed
through and broke over the Hulk. He staggered back-
ward and tumbled quickly out of the way.

The flood of molten rock abated after several sec-
onds, only to be replaced by a stream of bubbling hot
water that turned instantly to billowing clouds of
steam on contact with the rock.

The Hulk wiped the steam from his view plate with
a swipe of his massive paw. The lava and water had
widened the hole he had started so that it was now
large enough for both the green giant and StarLab to
pass through.

And, if the water was any indication, this new pas-
sage led straight out into the sea.

The insulation in his protective suit was beginning
to smolder by the time the jade-hued giant replaced
the forty thousand pounds of seemingly ruined space-
ship on his back. He stepped into the flowing stream
and waded slowly through the bubbling, boiling wa-
ter.

The tunnel slanted upward almost immediately,
sloping gradually enough for the big green man to
keep his footing. His feet sank deep into the soggy
dust floor making walking even more difficult.

"Come to me, Hulk," buzzed in his ear. "Bring me

122              MURDERMOON

the prize from the center of the Earth!" the voice
urged softly.

The man-monster plodded steadily'on with his bur-
den, climbing back up toward the light of day from
the Stygian darkness of the volcano.

The water level began to rise as the wide passage
leveled after over two miles. Then, suddenly, a heavy
stone wall marked the end of the tunnel. -

A pool of water rippled before the natural barri-
cade, seeping into a channel eroded into the rock by
ages of flowing water. The Hulk bent his thick body
forward and dumped the charred remains of StarLab
into the pool. The still-red-hot metal sizzled loudly as
it sank into the clear, deep water, sending up plumes
of steam that swirled through the cavern. The silver-
suited colossus dove in after it.

The man-monster swam straight down the under-
water tunnel, one great hand pushing the satellite be-
fore him. A hundred yards down, the passage gave
way to the open sea.

"To the boat, Hulk," the soothing voice com-
manded.

The green-skinned behemoth kicked his powerfully
muscled legs and headed to the surface with one hand
dragging the twisted wreckage behind him. Seconds
later, his head poked out of the sea into the air, a
quarter of a mile from the waiting tanker.

The pilot of the hovering chopper spotted th& burst
of sunlight flashing off the man-brute's protective
headgear and pointed it out to Dr. Irvine. The scien-
tist smiled, picked up a pair of binoculars, and focused
them on the bobbing figure below. He saw the image
of the blackened hull of the space laboratory undulat-
ing beneath the waves.

"I am proud of you, my hulkish helper," he
beamed. "All that remains to be done is to take your
ca'rgo to the boat and then we may all go home!"




"NOW that IS KINKY," THE CURLY-

blond-haired man nodded approvingly as the front
door to the Purple Circle opened and the muscular
youth in a dark-blue-and-red costume walked in.

"Glad you like it, chuckles," Spider-Man mumbled
as he glanced around the private club on Greenwich
Village's Christopher Street. His face twisted into a
grimace of distaste beneath his thick mask. The single
large room was painted black with dayglow patches of
dark purple scattered about'the walls and ceiling. A
long bar ran along the wall adjacent to the door. The
rest of the floor space was taken up by small circular
tables clustered around a ten-foot-square dance floor.
Light was supplied by black light bulbs that seemed
to give the dingy bar an eerie, phosphorescent glow.

Several colorfully dressed men sat at the bar alone
or in pairs and four tables were occupied. A Judy
Garland song blared from the jukebox.

123

124               MURDERMOON

"Can I help you, friend?" the blond man asked
pleasantly.

"I'm looking for somebody," Spidey said, his eyes
roaming over the dozen or so occupants in the club
for a clue to the man named Sunshine.

The man sighed. "Aren't we all?" he said wistfully.
"Are you a member of the PeeCee?" His eyes traveled
doubtfully up and down the Web-slinger's colorfully
garbed figure.

"Heavens no," Spidey answered. "I'm looking for a
guy named, er . .. Sunshine. Know 'im?"

The man frowned at Spider-Man. "Maybe."

"Look, I'm . . ."

"Really," the man said. "I read the Daily Bugle.
I know who you are."

"Some people tell me Sunshine hangs out here. Is
he here or not?"

The blond man chewed thoughtfully at the inside
of his cheek, rubbing a slender hand across his fore-
head. "Well, I suppose you're all right," he said at
last. He indicated a table at the very rear of the room,
one situated in shadows. For the first time, Spidey no-
ticed a man seated in the shadows.

"Thanks." He nodded to the blond man and walked
toward the back.

"Uncool, Spider-Man," Sunshine tsked as the Web-
slinger stepped up to his table. "I mean, walking up to
me after announcing your presence to the whole
world! Don't you have any subtlety whatsoever?"

"Sorry, Sunshine. I don't have the luxury of sub-
tlety," Spidey said, pulling a chair over from another
table and sitting with his arms folded across its back.
"Mainly 'cause I ain't got time!"

The slender dark-haired man with a neat, closely
trimmed beard leaned forward in his chair. His
chocolate-brown face was shiny with perspiration, his
black eyes squinting at the Wall-crawler. Spidey could
see he was wearing a white silk shirt that seemed to
glow in the bla.ck light. He also wore a single gold stud
in his right earlobe.

MURDERMOON               125

"everybody's got time, brother," Sunshine said. He
lifted a glass of amber liquid to his lips and sipped it
slowly to prove his point.

"Not the folks who ripped off StarLab. I'm betting
they're planning something for real soon now."

Sunshine stopped with his glass halfway to his
mouth. "Who said it's been ripped off, Spider-Friend?
/ haven't heard any such news flash on my little tran-
sistor radio."

Spidey's head tingled slightly. Ah-ah! I seem to be
getting close to something here. Momma's little boy
Sunshine is sure as shootin' nervous about something
I just said; except he doesn't plan on telling.

Unless I appeal to his better instincts!

"Something's been going, on for a couple of days
now, Sunshine. NASA's been hit by two, count 'em,
two robberies in as many days involving flight infor-
mation and programming on their next unmanned mis-
sion. Then anywhere from twenty-five to fifty tons of
plummeting NASA hardware is suddenly not recov-
ered by the navy after disappearing from their radar.
I want to know what all those separate numbers add
up to!"

Sunshine shrugged elaborately. "Well, I'm sorry,
Spider-Person, but I..."

Spider-Man leaned closer to the table. "I get ner-
vous when big things are happening and nobody fills
me in on them, friend," he said softly, menacingly.
"And a little birdie tells me you're one of the nobodies
not filling me in on this."

The slender black man tried to stare the costumed
youth down, but the eerie, white orbs of his mask
made him nervous. He averted his eyes. "I've got to
cop the Fifth," he whispered through clenched teeth.
"I mean, okay, there is something up, but there're
some big, powerful people messed up in it. People
who can get me hurt!"

"I hate to resort to a cliche, Sunny, but I can do
some hurting myself if necessary."     •

"No," Sunshine said quickly. "It won't be necessary.

126              MURDERMOON

Listen, Spider-Man, my stock in trade is words, infor-
mation. I don't like to soil myself with the seamier
aspects of this business. Okay, come real heavies have
got something going, but all I can tell you is to look
outside of Niagara Falls, along the river."

Spider-Man stood. "That's a lot more than I knew
before, Sunshine," he nodded. "Thanks,"

The black man looked up. "For what? I never said
a thing."




Chapfier 17

THE SUN SHONE BRIGHT IN THE

cloudless sky over the city of Niagara Falls, New
York. The evening before, the temperature had begun
to rise, reaching, by late this morning, the upper for-
ties. The two feet of hard, icy snow was melting slowly
into piles of soggy slush. Even the frozen-over Niagara
River was thawing under the bright sun. Trickles of
water flowed silently downriver toward the now-silent,
stilled falls.

Lovely country, Spider-Man mused. Too bad I'm
not here to admire the scenery.

The Web-slinger clung upside down to a branch
from a tree that stood within four feet of the high
chain-link fence surrounding the private industrial
complex several yards off the shore of the Niagara
River.

A truck hauling a flatbed trailer was roaring up the
road to the fence's one gate, black diesel smoke puff-

127

128               MURDERMOON

ing from its exhaust pipe. The truck's bulky cargo was
hidden from view beneath a tarpaulin.

A piercing tingle flashed through the Wall-crawler's
head.

My goodness gracious, what have we here that
makes the old spidey-sense go buzz-buzz?

A. pair of guards dressed in gray uniforms stood in-
side the compound behind the gate, their hands rest-
ing easily on the pistols at their sides. They looked
carefully at the identification presented by the truck's
driver and conferred with the man for several seconds
through the fence before electronically opening the
gates to allow the truck through.

Now you aren't gonna let that big, bad, mysterious
truck just vanish off into the sunset, are you, Mr.
Parker?
Nope!

Spider-Man pulled himself upright and perched on
the tree limb to survey the setup. Ten feet beyond the
fence stood a squat concrete bunker, several feet
lower than the top of the fence. Five more bunkers
ringed the perimeter of the enclosed compound, all
facing the much larger, four-story structure set at the
far end of the area. Behind the hangarlike concrete
building, the Niagara River wound its way to the
famed falls.

The smoke-belching truck rolled slowly through the
compound toward the large, windowless hangar.

Signs dotted the fence at regular intervals: DANGER.

ELECTRICAL PENCE. 10,000 VOLTS. INSTITUTE FOR RA-
DIATION RESEARCH.  .

Well, dis mus' be da plaze 'cause dere ain't no udder
plaze dat looks like dis plaze! There's nothing else
along the river that fits in with what Sunshine told me,
and my spidey-sense going off as soon as that truck
came along cinches it for this little Web-head! The In-
stitute for Radiation Research definitely ain't what it'a.
want people to think it is—whatever that is!

The armed guards were two dozen feet to the Wall-

MURDERMOON                                   129

crawler's left. They were talking, their attention di-
rected away from Spidey's portion of the fence.

That fence is real hot stuff. If I don't do this trick
just right, I'm liable to wind up one overdone little
superhero!

Spider-Man stood on the branch, bouncing up and
down gently on the tips of his toes. Then he jumped
up and landed on the tree limb which gave under his
weight, and then sprang back up, propelling the Web-
slinger through the air. He arched over the fence in
a curled position and straightened as he neared the
bunker. Flipping over in a somersault and landing on
the edge of the bunker's roof, he quickly dropped flat
against the surface.

Spidey peered cautiously over the edge. All's quiet
on the western front, which I take to mean as nobody
spotting my rather sensational entrance. And here I
was hoping to be discovered by the coach for the
Olympic gymnastic team!

He crawled to the other side of the roof and looked.
down the gap between the bunker he was on and the
next one over. It was deserted.

In fact, the entire compound seemed deserted.

Either everybody's out to lunch at McDonald's right
now or I managed to get here in time for some kind of
big event!

As he approached the larger building at the end of
the compound Spider-Man could make out the sound
of the diesel engine coming from around back. He ran
in a crouch to the nearest wall and leaped up on it,
climbing as fast as he could to the top. He pulled him-
self up on the roof and ran along the edge to the rear
of the hangar.

Now that looks like it could be interesting!

Hidden from view of the main gate and the road
that passed a hundred feet from it, at the rear of the
building was a pair of hangar doors, now standing
open to admit the cumbersome truck and trailer.

Those doors are big enough for a jumbo jet to fit

130                                M URDERMOON

through. So why is it I doubt they use this place as a
747 parking garage?

A dozen men in orange jump suits watched the
truck back into the hangar. While their attention was
on that, Spidey dropped quickly on a strand of web-
bing to the top of the doorway and swung inside. He
scurried swiftly to the steel-beamed ceiling.

The Web-slinger secreted himself behind a beam
and looked down forty feet to check out the interior
of the hangar.

Below him stretched a vast concrete floor. In the
center of the massive room was what appeared to be
a steel cover, some thirty feet wide. Several men in
laboratory smocks stood on the metal plate with a man
in an expensive suit, watching silently as the truck
squealed to a stop before them.

And the prize, for best guess without a single clue
to go on, goes to the wonderful, all-purpose spidey-
sense! Don't leave home without that, Karl Maiden!

Several technicians rushed over to the truck from
the sidelines and began to peel back the tarpaulin.
Within moments, the charred, half-melted remains of
StarLab I lay exposed on the long flatbed.

Well, it may not look like much anymore, but
there's obviously something of great value left in all
that wreckage for those dudes to want it bad enough
to swipe it like they did.

"Well, Prof. Wai-ner? Are you satisfied?" The well-
dressed man's-voice echoed up through the huge, high-
ceilinged hangar so that Spider-Man could hear him
as well as if he stood next to the speaker forty feet be-
low.

"Oh, yes. It's in far better shape than I'd antici-
pated, Mr. Pendergast," one of the men in a smock
said. "And thank God my calculations were correct.
The main crew compartment, being the. most vulner-
able spot on the ship because of its human cargo,
would be the most heavily shielded and insulated
against great heat, impact, et cetera, thus enabling it

MURDERMOON               131

to survive the heat of reentry even though better than
a quarter of it was totally incinerated."

The second man in white said, "I'm still amazed
you were able to snatch it out of orbit."

"Well, Daniel," the man called Warner said, "it
really wasn't all that difficult. We could have overrid-
den NASA's control of the vehicle's systems with our
computers, but that would've been practically worth-
less since StarLab's own engines were inadequate to
save the ship. So, we launched a series of drone rock-
ets which rendezvoused with the ship while it was still
in orbit, attached themselves to it and flew StarLab
from the navy's target area.

"Not only that," Warner said, "the drones set up
an electronic field to interfere with their radar to make
it appear as if StarLab had suddenly just vanished."

"How much time will you need to get things ready,
Professor?" Pendergast asked.

Warner toyed thoughtfully with his scraggly white
beard as he regarded the partially melted space station
being lifted from the truck with a crane. "Two days,"
he said. "I've got to strip the on-board computer of all
its programming and components and then refit them
into our satellite and navigation system."

Pendergast consulted his watch. "It is now noon.
Can you have the completed package on the pad and
ready for the final countdown at two o'clock the day
after tomorrow?"

"I said two days, Mr. Pendergast. Yes."

Satellite? Completed package? Pad? Final count-
down?

Confused by what he had just heard, Spider-Man
took a closer look at the hangar. For the first time, he
noticed hydraulic pumps on either side of the ceiling;

there, he reasoned from their location and looks, to
swing open the ceiling. A narrow crack ran down the
center of the steel cover in the floor, as if that was
where it separated when the cover was rolled back.

Hydraulics to open the roof.

Some kind of pit in the middle of the floor.

132                                 MURDERMOON

Now, I know space shots are supposed to take place
in Florida with a lot of palm trees waving all over the
place and Walter Cronkite supplying the running com-
mentary, but something tells me nobody ever told
these guys that's how it's done!

Pendergast nodded curtly to the two scientists and
left, his heels clicking loudly against the concrete floor.
. "Between you and me, Abraham," Dr. Irvine said
when the tall man was out of earshot, "do you think
it's going to work?"

"Why not?" The bearded scientist shrugged. "With
the equipment we can cannibalize from StarLab, our
satellite will have one of the finest guidance and navi-
gational systems .currently in use."

Irvine waved his hand impatiently through the air.
"I know the rocket and satellite are going to function,
Abraham. What I'm worried about is the microwave
transceiver."

Warner stiffened indignantly.

"I'm well aware that you created, designed, and
built it, old friend. After all, who put you in contact
with Pendergast and his combine and helped convince
them to back the project?"

"I appreciate that, Daniel. You know that."

"I don't want gratitude, Abraham. I just want to be
sure your satellite will do what it's supposed to. There's
too much at stake here to risk ..."

"I am sure," Warner said coolly, "my microwave
transceiver will perform exactly as it was designed to:

it will link our satellite with the output circuits of every
communications, weather, and intelligence satellite in
orbit around the planet and transmit every bit of data
that passes through them back to us."

/ think this is the part where I'm supposed to whis-
tle in surprise and say "So that's what these dastardly
fiends are up to!"

"Calm down, Abraham," Daniel Irvine said. "You
know I have complete faith in your abilities. I'm just
nervous, I guess. Prelaunch jitters or some such." He
shoved his hands into the pockets of his smock. "No,

MURDERMOON               133

damn it, I'm nervous because everything's gone so well
up till now. I mean, considering the risks we took
breaking into that computer office in New York and
NASA in Houston, as well as getting StarLab, we've
been extraordinarily lucky. I just can't help feeling
that our good luck can't last much longer."

And that's all I need to hear from these bozos!

"You're so right, Doc!" Spider-Man slid rapidly to
the floor on a strand of webbing. " 'Cause your
friendly neighborhood Spider-Man is here to tell you
that as of this very instant, your luck has been officially
recalled by the factory. And wouldn't you know it?
The warranty's expired!"

"Spider-Man!" Dr. Irvine gasped.

"You've got a way with words, Doc, I'll give you
that much," Spidey said. "Maybe you can use that
skill to get yourself a new job once I close this place
down. Don't you guys know shooting a big firecracker
into space is illegal?"

Prof. Warner backed away from the Web-slinger,
his face turning as white as his full beard. "Gu . . .
guards!" he called weakly.

"That's not nice, friend," Spidey sighed.

"And totally unnecessary as well, Abraham," Dr.
Irvine added, recovering from the surprise of Spider-
Man's sudden appearance.

"Why? You planning on beating me to death with
all your diplomas. Doc?"

Irvine reached into the pocket of his smock. "No,
my fine webbed friend," he spat. "But I do have some-
one at my disposal who is perfectly capable of taking
care.of you without my help!" He whipped out a small
box, about the size of a transistor radio, and brought it
to his mouth. "Come to me, my brutish slave," he
called into it. "I need you now!". .

"If that's supposed to scare me, fella, forget it. I've
had more mad-scientist types threaten me with more
of their little toy terribles than you could shake a stick
at and, as you can see, I'm still around to tell you that
it just don't work."

134              MURDERMOON

"Ah, Spider-Man," It-vine grinned. "Whereas that
may have been true with others, I can assure you that
my monster is no toy!"

Crrash!

As if those words were a cue, the wall behind
Spider-Man seemed to explode into chunks of flying
concrete and dust. A ten-foot-square section of the re-
inforced cement wall that served fo partition off the
huge room was suddenly no longer there.

Spidey whirled.

Seven feet of jade-hued man-creature stood by the
ruined wall, his massive chest rising and falling with
each angry breath.

"My monster," Dr. Irvine chuckled proudly, "is the
Hulk!"

Hoo-boy! So why is it I suddenly feel like a kid
named David? At least he had a slingshot to use
against his Goliath!

Chapter 18




THE HULK GROWLED IN ANGER AS HE

ambled through the gaping hole in the wall. The man-
monster's emerald-green eyes blazed with hate beneath
the primitive, protruding brow, fixing Spider-Man with
a glare the Web-slinger could not remember seeing in
the eyes of a civilized man.

Only wild beasts!

Spider-Man held up his hands before him and
backed slowly away.

"Hulk . . . hurt little . . . man," the man-brute
snarled hesitantly.

"Whoa there, big fella," the Web-slinger said care-
fully. "Let's not start something that one of us won't
be able to finish!"

Namely me!

Dr. Irvine chuckled. "I wouldn't advise you to try
reasoning with my jade friend, Spider-Man," he said.
"You haven't the time.

135

136               MURDERMOON

"Kill Spider-Man!" he commanded into the small
box.

The Hulk charged the Web-slinger, his thickly mus-
cled arms reaching for Spidey. The Wall-crawler held
his ground until the man-monster was almost upon
him and then leaped straight up, nipping effortlessly
over the Hulk's head and landing on his feet behind
the big green man. The Hulk roared in rage and spun
around faster than the Web-slinger had anticipated,
his balled fist grazing the costumed youth's chin.

Spider-Man flew backward as if hit by a sledgeham-
mer.

Oh, momma!

He thudded against a wall and crumpled to the
floor in pain. Whew. Spider-Man shook his head and
watched as the twin images of the Hulk merged into
one and the loud ringing in his ears subsided. Maybe
if I look upon this is as an educational experience it
won't hurt as much! The Web-slinger braced his back
against the wall and slowly started to rise. Offff! And
then again, maybe not!

His bestial face contorted in rage, the mighty Hulk
lumbered toward his foe. He aimed another powerful
blow at Spider-Man's head.

Spidey ducked under the massive fist. It shot, un-
checked, over his lowered head and smashed through
the heavy concrete wall behind him.

Now here's a definite case of a boy who doesn't
know his own strength!

As the Hulk reached down to grab his shoulders,
Spider-Man threw himself forward and rolled quickly
through the man-brute's spread legs.

But since I do, I'd better make it my business to
stay away from those sledgehammers he calls fists!
Anybody who can break through a concrete wall like
it was so much tissue paper can do more damage to my
poor little body than I care to think about!

Before the Hulk could turn to continue his attack,
Spider-Man swung his legs up and rammed them as
hard as he could into the small of the creature's broad

MURDERMOON               137

back. The green Goliath grunted and stumbled for-
ward.

So what if Kidney punches aren't very nice? Neither
is having seven feet worth of really ticked-off green
monster sicced on you!

But the Web-slinger's blow only served to increase
the Hulk's already prodigious anger. The green mam-
moth spun, bellowing his surprise and pain as he threw
his body at Spidey.

Spider-Man sidestepped the charging man-brute and
grabbed hold of one of his thick arms between his
gloved hands. The creature's momentum gave the
Wall-crawler just the leverage he needed to begin spin-
ning around like a child's top, whirling the Hulk about
faster and faster.

"Let go of Hulk!" the big green man roared.

"Sure thing, tall, green, and ugly."

Spider-Man suddenly released his hold on the
Hulk's arm and the man-monster took off like a shot,
flying uncontrollably through the air.

Kersmash!

The Hulk streaked like a great green missile into
the side of the parked flatbed trailer, now empty of its
cargo. The impact totaled the vehicle and wrapped
the wreckage around the stunned colossus like a strait-
jacket.

And if that don't take care of that, I don't know
what will!

Growling deep in his throat, the Hulk flexed his
mighty muscles and split the restraining metal in two.

.. . / don't think I know what will. ...

"Now stupid bug-man is in big trouble," the Hulk
snarled. "Nobody hurts Hulk and gets away with it!
Not army, not humans, and not puny little bug-eyed
man!"

"You wanna know something, Greenie? I think you
really mean it!"

A single, effortless leap brought the Hulk to Spider-
Man's side. A jade-hued fist wrapped itself into the

138              MURDERMOON

youth's costume and the Hulk yanked Spider-Man
roughly from the floor.

"Yikes!"

"You," the Hulk growled. "You make fun of Hulk,
huh?" The big green man shook the dangling Web-
slinger like a rag doll. "Well, Hulk is sick and tired of
listening to your big m'outh, bug-eyes! Even if voice
did not tell Hulk to smash you, Hulk would do it any-
way!"

Voice?

"You know something else, handsome?" the cos-
tumed youth said. "You're about three times as stupid
as I've been led to believe!" With that, Spider-Man
brought one hand up to the Hulk's face and pressed
the button concealed beneath his glove. A thick stream
of sticky web fluid squirted into the green giant's face.

"Arrgghh!"

The Hulk dropped Spidey to the floor and began
tearing at the webbing with his hands. The thick, vis-
cous chemical blinded him and was beginning to
smother him.

The webbing came away from his face in thick
gobs.

Uh-oh. That's not supposed to give way that easily
—which leads me to suspect there's plenty of truth to
that old saying by Confucious: Never underestimate
the power of large, green persons more than two or
three times if you still want to be around for dinner!

The last of the webbing pulled free and the Hulk
snarled cruelly. "So bug-eyes is still here, huh? Bug-
eyes wants to be smashed by Hulk!"

"Truth to tell, Hulkie baby, I could live without
that. In fact, that's probably the only way I will live."

The Hulk charged in swinging. Spider-Man had to
avoid those fists at all costs! One punch was enough to
kill him. His incredible reflexes allowed the Wall-
crawler to dodge, duck, and weave around the Hulk's
fists, staying just ahead of the lethal blows.

Can't keep this up forever. I'm already getting

MURDERMOON                                   139

winded while Tiny looks fresh as a daisy and ready to
go fifteen rounds with King Kong!

Spider-Man threw himself to the floor, rolled, and
came up under the Hulk's fists. So it's time for May
Porker's nephew Peter to put on a few of the old de-
fensive moves—

The Web-slinger butted his head into the green be-
hemoth's heavily muscled stomach with a force that
would have sent a dozen men reeling. The big green'
man merely grunted in discomfort and bent at the
waist, but still, to Spidey's amazement, stayed on bis
feet.

—and then shift quickly to the offense . . . and I do
mean quick!

He fired a strand of webbing at the steel-beamed
ceiling and, as agile as the creature from which he took
his name, Spider-Man scurried up the thin line. The
Hulk straightened, roaring in anger and frustration.

The man-monster swiped at the climbing Web-
slin^er's legs. Spidey swung his legs up and, on the
backswing, slammed his heels into the back of the
Hulk's head.

"Come down now, stupid bug-eyes," the Hulk bel-
lowed, shaking his fist at Spidey. "Bah! You cannot
get away from the Hulk up there, bug! Anywhere you
go, Hulk can go too!"

The Hulk crouched and shot up into the air. The
giant green missile flashed toward Spider-Man, twenty
feet over the floor.

"Don't you ever give up, handsome?" Spider-Man
clutched tightly to his webbing with one hand. Only
have one shot at this so I'd better not blow it, 'cause if
I do, it'll only take one punch from him to make sure
there won't be enough of me left to hit the ground!

Before the green-skinned behemoth reached him,
Spider-Man released his hold on the webbing. He
curled into a ball and rolled through the air. He
landed on the Hulk's back.

Spidey wrapped his legs around the Hulk's stomach
and his arms around his throat. Plummeting as he was

140              MURDERMOON

to the floor twenty feet below, the Hulk ignored the
nuisance on his back for the moment. But as soon as
his broad feet slammed onto the concrete floor, he
reached behind his back, snarling.

"Ha! Bug-eyes is even stupider than army! At least
when Hulk smashes machines, they stay smashed!"

"Yeah, well, we can't all be Rhodes scholars like
you, Hulkie," Spidey said through clenched teeth. He
was pulling as hard as he could against the man-
monster's neck, trying to choke the big green man into
unconsciousness. But the Hulk had only to tighten his
uncannily powerful throat muscles to make that move
useless.

"Wouldn't you know it? This bozo's got a tree stump
for a neck!

The Hulk's hands closed around Spidey's upper
arms and pulled him effortlessly from the man-
monster's back. He dashed the man to the ground.

"Oooff!" Spider-Man felt the breath explode from
his lungs. He gasped, trying to suck air into his chest,
but the Hulk placed one large foot on his chest, press-
ing the Wall-crawler to the floor.

"You bother Hulk. You talk to Hulk like Hulk is
stupid and does not know what you are saying! You
think Hulk does not know you make fun of Hulk!"

"Would it help if I said I was sorry?" Spidey gasped.
The foot pressed down harder.

"No more talk, bug-eyes!" the Hulk roared. "Now
voice says Hulk must squash stupid bug!"
. Spider-Man did not stop to ponder the mysterious
"voice" the Hulk spoke of. Not while the superhu-
manly powerful jade giant was slowly increasing the
pressure on his chest. He could not breathe.

Gasping, the Wall-crawler .grabbed the big, emer-
ald foot planted on his chest. It would not budge.

The Web-slinger groaned in pain. His oth—other
foot ...yeah!

With his last remaining bit of strength, Spider-Man
lashed out his arm and landed a resounding blow on
the green behemoth's kneecap. .The Hulk's leg buck-

MURDERMOOM               141

led slightly and the pressure on Spidey's chest eased
momentarily while the man-brute shifted his weight to
regain his balance.

In that instant, Spidey heaved the foot up and the
man-monster toppled.

Gasp! The proverbial closeness that too much of
isn't comfortable!

Shaking his head and blinking away the black spots
that floated before his eyes, Spider-Man rose unstead-
ily to his feet.

The Hulk was already up and waiting.

"Oh fer cryin' out loud!" Spider-Man groaned.

The jade-hued giant easily grabbed the weakened
Wall-crawler and he squeezed the smaller man to his
chest.

"Hah!" the green behemoth barked. "Where is all
of bug-eye's big talk now?"

The Hulk squeezed the costumed youth tighter to
his thick chest, determined to complete the task that
he had begun moments before by squashing this both-
ersome insect. Pains that had not yet begun to fade
flared into fresh, blazing agony in the Web-slinger's
chest and ribs.

Striking in desperation, Spider-Man clapped his
hands over the Hulk's ears. A tiny round object
popped out and bounced to the floor.

Immediately, the look of rage vanished from the
green giant's face and was replaced by a frown of be-
wilderment. He looked at the dark-blue-and-red-
costumed man clutched to his chest and screwed his
brow into folds of concentration, as if trying to de-
termine who this was and what he was doing here.

"Huh?" he rumbled slowly. "What kind of trick is
this, bug-man?"

The Hulk released the Web-slinger who folded
limply to the cold, hard floor. Gasp! So that was the
voice he was talking about! That was some kind of
receiver planted in his ear with those second-rate
Wernher Von Brauns on the transmitting end!

Half a dozen men in orange jump suits ran into

142              MUKDERMOON

the room from a partitioned-off section of the huge
hangar. The dark-haired man in the lead was carry-
ing a bulky rifle with a small canister attached to the
Stock. Dr. Irvine, remaining behind the line of men,
shouted angry orders to the technicians.

"Hurry! Spider-Man's dislodged the control device
from the Hulk's ear! There's no telling who he'll turn
on now!"

Spider-Man struggled to his knees.

Vnhl Even my pain hurts. Feels like about the only
thing my ribs would be good for now is barbecuing!

And even though I never considered myself to be
particularly masochistic, I've got to attract the Hulk's
attention again and convince him I'm really on his
side.

"Hulk!"

The emerald colossus had shambled to the demol-
ished flatbed and was studying it carefully. He turned
slowly at the Wall-crawler's call, his confusion turning
once more to anger as he saw the six technicians run-
ning at him with a weapon.

At last he had something to fight that he could un-
derstand, even if he did not fully understand why he
was fighting.

"The gas, damn it!" Irvine screamed. "Use it be-
fore he gets his hands on you!"

The armed man skidded to a stop not a dozen feet
from the groggy Web-slinger and took aim at the Hulk
as he loped toward them with bared teeth and
clenched fists.

Fsssssstf

A cloud of gray gas bubbled from the nozzle of the
man's weapon and expanded rapidly to surround first
Spider-Man and then the rampaging Hulk. The Wall-
crawler tried to hold his breath, but the sharp stab of
agony that shot through his side when he tried made
him gasp in pain, and inhale the foul-smelling fumes.
Almost instantly, he felt himself go numb all over.

It took the Hulk longer to succumb to the grayish
cloud—but not much. Before he had covered half the

MURDERMOON               143

distance to the six brightly garbed men, he collapsed
with a sorrowful cry of anger beside Spider-Man.

The technicians waited until the gas had dispersed
before walking, followed by Dr. Irvine, to their un-
conscious captives.

"Now, how .. . ?" the scientist murmured.

Mr. Pendergast, his secretary at his heels, rushed
through the door to the center of the hangar.

"Just what in the hell is going on here, Dr. Irvine?"
he demanded angrily, his cold gray eyes flashing.

Irvine shrugged. "I—I don't know, Mr. Pender-
gast," he said with a shake of his head. "Somehow
Spider-Man found out about us and .. ."

"Yes," Pendergast nodded, his mouth a cold, cruel
line. "I was afraid something like this might happen
when he interfered with the New York robbery." He
sighed in resignation. "But it would appear that the
worst has' already happened and we are still in opera-
tion despite it. So I would suggest. Doctor, that we
dispose of this bothersome insect and be done with
the matter. My organization has sunk- far too much
capital into this project to let an occurrence as minor
as this get in our way at this stage of the operation."

"Of course, Mr. Pendergast," Irvine agreed sol-
emnly. He poked at the immobile green form on the
floor beside the Web-slinger with his toe. "And what
about the Hulk?"

Pendergast examined the man-brute with distaste.
"The Hulk has served his purpose. Dr. Irvine.

"Kill them both!"




Chapter 19

"Countdown at T minus ten minutes
and counting."

Professor Abraham Wamer's eyes went automati-
cally to the digital clock on the console before him,
confirming the publicly made announcement in the
control room of the Niagara Falls complex with his
own equipment.

"Begin final system check," he murmured into the
microphone.

The rows of computer consoles in the low-ceilinged
room were all occupied this morning before dawn,
two days after the bizarre battle that had taken place
in the large hangar beyond this room. Men and
women, their faces bathed in the sickly green glow
of the television screens, worked tensely, each per-
forming their own highly specialized task.

The plate-glass observation window was gone, re-
placed by a giant rear-projection screen that showed

144

MURDERMOON               145

an overhead view of the spacious hangar. The circular
steel door in the floor was open, revealing a thirty-
foot-deep well in which sat a fifty-foot-high booster
rocket!

A high tower stood alongside the rocket, fuel and
telemetry lines snaking from it, attached to the tall,
glistening silver needle of metal. The ship carried no
markings on its sleek skin. An equipment package
sat atop the rocket, protected by detachable shields.

Technicians in orange-and-white jump suits hurried
to complete their work in the hangar. Several small
vehicles were parked around the pit.

Prof. Warner looked up at the screen and pressed
a button on the console. The scene shifted instantly
to a view from the bottom of the well, pointing up
the length of the rocket. Billows of gas, liquid oxygen
turning gaseous on contact with air as the ship's tanks
were topped off, filled the pit. But through the white
clouds could be seen two figures, seemingly chained
to the body of the rocket over the triangular tail fins.

Warner pressed another button, bringing the view
into close-up.

"Don't worry about our passengers, Abraham," a
voice behind the bearded scientist chuckled. "They're
not going anywhere."

Dr. Irvine stopped beside Warner's chair at the cen-
tral control console and smiled at the picture on the
screen before him. Spider-Man and Bruce Banner,
both men apparently unconscious, were securely
chained to the rocket.

"Isn't this a bit melodramatic, Daniel?" Warner
asked with uncertainty.

"Nonsense, old friend. Where's your sense of hu-
mor gone?"

Warner's eyes flicked across the information on the
screen before him. "I don't consider murder humor-
ous," he said coolly.

"Then don't think of it as murder, my dear Profes-
sor," Irvine said with a smile. "Consider it a neces-
sity!"

146              MURDERMOON

Abraham Warner stifEened in his seat. "I never
knew you to be so heartless, Daniel," he said softly.
"I thought life was important to you."

"Oh, but it is," Irvine assured him. "My life, at
least."

The bearded scientist turned in his seat, regarding
his colleague with pitying eyes. "Is it money that does
this to you, Daniel?" he wanted to know.

Irvine laughed. "Don't go getting moralistic with me
at this stage of the game, Abraham. Of course it's the
money. It's why I'm here; it's why you're here!

"Look, Pendergast and his syndicate are paying
good money for our -talents, with a promise of much
more to come when the project succeeds. That makes
those two," he stabbed a finger toward the large
screen, "a danger to everything we hope to get out of
this. And don't think you're living the clean life your-
self, good friend." The doctor patted Warner on the
shoulder. "In case you've forgotten, what we're doing
here is illegal. And when you consider that we do it
to put us in a position to engage in espionage and
blackmail on an international scale, well," he
shrugged broadly and spread his hands before him,
"I'm sure your imagination can fill in the rest!"

"T minus seven minutes, eighteen seconds and
counting."

His cheeks red with anger. Prof. Wamer turned
back to his console.

"Don't take it like this," Irvine offered with a smile.
"We both knew what we were getting into, didn't
we?"

Warner did not answer.

"Good morning, gentlemen." Pendergast was smil-
ing with genuine pleasure as he approached the two
scientists, his cool gray eyes sparkling in the dim light
of the control room. "Is all in readiness?"

"Good morning, Mr. Pendergast," Dr. Irvine said,
returning the smile.

Warner nodded briskly, not looking up from his dis-
play screen. "Everything is proceeding as scheduled."

MURDERMOON                147

"Splendid!" the man in the expensively tailored suit
said.

Prof. Warner was running through the final check-
list with the technicians at the other consoles.

"T minus four minutes and counting."

"Fueling completed," Warner spoke into his mike.
"Seal tanks."

"Latest weather conditions are A-okay for go sig-
nal," a voice said through the headphones.

"T minus two minutes and counting."

Warner said, "All systems are on automatic for go."

"All personnel clear the launch area. T minus one
minute, thirty seconds."

"Retract tower," the scraggly bearded scientist or-
dered.

The lines leading from the launch tower to the
rocket disengaged and the tower itself began to slide
into the ground.

"T minus one minute and counting."

"All right, ladies and gentlemen," Warner said,
speaking through his mike to all the technicians at
their places. "This is it. Begin radar-scramble se-
quence alpha. Open launch ceiling."

As the hinged roof swung in on its hydraulic pumps,
a device was activated on board the rocket to send
out scrambling signals to any radar device that might
pick it up on its flight into space.

"Thirty seconds and counting."

The ceiling was open, revealing the slowly brighten-
ing sky of the new day.

"On-board computer is go."

"Fuel mixture is go."

"T minus ten seconds. Nine."

Dr. Irvine clasped his hands behind his back and
loosely crossed his fingers. "Good luck, Abraham," he
said.

"Eight. Seven. Six."

"Begin ignition sequence," Warner said. He wiped
away the perspiration that ran down the side of his
face.

148              MURDERMOON

"Five. Four. Three."

"We have ignition!" a voice said through the head-
set. The clouds of billowing fumes were spilling from
the launch well, filling the evacuated hangar as a deep
rumble shook the control room from without.

"Two."

The rocket trembled on the pad.

"One. Lift-off!"

Almost imperceptively at first and then faster, the
towering silver needle inched its way off the pad, gath-
ering speed so slowly it seemed certain to topple be-
fore it could clear the launch well. But inches turned
to feet and then yards as the rocket engines' boost
increased. Then it was out of the pit and straining for
the sky, through the open launch ceiling and then,
finally, the open air.

A jubilant cheer swept through the control room as
the rocket's earth-shaking rumble receded. Even Prof.
Warner allowed himself a short smile of relief as he
watched the rocket disappear into the gray dawn on
the giant screen.

"And so it begins," Pendergast smiled.

"And ends," Irvine added. "For Spider-Man and
the unfortunate Dr. Bruce Banner, that is."

The scientist chuckled happily to himself.

For a little more than three minutes, the rocket
streaked through the early-morning sky, up through
an atmosphere that grew thinner with each passing
mile, until it was up into the stratosphere, gaining the
speed necessary to break away from the Earth's grav-
itational pull.

The sky grew darker around the silver missile until
nothing but the pitch-black vacuum of space sur-
rounded it.

With a computer-relayed order from the Niagara
Falls mission-control center, the main rocket engines
shut down, their fuel reserves exhausted from its
climb into space. Explosive bolts blew around the first
stage and it disengaged smoothly from the rest of the

MURDERMOON               149

ship. The cylinder spun lazily back toward Earth to
disintegrate in the upper atmosphere.

Booster jets fired at an altitude of 400 miles and
the second stage and shielded equipment package at
its nose swung into orbit around the glowing green-
blue marble far below.

Ninety minutes later, after completing a single or-
bit, the rockets fired once again, whipping the space-
craft out from its path about the planet.

The shields exploded automatically from the nose
of the ship as it rose silently away from Earth. The
exposed satellite shone dull black in the glare of the
sun, at home in the frozen vacuum of outer space for
the first time since it was created.

"Three seconds," Prof. Warner said.

His finger hovered over the red switch that would
separate the microwave-transceiver satellite from the
booster rocket.

"Now!"

His thumb jabbed the switch and sent a signal
beaming 23,000 miles into space. The signal released
a series of clamps that was holding the satellite to the
booster ship and sent it spinning slowly into a fixed,
permanent orbit directly above the Niagara Falls
complex.

"Deploy solar screens."

Another command was flashed to the heavens that
unfurled a pair of thin, golden wings from against the
body of the satellite. They rolled out slowly and
turned on well-lubricated rotors until they caught the
bright sunlight across the full length of their surface.

Prof. Wamer watched as the solar energy charged
the satellite's internal batteries, the information flash-
ing across his computer screen. At last he took a deep
breath. "Okay," he said into his mike, his face tense.
"Activating satellite systems. In sequence. Begin." His
eyes shifted to a lone, unlit bulb in the center of the
console. The color it glowed when it went on would
determine success or failure.

150              MUKDERMOON

The light blinked on.

Green.

Telemetry flowed across his screen from the acti-
vated satellite, each pulse of electronically encoded
information bringing further assurance of a successful
operation.

"Congratulations, Prof. Warner," Pendergast said.
"It could not have gone smoother."

"Thank you," the scraggly bearded scientist ex-
haled softly. He pulled off his headset and sighed
happily as he laid it on his console. "Now it's all pos-
sible," he said only half aloud.

"You've worked hard for this moment, Abraham,"
Dr. Irvine said. "You should be very proud."

"Yes, I am," Warner smiled. He glanced at his
screen and his smile broadened. "Look," he said.
"SpySat has established contact with its nearest neigh-
bor in orbit. Western Electronics' Earth Vue.

"Soon, EarthVue will set up a relay with its nearest
neighbor, which in turn will bounce the maser beam
to the next satellite and so on and so forth all around
the planet until they are all linked together with Spy-
Sat at the center to form a vast web, a network that
encircles the Earth.

"Intelligence data from the world over, international
and national telephone, telex and telegraph communi-
cations, intelligence satellites, deep-space weather-
observation stations—virtually every bit of knowledge
and information broadcast or communicated today
passes through at least one of the satellites we are now
on line with.

"And it's all ours!"

"Free and clear and for sale," Pendergast smiled.
"To any nation or individual who can pay our price.
And, gentlemen," he said with a twinkle in his hard
eyes, "it's a seller's market."




Chapter 20

A LOUD ROAR FILLED SPIDER-MAN'S EARS.

He shook his head to clear away the annoying
thundering that threatened to split his. aching skull.
His head banged against metal.

The Web-slinger's eyes snapped open.

What the...?

He was upright with his hands chained to his sides
and bound to a curving metal surface inside a deep,
brightly lighted pit that was alive with clouds of bil-
lowing, swirling gas. He was vibrating violently. . . .
No^ the surface he was chained to was shaking with
the fury of powerful pent-up forces.

"Ten. Nine. Eight."

Spidey heard the words faintly through the deafen-
ing roar. A countdown!

Considering what 1 know of their plans, that means
they're getting ready to launch their microwave doo-
hickey into orbit!

151

152              MURDERMOON

And guess who made it on to the passenger list at
the last minute!

Spider-Man strained against the chains, exerting as
much power as he could muster. It wasn't enough.

Maybe these things will give eventually, but the old
clock on the wall tells me I'm rapidly running out of
any and all eventuallys!

"Two. One. Lift-off!"

The Wall-crawler flattened against the side of the
rocket as the vibrations increased and the ship lifted
off the launchpad. The engines' flaming exhaust spit
from the roaring rockets and splashed back up from
the asbestos pads to lick at the Web-slinger's legs.

His arms splayed to the sides as the rocket streaked
through the open ceiling. His fingers touched flesh.

The Hulk! I'd forgotten about him! They must've
gassed him too, and kept him gassed, otherwise he
would've busted out of these chains like they were wet
spaghetti by now!

Guess that means it's up to yours truly to pull our
collective fat, green or otherwise, out of the fire!

Spider-Man found he had several inches of lateral
movement in either direction with his hands. He began
groping along the length of the chain he could reach.
The wind whistled shrilly past his ears and the tug of
increasing gravity pressed him painfully against the
chain.

The rocket cleared the complex, heading toward the
heavens and slightly south.

The Web-slinger's right hand brushed against a
hard lump of metal dangling from the chain.

The padlock!

He tugged frantically on the chain, sliding it around
until he could easily reach the lock. At the rate this
thing's climbing, I've got about five seconds before
we'll be loo hifh to make my busting out of this
worth the hassle!

Twisting his hand at an awkward angle, Spider-Man
managed to jam the nozzle of his web shooter into the
lock's keyhole. Even as he jabbed at the button in his

MURDEBMOON               153

palm, he felt the lock being pushed out of his reach
by the mounting pressure.

It's now or never, Petey!

The thick web fluid gushed heavily into the lock
and filled the insides, pressing against the tumblers
with more and more pressure as the compressing fluid
sought release.

Come on, baby!

Snick!

The padlock snapped open and as he started to fall
away from the climbing rocket ship, Spider-Man swept
into action. In a single, fluid motion, he reached
around and grabbed the man hanging beside him.

His other hand flashed before him, shooting a
strand of webbing at the landscape streaking by a
quarter of a mile below.

Now I better pray somebody up there still has some
kindly feelings left for me!

The webbing snagged on the uppermost branch of a
tall, bare tree planted alongside a deserted highway.
Deep piles of snow had drifted around the thick tree
trunk or had been pushed there by snowplows clearing
the highway. Either way, it was just what the doctor
ordered.

Grasping the unconscious man tightly over his
shoulder, Spider-Man allowed himself to drop un-
checked. Who the hell is this? Unless the Hulk's lost
a couple of hundred pounds and developed a -weird
rash all over his body, it looks like the mad scientists
have a grudge against more people than just me!

Spider-Man and Bruce Banner were rushing at a
sickening speed toward the ground. Spidey held tight
to the single, narrow strand of webbing, tensing his
whole body for what was to happen next.

Suddenly, they were no more than twenty. feet
above the treetop. Spider-Man released his guide-line
and shot out another, shorter strand of webbing. With
the ten-foot line grasped firmly in Spidey's hand, the
two men fell past the tree; then, with a sharp, agoniz-

154              MURDERMOON

ing jerk to the costumed youth's shoulder, they
stopped.

Spider-Man yelled in pain and released the web
instantly. They dropped into the deep drifts of snow
piled about the tree.

Far above, the speeding rocket reached toward the
heavens.




SPIDER-MAN LAY FOR LONG MINUTES

half buried in the slushy, melting snow, gulping in
lungfuls of cold, invigorating air. His shoulder and
back throbbed uncomfortably, but nothing, as far
as the Web-slinger could tell, was broken or seriously
damaged.

The other man groaned and struggled weakly from
the snowbank.

"Where . . . where am I?"

"Wherever the heck it is, you're not alone, friend,"
Spidey said.

The two men pulled themselves from the deep
snow snd collapsed immediately on a dry patch of
ground on the shoulder of the road.

Spider-Man rubbed his aching shoulder. He re-
garded his companion curiously. The man was rela-
tively young and most frail looking. He v/as clad in
the tattered remains of blue jeans.

155

156                                MURDERMOON

"You must be a bit on the chilly side in that getup,
mister," Spidey said. "Although there must be some-
thing to it, fashionwise that is. I met a guy by the
name of the Hulk not too long ago who was wearing
the same thing."

The brown-haired man buried his face in his hands.
"The Hulk," he whispered miserably. "It's always the
Hulk."

Spidey's face was puzzled beneath his mask. "How
—" he began. He stopped abruptly as the man
looked up at him. "Hey, you're Dr. Bruce Banner,
aren't you? I recognize you from the picture on the
back of your books!"

"You've read my books?" Bruce looked startled.
"Perhaps there's something more to you than I've
been led to believe, Spider-Man."

"Naw," the Wall-crawler shrugged. "I thought A
Study of Gamma-Ray Radiation and the Human
DNA was a travel guide and home fix-it book.
Now," he added quickly, "would you mind telling me
what the country's foremost expert on gamma rays
was doing getting tied to rocket ships with erstwhile
superheroes by a gaggle of gaga scientists?"

"You forget, Spider-Man," Bruce said sadly. "While
I may be the foremost expert in my field, I'm also the
Hulk."

Spidey slapped his hand to his forehead. "Jeez, am
I stupid! Of course." He looked at the scientist. "So
how'd the Hulk get involved in this?"

Bruce Banner shrugged. "That's just it," he said. "I
don't know. I went to Chicago to see a Dr. Irvine at
the Institute for Radiation Research and ..."

"That's what it says on the signs at the complex."

"What?"

"Go ahead. I'll explain later."

Bruce Banner told Spider-Man everything he could
recall, about changing to the Hulk at the airport in
Chicago and coming to in a cell.

The young physicist slammed his fist angrily into
the palm of his hand. "Except I have no idea what the

MUKDERMOON               157

Hulk may've done for them," he said. "I don't remem-
ber anything after I changed.

"Now, how did I get here—and, more importantly,
how did I get here with you?"

"Sit back and prepare to have your high IQ bog-
gled, Doc," Spider-Man said. "You ain't gonna believe
what you've just been through."

The Web-slinger started at the beginning, with the
robbery in Manhattan. For the next fifteen minutes he
told the astonished scientist everything he knew,
changing only those details necessary to protect his
alter ego.

When he was through with his story, Bruce Banner
leaned back in wonder. "That's . . . incredible!" he
gasped. "A private organization launching its own sat-
ellite into orbit without NASA or governmental per-
mission or aid."

"I kind of doubt old Uncle Sam would be too
thrilled offering help to the folks who are planning
to blackmail him with his own secrets."

"Of course," Bruce said impatiently. He chewed on
the inside of his cheek and stared off into the slowly
brightening sky.

"We've got to stop them," Bruce Banner said at
last. "We've got to smash this thing before it gets out
of hand."

"Agreed. Only ..." Spider-Man hesitated.

"What?"

"Well," the Wall-crawler said slowly. "It's not like
I don't appreciate the offer. Doc, but truth to tell, you
don't look like you'd be much . . . uh, good in a tus-
sle."

Bruce grinned lopsidedly. "Wait until the action
starts, my friend," he said. "Then you'll see how effec-
tive I can be."

"Touche." Spider-Man hauled himself to his feet.
"It's just kind of tough remembering that beneath the
mild, inoffensive exterior I see before me lies seven
feet of angry Hulk."

Bruce Banner looked hard into Spider-Man's face.

158              MURDERMOON

"No." He shook his head. "It's really not all that diffi-
cult to remember, Spider-Man, once you've lived with
it long enough."

Spider-Man and Bruce Banner picked their way
through the thick underbrush several yards off the side
of the highway. The sun was high in the east, lighting
the clearing sky and bringing warmth to the new day.

Bruce led the way, stalking silently back toward the
complex on the bank of the Niagara River.

What's with this guy, anyway? He hasn't said word
one since we started walking.

But the slender young scientist was lost in thoughts
of his own; deep, black thoughts that'caused his hand-
some face to cloud with anxiety. He did not seem to
notice the branches and thorns that scraped past his
naked chest and back.

Somehow, the Hulk had been instrumental in help-
ing Irvine and his confederates launch that satellite
into orbit. They had tricked him, trapped him with a
carrot at the end of a stick and then put that uncon-
trollable part of his psyche to work on their foul deeds.

He had been used, damn it!

Bruce Banner clenched his fists in anger, venting his
anger by smashing aside the branches that blocked his
way. What the Hulk did on his own, through his own
brutish ignorance, was hard enough for the young sci-
entist to live with. But when unscrupulous men har-
nessed that power for their schemes, it was worse—
far worse. Property demolished by his savage alter
ego could be replaced or rebuilt, but vital information
stolen from space could not, and it could lead to ir-
reparable damage—or the loss of life.

But it's not going to happen, Bruce swore to himself.
If I have to tear down that place with my bare hands
to prevent it; so help me, I will!

We're probably getting close. I ought to warn
Doc. . . .

Suddenly, Spider-Man's amazing spider-sense flared

MURDERMOON               159

to life. And even as it tingled through his skull, his
ears pricked up.

Snap!

"Doc!" he whispered harshly.

Bruce turned. "What... ?"

"Shhh!" Spidey put a finger to his lips and pointed
into the bushes at their side. "A little birdie just told
me we've got some unexpected company headed this
way."

Bruce stiffened.

"Who do you think it is?"

"Trouble, more than likely. We're awfully close to
the base. They've probably got guards stationed
around the perimeter to keep out anyone who comes
sniffing around, curious about the big noises coming
from around here."

"What do we do now?"

Spidey grinned under his mask. "Get rid of 'em.
What else? You wait here, Doc. I want to save the
Hulk for when he's got something else to batter around
instead of me."

Bruce nodded tensely.

^--The Web-slinger ducked into the underbrush, his
movement surprisingly quiet for his speed.

/ don't know how many of them there are, but since
when do I worry about the odds?

There were four of them in all, men dressed in the
gray uniforms of the complex's security force and with
small revolvers strapped unobtrusively to their belts.
Two of the men walking through the thin woods car-
ried walkie-talkies.

Guards it is. Give the man a cigar!

There's no chance of me and the doc making it
back to the base without these clowns accidentally
tripping over us, so, like I told the man, it's time to
get rid of 'em!

"Yoo-hoo, boy scouts!" Spider-Man called as he
stepped out from behind the cover of a thick tree.

The guards were stunned by the sight of the bi-
zarrely costumed man suddenly appearing before

160              MURDERMOON

them. That was just what the Wall-crawler was count-
ing on.

He charged into the men, throwing himself full-
length into the closely grouped quartet. They went
down beneath him in a pile of gray-covered, flailing
limbs. Spidey's fist connected with a jaw and one man
tumbled over backward to lie unmoving in a patch of
snow.

Spider-Man ducked under a clumsily thrown kick
and grabbed the black-shoed foot by the ankle. He
yanked up, twisting hard on the foot. The guard
howled in surprise as he smacked face first into the
hard ground.    ^

The third guard grabbed Spider-Man from behind
and wrapped his arms around the Wall-crawler's
throat. The remaining man started toward the captive
crime fighter, his clenched fist poised to strike.

"You're really a dreamer, friend," Spider-Man told •
him.

The Web-slinger threw himself forward, flipping the
man holding him over his back.

"Yiii!" the hapless man screamed as he flew toward
his companion. Both guards collided with a thud and
sank to the ground.

"Okay, Doc," Spidey called into the underbrush.

Bruce Banner appeared between two bushes. He
looked at the guards on the ground and then at Spider-
Man, obviously impressed. "That couldn't have taken
more than three or four seconds in all."

"That's what comes of practice," Spidey admitted
modestly.

Bruce Banner allowed himself a smile. "It really
isn't true what the papers say about you," he decided.

"That stuff about taking old ladies only halfway
across the street and leaving them there? Heck, I
haven't done that kind of thing in years."

"Okay. What's next?"

Spider-Man's arm swept out in an elaborate gesture.
"Lead on, MacDuff."

As soon as the sound of the two men pushing

MUKDERMOON               161

through the brush could no longer be heard in the
clearing where the four men lay, one of the uncon-
scious guards stirred.

He sat up and groggily rubbed a hand across his
tender jaw. He shook his head and groped on the
cold, hard ground for his walkie-talkie.

"Group Three reporting in," he said gingerly into
the radio as he tried talking without moving his swol-
len jaw. "Group Three to Control."

"Yeah, Group Three."

"Tell Mr. Pendergast-—"

"Spider-Man's here?"

Pendergast was thunderstruck. His gray eyes nar-
rowed and he jerked his head around from the radio
to stare dangerously at Daniel Irvine.

"That . . . that's impossible," the scientist insisted.
"Spider-Man's dead. He and Banner were smashed
like insects on the rocket by the tremendous G force.
They had to be!"

"Then haw. Doctor," Pendergast asked in icy tones,
"do you explain four guards being attacked and beaten
by him?"

"They're mistaken!"

"Really, Dr. Irvine."

"But. . ."

"Enough, Doctor. We'll continue this discussion la-
ter. Alone." The tall man turned to Prof. Wamer,
seated at his control console. "Professor," he said. "We
have Spider-Man's location pinpointed. Banner's prob-
ably still alive as well. Is it possible for you to lock
the maser on them?"

Wamer answered immediately. "Of course, Mr.
Pendergast. The sensors can pinpoint a dime, let
alone two men."

"Their interference is becoming increasingly danger-
ous to our work here, Prof. Wamer. Do it!"

The bearded scientist swiveled around slowly in his
seat, his face blanching as he suddenly understood the

162              MURDERMOON

meaning of the steely-eyed man's words. "No,"
Wamer breathed. "You can't!"

"But I can, Professor, and I will!" Pendergast hissed
through clenched teeth.

"Use the maser and blast those meddling fools to
ashes!"




CiMiiffier 22

THE TREE IN FRONT OF BRUCE BAN-

ner split lengthwise as a ruby-red beam of light flashed
from the sky and touched the top of the tall trunk.

Even as the two halves fell to the ground, Spider-
Man grabbed the startled physicist around the waist
and pulled him to the ground.

"What the hell was that?" Bruce practically
screeched.

"Calm down, Doc. For all we know, it was just a
bolt of lightning."

"Lightning? There's not a cloud in the sky."

"So when did I say I knew anything about meteorol-
ogy?"

"Be serious, man!"

A second flash of ruby-red light caused the ground
a mere half dozen feet before them to explode in a
shower of so'1 and dirty snow.

"You want serious, Doc?" Spidey said. "Then try
this on for size: run!"

163

164               MURDERMOON

Like runners in a competition, the strange duo
launched themselves to their feet and raced into the
woods. Pencil-thin beams of ruby light stabbed from
the sky above, tracing their path through the brush
with its deadly blasts.

"I don't know how much longer I can go on," Bruce
panted after several minutes. He was beginning to fall
behind the Web-slinger.

"Don't think about it. Doc. Just remember what
that laser or whatever it is did to the tree!" Spider-
Man was running with much less effort, breathing in
an even, steady rhythm.

Bruce Banner's heart pounded in his chest. He
gasped in pain as a stitch tore through his side. He
had to stop, had to catch his breath, if only for a mo-
ment. But a shower of cold dirt from the maser beam's
closest blast urged him on in spite of the pain.

Suddenly, the maser stabbed into the ground before
the two men. Spidey shoved Bruce roughly to one side
while he threw himself in the opposite direction, avoid-
ing the latest crimson beam that his spider sense had
warned him would strike where he and Bruce Banner
stood.

The maser beam seemed to lock on the Web-slinger,
following his movements in an ever-tightening circle as
Spider-Man leaped through a series of desperate acro-
batics to avoid its deadly touch.

This is getting us nowhere—fastf

Spider-Man sent a strand of webbing flying toward
a nearby tree and, as he swung over the small crater
dug into the ground by the ruby light, he scooped
Bruce Banner into his arms. Swinging in a wide arc,
he let go of the webbing and both men dropped to the
ground.

"After you, Alphonse," Spidey said.

"Right with you, Gaston," Bruce shouted as they
started running once again.

Bruce discovered new reserves of strength some-
where inside of himself and found he could now keep
pace with the agile Web-slinger and remain just ahead

MURDERMOON       -        165

of the ruby-red beams. You can't let yourself get killed
here, he told himself harshly.

But then the trail young scientist tripped over a
rock and sprawled headlong on the ground.

"Doc!"

Spider-Man skidded to a stop and started to run
back to his fallen companion. But the maser was firing
with blinding speed now, ringing the helpless scientist
with its lethal firepower. Bruce tried to rise as the
ground exploded beside his leg.

"No!" he screamed.

His heart pounded in his chest as the blood.
pounded in his throbbing temples, Bruce rose to one
knee. The flashes of red seemed to merge into a single
crimson haze.

Fsssttf

The maser beam washed over the man called Bruce
Banner. in the next instant, but the ruby-red light
seemed to. splash harmlessly off his broad, emerald
back.

The Hulk roared his rage at the pain that seared
across his back and swiped his powerful jade hands
through the intangible beams.

"Arrggh!" he bellowed as the lights would not break
but merely sent new flashes of white-hot pain coursing
through him.

Hoo-boy!

Spider-Man had stepped back in surprise, watching
with eyes staring in astonishment as Bruce Banner
underwent the most amazing metamorphosis the Wall-
crawler had ever witnessed. / was afraid this was go-
ing to happen! I had hoped it would've held off until
•we needed the Hulk's strength!

Then again, considering the Hulk's the first thing
I've seen that those beams can't demolish, I guess we
need him more than I thought.

Now I've gotta hope he believes me when I tell him
I'm on his side!

"Bah!" the man-monster huffed. "Lights do not
make any sense. They can touch Hulk but Hulk can-

166     *        MURDERMOON

not touch them." The green giant crouched, readying
to leap away from this baffling attack.

"Hulk! Wait!" Spider-Man called.

The Hulk turned and then grunted as another flash
of ruby red splashed across his barrel chest and drove
him to the ground. The beams streaked across the
length of the Hulk's body before moving on toward
Spider-Man.

"Hulk, listen to me," the Wall-crawler pleaded with
the great green man. The Hulk struggled to his feet,
his emerald eyes glazed with pain. He shook his head
like a wet dog and growled.

The Wall-crawler somersaulted out of the maser's
range, bouncing across the ground to the Hulk.

"We've gotta get out of here, Hulk! Quick!"

"Huh? Hulk remembers you, bug-eyes. You tried
to. ..hurt Hulk!"

"You've got it all wrong, big buddy," Spidey said
quickly, his eyes drawn to the flashes of crimson light
tearing a path of destruction toward them. "I'm your
friend. Hulk. Friend!" he repeated, just to make sure
the man-monster got the message. "I'm not the one
who's trying to hurt you. See?" The Web-slinger
pointed to the approaching maser beam. "It's the
other men, the ones in the white coats who are trying
to kill you and me. That means we're on the same
side. Me friend, them enemy!"

Lord, I hope this green turkey can follow a little
bit of simple logic, because if he doesn't, my goose is
cooked either way. Either the Hulk grabs my legs and
makes a wish or he leaves me here to get fried by
that Buck Rogers death ray!

The Hulk pondered this for what seemed to Spider-
Man to be an eternity before his primitive face re-
laxed into a smile. The jade giant clapped a friendly
hand on Spidey's shoulder, almost knocking the Wall-
crawler to the ground with his enthusiastic camara-
derie.

"Yes," the Hulk proclaimed. "Bug-eyes is Hulk's
friend."

MURDERMOON               167

Spider-Man breathed a sigh of relief.

A second later, the maser beam was tearing up the
ground at his feet, reminding the Web-slinger that he
was not yet in the clear.

"Okay, buddy," he shouted. "Let's fly this burg!"

The Hulk crouched and Spider-Man jumped up on-
to the man-monster's broad back. With a leap, they
were airborne.

Spidey clung tightly to the emerald colossus' neck
as they soared in a high arc, the Hulk's seemingly
casual leap carrying them a quarter of a mile from
the maser blasts. The green-skinned behemoth came
down, his thick legs bending to absorb the impact of
landing and then sprang back into the sky.

Cripes! We're heading away from the base!

Unless . . . yeah. Doc Banner said the Hulk doesn't
retain any of his memory and vice versa. I should've
pointed!

The Web-slinger realized from the queasy feeling
in his stomach that they were once again falling to the
ground. He glanced down to see where they were.
And if the sight of the ground rushing up toward him
at a dizzying speed wasn't enough to make Spidey's
mouth stretch into a sick, grim line beneath his mask,
the place they were about to land in was.

/ was afraid of this!

During the winter months, the city of Niagara Falls,
New York could almost be described as a quiet little
upstate resort town, closed for the off-season and
empty of tourists.

Almost. For a look at the streets of Niagara Falls
reveals something about the small city: the garish
signs over souvenir ships lining the thoroughfares, the
neon glowing coldly even in the light of day, the
gaudy tourist attractions; the tacky look and feel of a
city that feeds off itself in the name of tourism.

And, in truth, tourists still came to the city in the
cold of winter. There were the young marrieds who

168             . MUKDERMOON

believed the falls were still the honeymoon capital of
the nation, or who could afford no better. There
were the familes who came for winter vacation to tour
the feature that made this small city on the US—
Canadian border the highly touted attraction it had
become: Niagara Falls.

There were no tourists on the streets in the center
of the city's small downtown area this early in the
morning, but a score of residents on their way to work
were about to witness perhaps the most bizarre oc-
currence in the city's colorful history.

A large figure appeared high in the sky and hurtled
like an out-of-control missile toward the streets be-
low. It fell to the asphalt street in their midst as they
ran, fearful for their lives, out of its way. But it wasn't
a missile. It was a snarling, green giant with a lithe
young man in a dark-blue-and-red costume clinging
to his back.

A woman screamed and pushed frantically past her
husband as she ran for the safety of a nearby store.

There was no other sound in the still of the mom-
ing, save for the distant rumble of the mighty falls
and the heavy breathing of the Hulk as he glowered
at the people in the street with veiled, suspicious eyes.

"Easy, big buddy," Spider-Man said gently, patting
the big green man's back in reassurance.

"What is this place, bug-eyes?"

"A tourist trap, if you must know."

The Hulk stared blankly at Spider-Man.

"Forget it, big guy," the Wall-crawler said. "We
may not be doing any good to the townies here, but I
think we're pretty safe here until we start back t . . ."

FssssstttBAHWHOOOM!

A ruby-red needle of light pierced the air and
blasted through the sidewalk to their side.

/ hadda open my big mouth, didn't I?

The Hulk roared his disapproval at this turn of
events. "Go away from Hulk, light!"

"Nice try, Greensleeves," Spidey breathed. "But

MURDERMOOM               169

nobody's buying it. You've got to jump us out of here
again."

"No. Hulk is tired of running away from lights."

"C'mon, this'll only be the second time."

The man-bmte snarled at the sky. "Hulk does not
run away from lights or anything else anymore. Hulk
is staying!

"And Hulk fights!"

The Hulk loped over to the bubbling pit created
by the maser beam. He turned his face to the sky
and awaited the next blast with fists clenched and
snarling in defiance.

The green Goliath did not have to wait long.

A slender finger of light reached from the sky and
burst across the Hulk's chest. The maser beam
washed over him and forced the big green man down
on one knee.

"You big, stupid . . . !" Spider-Man growled to him-
self as he ran to the Hulk's side. That idiot'll keep
standing there until that thing turns him into one big
Strip of over fried bacon!

Spidey slammed into the Hulk's back as hard as he
could. Weakened by the searing heat "of the masers,
the emerald colossus fell to the ground and rolled out
from under the deadly fire.

"Hulk ... thought bug-eyes . . . was his friend,"
the Hulk grumbled weakly. "Wh . . . does bug-eyes
. . . attack Hulk?" The giant seemed wounded by
the Wall-crawler's action.

"Nothing personal, big guy," Spidey assured him in
a hurry. "But you can't fight these things like this.
We've got to smash this beam at the source."

"Hulk is not afraid of stupid lights!"

"Maybe you're not, Greenie," Spider-Man said.
"On the other hand, it's not afraid of you either. And
considering it can kill you while you can't touch it, I
think we'd better get out of here."

"Hulk can smash!"

"Not here, friend," the Web-slinger said.

The street to their right exploded.

170                                MURDERMOON

"But I know where we can go where you can smash

to your little green heart's content."

The Hulk's angry scowl turned into a savage smile.
"Okay, bug-eyes," the man-brute said. "Hulk will

follow you."

CSmiifter




THE INCREDIBLE HULK TOOK TO THE SKY.

His leap carried him and a slightly nervous Spider-
Man over the dingy wooden-frame storefronts to a
residential street several blocks over. The maser beam
tracked its prey from its perch 23,000 miles up in
space. With uncanny mechanical accuracy, the maser
aboard SpySat traced an exact line behind the flying
Hulk, its deadly beam piercing pencil-thin holes
through rooftops and streets.

Thoomp!

The Hulk landed and turned. He roared in anger
when he saw the lethal light still behind him and clos-
ing fast. In quick succession, the maser beam sliced
through the awning over a porch, the stairs of the
same house, the front lawn, the sidewalk and a car.

Fahwooomsshh!

The ruby red-hot beam ignited the volatile fuel in

171

172             MURDERMOON

the car's tank. The automobile burst into a naming
ball of heat and sound and Spider-Man ducked be-
hind the Hulk's thick, broad back for protection from
the shower of shattered glass and flaming metal shards
that followed.

The green Goliath swept Spider-Man into his arms
and took to the air, the maser beam pursuing them
relentlessly over the streets of Niagara Falls.

As they descended to the streets, Spider-Man
spotted an elderly man shuffling obliviously from a
luncheonette, zipping along. at a surprising clip with
his white walking stick tapping the ground before him.

Oh-oh! Hulk's going to put down next to that old.
man.. ..

The sidewalk beneath the Hulk's feet exploded as
he was landing. The man-monster hit the smoldering
asphalt at an awkward angle and lost his balance. As
he fell, he threw Spider-Man clear, just as the ground
next to the Hulk vaporized in an eruption of dust.

Snarling, the jade-hued giant pounded both of his
massive fists into the sidewalk, splitting the concrete
for fifteen feet in either direction.

But the maser beam was following Spider-Man as
he rolled across the street, heading uncontrollably,
thanks to the Hulk's careless throw, toward the old
man. "Get out of the way!" the Wall-crawler
screamed. The old man kept walking straight into the
hail of deadly fire.

Damn! He must be deaf as well as blind!

Still rolling, Spidey twisted into a somersault while
simultaneously firing a strand of webbing at a nearby
lamp post. He pulled himself from the ground and
swung in a high arc, the ruby-red beams only inches
behind him. He swept past the old man and scooped
him gently from the ground. Spidey swung back and
deposited the struggling old man in a recessed door-
way. -

"Sorry about the rough treatment, old timer," he
apologized even though he was fairly certain he could

MUKDERMOON               173

not be heard. "But the alternatives would've been a
whole heck of a lot worse!"

Spider-Man jumped to the ground and took off on
a run toward his giant green companion. The Hulk,
unable to unleash his anger on the streamers of light
stalking him from the heavens, was venting his awe-
some rage on the streets of Niagara Falls. His power-
ful hands tore up ragged hunks of concrete and sent
them hurtling through the air.

This is getting totally out of hand. So .far we've
been lucky and nobody's been killed . . . yet! But
that old man back there proves that luck can't hold
up much longer!

The Hulk hefted a man-sized hunk of concrete over
his head as a makeshift shield, but the powerful maser
shattered it to-rubble.

"Hulkie baby," the Web-slinger shouted as he
leaped onto the big green man's shoulder. "It's time
we cut the clowning around and smashed this thing
once and for all!"

"Hulk will go now," the man-monster agreed reluc-
tantly. "But there better be something for Hulk to
smash .. . soon!"

"Fear not, jolly green giant. I've got a rocket-launch
site in mind you're gonna just love!"

Pendergast bent anxiously over Prof. Wamer's
shoulder, his cold gray eyes searching the complex
control console before the bearded scientist. His lean,
handsome face was taut in the dim green light of the
screen and beads of perspiration dotted his forehead.

"What's happening. Professor?" he demanded
tensely.

Wamer shrugged, his eyes scanning the series of
green letters that crawled rapidly across his screen.
"I—I'm not entirely certain."

"Has the maser beam gotten them yet or not?"

"It's . . . no. No, the beam is still on automatic
search and fire." Wamer shook his head. "It's re-
markable, but somehow they're avoiding the maser."

174               MURDERMOON

Pendergast straightened slowly. "I know you don't
approve of this, Prof. Warner, but I warn you, if
you're deliberately screwing this up and letting those
meddlers escape, I'll..."

"No!" Warner insisted. "We never anticipated using
the maser on such small, fast-moving targets. You re-
alize that Spider-Man is an exceptionally agile man.
With his remarkable reflexes, he could conceivably
avoid the beam for as long as his stamina holds out.
And as for the Hulk-—well, frankly, I'm not even cer-
tain how effective, if at all, it will be against his su-
pertough skin."

The slender man clenched his fists at his sides. "I
do not like this, Professor," he said sharply. "I do not
like this at all! If Spider-Man and the Hulk are not
disposed of immediately, the future of this entire proj-
ect is in serious jeopardy."

"I know . . ." Prof. Wamer started.
He stopped suddenly, his words lost under the thun-
dering shudder that ran through the entire building.
He looked up at Pendergast, his eyes shiny with fear.
"An explosion," the professor whispered hoarsely.

Pendergast reached across the startled scientist and
stabbed a finger at a button on the console. "Sounds
like it came from the hangar."

The large view screen on the wall lit up, showing
the men and women in the control room a high-angle
view of the massive hangar beyond the room.

What they saw made them stop their work, staring
in awe at the screen.

The steel doors in the ceiling were hanging from
their hydraulic hinges, smashed open as if by a great
explosion. But, when Pendergast zoomed the camera
in for a shot of the two figures standing in the center
of the hangar floor, he knew that explosives and
bombs were the last things in the world he would have
to worry about.

Especially now that Spider-Man and the Hulk were
there!

MURDERMOON               175

Pendergast swore loudly and slammed his fist on
the console.

"What should-we do, Mr. Pendergast?" Wamer's
voice was quivering, a pathetic whine in the stunned
silence of the control room.

"Turn off the maser," he shouted. "We don't want
to blast ourselves! Then seal off the hangar. Get every
available man in there and stop them, do you hear?

"Here we are, Hulkie," Spider-Man said, his arms
spread wide to take in the entire hangar.

The big green man looked down at the strangely
garbed man at his side.

"I said it's all yours, big fella. Start smashing
away."

"Hulk can smash . . . all this, bug-eyes?" the emer-
ald colossus asked uncertainly.

"Yep," Spidey nodded.

The Hulk's laugh rumbled deep in his broad chest
as he ambled happily over to the closest wall. Feet
planted wide, he regarded the thick concrete with
pleasure.

The Hulk sent a massive green fist crashing through
the wall and ripped loose huge chunks of concrete and
steel reinforcement rods as he withdrew his hand.
Holding the twisted debris out in his hand for Spidey's
inspection, he said, "Like this?"

Spider-Man nodded his approval. "That's the ticket,
cutie. Now let's see if you can break the Olympic rec-
ord for building demolition, okay?"

Grinning happily, the Hulk dropped what was in
his hand and turned back to his wall.

Who would've thought it? Old green eyes is nothing
but a big, dumb, albeit incredibly strong kid at heart]
Even though he's in the process of tearing down a
forty-foot-high concrete bunker, he acts more like a
little boy with a brand-new toy than a monster.

A steel door at the far end of the hangar rolled
open and twenty men, some in the gray guards' uni-

176              MURDERMOON

forms, others in bright-orange jump suits, rushed out.
They swarmed toward the Web-slinger, several of
them armed.

Ah, it would seem the time has come for me to do
my thing!




Chapter 24

SPIDER-MAN'S GLOVED HANDS CLOSED

around the pistol in the guard's hand as his other
hand shot out to deliver a stinging blow to the man's
chin. The guard tumbled backward, and, before the
Web-slinger could see where he landed, two more
men were on him.

He rammed his elbow into the first man's throat
and ducked easily beneath the other's fist. Spidey
gathered the front of the man's jump suit in his fist
and yanked the wide-eyed technician toward him
while bringing his knee up into the man's stomach.
The orange-suited man gasped, a sound that turned to
a scream when the Web-slinger lifted him off the
floor.

Spidey tossed the man through the air and sent him
sprawling into a group of three others. The Wall-
crawler spun around as he felt a punch glance off his
shoulder. Fun is fun, but I can't waste time fighting

177

178             MURDERMOON

the hired help. That satellite and the death ray are be-
ing controlled from somewhere in here, I'm sure of it!
And that's what I've got to find!

Three men rushed at Spider-Man at once. He
waited until their hands were about to close on him
before crouching and leaping straight up into the air.
He somersaulted over their heads and landed behind
his attackers.

Spidey's hand chopped down on a neck, then swung
back and backhanded another across the small of his
back. He planted his foot firmly against the third
man's rump and shoved him forward.

Then, without pausing for breath, he fired his web-
bing at the ruined ceiling and pulled himself quickly
out of his attacker's reach. He swung himself forward,
high over their heads, zig-zagging madly along to
avoid the bullets that now whistled past him.

Meanwhile, the Hulk was tearing a large wedge of
concrete from the wall. He spun with it in his massive
hands and tossed the half ton of steel and concrete
at the guards like a great discus.

"Heads up!" one man screamed and they scattered
as the giant slab flew toward them.

"Ha!" the Hulk rumbled. "Look at puny men run-
ning from Hulk. They try to stop Hulk, but Hulk will
show them because Hulk is stronger than any man!

"Hulk is the strongest one there is!"

Nobody bothered to dispute the man-monster's
claim.

The guards and technicians stalked the growling
green Goliath with caution, shuffling toward him with
guns and clubs held at the ready. Snarling his con-
tempt, the Hulk pounded one foot on the floor. The
ground shook as if caught in the grip of an earthquake,
throwing the guards off their feet.

The green behemoth leaped easily over the fallen
men and landed beside the metal covering over the
launch well. He crouched and due his hands under
the inch-thick steel and tugged. The metal groaned
mournfully as it was peeled back like the lid of a sar-

MURDERMOON                179

dine can. Then, swinging around his thick torso, the
Hulk tore the thirty-foot-wide cover from the floor.

The Hulk dug his fingers into the steel and charged
at the wall with the cover held before him like a bat-
tering ram.

The thick wall crumbled like papier-mache under
the assault, giving way to a smaller chamber along-
side the hangar. The Hulk tossed aside the buckled
steel cover and attacked the remainder of the wall
with his bare hands. Chunks of concrete flew through
the air.

Pa-ting! Pa-ting!

Heavy-caliber bullets flattened harmlessly against
the man-monster's broad back. With a hunk of the
wall clutched in his hands, the Hulk whirled, snarling.
Three men stood a dozen feet from him, firing point-
blank.

The Hulk threw the piece of wall at them. The
armed men scattered as the block shattered on the
ground where they had stood a moment before.

"Puny men better leave Hulk alone," he raged. "Or
Hulk will smash men like Hulk smashes building!"

As if to punctuate his bellowed threat, the Hulk
pounded his hands into the floor, ripping up a length
of flooring material and whipping it through the air
like a carpet. Those unfortunate enough to be standing
on that particular piece of the floor found themselves
likewise whipped into the air, flying with limbs flap-
ping like rag dolls.

The man-monster stood motionless in the center of
the room for several seconds with his dull, brutish
eyes flicking across the room searching for his next
target. Once located, he loped over to it and happily
continued his mindless rampage of destruction.

Dr. Daniel Irvine mopped at his glistening forehead
with a moist handkerchief as he watched the view
screen on the wall of the control room. Indeed, every-
one not engaged in vital operations of the orbiting
SpySat were staring in disbelief at what they saw.

1-80                MURDERMOON

The Hulk had jumped down into the exposed launch
well and was busily demolishing it. Every bit of equip-
ment he could wrap his great, green hands around was
torn from the bottom of the thirty-foot pit. Steel and
cement pads, massive exhaust funnels, fuel and telem-
etry lines, steel braces, all went flying out of the
well. The debris spun through the air before crashing
and clanging back to the floor.

"God help us," Dr. Irvine whispered in a mixture of
fear and awe.

Pendergast glanced sharply at the scientist. "Can't
you do something, Irvine?"

"Me?" Irvine's answer was punctuated with a shrill
giggle. "Whatever in the hell do you think / can do
about the monster?"

"You did it once before, Doctor!"

"Yes, and I could do it again—provided you de-
liver him unconscious to the isolation chamber so I
can implant another control device in his ear!" The
scientist was verging on hysteria as he watched the
giant man-monster destroy everything he had worked
to help create. He twisted the soaking handkerchief
in his trembling hands. "Spider-Man knocked the
damned thing out!"

Prof. Warner sat with his eyes glued to the view
screen while he listened passively to the frantic re-
ports coming in over his earphones. The complex
was falling apart around them. The guard force had
fled when the Hulk had begun tossing the wreckage
about the hangar. But the bearded scientist was
strangely calm despite all that was happening. He
knew this endeavor was finished, shattered to a smol-
dering pile of rubble by a giant green monster and his
bizarrely garbed companion, yet this fact did not
bother him. Warner knew it should. After all, three
years of his life were invested in the microwave trans-
ceiver and SpySat's delivery system.

But it just didn't matter anymore. Not SpySat,
not the microwave device, not Pendergast and his
omnipresent-yet-unseen investors.

MUKDERMOOM                181

Not anything. It was merely a matter of time.

"Professor!" Pendergast barked. "There must be
something you can do?"

"I'm an old man," Abraham Warner sighed. "I
can't go out there and fight the thing with my bare
hands."

"Damn it," Pendergast screamed, his cool, profes-
sional facade beginning to crumble as rapidly as the
walls outside the control room were crumbling under
the Hulk's fists.

"What kind of bumbling morons am I dealing with?
How can you both just stand there and let those . . .
those freaks destroy everything we've worked for?"

'"What do you expect us to do, Pendergast?" Dr.
Irvine snapped. "You and your people planned and
built this installation, not us! If there are no provisions
to handle trouble like this, we aren't the ones to
blame. Not us."

Pendergast rested his clenched fists on top of Prof.
Wamer's console, squeezing shut his eyes against
the painful glare from the view screen. "All right,"
he said slowly through tightly clenched teeth. "This is
no time to get at each other's throats and panic. We
must remain calm. Think this problem out logically."

Dr. Irvine shoved his hands into the deep pockets of
his lab coat, bitterly regarding the giant green mon-
ster on the screen.

"Fine, Mr. Pendeigast. You try logic on ... that!"

The Hulk clambered out of the launch well, a
twenty-foot length of the mangled launch tower trail-
ing from his hand. Pleased with the havoc be had
wreaked, the jade giant dropped the twisted steel
tower back into the pit. There was still much to be
done.

"Bug-eyes said Hulk should smash it all," he grum-
bled solemnly.

The green giant leaped up toward the partially
ruined steel ceiling and grabbed hold of the twisted,
metal launch door. He tore it loose from its partially

182             MURDERMOON

severed hinges and followed it down to the floor forty
feet below.

The Hulk landed heavily and bounded over to an-
other wall. His fists punched through to the outside
and then he was roaring like a crazed animal and
tearing massive pieces from the steel-reinforced struc-
ture.

After several minutes of this, the green-skinned
behemoth stepped back, panting heavily and surveying
his handiwork.

Then, with a final blow to the decimated wall, the
Hulk turned his back to it and set off in search of fur-
ther whole things that he could reduce to little pieces.

Kreee-eek . . .

The Hulk looked over his shoulder.

The steel-reinforced wall groaned as, suddenly, two
of the walls supporting what was left of the ceiling and
severely weakened by the Hulk's pounding fists, col-
lapsed under the weight. Steel and concrete rained
down on the floor, clattering and crashing as they fell.
The remaining portion of ceiling tilted, hanging sus-
pended by several beams before breaking loose and
falling to the ground, bringing down the entire far
side of the huge hangar.

The Hulk watched this final destruction from the
opposite side of the room. Even as the tons of debris
crashed to the floor in a shower of dust, his brutish
face twisted into a savage smile of pleasure, and he
laughed.

"Ha! Hulk likes that!"




Chapter 25

Normally, I hate to leave a friend to
handle that kind of trouble by himself, but . . . The
amazing Spider-Man looked down to the floor of the
hangar where the Hulk was busy swatting aside a
group of armed security men. Well, let's just say ol'
Green-eyes seems to be able to take care of himself
without any help from yours truly.

Spider-Man began crawling along the ruined ceiling
toward the door that had remained open after letting
the guards into the hangar. He quickly lowered him-
self on his webbing and swung through the open door-
way and into a long, well-lit corridor.

The Web-slinger dropped lightly to the polished
metal floor and looked around. In the hangar beyond
the corridor he heard the sounds of the Hulk's ram-
page of destruction but in here there was silence. Three
doors were set on either side of the corridor, with a
seventh door at the far end.

183

184                                MURDERMOON

How come Monty Hall's never around when you
really need him?

He stepped lightly over to the nearest door and
pressed his ear against it. Nadaf

The next three doors proved equally disappointing
and, as the Wall-crawler headed for the next one in
line, his head began to tingle a warning.

Now what?

Spider-Man turned to find himself face-to-face with
the security guards and orange-clad men who were re-
treating into the corridor away from the Hulk. The
man in the lead, a guard with a pistol grasped in his
hand, saw the Web-slinger first and stumbled to a halt.

"Hey," the man yelled. "There's the other one!"

"Hiya, kiddies. What's the matter, doesn't little
Hulkie want to play with you guys anymore?"

A dark-haired man in a jump suit leaped from the
group and leveled his gun at Spidey. "Yeah? Let's see
if this one can be shot!"

"Oh, I can be shot, all right," Spider-Man nodded.

Bang!

Spider-Man leaped up, his fingers sticking to the
ceiling as he hauled himself from the bullet's path.

"But first, one of you dummies is gonna have to
leam how to shoot straight." He dropped from the
ceiling and landed on top of the closely-grouped men,
his gloved fists swinging. He felt his hand connect with
bone while he kicked another man's legs out from un-
der him. He spun around and slammed his hand
against a uniformed chest and shoved. Spidey whirled
again and chopped another man across the bridge of
his nose before grabbing an arm swinging a gun butt
at his head and twisting it hard behind the owner's
back. The man howled in pain and fell to the floor
where another guard tripped over him and smacked
his head against the hard floor.

Despite the Wall-crawler's strength, the overwhelm-
ing number of men was threatening to drag him down.
Hands plucked at his costume and arms. No good.

MURDERMOON               185

I've got to extract myself from this mess and take on
these slobs on firmer ground!

Suddenly, Spider-Man relaxed, allowing himself to
be pulled down as he curled his lithe body into a tight
ball. Shouting and swearing, the guards swarmed over
him, throwing themselves in a pile over the Wall-
crawler's body like a football team on their opponent's
ball carrier.

Spidey tensed beneath the pile of bodies and, just
as suddenly, exploded upright, throwing the men off
him. He jumped to the wall and scampered to the ceil-
ing where he hung upside down by his toes and fingers.
The men were already staggering to their feet, looking
around for the Web-slinger. Half a dozen of them,
however, remained sprawled on the floor, unconscious.

Not a bad start. Web-head. Now that you've set
yourself up with a neat little split, let's see if you can
score a spare by knocking over the rest of these pin-
heads!

The Wall-crawler waved to the men below. "Yoo-
hoo, boys. Up here! Sheesh, you guys are really awful
at hide-and-seek, y'know?"

He fired a thick blanket of webbing at them. Four
of the men dove out from under the falling net before
they could be ensnared beneath it. All the others, how-
ever, were trapped, trying to fight their way free of the
thick, sticky substance. Spider-Man dropped to the
floor to deal with the remaining men.

"Okay, friends," he said lightly. "We've fooled
around with these kid games long enough. It's time to
get serious." He started walking toward them. "I chal-
lenge all of you to a game of Scrabble at ten paces!"

The only one of the four in a guard's uniform
rushed at Spider-Man, his gun raised over his head
like a club.

. "Ah-ha. I see you accept my challenge." Spidey
sidestepped the guard's clumsily swung club and
lashed out his fist to chop down hard on the man's
shoulder. With a howl of pain, the man stumbled for-
ward. "Okay, here are the rules: you guys are sup-

186              MUKDERMOON

posed to try to bash my face down my throat while
/—," Spider-Man said as he dropped the man with a
right jab.

"—Scrabble your brains."

Spider-Man turned back to the others. They had
spread out, one man to his right, a second to his left
and the third directly in front of him.

And he's the one I've got to watch out for! He's
almost as big as Greensleeves and twice as ugly!

The man before him was big, well over six feet tall
with a barrel chest and thick, muscular arms. The two
men at his sides moved in first, feinting with their
hands as if making a grab for the Wall-crawler's arms.
Hey, if that's what they want, who am I to deny them
their pleasure?

Spidey allowed the man on his right to latch hold
of his wrist and then, a moment later, the man on his
left did likewise.

The tall man before him grinned in evil pleasure as
he walked toward Spider-Man, pounding one large fist
into his palm.

"This is going to be a real pleasure, weirdo," he
breathed.

Spider-Man smiled to himself as he said, "A funda-
mental rule of the hero game, gentlemen, is the use
of the bad guy's own evil intentions against him."

The man planted his feet firmly in front of the
spread-eagled Spider-Man. "Sounds like you do that
by boring them to death!"

"On the contrary, muscles, I do it by taking advan-
tage of their stupidity."

Spider-Man swung his arms together before him,
swinging the two men who held him together with a
sickening sound of bone crunching against bone.

The big man seemed to loom over him now and
Spider-Man dropped the others to the floor and threw
a hard right into the man's stomach. The man grunted
but still fell toward him with outstretched arms reach-
ing for the Wall-crawler's throat. The Web-slinger
leaned out of the way and swung his right fist into the

MURDERMOON               187

man's jaw with a force that snapped the man's head
back. One of his muscular arms wrapped around Spi-
dey's neck and dragged the Web-slinger to the floor.

Spider-Man rolled out from beneath the big man
but did not seem able to break his choking strangle-
hold. The Wall-crawler pounded on the man's neck
with his fist several times before the form went slack,
releasing his grip.

Breathing hard, Spider-Man got to his feet. With
scarcely a glance at the trapped or unconscious men
on the floor, he turned his attention to the remaining
doors.

There was nothing until he came to the one at the
end of the corridor.

He could dimly make out the sound of people and
electronic gear behind the solid-steel sliding door.
There was no knob or keyhole anywhere on the flat
surface, just a glass plate set into the wall beside it
with the outline of a palm print etched in black on
it. Spidey pressed his palm to the plate and waited.
Nothing happened.

Don't tell me you were really expecting it to work
for you, Mr. Porker?

He stared thoughtfully at the door, the final ob-
stacle between him and the destruction of the deadly
satellite orbiting the Earth.

"Ah-hah!" he exclaimed suddenly and rushed back
to where the fallen guards lay. The Web-slinger
hefted one man in an orange jump suit over his shoul-
der and took the unconscious man back to the sealed
door to the control room. He braced the limp man
against the wall and pressed his hand to the steel
plate.

The door slid open with a soft mechanical sigh.

Spider-Man allowed the unconscious man to slide
to the floor and ran into the room.

All heads turned at the sound of the door opening.
They had to tear their eyes from the view screen
where the Hulk could be seen turning away from an
outside wall that had seen better days just an instant

188              MUKDERMOON

before the roof gave way and tumbled to the floor,
knocking out the cameras. The screen went black at
the same moment Spider-Man heard the thundering
roar of the codlapsing hangar and felt the building
shake.

"I think that means the jig's up, ladies and gents,"
Spider-Man announced.

Pendergast took a step forward from the control
console, his handsome features contorted in a look of
rage. "Not in the least, Spider-Man," he spat. "There
are still guards-and ..."

Spidey jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Not
anymore, good-looking. I just finished sending them
all off to a place very far away from here called
sleepy land."

Pendergast swung back to face Prof. Wamer and
Dr. Irvine, his cold gray eyes flashing madly, seeking
help. "The maser," he said quickly. "Use the maser,
Warner!"

"Are you insane?" the bearded scientist exclaimed
as he recoiled from the tall man in horror. "You don't
seriously expect me to turn the maser on myself!"

"Use it, damn you!" Pendergast screamed and
lunged at the console. His tightly clenched fists
pounded at the controls, frantically searching for the
button that would end the threat of the Web-slinger
and his monstrous companion once and for all.

Spider-Man charged across the room and yanked
the hysterical man away from the console. He threw
Pendergast to the floor and planted himself between
the man and the control console. "Cool it, fancy
pants!"

Pendergast struggled to his knees, tugging at his tie.
"Get him, damn your eyes," he screamed to the
stunned, seated technicians. "Kill him before he ruins
everything!"

"Mister," Spidey shook his head in disgust, "you're
starting to get on my nerves." His gloved fist cracked
against Pendergast's jaw, knocking the man to the
floor, senseless.

MURDERMOON               189

He turned, at the sound of feet running toward him
and fired his webbing at the two technicians rushing
at him. The web fluid wrapped tightly around their
ankles and they crashed to the floor.

"I don't advise anybody else trying that," Spidey
warned the rest of them. "Next time, I'm liable to for-
get myself and hurt somebody." He turned to study
Prof. Warner's control panel. "What I would do,
though, is hightail it out of here as fast as my little
legs could carry me, 'cause as soon as I figure out
what's what on this furshlugginer thing, I'm gonna do
my darnedest to finish off the work started by my big
green friend."

Nobody moved.

Spider-Man started to speak but was interrupted by
Prof. Warner brushing by him. "Listen to him," the
bearded scientist yelled. "It's over for us here. Fin-
ished! Get out!"

The Web-slinger looked at the scientist with sur-
prise.

"I am a realistic man, Spider-Man," Warner said
softly.

"And what about you. Doc?" Spidey asked Irvine.

The scientist clutched the soaking handkerchief in
his hands. He glared with hate-filled eyes at the cos-
tumed youth. "Are you giving me a choice?"

Spider-Man shook his head.

Dr. Irvine turned on his heels and joined the pro-
cession of men and women rushing from the control
room through an exit across the room.

Spidey's hand hovered uncertainly over the control
console. "How does this work. Doc?" he asked Prof.
Warner as the bearded scientist walked slowly to the
exit.

Warner stopped and turned around. "You're going
to destroy my satellite," he said simply.
"I can't leave it up there."

The professor shook his head and started walking
again. "I said I was realistic, Spider-Man," he said
without looking back. "But I can't help you. I won't

190               MURDERMOON

try to stop you, but I can't tell you how to destroy
three years' worth of my life's work." Within seconds,
Spidey was alone in the control room.

He scanned the console. Sheesh! I wonder which
one of these turns on the automatic coffee maker?

What the hey! Life's no -fun if you don't take a
chance every once in a while!

The Web-slinger jabbed at buttons on the console.
Words flashed across the screen in front of him, but, as
far as Spider-Man could see, nothing else happened.
C'mon, man, you've had enough training in computers
in school to be able to figure out at least some of this
gobbledygook! He flipped switches and twisted dials
and, suddenly, new information crawled rapidly across
the screen and Spidey looked it over carefully. Now
this is more like it! If I read this right, the satellite's
on a standby mode, ready to fire as soon as the target
coordinates are fed into it!

The Web-slinger's fingers flew across the computer
keyboard, typing out information to be radioed 23,-
000 miles into space. / just hope to God I know what
I'm doing!

Beep! Beep! Beeeeep!

A screeching alarm sounded throughout the de-
serted control room as the word "Warning" flashed
green on the screen. Yep, I must've done something
wrong, which in this case is right.

And just to make sure nobody sneaks back in and
undoes my good deed for the day .. .

Spider-Man slammed his fist into the top of the con-
sole, buckling the metal and sending sparks flying. He
ripped the cover off and reached into the mess of
wires and transistors inside, tearing them out by the
handful until the computer console was reduced to
nothing more than a pile of ruined, unrecognizable
junk.

That done, Spider-Man turned and headed toward
the door. Now to get tall, green, and ugly and blow
this joint before this joint blows!

But before the Wall-crawler could reach the exit,

MURDERMOON               191

the wall in front of him exploded into the room in a
roaring rain of concrete and steel.

"Holy jumpin' . . ."

That was all Spider-Man could get out before he
was buried beneath the collapsing wall.

Chapter




THE HULK TUMBLED BACKWARD AS

the floor before him erupted in a shower of red-hot
concrete chips from the pencil-thin crimson beam that
shot from the sky. Foot-wide craters appeared in a
straight line along the floor as SpySat, following the
orders transmitted to it by Spider-Man, fired after the
big green man's rolling body.

The red-hot ray splashed across his legs, singeing
his pants and eliciting a roar of agony from the em-
erald Goliath. The maser beam continued along its
path, blasting the debris that covered virtually every
foot of the floor with molten slag. It flashed into the
deep launch well.

A geyser of flame exploded from the pit as the ma-
chine struck pipelines running beneath the steel-plated
bottom. An earth-shaking explosion shook the build-
ing.

The Hulk lay sprawled on the floor watching the

192

MURDERMOOM               193

progress of the flashing maser with an expression of
bewilderment on his broad face. He could not under-
stand what was happening anymore. He had done as
the bug-eyed man had told him and demolished the
big building. So why had the light come back to
bother him now?

With a grunt, he climbed to his feet and lumbered
across the wreckage-strewn floor, through the wall of
flame billowing from the pit, to the other side of the
hangar. He shoved petulantly at the debris all around
him.

"Nothing left to smash," he grumbled angrily. "Hulk
better go look for bug-eyes now. Maybe he can tell
Hulk what to smash .. . huh?"

The Hulk hunched over as the maser beam sud-
denly turned from its path and skimmed across his
back. He bellowed in pain and anger and swiped his
big green hands futilely at the air. In his blind rage,
the man-brute stumbled, over a beam from the ceiling
and crashed into the one wall still left standing. It
cracked in several directions.

He whirled, his back to the wall, in time to see a
crimson flash from the sky coming toward him. He
threw himself to the floor, the heat of the beam sear-
ing across his back and blasting into the weakened
wall.

With a thundering roar, the wall collapsed into the
next room.

"Holy jumpin'. .."

The Hulk's head jerked around and his beady eyes
narrowed. Had he heard something in the next
room . . . ? Somebody had cried out when the wall
fell. Somebody whose voice he recognized . . . bug-
eyes!

The man-monster roared out Spider-Man's name
and sprang to his feet and into the chamber revealed
by the collapsed wall. His eyes darted about frantically
and then he started to heave huge chunks of concrete
aside. The blocks flipped through the air and crashed
into consoles, through the view screen, and caused

194              MURDERMOON

small explosions to erupt throughout the room, fol-
lowed by electrical sparks that fizzled and turned into
fires.

After long, agonizing seconds, the Hulk shoved
aside a piece of wall and spotted a patch of color be-
neath the dull-gray concrete. It was bright red.

"Don't worry, bug-eyes," the man-brute breathed
heavily as he pushed aside the remaining wreckage.
"Hulk will save you, friend."

Finally, th& Hulk pulled Spider-Man free of the
debris. Gently, he lowered the still youth to the ground
and brushed his thick fingers across the Web-slinger's
face.

"Bug-eyes?" the Hulk grumbled tentatively.

The jade giant flinched as a powerful explosion
shook what remained of the hangar. Startled, he saw
the battered consoles erupt into fire and smoke. He
lifted Spidey's limp form, cradled him gently in one
arm, and bounded from the control room. His escape
was cut off by the steady rain of maser blasts bom-
barding the hangar. He turned to lope around the
deadly fire.

"Stop., monster!"

Pendergast stood at the mouth of the long corridor
directly across from the Hulk. His elegantly tailored
suit was ripped, with one sleeve hanging free and
covered with dust and grime. His neatly clipped gray-
and-silver hair was in disarray. In his hands was a
rifle of some sort, one with a bulky canister clipped to
its stock.

"Go away, little man," the Hulk snarled, waving
the tall man aside. "Hulk has had enough smashing
and fighting today. Now Hulk just wants to be left
alone."

"You'll be left alone all right, monster," Pendergast
shouted, his steel-gray eyes flashing madly. "You'll be
left alone for all of eternity! I'm going to kill you and
that damned, interfering insect for what you've done!"
His voice broke as he screamed across the room. The
explosions taking place somewhere beneath the floor

MURDERMOON               195

were growing louder and stronger, rocking the hangar.
"You've destroyed me," he sobbed. "You've destroyed
us all!"

Spider-Man moaned as his eyes flicked open. Ohhh,
my aching back . . . and everything else! Slowly, he
realized he was being held in the Hulk's massive arms.
He rapped his knuckles on the big green man's ribs.
"Hulk ..." he muttered.

Without looking at his companion, the Hulk lowered
the Wall-crawler to the floor. Spidey tested his legs
and saw he could stand.

"Hulk said go away!"

Oh-oh. Sounds like we're not alone!

Spidey saw Pendergast. "You better do as he says,
mister," he called, his head still spuming. "He hasn't
had his morning coffee yet and he can get real crabby
if you bug him."

Pendergast raised his weapon. "He'll never get the
chance."

"In case you're forgetting, guns aren't much good
against..."

"And in case you're forgetting, Spider-Man, this
gas is!" Pendergast started to giggle but caught him-
self. "And before either of you can get within a dozen
feet of me, you'll both be unconscious.

"The maser beam and explosions once the firs
reaches the fuel-storage tanks will take care of you
and Bruce Banner from there!"

Not if we go up, it won't!

"C'mon, Greensleeves. We're splitting!" Spidey whis-
pered.

The Hulk pushed Spider-Man aside, still glowering
at Pendergast. "Hulk warned you, little man. Hulk
gave you the chance to leave Hulk in peace, but little
man would not go." He flexed his mighty leg muscles
and sprang toward Pendergast.

Pendergast screamed as a quarter ton of muscle and
sinew descended toward him. The tall man swung his
weapon up and wildly pulled the trigger.

A thick cloud of gas billowed from the nozzle,

196              MURDERMOON

swirling around the Hulk. But the man-monster was
prepared for the fumes this time and he had filled his
mighty lungs before he leaped. He thumped to the
floor and effortlessly plucked the gun from Pender-
gast's hands. Lifting the tall man over his head, he
brought Pendergast's face. up to his own, his lips curl-
ing in a snarl.

"Hulk warned you!"

The man-brute shook the white-faced man roughly
and then, with an animallike cry, flung him to the
ground. Pendergast collapsed with a sigh.

The Hulk started to turn and, as he did, the maser
beam moved across the floor toward him.

"Watch it, Hulk," Spidey cried, but it was too late.
The narrow beam of ruby-red light exploded across
the Hulk's chest.

The man-monster gasped in surprise and pain and,
in doing so, inhaled large amounts of the noxious gas
that still hovered about him. He bellowed in anger,
but the cry weakened as the nerve toxin attacked his
system. The mighty Hulk began to stagger, his nor-
mally dull eyes more glazed over than ever. His arms
and legs felt like great weights that he could no longer
support. The great green Goliath collapsed to the floor
with a strangled groan.

Spider-Man dived from the maser beam's path as
it moved past him, back toward the control room. He
was back on his feet instantly, running toward the
Hulk. Pendergast said something about rocket fuel. . .
and as soon as that beam finds it, it's big-boom-boom
time in the old town tonight!

The Hulk was changing as he lay sprawled across
the floor. His great body glowed with green energy
and he was shrinking as the gas slowed his heartbeat
and respiration. The primitive face relaxed, softened
as the features changed to something more closely re-
sembling a man, until, mere moments after the meta-
morphosis began. Dr. Bruce Banner had reclaimed his
mind and body.

MURDERMOON               197

/ Maybe he's no good in a fight this way, but it sure
as heck makes him easier to carry outta here!

Spider-Man slung Bruce over his shoulder and, with
a final glance at the control room engulfed now in
flames and smoke, ran from the hangar into the de-
serted complex. The sound of trucks and cars was
just fading into the distance as Spidey ran toward the
Niagara River just down the sloping shore from the
hangar.

Bahwhoooom!

Spider-Man felt himself being lifted off the ground
and swept through the air by the force of the ex-
plosion that followed the maser beam's striking the
underground tanks containing highly volatile rocket
fuel. The little that the rampaging Hulk had left stand-
ing of the once-proud hangar blew straight up into the
sky.

Together, Spider-Man and Bruce Banner splashed
into the rushing waters of the Niagara River.

23,000 miles in space, SpySat spun faithfully in its
orbit with the Earth. Its internal mechanisms operated
smoothly and soundlessly in airless space as it flashed
its maser beam Earthward.

Then, to put it mildly, the satellite became con-
fused.

Commands ceased being beamed to its computers
for several seconds, then new information flowed in.
New coordinates were set and the maser swung its
aim. Then, just as suddenly, its telemetric links with
Earth stopped, a signal for all systems to shut down.
Automatically, the lens that beamed the maser Earth-
ward closed its protective cover. But the maser still
fired. It took only a few minutes for the internal heat
of the satellite to rise dangerously.

SpySat exploded in a brief flash of fire.

But in the vacuum of space there was no sound.




Chapter 27

THE ROAR OF RUSHING WATER FILLED

Spider-Man's ears as his head broke the surface of
the raging Niagara River.

The current carried the Web-slinger and the still-
unconscious Bruce Banner rapidly down the wide
river. Spidey struggled to keep the young scientist's
head above water.

Hunks of ice ranging in size from that of a base-
ball to that of an automobile swirled about them, as
Spidey and Banner were carried by the powerful cur-
rent. Spidey realized it had been more than two days
since his capture by Pendergast and his crew, enough
time for the unseasonably warm weather to thaw the
river and send it flowing along to its ages-old destina-
tion:

The falls!

The Wall-crawler realized it with a start and tried
paddling desperately for the shore, but the current

198

/                 MUKDERMOON               199

was too powerful for him to overcome with his un-
conscious burden. He turned on his back and allowed
himself to be swept along as he supported Bruce's
limp form against the length of his body.

Panic started to take hold of the Web-slinger and
he had to try hard to fight it. He took quick gulps of
air and forced himself to be calm. Be cool, ParkerI
Panicking will only make sure we get killed, but may-
be, just maybe, we have a chance if I can keep
calm....

He took another deep breath. Okay, okay. I've
heard of people going over the falls in barrels or cap-
sules, so I know it's been done before.

Only thing I don't ever remember hearing is if any
of the schmoes who tried it survived!

The pounding of the water roaring over the falls to
the rocks far, far below grew louder.

Even if they did, what good does that do me? They
•would've had time to prepare for it with special equip-
ment, a padded capsule to take the impact of crashing
down to those rocks. I've got less than a minute and
there's not a barrel in sight.

Whoa! Think again. Web-head!

Spider-Man turned in the water and swam fran-
tically with Bruce toward a large chunk of ice flowing
along with them. He strained his battered, weary mus-
cles to the utmost and reached the floe. Grunting with
effort, he lifted Bruce out of the water and onto it,
following right behind.

The Wall-crawler knelt and began to spin some-
thing from his unique chemical webbing. He worked
desperately, fashioning a large, thick cocoon big
enough to hold two. He glanced up every few seconds
to check on their progress along the thundering water-
way.

By the time he stood, the makeshift barrel com-
pleted, the roar of the falls was deafening. He knew
his and Bruce's time was measured in milliseconds
now. He lifted Bruce and dropped him into the thick
web barrel, following him inside. It was a tight fit,

200              MURDERMOON

but it would have to do. Spray from the rumbling falls
formed a thick, impenetrable mist as Spider-Man
webbed closed the top of his barrel.

Then, hugging his knees to his chest, the Web-
slinger waited.

The barrel tipped suddenly at a sharp angle and
then rolled head over heels as it tumbled over the
edge of Niagara Falls.

It was like the worst roller-coaster ride he could
imagine and falling from a great height at the same
time. The barrel spun madly about, tipping every
which way as the pounding waters bounced it back
and forth.

Spidey felt his stomach chum and heave sicken-
ingly. He knew had he had any food down there, it
would not have stayed down very long after this ride
began. Irrationally, he realized it had been over
seventy-two hours since he last ate. Stupid.

The stomach-wrenching trip seemed to go on for-
ever before the web barrel hit something hard with
a jar that sent agony shooting up the Wall-crawler's
spine. Bruce Banner, limp and unconscious, seemed
no worse off from the trip.

The barrel bounced and spun again before landing
with another painful jolt against something hard and
unyielding. The rocks! We're hitting the rocks!

It went on like that for several more seconds until
Spider-Man thought he would scream in pain and
then there was a final, gentle jolt and the barrel was
bobbing gently upright in the calm water at the bottom
of the falls.

Spider-Man exhaled through clenched teeth, real-
izing that he must have been holding his breath the
whole way down. He shook his head and'smiled
shakily to himself.

Stupid.

"Oh, man," Spidey moaned. "Even my aches have
aches."

Bruce Banner huddled before the small fire the

MURDERMOON               201

Web-slinger had managed to build after dragging him-
self and Bruce from the bottom of the falls. Though
the day was warm, the half-naked scientist was chilled
from his plunge into the icy river. "I must say," the
young scientist smiled, "I'm almost sorry I wasn't
around for the big event."

"Which one? The complex going up or us going
down?"

"Hmm." Bruce shook his head. "Come to think of
it, I'm glad I missed them both. From what you told
me, it sounded pretty bad." He stared into the crack-
ling fire, the smile fading from his handsome face.
"Are you sure it's gone?" he asked without looking up.

"The satellite?" Spidey squatted before the fire and
held out his gloved hands to be warmed. "I did a
pretty thorough number on the controls." He shrugged.
"Even if it's not destroyed, there's little chance any-
body will be able to get at it. Very few cabbies are
willing to go into that neighborhood."

"Then I guess some good came out of this," Bruce
said softly.

"What do you mean? What else were you here for?"

The scientist laughed bitterly. "A dream."

"Look around you. Doc. Ain't no dreams around
here. Just water."

"The Hulk's some kind of hero in all this, right?"
Bruce said into the fire. "He's helped make the world
safe for democracy and all that crap, right? Well, can
I tell you something you might find hard to swallow,
friend? I would have given up today's little victory will-
ingly and let them have their satellite to do with as
they pleased to whomever they pleased if there had
been a cure for me here."

"Hey, c'mon. Doc," Spider-Man said. "It's not all
that bad?"

"Isn't it, Spider-Man? I'm a radiation-created freak,
a mindless rampaging monster whose sole purpose in
life is to destroy," Bruce said sharply. "Suddenly, half
my life is no longer my own and the other half is shat-

202              MURDERMOON

tered beyond repair by something 7 do but can't re-
member because it's not even me doing it."

Spidey looked at the taut-faced scientist, silent.

"It's not even a life anymore," Bruce said half
aloud. "Sometimes I wonder what horrible thing I
could have done to offend God to deserve this."

"Bull!"^pidey exclaimed.

Bruce Banner's head jerked up. "What?"

"I said bull. Doc."

"Look, I appreciate your saving my life and all,
Spider-Man, but you don't know what this is all
about."

"You'd be surprised, Doc. How do you think I got
the way I am? By sending in fifty cents and my Post
Toasties box tops? No, friend, I was the lucky sucker
who got to be standing there when a radioactive spider
decided it had to bite somebody.

"And I've had my share of tragedies, too—like the
sweetest old man who ever lived, the wonderful man
who raised me as his own son, and got killed because
of my indifference. Like a life that's so screwed up be-
cause of these powers and the damned responsibility
that comes with them that sometimes I wonder if it's
worth getting out of this costume and leading it like I
was a normal human being.

"Maybe what I've gone through doesn't stack up to
turning into a green monster, but there's one thing I
know for sure and that's that wallowing in self-pity is
the thing that'll drag you down quicker than anything
you can feel sorry for yourself about."

Bruce Banner didn't say anything for several min-
ute after the Web-slinger's outburst. He stared into the
eerie mask that covered the face of the man called
Spider-Man from view. "Yeah," he breathed at last.
"Yeah." He stood and shoved his hands into his tat-
tered pockets. "You know, friend," he said, "the longer
I'm with you, the more I believe J. Jonah Jameson
and the Daily Bugle are full of so much stale fertil-
izer."

"That's putting it daintily."

MURDERMOON               203

And speaking of Jonah Jameson, I'll bet he and a
lot of other folks in the big city are probably wonder-
ing where a certain Peter Parker has been hiding the
past couple of days'

Spidey got to his feet and began kicking dirt over
the fire. "Well, it's been fun, Doc, but this little arach-
nid has got to be moving on now."

"Just like the Lone Ranger, huh?" Bruce smiled.
"The job done, evil banished from the West, you ride
off on your faithful steed Silver."

Spidey laughed. "Something like that, only in my
case, they ask 'Why is that man masked?'" The Web-
slinger extended his hand and clasped Bruce's. "What
about you, Bruce? You making the sunset scene your-
self?"

Bruce shook Spider-Man's hand with affection. "If
that's where I've got to do my looking, I guess so." He
shrugged and smiled. "Hell, what I was looking for
wasn't here, so it's got to be somewhere else, right?"

"Right." Spidey released the young scientist's hand.
"And keep in mind if you're ever in need of help in
looking, I'm always available, Doc."

"How can I pass up an offer like that from a super-
hero who's read my books?" He nodded. "And thank
you, Spider-Man." The young scientist turned and
walked away, huddled against the winter breeze.

Spider-Man waved to the man. "Good luck, Doc."

Then he turned and walked away in the opposite
direction.




"ALL RIGHT, PETER PARKER, YOU'VE

got just three seconds to explain where you've been
before I kill you for making me worry that somebody
might have killed you!"

The stunning blonde-haired girl stormed up to Peter
Parker as he walked from the elevator into the bus-
tling city room o{ the Daily Bugle, the words tumbling
from her in a jumbled rush. Peter smiled and reached
out his arms to embrace the angry girl.

Cindy Sayers stepped back out of his reach. "Not so
fast, buster," she snarled. "I've had guys show up late
for dates before, but never by four days without at
least a phone call and I want an explanation. Now!"

"Don't I even get a kiss?"

"Not till I get an explanation."

"Then if you will just calm yourself, pretty lady, I
will tell you."

204

MURDERMOON               205

Cindy folded her arms across her chest. "I'm wait-
ing."

"Well, you see," Peter said, stepping closer to her.
"I was out on this assignment that Jameson sent me on
and . . . ah-ha!" He grabbed her around the waist and
pulled her to him. Before she could protest, he kissed
her.

"Got you," he smiled after they separated.

Cindy smiled back and rested her forehead against
his chest. "Oh, Peter," she said softly. "I've been so
worried about you I thought I was going to die. Why
didn't you call?"

Peter gently stroked her soft hair. "I'm sorry, babe,"-
'he said. "I didn't mean to worry anybody, but I was
caught up in something up in Niagara Falls and . . ."

"Niagara Falls?" Cindy looked startled. "Isn't that
where that place . . . the Institute for Radiation Re-
search, blew up yesterday?"

"Well, yes and no," Peter started.

"And just what the hell is that supposed to mean,
you ungrateful little thug?" J. Jonah Jameson thun-
dered, trailing a thick cloud of pungent smoke in his
wake as he stalked over to the couple by the elevators.
"And where have you been all week? What's the idea
of running off and leaving Coswell like that? That
idiot couldn't find his hand if it was in his pocket much
less get back to New York from New Jersey alone and
file an intelligible story!"

"I got sidetracked, Mr. J."

"Sidetracked?"

"To Niagara Falls."

Jameson's eyes widened and he slowly took the
soggy cigar butt from his mouth. "You were in Ni-
agara Falls, Parker?"

Peter nodded.

"Did you... ?"

Peter nodded.

"Well!" Jameson screamed.

"Like I was telling the lady," Peter said; "Spider-
Man and the Hulk demolished the place...."

206              MURDERMOOH

^Aie you saying ^pi&er-^Aan's responsible lor ihe
institute blowing up?" Jameson asked, hardly believing
his good fortune.

"Um, before you start writing your editorial, Mr.
Jameson, I think you ought to know that the IRR
wasn't what it claimed to be."

The Daily Bugle publisher's craggy face fell and it
continued falling as the young photographer related
the events that took place in upstate New York.

"What happened to all the people?" Cindy asked
when he had finished. "They weren't blown up with
the hangar, were they?"

"No. Spider-Man cleared everybody out before he
wrecked the controls. They were well clear of the
hangar when it blew."

Jameson grabbed Peter's arm and shoved his face
into the young photographer's. "Does anybody else
know any of this?"

"Only everybody who was there, I imagine."

"You know damned well what I mean, Parker,"
Jameson yelled. "Do I have an exclusive or don't I?"

"It's all yours, Triple-J," Peter Parker smiled.

Jameson clapped his hands together gleefully, vi-
sions of increased circulation dancing through his head.
"Robertson!" he bellowed, racing across the crowded
city room toward his office.

Peter turned back to Cindy and put his arms around
her. "Now, where were we before we were so rudely
interrupted?"

Cindy stood on her toes and kissed him. "Right
about, here, handsome," she growled playfully.

"Down girl! Lemme buy you a cup of coffee."

Cindy Sayers pouted playfully. "I thought you loved
me," she said.

"More than my authentic Little Orphan Annie
Ovaltine cup even, dear lady."

"Then why're you trying to poison me?"

As they walked across the city room to the coffee
machine, Jameson charged out of his office and ran

MURDERMOON               207

up to Peter, holding out his hand. "I almost forgot,
kid," he puffed. "Let me have them."

Peter looked at the outstretched hand and then at
Jameson. "Have what, you merciless giver of straight
lines?"

"The pictures, stupid!"

"Pictures?"

"You been taking parrot lessons, kid?"

"What pictures?"

"The pictures," Jameson said slowly through
clenched teeth, his face slowly turning a deep shade of
scarlet, "that you damned well better have taken of
the Hulk and the blasted Wall-crawler tearing up that
Niagara Falls complex."

Peter grinned sheepishly. "Would you believe I..."

Jameson held up his hand. "Don't say it, Parker,
because even / wouldn't believe that you're stupid
enough to be in the middle of one of the biggest stories
of the century and not get any photographs."

Peter shrugged. "Sorry about that, chief."

The Bugle publisher merely stared- in disbelief at
his young employee.

"Uh, I think we'd better get out of here real fast,
lover," Cindy said softly to Peter. "Any second now,
he's going to come out of this stupor and most prob-
ably break you into several hundred little bite-size
pieces and feed you to the pigeons."

Peter nodded and, together, they hurried back to
the elevators and out of the building, leaving J. Jonah
Jameson standing in the center of his city room,
speechless for one of the rare times in his life.

"Hey, Pete," Cindy said when they were out on the
street. "How come you didn't get pictures anyway?"

Peter looked at her, feigning astonishment. "You
ought to know better than to ask a question like that,
Cindy! I was too busy helping the Hulk."

"What?" she laughed.

"That's right," he said defensively. "Heck, he never
would've been able to do what he did without me."

Cindy was still laughing.

208              MURDERMOON                   •

"It's true," he insisted.
"Oh, sure. And I believe in Santa Claus!"
Peter just smiled and kissed the beautiful girl on the
tip of her nose. In that case, kiddo, you're gonna be
awfully surprised come Christmas morning....