“We shouldn’t be here,” said Darlene. She twisted the hem of her ragged dress nervously, 'j ‘This is off limits.”

K‘I helped put it off limits, hon, I know,” he said.” I just want to see."’ ’’

- E‘CIarence is going to be doing reruns tonight. The Ministers, he said. Come on, let’s go. Leave it, David.” She put her hands on his shoulders and he smiled. Clarence could do excellent voice impressions. It was worth hearing.

“Just a while more,whispered David. Down below there were about fifteen men. That about did it, too. The rest had been killed by the Abomination back at the massacre. He was looking at the vestiges of a murderous crew.

“Gentlemen.” A deep, rasping voice cut the dank aii in the room below and everyone looked around, unsure where the echoing voice came fr6m.

Someone found his voice and called out, “Who’s there?’ Some of them drew weapons, the steel flashing in the dim light.

“Innocent blood has been shed here,” came the voice, slithering and rasping.

David backed up. “We’d better go.”

The voice spoke once more. “But not tonight.”

All at once the torch went out, and the room was bathed in slick, wet darkness.

‘Come on, Rick. It’s the numbers. You know how this works.

“He’s a putz.” Rick Jones paced in his dressing room. They had thirty, forty minutes before they went live, and the last thing he wanted to be doing was arguing with the producer about changing questions.

™§|Senator Hill will bring in some good ratings,’' Mack Stocker said. Stocker was the executive producer of Keeping Up with the Joneses, the program that Rick and Mario Jones hosted, day in and day out. It was a talk show with a fairly local bent and, Rick liked to think, something of an edge—or at least more of an edge than most of his competitors.

BjgSince when,” Rick asked/."are people interested in seeing politicians on talk shows?”

“But he’s so controversial,” said Stocker, practically slobbering over the word,

“Oh, I agree. And that’s why I let him on the show. But Mack, Mario and I have worked up some great stuff. We have the research on the mob ties, this Wulf Christopher guy ..

Mac shook his head. “He’ll storm right off the set, Rick. He told me so himself,

“Then what the hell’s the point?” Rick sat down in his chair because the makeup artist had just come in. He continued gesturing even after she had put a sheet over his hands and silently began applying base.

“The point is you let him talk and let the audience yell at him ' ’

“They ought to yell at him,” agreed Rick. “That ridiculous campaign slogan of his: ‘My eyes on the stars, my feet on the ground.’ He’s a reactionary and he’s dangerous and he’s crooked. People should know that.’*!'

‘ ‘Then let him hang himself. But you keep your questions, ah,...”

^?Cneesy?”

“Exactly. Hey, it’s not for two days. Think it over, okay?”

“Rick?” The assistant director, Laura Hutchins, stuck her head around the doorway. “Phone call.”

“Now?”

“Says it’s important. A doctor, Indian name.”

Rick looked at her. “Indian?”

“Um ’ ’ She popped her gum and tried to recall it. ^;.!b—Dormammu?”

Rick mouthed the , name back. “Dr. Dormammu. Huh.” He looked at Mack and at the sheet hanging from h i s neck. The silent makeup artist looked at her watch and raised an eyebrow. “I better take this. Be right back, I promise.

“Rick,**'Said Stocker.

“You’re the boss. Mack, whatever you say,” he said, sating up and moving out, the white sheet flowing around him. Whatever. Maybe he could sneak a few double .meanings in or something. Mario would be livid. Dor-'nammu?

Down the hall the phone lay off the hook on a high stool and Rick picked it up. ^“Dormammu?”

“The Dread one himself,” came the familiar voice on the other end.

‘ 'Couldn’t pick something less—^f ’

“Dreadful?” Bruce always called with a fake name. Lately he had been having fun with it. For a week or two Rick kept getting phone calls from a guy named Uatu.

“What’s up, Doc?” Rick grinned. “I’m already in makeup.”

There was a pause, and Rick felt the frivolity slip away. The deep voice on the other end said, “Rick?” “Doc?”

“How are things?”

“Bmce—’'

“Okay, okay.”

Rick kinked around. What now? “You okay, Doc? Betty okay?’ ’

“Yeah. We’re fine for now, I think. I just wanted to ...ah...”

“Uh, Doc, really—

“I just wanted to say that if I were out there in New Mexico on the base, and you went driving out there with your harmonica and your jeep...”

Rick nodded. Where this could go he had a few ideas. He couid never forget that he had been the cause of Bruce Banner’s exposure to the full blast of a gamma bomb. “Yeah?”

“I know how you feel about it, Rick. And I just wanted to say that if it happened again, if I could go back?” He paused.

“Yeah?”

“I’d still do it.”

Rick felt a tingle of absolution run down his spine. “I know that, Bruce.”

“I just wanted to say that.”

“Okay,” said Rick. “Thank you ... for that. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“For now, yeah. The Hulk was lying through his teeth. “I gotta go.”

“Okay, Doc. You take care. Uh, maybe we can do something this weekend, you and Betty and me and Mario.”

“I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be in town.”

Rick had heard that before. ‘ ‘Then we better make it a date. Keep in touch.”

“I will.”

“So long, Doc. ’

“So long, Rick. See ya soon.”

Rick hung up the phone and walked back to the dressing room. The makeup artist gave him a look and set right to work.

The Hulk and Betty retired early again for the second night in a row. At eleven o’clock Bruce lay awake, staling at the ceiling. They had been walking around the house like zombies, doing everything to avoid making plans. And now, in the haven of the dark bedroom, Bruce found that every time he closed his eyes he thought of jelly and glass and fire.

Something bright flickered on the far wall and caught Bruce’s eye and he tilted his head up. It happened again, and ir the tiny dust particles he saw that the light on the wall came from a beam that swept over the curtains, occasionally cutting through spaces. He looked at the thick curtains and confirmed it. Someone was shining a light on the window. The beam swept slowly back and forth, as 't scanning. Presently he became aware of a strange, low hum.

“Betty,” he whispered.

“Hunh?’iyi"-r

Bruce turned over and took the curtain in one hand, and pulled it to one side, a few inches, to peer out. It was dark outside, a moonless night, and he could see nothing. The beam had been shut off. “Get down,” he said

Betty flickered to life and looked at him for a second. “What?’M

“Get down.” As Betty rolled off the bed and crouched next to it, Bruce got on his knees, causing the reinforced frame to whine tortuously. All at once the Hulk hurled the curtains wide and the lights came on again.

Very big lights. Bruce held up his hand and felt his eyes adjusting and saw a hovercraft light up outside the window, two great, hard white beams shining in. The craft now swam with lights, in fact. Well, well. SAFE. And they were lighting up like a Christmas tree on purpose.

A man stood on the deck of the hovercraft in a topcoat and suit. He held up a megaphone. “Dr. Banner?”

The Hulk snarled and nodded contemptuously. Morgan.

“Why don’t we go somev/here we can talk?”

In less than a minute the Hulk was on the hovercraft and the lights had been doused again. The vessel floated high over the condo,: and Brace wondered how many people had seen it shining outside his window. Luckily, even Westchester New Yorkers tended to mind their own business.

The hovercraft was one of the larger models, big enough to fit a large SWAT team, and Morgan told his two guards to hang back up front with the pilot while he and the Hulk moved to the aft section. The Hulk put his hands on the railing and looked down at the streets. “Well, you did say to contact you.”

“I said to give me a ring," Bruce snarled.

“If you’d be more comfortable we could go up to the Helicarrier,'^ said Morgan.

_ “I feel fine right here.”

Morgan nodded, leaning on the rail. The Hulk looked down at the fair-haired man and said, “You’re taking a lot for granted, Morgan. Your guards couldn’t get to you if I chose to throw you over the side.”

Morgan folded his arms. “The thought had occurred to me. I’m willing to take that chance.”

The Hulk frowned. He was tired of playing around. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry about your son.”

Morgan bit his lip and shook his head. “It’s a madhouse with my ex-wife. Madhouse. And there’s not a lot of time to take care of things/-’ The Director of SAFE was talking to himself and letting the Hulk listen. “He was a sophomore, you know.”

“I did what... what..

§|fe:‘Don’t,” snapped Morgan. “I’m not here to talk about that. I don’t know what to think about your involvement in David’s death.

My involvement? “It had already happened when I got there—’ the Hulk started.

* ^‘That’s not what I mean,’ Morgan said curtly. “But—”

■ "VDrop it. Now. We have work to doid Morgan’s face vas a stone.

“It’s the Abomination, isn’t it?”

“We think so.”

“I guarantee it. But I’m not going to do this again,” said the Hulk, shaking his head. * ‘Every time I work with

SAFE or S.H.I.E.L.D. I end up with more trouble than I started with.”

“There’s a big difference between us and S.H.I.E.L.D., I like to think. Big difference between Nick Fury and me.”

“Oh, absolutely. You shave.”

“The Abomination blinded an entire theater audience—look at this.” Morgan fished a manila envelope out of his coat and opened the flap, let a contact sheet come out in his hand. There were about twenty photos there, taken at the hospital. “Look at this. This is a little girl here, see that?” He stabbed at the photo. There she was, too, a nameless girl with dark hair and a hideous strand of green, puss-bearing welts on and betv/een her eyes. The eyes themselves seemed to be fused.

God, Emil. The Hulk shook his head again. “That’s terrible. But what do you want?”

“We want you to help us bring him in and hand him over.”

“And that’s the rub, Morgan. If I can stop Emil I will, but I don’t want to go around capturing prisoners for the government.”

“What,” snapped Morgan, “afraid of what it’ll do to your sterling reputation?”

“Get serious. You work for a very powerful organization. Don’t you think I know how valuable a gamma mutant, dead or alive, would be to you and your labs? I’ll just bet there are teams of scientists salivating over the chance to get at our DNA alone.”

“He’s dangerous, Dr. Banner;’-¹³ “I agree. But I’m not going to give him to you.” Morgan sighed through tightly pursed lips. “Really. Then let me ask this. What are you prepared to lose?¹’ Brace threw Morgan a suspicious glance. “What do you mean?”

Morgan turned around and leaned on the rail, facing the same direction as the Hulk. He clasped his hands and

rubbed them. “How does Betty like her job?”

Bruce gritted his teeth. “You bastard.”'

“Watch your language, son,” said Morgan. “She likes it, then?”

“She loves it. Best thing that ever happened to her. A final hint of normalcy.”

“I hear she is held in some regard.’

“Yes,” Bruce responded. “I figured you had. some hand in that.”

“We helped. We owed you for helping us against Hil debrandt in New York.”

Bruce nodded. “So it was a trap to get me back here.’ ’ “We’re not Hydra, Dr. Banner. This was strictly SAFE, and no one shared this information. We did it purely out of the goodness of our hearts.”'

“Wow.”

“Now,” Morgan rubbed his hands again. “I want you to pay very close attention. We have very tight security, but information can leak. And I don’t want to think what could happen if Richards College figures out that Betty Gaynor isn’t who she says she is. Indeed, when they figure out who she really is.”

The Hulk whispered. “You people are all alike, you know that?”

“Don’t I ever,” said Morgan. He stood up a little straighter and said, “Look. Honest, Dr. Banner. I’m not a bad guy. I don’t want to see that happen either. ” “But?”

‘ ‘But I really need some help here..”"^

The craft passed over Route .4, and both of the men stopped to watch the mangled guardrail go by. The Huik said, after a while, “So I help you bring in Emil and then what? I go home, vulnerable to blackmail as ever?”-Morgan sniffed. ^‘We can be of some help to you, actually.t^he said. “There are certain folks at the KGB who would very much like to talk to Blonsky. And they are willing to trade a great deal for him. Something about

Blonsky’s involvement in some Russian rebei group.” “Go on.”

“You deliver the Abomination into our hands and I can see to it that your record is wiped. You’ll still have your reputation to contend with, but I mean clean. No more tanks to crush.’'

The Hulk gave out a short laugh. .‘T think I’ve heard that before.”

“I’ll do it,” said Morgan. The Hulk made eye contact with him and somewhere in there it looked like he might just be telling the truth. “A clean delivery and I’ll do it.” The Hulk folded his arms, watching the freeway go by. “The stranger comes bearing a gift in one hand and pain in the other, and he says, ‘choose.’ ” pt|That’s right.”

£-V'!God, I loathe you agency guys.fe®

“A wise choice. We loathe our very selves.”

“All right,” said the Hulk with an annoyed sigh. “Where do we start?”

“He’s underground again,” said Morgan. “We start there?-' r=

Time?”

Jo Carlin extended a leather-strapped arm and consulted her watch. “Eleven hundred hours, Dr. Banner.”

For an augmented human who ostensibly fared badly with teams, the Hulk had certainly worked with a number of them. Even in his purple-panted, Hulk-smash-puny-missile-silo monosyllabic days, the Hulk had found himself allied with teams of all ilk: the Avengers, the Defenders, the Titans Three. Odd, Bruce reflected, as the hovercraft holding Jo Carlin’. Gamma Team sped toward the park, that since his brain had come back the teams he worked with had become less colorful, more corporate. For a time he had taken up with the Pantheon, an augmented security force and occasionally renegade paramilitary outfit. And now, for the second time, he was working with SAFE, of ali people. Working with SAFE seemed a short step away from going ahead and working for the Army. The thought made his stomach turn. He had not worked for the Army since the gamma bomb explosion. Generally,^ he had run from them (occasional tank-stompings aside).

As they neared the park, the Hulk turned to Morgan and pointed out a sewer cover near a bench. “Let’s start there.”

He turned to the rest am looked them over. Seven SAFE agents, including the leader, Jo Carlin, looked up at him, each one wearing the distinctive close-fitting uniform, . ith a patch on the shoulder pronouncing their status with Gamma Team. The only one without the patch was Morgan, although for once Morgan was actually wearing a field outfit. The Hulk was impressed with how well the bureaucrat fit the roll of field agent. Still, it

seemed odd that Morgan would want to come along on this particular mission. There didn’t seem to be anything here that Gamma Team and Jo Carlin couldn’t do alone, especially with Bruce’s help. But for some reason Morgan wanted in on the action. “Hey,” Jo Carlin had said, in a brief moment when the Hulk had asked her about that, “he knows what he’s doing.”

Gamma Team eyed Bruce warily, as if they expected him to suddenly start trashing the hovercraft and they’d have to turn their weapons on him. It was not lost on Banner that working with this team would provide them with valuable information should they ever decide to come after him; after all, that was what they were created for.

Each member of Gamma Team carried distinctive weaponry of his or her own. The Hulk recognized one as a heavy netgun, developed by Stark Enterprises, designed, Bruce presumed, to capture the Hulk. He doubted it would work on either himself or the Abomination, but Tony Stark’s capitalist willingness to provide toys to all sides never ceased to amaze him. Some carried tranquilizer guns that would pierce a helicarrier’s hide—that might work. Jo Carlin carried a trank rifle with a mounted light guaranteed to blind anything that looked at it. To be sure, the rest were just guns with large-calibre titanium bullets, designed strictly to slow the gamma beasties down. That was pretty much all you could do. Slow him down. Knock him out. Tie him up. Every one of those was almost a fantasy. Amazing how simple things could get when the quarry got powerful enough.

“All right,” said the Hulk, as die pilot began to lower the hovercraft toward the sidewalk. The craft stopped about seven feet off the ground. A few joggers gave it a second look and went on about their regimen. This was the town where the Fantastic Four, the Avengers, and Spi-der-Man made their homes, after all. ^:‘.‘When I met the

Abomination last, this is where we went in, so'I figure we ought to start here.”

Morgan spoke to Jo Carlin. “Jo* it’s your team.” JyfDown below,” Jo called, “you will follow the orders of Dr. Banner, and Colonel Morgan will be second in command. Now, I know some of you might have a bit of trepidation about Dr. Banner. Cool it. We’re all on the same team here. Understood?”

The Hulk heard the not-entirely-unenthusiastic, “Yes, ma’am,£ from the team and grinned a bit: Carlin obviously treated her team with respect, and in the past few hours, going over plans at the Helicarrier, he had seen that she had a mind like a trap. She was a valuable asset to SAFE, and it was apparent that Morgan knew it.

“Turn on your com]inks,§ said Jo, tapping the unit that wrapped around her neck and ran from ear to mouth. The Hulk had worn a. more sophisticated version of this in his Pantheon days. He switched his on, as did the others. Next came the upper half of the headset, which held a tiny but powerful halogen beam at each temple.

“Let's go,.’J said the Hulk, and he hopped over the side, followed by Gamma Team. One of the heavy gun wielders ran to the sewer cover as the hovercraft raised up and zipped away. In a moment the cover had been pulled back. For another moment the agent shone a strong, forearm-mounted light down the hole—to check and see if anything were waiting below, Bruce supposed.

Looks okay,” crackled the agent in Bruce’s ear. The agent disappeared down the hole.

Twenty scconds later they were lined up in the tunnel and the Hulk took the lead. “This way,” he said. He was tempted to walk funny and had to keep from chuckling into his comlink. No sudden laughter, Bruce. They’re already scared of you; that would probably freak them all out pretty good. No use wasting ammo.

The sound of water dripping on the pipes was almost musical, and when the cover had been drawn back into its place it seemed to the Hulk as if the sounds of the tunnel lit up, the way a lighted match will illuminate a completely dark cavern. The tunnel walls danced with the swimming headlights, white beams zipping up and down the dripping concrete and lead, the odd sedimentation giving off shimmering reflections.

The comlink crackled with Jo Carlin’s whisper. “Dr. Banner, where should we start?” p".“Emil used to have his ‘family meetings’ in a series of tunnels a little east of here. There are a number of large areas. If he’s set up down here, he’s bound to use one of those. That is, if he’s sentimental enough to come straight back to where he left.ujH

“Well,® she whispered, “if not, we’ll keep looking.” “That’s the spirit,” Brace muttered. Encouragement They taught that in leadership training, undoubtedly. She was doing her best to treat him as one of her team, and to show that behavior to the other members. He listened to the sound of their boots sloshing in the stagnant water around them.

He had just turned a corner when he heard the voice. When the team came around Bruce held up a hand and they lined up and got quiet Echoing through the tunnels came a voice as familiar as his own, by now: the rasping, ragged deep voice of the creature known as the Abomination.

“Morgan, you hear that?”

“Yes. Dawson, augment that, could you?” -An agent in the back of the line shouldered a heavy gun and pulled out a pocket computer. ‘-‘Okay, guys, I’m gonna try to isolate that sound and bring it in clea.'ier.j3| “Won’t that confuse us when we get closcr to it?” the Hulk asked. The comlink crackled.

“Yes, Doctor. It might So I’ll monitor the true sound on a different mike and switch the augment off if it gets too close.”

Carlin nodded. “Switch us over at your discretion.”

Dawson held up a thumb. “Okay. Here she blows.” There was another, sharper crackle and suddenly the distant voice came in as clearly as if the speaker were on a headset of his own. Bruce trudged on, watching the headlights dance and listening to the Abomination’s sermon. No, not a sermon: more like a song, or a meditation. The rasping words were being moaned out, or sung, like a priest at mass.

“The sacrifice of the wicked,” came the voice in the Hulk’s ear, “is an Abomination.”

The Hulk looked back at Morgan, a hand to his ear. “Is that a Bible verse?’S

‘ ‘The way of the wicked is an Abomination unto the Lord; but he loveth him that follow the path of righteousness.”

There was another comer up ahead about twenty paces. Bruce said, ‘ ‘There’s a wide room around that turn. The first of them.”

“Where the police line met the underground,” said Morgan.

‘.‘Yeah.”

The voice continued: “The thoughts of the wicked are an Abomination unto the Lord. . .”

“Here we go,” whispered Dawson. “Shutting off, guys, he’s close.iLs?

“But the words of the pure are pleasant to him...” The sound dropped from the Hulk’s headset and picked up in true sound. The Hulk stuck to the comer and Morgan, Carlin, and Gamma Team fell in line behind him. He held up a hand. “Okay. Let’s go. Slowly

The Hulk went around the comer and crouched. He peered in the darkness, watching his headlights dance around. He could see nothing. The room appeared empty. Empty but for the dripping, and the recitation.

“Everyone that is proud in heart...’ The voice echoed so much, and yet was so faint, so raggedly whispered, that it was impossible to trace.

Gamma Team came around the comer and fell in again in the room, lining up on one wall, crouched. The room was about thirty feet across by twenty feet long, and at the other end the tunnel continued. On the wall to their left was another exit, but this one had what appeared to be a makeshift gate in front of it, or else a crude door.

‘ . is an Abomination to the Lord.”

“Can anyone tell where that’s coming from?” Morgan looked around.

The Hulk looked around, and brought up his hand to widen the scope of his headlights. “Hello,” he said, “What?”

“I think this is new,” he said. Stretching across the dark ceiling, illuminated only by the suddenly attentive headlights, was a heavy iron chain, rusted but still strong. At one end of the ceiling it looped over a pulley. Bruce followed the chain to the other end with his lights and saw that it disappeared through a mousehole in the top of the wooden door.

The words were echoing louder now, more deliberate: “Abomination to the Lord, Abomination to the Lord.. .’’T The Hulk listened and stared. There was a gamma beast inside of him that would not be here. He would know enough not to come here. “This is bad, guys,’ said the Hulk, just as the door began to creak.

“Check that door,_;” Carlin said “Though hand .■

The door began to swing, opening into the room, and there was another sound, the chain beginning to roll on the pulleys, the voice of the Abomination growing louder: ” ... join in ha, J ...”

“Holy—” said the Hulk, and every weapon came up, but they could do nothing but stare as the chain rattled and something came out on a hook. Several somethings. <.. .join in hand, join in hand, join in hand... )

Somewhere, the Abomination screamed, with a cry like a sucking wound,#He shall not be unpunished!” The chain cried out, rattling, as they emerged from the door, one after the other, feet bound at the ankles and slung over the chain, one after the other, dead men trussed like calves at the slaughterhouse.

“Oh my God,’*; Morgan whispered.

The Hulk just stared, taking in the carnage. Oh, EmV, what are you doing ? V

.. though hand join in hand. . . in hand. .. in hand...)

Blood splattered on the floor below the men and Bruce heard Jo cry, “Their hands . .

He hadn’t noticed that, but now a wave of nausea came over the gamma giant as he followed the length of the tom and trussed bodies down to the swinging arms, and he realized that every single one was waving in vain.

Because they had no hands.

'“Somehow,” said Morgan, *»I think we were expected.”

“This isn’t for our benefit,” whispered the Hulk.

“What do you mean?”

“This is art.? i"

¹ “And art,’ came a hiss, “needs its audience!”

“The door!” Morgan spat. It was hanging open, the chain protruding from it, the view of the doorway blocked by the haphazardly nailed lumber.

Something moved, a dark green blur, an animal quickness carrying it out the doorway and behind the corpses that swung slowly back and forth. The figure was tall and long and scaly, and as soon as it was visible the figure disappeared into a corner of the room. He’s playing with us, thought the Hulk.

-_: . -“Emil?” Bruce said, slowly, “limil?^- The agents’ headlights found their mark, each one lighting a tiny space of scaliness in the comer by the far door. In the headlights the red eyes of the Abomination burned fiery and bright. The Hulk could just barely see the whole of the figure, past the hanging handless corpses, crouching there, watching them.

Someone chambered a round and the Hulk spat. “Hold your fire!” flsSYes, yes, hold your fire, why waste bullets, eh?” came the rasping voice.

“We have more than bullets,” the Hulk said, although it was almost a lie. “We have a bit of a problem, Emil.® “Do yott think so?”

‘‘Who are...” Why was he talking? Every instinct said, spring, or nail him with a net, something, but he just wanted to hear what Emil had to say before it all went to Bell. “Who are these people, Emil?”

“These... people ...” hissed the Abomination in the corner, “are but one thing that is an Abomination to the Lord.

ft- “What is that thing, Emil?’¹’ the Hulk asked, slowly, moving forward a few steps.

‘Hands that shed innocent blood,” came the answer, and there was so much sadness in the words that the Hulk was struck instantly by the memory of the massacre. “The sewer massacre cops.”

“Give the man a prize.”

“You need help, Emil. Come with me.”

■ ^“You’ve got to be joking,” ky‘Come with me or we’ll take you by force.”

‘ ‘Try it,’ rsaid Emil.

The Hulk stepped back, looking past the hanging corpses at the beast with the burning red eyes. Bruce threw a glance to the agent with the blinder and nodded. The agent flipped a switch.

E|:Now,” said the Hulk, and the agent crouched to get a good shot and opened up the beam. Shots began to ring out. The light poured out of the blinder gun and struck the creature in the chest, too low. The beast moved sideways and sprang again, behind the line of corpses, shielded.

EHave to come and get me, Banner,” hissed the Abomination, and then he turned and disappeared through the doorway.

The Hulk shoved half the bodies to one side like a curtain and moved through, and the whole chain creaked and swung in the darkness. Morgan was the next one through, followed by the rest, past the curtain of bodies and into the tunnel.

The Hulk stopped and looked ahead. There was a fork in the tunnel. He motioned to Gamma Team and said, •((Morgan, take a trank gun. You, me and, ah, these three go right. The rest go left with Carlin. Let’s try not to lose him again.” Great. I gave him away. I just let him go. Cariosity killed the cat.

Morgan and the Hulk, followed by three agents with heavy guns, ran down the right corridor. After about ten paces the Hulk stopped to listen. The tunnel got a little steeper, running down hill. The concrete was slimy, and he was careful not to slip. Where are you, Emil? What is your game?

They proceeded another thirty paces, slowly. “He knew we were coming,” muttered the Hulk.

“That occurred to me, too, ’ said Morgan, r ‘ ‘But what—” Bruce sucked in air as something large and rock-hard lunged from an indentation in the side of the wall. Suddenly he found himself slipping on the slimy concrete with the creature wrapped around him, tumbling with the Abomination down the tunnel. Bruce heard the footsteps of Morgan and the agents in pursuit. ‘Don’t shoot,” Morgan yelled, “they’re wrapped up. Banner, get him off you so we can get a clear shot!”.

The Hulk grunted and reached out his feet to a rusty iron ladder as he passed it, catching it with his gigantic toes. Finding his balance, he pushed up and slammed Emil against the wall. He backcd up and Morgan fired the trank gun. The dart that flew out was made of a shiny whitish metal, nearly a foot long, more a harpoon than a dart. The

Abomination ducked and lunged at the Hulk, butting his finned head against Bruce’s chest. The concrete wall cracked and crumbled like plaster as Bruce's head collided with it. God, he’s strong. That actually hurt. Bruce tried to sidestep and got a few inches before Emil brought his knee to Bruce’s solar plexus. The Hulk grunted again and felt his feet slip.

“This is m3' home, Banner. How many times dol have to best you here before you figure that out?”

The Hulk went down in the muck but brought his foot up, pressing down with his hands, and felt his heel connect with Emil’s scaly chin. Emil was thrown back this time, tearing away several iron pipes as he passed. The Hulk stepped back as the SAFE agents began firing. Emil caught several rounds in his chest and they slowed him down. He held up a hand and backed up. Morgan fired the trank gun again and the Hulk was clear enough to watch as Emil stood there, at a curve in the tunnel, and smiled.

And caught the dart. ‘Nice,” said Emil, and he doubled back and threw it. The Hulk heard one of the heavy guns stop firing and clatter to the floor. The agent who had been holding it clutched the giant dart, which now stuck but a few inches out of his chest. “Man down,” Morgan said over the intercom.

The Hulk looked back to see Emil had disappeared, and then caught a shadow about twenty feet farther down the tunnel, disappearing up a ladder. Suddenly Emil’s head stuck out and he called out, “It’s far from over, Hulk. It’ll be over when I want it to be over. But I’ve given you everything you need to figure it out.” The creature grinned. “And I do hope you figure it out. I want you to be there with me. Friends?”

KfiBlonsky!” shouted Morgan,.'‘-‘Halt! Stop where you are or I’ll have every last agent under my controi down here flushing you out!”

“And I’ll kill every last one of them,” hissed Emil.

The Abomination stopped and stared for a moment, a curious grin on his upside-down scaly face. The Cheshire Abomination. “Sean Morgan,” he said again, slowly. “That is you, isn’t it.”

Morgan nodded. “It’s me;’’

“It’s been a long time, Morgan. How’s the leg?” And with that, the Abomination disappeared again, and by the time the Hulk reached the ladder, the creature was long gone.

The Hulk looked back and saw Sean Morgan kneeling by his wounded agent, already radioing for medical backup. Morgan clicked off his comlink and looked down the tunnel to where Emil had disappeared. His eyes were far, far away.

Fifteen years ago.

Say what you will about the two Berlins, Sean Morgan thought, they’re both freezing cold in October.

Morgan winced as he stepped back onto the street Keep moving. Gonna hurt either way, just keep moving. He looked down and tned to tell if his trouser leg was bulging where he had wrapped his wound or if it was just his imagination. Behind him, a small broken window in the door was the only evidence that he had broken into the clothing store. That, and the missing pair of pants, and the shirt he left on the counter with a sleeve missing. The sleeve he had used to wrap his leg when he discarded his other pants. Keep moving.

Thankfully, he was not leaving a blood trail. Just a grazing, really, a lucky miss when he managed to move Kiaus Ganz’s arm out of the way just as the gun went off. He had taken six minutes in the store. He was running late, but he had to try to appear unhurried. He pulled his coat closer around him.

Amazing, the turns life could take. The young Green Beret had been in-a cute little bar in Taormina, Italy, of all places, when he had been approached by the KGB. Maybe he’d like a little extra cash. Something to pad the retirement fund, eh? Just some talk between friends, interested?

Morgan was very interested. Interested enough to set up another meeting, but not before telling a few spooks about it. So that by the time he was sitting at the amphitheater in Taormina watching a bad rendition of Oedipus Tyrannus, talking to the same Soviet agent, he was already on attached duty to Army Intelligence. The intel guys were pleased with his record and his ambition and wanted him to give it a shot. So Morgan entered the spook

side at that most dangerous of ports: the double game. That was six months ago.

Since then he had worked very hard to keep an even keel, watching his back constantly, starting small. He kept bis post and passed a few tidbits along—nothing too obvious nor obviously faked. They had to trust hir\ to believe that Morgan was willing to sell out his country with whatever he could get his hands on. He also had to be wry careful, because his game was a secret, generally, on the American side as well.

Morgan managed to develop something of i japport with a few Soviet agents who became his KGB contacts, of sorts. He had to be extremely cautious with them. Klaus Ganz and Karl Josef were cynical enough not to give any trust much weight, and he had been allowed to give some fairly valuable submarine info to them, just to get them to settle down a bit. Blonsky, though, he liked it cold. Blonsky trusted no one.

Hence the worry about the bulge on Morgan’s calf. Morgan winced and began to step more normally, feeling the pain jag through his leg. The wound was just deep enough to make walking hurt, just shallow enough that he could fake it.

East Berlin was a stretch, he had acknowledged that, and had decided to take the risk anyway. Morgan’s superiors concocted some story about, cleverly enough, feeling out the East side of the Iron Curtain in hopes of recruiting a double agent for the United States, Morgan and his KGB contacts had laughed heartily at that, and all the while Morgan had sat with his Scotch and felt his stomach churning, skating close, close to the edge. There were papers leaked that confirmed that he was in East Berlin on the recruiting mission, so that the curious could see. This meant his contacts would trust him and, unfortunately, that anyone else who saw the papers would kill him. Maybe. All that trouble just so no one could catch up to the real, simple assignment, of being in East Berlin to pass along bad info.

So many ways to get killed, I just don’t know which one to choose.

Morgan had almost picked one tonight. After a deliberately unsuccessful “recruiting”.'pitch at a strip club where a lot of officers hung out on Saturday nights, Morgan excused himself and headed immediately to meet with Klaus Ganz. He was supposed to meet Ganz at a cafe on Alexanderplatz and proceed west to meet Josef and Blonsky.

The moment Morgan reached the cafe, he knew Ganz was on to him. They sat there talking, as planned, for thirty minutes, talking in German and English and Russian, by whim, about politics and art and the intellectuals in Paris.¹ All the while, Morgan watched Ganz, as both men flapped their mouths. And every time Ganz’s hand went under the table Morgan felt near sure Ganz was going to pull a trigger. Laugh and chatter. Sound natural. At eleven o’clock, they were up and headed for the meeting with Josef ana Blonsky.

They were walking down Michaelsplatz when Klaus said, very leisurely, i‘‘You know, it’s funny, friend Morgan, these submarines/’

Morgan made a face that indicated that this was a completely empty statement, requiring no response.

“You gave us a list of the submarines in the South Pacific last month, yes?”

Morgan nodded. “Very hard to get:’ This was not a complete lie. It was very hard to get, but it was simply an info dump. The army felt like risking it to gain more later.

jjf^Handsomely paid for, as well.” Klaus looked at him and smiled. A couple of young lovers passed them before he continued. “Everything there. Very helpful. Serial numbers, identification procedures, nuclear signatures.” “Mhm.”

Ganz stopped under a street light. He fished out a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth, lit it, and offered one to F ;rgan. Morgan declined politely. V'Very cold,” said Ganz, looking around. “People think because I am Russian and we have cold winters that Lwon't mind. Nonsense! We all feel the cold.”

Morgan nodded. “That's right.” Okay to be nervous here. Even if you were legitimately illegitimate, this is gonna make you nervous.

Klaus blew out a steady stream of smoke, which mixed with the steam coming from his mouth. ‘ ‘What if I told you that one of those nuclear signatures were ^Tong?”

Morgan half-smiled and scratched the back of his neck. He wasn’t afraid of this. “Well, I’d say that’s entirely possible^gp “Why?”

“A lot of things. Could be an error in the file when I pulled it. Could be a seed, even. Something the U.S. puts in so if they see it crop up again they know info is moving around If there were an error, I’d tell you not to worry, TU get the right info. But I’d tell myself to start watching my back at home.”

Klaus chewed his lip and considered this. He threw down his. cigarette. ‘ ‘So what if the seed were not planted by the U.S.?”

Morgan blinked. “I’m sorry?S Kids to the left, going around the comer, out of sight again. Streets deserted.

“What if I told you that sometimes we plant seeds ourselves?^’-' Klaus’? hand was in his coat. Morgan tried to keep his eyes off it.

“In U.S. information? In files, why would you do that?” Not good. Not good. Danger, Will Robinson. ■'“Not in files the way you mean, friend Morgan. Not in the kind you steal. In the kind of files you give to a double agent/’ a

Morgan watched time slow to a crawl, felt the stinging cold Berlin air and knew that the moment had come. Klaus’s hand emerged, liquid and slow, and Morgan twisted and thrust the palm of his hand out and swept Klaus’s arm to the side as the silenced handgun blazed, a puff of smoke and flame shooting out the end. Morgan felt the bullet tear through his calf as his stiletto dropped from his forearm to his hand. Klaus’s gun hadn’t even hit the ground before he had hammered the stiletto up under Klaus’s ribs, putting his other arm around the agent. He held the man close, as if hugging a grieving uncle, and thrust the knife home again, and once more.

An elderly couple came around the comer and smiled at him, and he stood there, patting the dead Klaus Ganz on the back, muttering in German, “There, there.'’

And now Ganz was lying in an alley and Morgan was late for his meeting with the other two.

He considered not going. Chances were, Blonsky and Josef would not be there, now. The biggest mistake an agent can make is to wait too long for a contact. But if they were there, he had to show. He had to complete the mission or the whole thing was over. Who are you kidding? It’s over anyway.

Morgan walked and thought the pain away, feeling in his coat at the microfiche to be passed. This was the big one. If the KGB took this bait, these coordinates, their whole intel would be skewered for years. The info wasn’t useless or false—it was better than either of those. It was so intricately seeded that it would be impossible to notice. Like aiming a long-range gun—the slightest error could send the projectile a hundred miles off. Gotta pull this off. Baby needs a new pair of shoes.

Baby. Back home, David was learning to walk, he was given to understand.

Did Blonsky and Josef know the score? Had Ganz already told his suspicions to them? More than suspicions—Klaus was going to kill him. If they knew, this would be a short meeting. But they might not know. Blonsky and Josef had worked together foi years, since school, apparently. Klaus was from a different section, he might have been keeping his surprise for his own reasons. Too many questions. Too many guesses. Keep moving.

He reached the bridge at eleven-thirty, fifteen minutes late. The Gabrielskirk Bridge was small and wooden, spanning some twenty feet at most, crossing a stream behind a church. It was surrounded by an orchard that, even in winter, looked lovely. It was a place for star-eyed couples to meet in the evenings. Star-eyed couples and cynical guys with guns.

Morgan paused by a tree about twenty yards from the bridge. By the lamppost light he could see two men, one smoking, both talking in low tones. Blonsky and Josef were waiting. Morgan began to walk again, not wanting to be seen waiting and staring. Now he was playing it by ear, no idea if he should go on or not, his legs gliding over the icy streets, pain throbbing in the back of his mind. Blonsky heard his footsteps at the foot of the bridge and tapped Josef on the shoulder, turning around.

Morgan watched their eyes as he moved up to the center of the bridge.

Blonsky was a tall man, with slick, dark hair and a strong, hawk-like nose. His black coat made him. look like an undertaker. “Where is Ganz?”

Morgan felt him,self shrug. “Didn’t show.”

, “Did you wait?”

“I waited a bit. Not too long.” Morgan looked at the two men. Blonsky looked at Karl Josef briefly and shrugged. Ah, those wacky other sections, ha ha.

^-“Wby are you so late?” Josef took a drag on a cigarette, a Winston, Morgan noted. No one smoked Russian cigarcttes.

“Recruiting,” Morgan smiled. “Here I actually thought I hired a double for the U.S.!”

Blonsky chuckled. “Didn’t take, then?”

“No.” Morgan shook his head. “Second strike tonight. Maybe I’m not cut out for it.”

“Mm,’^: said Blonsky. “Perhaps we should arrange to have someone take your bait. Otherwise you may be replaced with someone more successful.” That was good. He had Blonsky thinking about his cover and not about Klaus Ganz,.

Morgan nodded again. “If it could be arranged.” “Well,” Karl Josef said, clasping his hands before him. “I take it you have something for us.”

Morgan stepped forward. “I do.” He felt awkward reaching into his coat for anything around these guys, but he did, found the sheet of liche, and brought it out. “Right here.”

“Excellent,” said Blonsky. “You will find your payment in the usual account on Tuesday morning.”

Morgan blanched. I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a microfiche today. “Tuesday? This is Friday. Why Tuesday?”    ‘

Blonsky was turning the spool over in his hand. “Monday is a holiday. It could still be arranged, but what’s an extra day?”

•^Right. Of course.”

“There will be a parade,” said Josef. “Should be something to see.”

“I just might do that,” Morgan lied. With any luck he’d be on the escape line by tomorrow. With Ganz dead, there was not much point in sticking around. Then again, perhaps he should extend his stay, lest he look like he was running from the kill. Anybody could have knifed Klaus Ganz.

A tough game. Morgan recalled the bullet wound and felt a fresh rush of pain and stifled it.

Blonsky sniffed. Blonsky did not smoke, and his nose was legendary. He sniffed again. He said, “Someone is making bratwurst.”

“Excellent,” said Morgan. “Perhaps I shall go and

find it.” They all laughed. Someone please just end this.

Blonsky deposited the fiche in his pocket. “Thank you, Comrade Morgan.”

“Any time,” the Green Beret responded. “Good evening.”

“Good luck in finding the bratwurst.” Blonsky s/'ffed again, and his eyes narrowed for a tiny moment.

The two men turned to walk in one direction and Morgan turned in the direction whence he’d come, and he felt his breath normalize. He had been holding some of it in. Stuff like that can get you killed. Settle down.

A wind picked up and swiped across Morgan’s face. Blonsky spoke up from the bridge. “Morgan?’-’came the voice.

Morgan turned around. The two men stood near to his end of the bridge, dangerously casual booking. “Hm?”

“Are you bleedingli

Morgan stared. “Bleeding?”'

Blonsky looked down at the snow on the bridge where Morgan had been standing a few minutes earlier. The man bent down for a moment and curled a finger into the snow, and came back up. He held up his hand. In the lamplight, Morgan saw the distinct red of blood on Blonsky’s fingers. Blonsky rubbed his fingers with his thumb, but his eyes were on Morgan, a drill bit grinding into Morgan's skull, and he felt the blood in his face rush out and to his extremities. He became aware of the dampness of his trouser leg; aware now that in ignoring his pain he had failed to make sure when he reached the bridge that his bandage still held.

Morgan dived for a tree as, for the second time in one night, someone pulled a gun. Two someones. Shots rang out from the bridge and he heard Josef and Blonsky moving towards the foot of the bridge. Morgan had his gun out and pressed himself against the tree, listening. He dove away from the tree, away from the walk, and rolled in the snow, firing at the two men. Puffs of snow erupted with bullets as the two agents shot at him, and he kept moving. How lucky do you think you’re going to get? He scurried towards tne bridge, saw Emil Blonsky on the bridge, looking over the side, just a few feet higher than Morgan. Where was Josef?

Morgan jumped behind another tree and prepared mentally to jump out again. Pick out your target. Take him out. Fluid.

The snow crunched and Morgan looked to his left and saw Josef creeping up, spun and fired twice. One caught Josef in the neck, the other in the chest, and the man crumpled into the snow. Morgan jumped out from the tree and looked for Blonsky.

Blonsky was in midair, howling. The large man landed on Morgan like a load of bricks and Morgan fell backward under him, and found himself sliding down the bank. “For that,” he heard Blonsky hiss, “you will pay.”

Morgan brought the butt of his gun to Blonsky’s head once, but Blonsky was in a reverie, hands at Morgan’s throat, beginning to press. Morgan tried to fire when he felt his head smack into a stone on the way down the bank. He instinctively threw back his hand, and felt the gun come away and land in the snow. Morgan twisted under Blonsky and used the slick snow to his advantage, and the men turned sideways and began to roll.

They splashed into the stream after punching through three inches of ice. Blonsky was the first to find his feet and immediately pressed Morgan down, and Morgan felt cold air filling his throat.

David was just beginning to walk, he was,given to understand.

His hands were beginning to go numb. Find the knife. He forced his fingers to work and the stiletto came into his hand and he tore at Blonsky with it, plunging it into the agent’s side. Blonsky howled in pain and Morgan stood, felt the cold water and ice flow off of him. He jammed the palm of his hand into Blonsky’s nose and saw blood erupt, and Blonsky staggered back. Morgan began to scramble for the bank.

Morgan felt the blade of a knife go into his calf where his wound was. He heard himself scream and dug his fingers into the bank, and kicked with his good leg, slamming Blcnsky in the nose again. Morgan scrambled up the bank and fell in the snow, looked back, and saw Blonsky emerging from the water, blood running down his fetce, a deadly cold look in his eyes.

Morgan saw Karl Josef’s crumpled body and looked for the gun he had dropped. He dug in the snow and finally felt the icy steel, brought it up, and fired. The bullet caught Blonsky in the shoulder and Blonsky spun around with it, slipping on the ice. The agent fell back into the water.

Morgan did not wait for a second emergence. He howled in pain as he got to his feet, crawling for the sidewalk.

He crawled until he could walk. He walked for hours until he found a barn just outside of town, where he was supposed to wait if this should happen.

That is, if everything went wrong.

Present day ...

“It’s not a bomb,” Smitty said.

Wulf Christopher stood in his office with his hands in the pockets of his double-breasted coat. Smitty had just brought him a package, a plain brown cardboard box addressed to Christopher at the Gaslight Club.

The Gaslight was yet another of the latest crop of “theme” restaurants opening around Manhattan. The decor was stricdy Victorian, offering the patrons a chance to wander in and feel as if they had been transported to the world of Sherlock Holmes. By opting to avoid the cheesy jokes and floor show of many of his competitors, Christopher had crafted a much quieter clientele of tourists. The line stretched around the block regularly, not that Christopher cared a great deal.

The Gaslight was a front, a laundering facility that made a lot of legitimate cash in order to mask the illegitimate funds that passed through. At the top of the building that housed the Gaslight sat Wulf Christopher’s office, and from there he directed his massive organization. It was no secret that he controlled multibillion dollar traffic in assorted illicit substances and items, no secret that he had a sizeable number of the police in his back pocket. Nothing stuck, if you bought the right people.

Christopher stood behind a gargantuan mahogany desk, regarding the package. The office was done up in scarlet and burgundy, tassels on the loveseat by the door, mirrors on the walls. Behind the desk and Christopher’s nigh-backed chair sat an old-fashioned wardrobe, full of fresh clothing and shoes (Christopher liked to change often). The whole office was just garish enough that only the most cultivated might question his taste. Most of the people that worked for Christopher thought it stylish.

Christopher opened a cigar box and clipped the end, and spoke while he busied himself lighting it with a carved ivory lighter that sat by the telephone. He clicked the lighter off and puffed. “You ran it through the metal detector?”

“No metal. ’

“Hm.” Christopher folded his arms and puffed his cigar some more. A wisp of his ash blond hair fell forward. Women often told him he resembled Julian Sands. They would have told him he looked like Oliver Hardy if he appreciated it enough. “What's in it?” A gangster has every reason in the world to regard unmarked packages with suspicion.

“I can’t tell,” said Smitty. The security guard wore a tan suit like the one Robert Red ford wore as Gats by, a mistake then and now. He wore a pair of Ray-Bans and had his long, blond hair, slightly darker than Christopher’s ashen blond mane, pulled back in a ponytail. “Ran it through the x-ray and came up with just a blob, but no

netal. There’s a note on top, but I couldn’ ■ read it. There’s symbol on the envelope in there, though.”

“A symbol?”

Smitty handed Christopher a printout of the x-ray machine's findings. “Recognize that?”

The x-ray showed a bundle, perhaps something in a sheet or blanket. Atop the bundle sat an ordinary letter envelope. In the fuzzy gray picture Christopher could just make, out a stylized M with a line through the middle. He did recognize it. It was the symbol he used on any correspondence passed regarding the use of the tunnels under the city to move contraband. It was a contact.

“All right,” said Christopher. “Leave it. Thank you, Smitty.”

“If you’re looking for a way to get killed, there could be any number of chemicals that might react when vou open this up. You don’t need metal to--”:

“Thank you, Smitty.” Christopher smirked, laying his cigar on a silver ash tray. When he was younger, he would have killed someone for giving him that kind of lip. “I’ll take care of it.” Smitty nodded and took his leave.

When Smitty was gone, Christopher picked up a letter opener and slit the box along the taped side. Christopher sniffed, aware of a strange odor he could not quite place, and lifted the top flaps back. Inside the box was a blue bundle, tied with a string at the top, and atop that, the envelope. He picked up the envelope and opened it, extracted the piece of paper inside. It was a note, scrawled in crude, block letters:

THERE IS SOMETHING MISSING.

Christopher frowned. What the hell? He clasped the string at the top of the bundle and chewed his cigar as he untied the knot. Finally the blue blanket fell away, Te-vealing a sheet of plastic lying across the top. Christopher sighed and pulled the plastic away and gasped.

(There is something missing.}

The box was full of hands. Human hands, stacked atop one another, bathed in blood and cradled in the blue blanket. Christopher looked around him, feeling nauseous, and he thought about naked mole rats.

When Wulf Christopher was a child he had gone to a natural sciences museum in Des Moines. One of the exhibits was a gian^f network of clear plastic tubes, a small city for creatures known as hairless, or naked, mole rats. The point of the exhibit was to show how the mole rats tunneled through the hard earth and carried food to their queen. Christopher was struck as a child by the creatures moving up and down the tiny tunnels, crawling over one another squirming hairless and pink in the comers, pushing one another out of the way, blending together, a hundred pieces of flesh biting and clawing and swimming, swimming in one another. His father walked up and said, “Life is like that.”

The hands in the box reminded him of mole rats. They gestured and seemed to swim in one another, and Christopher coughed and gasped and felt the bile begin to rise in his throat. (There is...) He looked at himself in the mirror across the office and saw that he was white as a sheet. Someone would pay for this. (... something missing.)

There was a creak, a hinge moving, and Christopher watched his white face in the mirror and saw something rising behind him, behind the high-backed chair, stepping out of the great wardrobe. Now, in the light from the lamp on his desk, Christopher could see it more clearly. The creature was seven feet tall, with fins on the side of its head, and red, glowing eyes. The Abomination. Christopher reached for the red button on the underside of his desk when he heard a soft, rasping laugh and felt something grip him by the neck.

The Abomination picked Christopher up and the man hung in the air, kicking his feet up onto the desk to try to keep from hanging. The creature whipped the char aside with a heavy claw.

“How did you get in here?!’.Christopher felt himself being turned over, and all at once the Abomination 'learned him down on the top of the great desk and pressed him there. Oh God oh God oh God....

“Shh. Don’t shout,” growled the creature. “Don’t reach for any alarms, or I’ll eat you.” Christopher saw the head of the Abomination, like a scaly, finned, cat, come to Christopher’s own face, hot, rank breath blowing against his cheek, ill’ll eat you a piece at a time. Shhh.”

“What do you want?”

A giant, green claw rested on Christopher’s chest pressing him down. The creature put a clawed finger under the buttons of Christopher’s double-breasted coat and began to pull. Christopher listened to the fabric slowly rip away. Then the claw dug into the front of his shirt, and he looked down and saw the green claw slowly tearing its way up, white cotton ripping and falling aside until his chest lay bare. The Abomination stopped, their eyes locked, a clawed forefinger tapping almost idly on Christopher's sternum

“Ask,” rasped the Abomination,

‘What?”

“Aren’t you curious?” The Abomination tilted his head, gargoyle teeth bared each time he opened his mouth.

"What?”

“Ask, Christopher. You’re a smart fellow,” rumbled the voice of the demon.

The note. (There is something missing.) “What is— missing?” He spoke, hopefully, ashamed to sound so snail, ashamed to be so small, so weak. Please don't kill me. If I get out of this 1 will hunt you down and destroy you. Please don’t kill me.

“Y?eesss,” the Abomination said. “What is missing? What is missing is a heart.’ ’ The claw tapped on his sternum a bit more forcefully, hammering away, a bruise forming. Then the claw came away and up to Christopher’ s Adam’s apple, resting just under his silk tie, which hung to the side. The claw began to lower and Christopher felt a stabbing pain, something ripping, and then something new entirely.

“The tingling sensation you are feeling,” the creature said, the hot breath still on his face, that demon face still intimately close, a new wetness on his chest, “is the skin of your chest ripping, just a tiny bit, just so much as I want.”

You want.. '.r-The creature growled. “I want to rip your heart out, I really do.^!^~

“But...”

“But that would not suit you. Why illustrate the obvious?”

“I’ll do anything, anything. ..

“You will be silent and you will listen to me,” continued the Abomination.^‘The tightening you are feeling about your chest is not merely the weight of my hand pressing on your rib cage. The tightening is on the inside. ’

Christopher blinked, feeling the warm blood flow, the claw slowly moving down his sternum. ‘Inside?”

*_G£A special gift from me to you,” said the creature, “Tincture 6, some call it. On my claws. In your blood.” The demon mouth curled up and smiled, almost singing, I ‘Swimming in your blood, to your heart. Weakening you. Grabbing that empty heart of yours and tightening it, squeezing it...

Christopher gasped. Please, get off of me, I feel... He became aware of the swish of blood in his ears, his heartbeat, pounding, compressed. He opened his mouth and sucked in air and heard it rattle in his throat.

- . “Now you are going to suffer a massive cardiac arres:, Christopher. You are a very fit man,’’ he smiled again, “so I think you might'make it.”

What is missing is a heart... What is missing is a heart... my heart my heart my heart...

“Yes. If I let you go now,” continued the creature, lifting his claw away from Christopher’s belly, the end of his cut, “you might make it to the hospital in time. If you are fast. I suspect you will.”

“Oh, God,” Christopher said, clasping his chest. The Abomination came around to his side and lowered down to whisper in his ear. Please, please...

“But, Christopher,” rasped the Abomination, “you will live in fear. The emergency room will be a regular part of your existence. From here on out.”

Missing ... missing... missing a beat...

“This is what I have done,” spoke the demon voice in his ear, “to your wicked heart, Wulf Christopher^S Christopher stared at the ceiling and heard the crash of the window as the creature leapt through it. He stared at the ceiling and tried to cry out, heard the guards running in as the world went black.

ClHlAIPTiR 1

y Morgan nodded grimly, as did Jo Carlin. The photos showed Wulf Christopher on a hospital bed, a series of plastic tubes running to his arms and nose. ‘Well, he’ll live.”

Bruce looked out the large office window at the clouds high on the New York skyline. He had decided to come onto the Helicarrier after the message about Christopher. No sense playing shy. “I have to say it doesn’t exactly grieve me to see him in that condition.”

“We know that,” said Carlin. “We’re not tom up about Christopher, either.” .

“He played us all for saps,” said the Hulk. “Christopher got the police to go down there and I was right in front, down there to clean out the Abomination and his followers, or whatever. I attacked Christopher myself after that. This is the only move the Abomination has made that comes as no surprise at all;”_

“I agree,” Morgan said. “This was to be expected. Maybe we should have put guards on Christopher.’^ ‘What a shame,” the Hulk nodded gravely.

“I’ll say,” Morgan clasped his fingers and stared over them at the Hulk and Carlin. ■* ‘But I want to know what you think will happen next.*^

“What did the note say? Something is missing?” Bruce asked.

“Mm-hm, We managed to get out of Christopher that the ‘something missing’ was a heart.”

“In Wulf Christopher's case,” the Hulk observed, “I could have told you that.”

Carlin shook her head. “So what, then? The Abomi-

■ation is picking off personal enemies? With the cops and "\ristopher—”

“But tie didn’t hit Nadia,” said the Hulk.

“No, but he hit around her pretty hard, ’ Morgan said. The Hulk thought back to the e-mail message;?,“The nessage I got from Emil said that now Nadia would see only pain. So in a way, he did hit her. But the fact that he's aiming at others makes him a whole lot more dangerous.”

“What does he want?%’;. ^:

The Hulk watched the buildings and listened to the distant whooping of the great rotor blades above them. “When I met the Abomination last, he made a threat.” “Which was?’ Carlin asked.

“He said that by letting him get away, whatever he did, whoever he allied himself with, I brought it on myself. He said he had tried to fit into this world, even under ft, and next time he returned, he wouldn’t stop until he’d brought it down around us.”

Morgan tapped his desk. “But these targets have been personal.”

“And a little too smart, sometimes.”

“Hm?”

“That thing at the theater was way too advanced foi Emil. Emil kicks and bites.”

“True,” Morgan said.

“He bccame the Abomination by stepping in front of a gamma gun I designed. Deliberately hit himself with a massive dosage, he says, unoer orders from the Kremlin. This is a guy who’s admittedly a brilliant strategist and spy, but he was never a stickler for technical details.”

“I don’t know,” said Carlin. “Maybe we’re underestimating him. He could be on his own. There’s no telling what he might familiarize himself with.”

“I see what Dr. Banner is getting at, though,” said Morgan. “Like the fact that he knew we were coming down below. You think there’s someone working with him.”

“Maybe a lot of someones.”

Carlin shook her head again. “But why would such someones want to help Emil pick off his personal enemies, harass his ex-wife, et cetera?”

“Widow,” corrected the Hulk. “Nadia doesn’t know Blonsky isn’t dead. But in answer to your question, I don’t know.”

“Emil doesn’t like working with teams any more than you do.”:>_.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” the Hulk smiled wryly.

Morgan stood up and walked over to the window to stand next to the Hulk. “Whenever I recruit someone, if we’re going to have a long relationship, I like to make sure a few problems of their own get cleaned up. If you want to work with someone, the best thing in the world is to share a few objectives, make them mesh.”

“What next?” the Hulk asked, hand under his chin. “What are you going to do next?”

“Well,” said Morgan, “there is a pattern.”

Carlin listed them as she walked over to a slate on the wall where they had been scribbling with a magnetic pen. “Eyes, with Nadia. Hands. Now Christopher’s heart. Body parts.”

“Not much, is it?” Morgan said tightly.

“It’s a lot,” said the Hulk. “I just don’t see it yet.” Morgan turned around and went to the coffee maker by his desk. As he poured himself a cup, he asked, ‘ ‘So— all of this poetry. Has Emil ever been this cryptic before with you?”

“Not in my experience,” said Bruce. “But I remember he found a great deal of peace, down below. He did always have something of a poetic soul. I have to say I think he was a bit gullible. But this is like a new Blonsky we’re seeing. A new Abomination.”

“It’s new to me, too,” said Carlin. ^:And I’ve been

_ him for a couple of years now. Maybe I haven’t Hfcp you have, but I’ve been watching. I don’t . - i. There's such rage, and yel such sentimentality.”

- rt to be sentimental while you’re cutting people's t - _ and stringing them up,” said Morgan.

■ 1 agree,” the Hulk said. “But not impossible.” The

- fcbu <u Cariin. ‘ ‘ ‘Haven’t met’ ... you know, that strange thing in the e-mail message. Emil t - weird comment about meeting six or seven

!S5SCV

Morgan sipped his coffee.

7 -ice he said that. Then he said, ‘Who can recall

-r ~ ..*** **

H ’« many times have you met?’ ’ Carlin asked. k ~tz.. of a lot more than that.”

M -set his cup down and looked at his watch. Bisaer, you may not believe this, but this isn’t : : . we’re working. Let’s meet again later and i... - _ - : - look. Let me know if anything occurs to

. door to Morgan’s office slid shut behind the Hulk _ . j Carlin as they walked down the hall. The woman . rapid stride, and she had no difficulty keeping up

■    - gamma giant. “When’s the funeral?” Bruce said,

■    - £ readied the lift down to the hovercraft bay.

“Six o'clock this afternoon,” said Carlin. “One !»r.

The Hulk was pleased that she hadn’t called it eigh-r en-hiuidred hours. “Look after him,” frowned Bruce. “I will,” she said. “He’s the only Morgan we have.”

Til Bruce go: home, Betty was just sitting down to watch Rick and Mario. “I noticed your friends dropped you off at the next block.”

“Yes.”

“Kind of them.”

“What’s on?”

Betty had a quart of Haagen-Dazs in front of her and gestured with a scooper. “Rick’s got Senator Hill today A real hoot-and-holler. Want some?” She indicated a second bowl, which already was lined with slices of pea;h.

“Absolutely,” the Hulk said. “How was school?---'He sat down on the reinforced couch and it gave out the same whine every other piece of steel-reinforced furniture they had did.

‘ ‘Carla the Brain showed up for the second time and we worked on her paper^T: Betty said, scooping ice cream into Bruce’s bowl. She licked the scooper and continued. “I’ve seen this kid’s writing. Excellent methodology, good diction. I think she can publish it if I can guide her correctly.”

Bruce smiled broadly.

“What?”

“I just—I just like hearing you so content.”

“Well, it’s a change for the better,” she said, although her voice dropped a bit. “How goes the hunt?”

Rick was on TV now, next to Mario, his wife, seated in their chairs. Rick was introducing Terence Hill, saying he was going to run a campaign clip. The thin, gray form of Senator Hill came on after that, giving his usual speech.

“Eyes,” said Bruce, poking at his ice cream with a spoon. “Hands. Heart. Body parts. What do you think?jf* ‘ ‘Huh.'' Betty laid down her spoon and popped a slice of peach in her mouth, turning to him on the Couch. “Well, there’s other extremities to go for. Feet, for instance.”

“Yeah. And every connection so far is personal. Nadia, Emil’s wife. The cops who killed his people down below. The billionaire who sent them. ’

“Who else does he hate?” Betty asked.

“He hates me,” Bruce said, staring through the TV. She nodded, gravely. “Yes. He does. But he hasn’t come after you yet.”

think he knows where I am. He sent me his od the Internet.”

fc," she said. Betty pulled a printout of the e-±. m under her bowl of ice cream. “I’ve been think-that ‘I will be what I am. What are you?’ ” 'jca nodded. “Underground, he listed Abomina-Trinjs that are Abominations to the Lord.”

“‘E^-... is an Abomination.”

~Diah- '

N I mean, look. ‘I will be what I am.’ Let’s not

■ ■ the simple parts. What is Emil?’ ’

LI e you said,’ Bruce hit the mute button and Sen-Wl shut up. “ 'An Abomination.” b s — ihe Religious Studies instructor looked back at

- thing reprehensible to God or to men. A spiritual ii;. or a spiritual accident. A hole where there should r'cfiiiag good.”

The Hulk stood up and got behind the couch to read

- Message over Betty’s shoulder. “ ‘Nadia had haughty eye io* she sees only pain.’ ‘I will be what I am, what >.. What will [ make you see?’ ”• He was whisper. . -.hip to wring it out. “Hands that shed innocent : are an Abomination. A wicked heart is an Abomi-

Bt&y looked up. “Can’t figure this guy out. Where is j fiom?”

‘Former Soviet Union.”

“No, what state?”

The Hulk thought for a moment, the wheels turning, pages flipping back in his head. “Georgia.”'

The instructor chewed her thumbnail. “You know, the Georgians managed to maintain their Christianity even af-: the October Revolution.”

“I thought all that was, ah, stamped out.”

She shrugged. “That’s what people say, but it’s a hard thing in practice. It was a sticking point, but Georgia continued to observe religious holidays fairly regularly. If

Emil was bom at the height of Soviet Communism, he would have grown up serving two masters,”

“The Church and the State.”

“And probably constantly balancing between the two.”

The Hulk tapped his chin and began to pace. “ ‘What are you?’ That’s an identity question. Struggling with your identity,” he whispered, the words tripping over themselves. “ ‘What are you?’ ”

“A spy. ’

“Yes,” Bruce said, “before that, a child; after being a spy, a monster. A monster people call the Abomination.”

“What happened to Emil after the change?”

“The KGB hung him out to dry,” Bruce said. “He’s been on his own, rejected even by his own people.”

‘ ‘ ‘O God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ That state was like a religion in itself, or tried to be.’tj^

“Yes,” said the Hulk. “Yes! And he’s been cast out of both of those, but now he’s talking about what he is, affirmatively. Not searching. ‘I will be what I am.’ It’s for the rest of us to realize ourselves, he knows what he is.”

“And he’s going to show us.’"'

The Hulk paced back and looked at the sheet again. “Yes, he’s going to show us. He said in the tunnel he’d given me everything.”

“I think he has,” Betty said. “Numbers are very important to someone with a spiritual bent. Names, too. Numbers and names are magical, they have reasons for being. Numbers and names are never an accident.” She stood up and disappeared into the study. Bruce pounded after her as she continued, “You just have to know where to look! Lordv, what kind of morons are we?”

“Hey, gimme a break, a few years ago I didn’t use articles and spoke about myself in the third person.”

She was sitting down at Bruce’s computer and smirked at him as he came in the study. “I remember. ‘Hulk hate stupid purple corduroys. Hulk need fresh pair.’ ”

“Don’t remind me."

“Hey, you put ’em on. Thank God we got married or you’d never have discovered Dockers.

Bruce grinned as Betty moved the mouse and the modem began to dial.

- .-“Six or seven times,” Betty said. “That’s too obviously a clue. Emil’s not trying to be secret here, he just wants you to work for it. He wants you to notice him while you get to the answers.”

“Okay,” said Bruce. She had connected to their online service and she clicked a few more times to bring up a search engine, then typed a series of words. “What are you getting?”

The Bible,’ she said, shaking her head as one of the many on-line translations came up. “Amazing, when you think aoout it. Used to be there was a skill called recall that made professors rich and famous for their ability to recognize patterns and find them in a stack of books.”

I -‘Don’t you have a concordance?” Bruce asked.

“Oh, sure. And I can look up a word like Abomination and get every verse with the word in it. But that’s as intelligent a search as you could do. That recall skill was still the lifesaver. Now, look at this, I can do a search smarter than I am.” She brought up a search screen and typed +six +seven + abomination.

Something came up. “I could have done this on paper,” Betty said. “But not in ten seconds.”

Floating on the screen, lighting the faces of Bruce and Betty, read the following words:

PROVERBS 6:16

THERE ARE SIX THINGS WHICH THE LORD HATETH; YEA, SEVEN WHICH ARE AN ABOMINATION UNTO HIM:

HAUGHTY EYES, A LYING TONGUE,

AND HANDS THAT SHED INNOCENT BLOOD;

A HEART THAT DEVISETH WICKED PURPOSES,

FEET THAT ARE SWIFT IN RUNNING TO MISCHIEF,

A TALSE WITNESS THAT UTTERETH LIES,

AND HE THAT SOWETH DISCORD AMONG BRETHREN.

“I knew it,” she said. “I knew I’d seen that before.” The Hulk grinned. “We should all join a convent from time to time.”

“It’s a hard habit to break.” She raised an eyebrow as the verse printed out. “You better call Morgan.”

The Hulk looked at the clock and shook his head, “Later.”

She looked up. “You think you should wait?”

“His kid’s funeral,” Brace sighed. “I’ll give him a couple hours. Meantime,” he picked up the printout, “let’s have a look.”

“Coffee?”

“Right.’ ^

They reconvened in the kitchen, Betty sitting on the counter next to where the Hulk stood, shoulder to shoulder '‘He’s acting out, as Leonard would say,” said Bruce, referring to his gamma-enhanced psychiatrist friend Doc Samson.

“Yeah, ' she said, “but it’s not that simple. He’s acting out and getting everybody else involved. He’s not just an Abomination, he’s the king of Abominations and the punisher of them all.”

“The haughty eyes of Nadia and her audience,” said Bruce. “That’s really scary. Every one of those people, he injured just to make a point. The hands that shed innocent biood, just like he told me. Betty, I could kiss you.”

“Oh, you owe me bigger than that,'’ she said. “The