The Avenger 35 - The Iron Skull

THE GREATEST CRIME FIGHTER
OF THE FORTIES RETURNS!

IN THE ROARING HEART OF THE CRUCIBLE, STEEL IS MADE. IN THE RAGING FLAME OF PERSONAL TRAGEDY, MEN ARE SOMETIMES FORGED INTO SOMETHING MORE THAN HUMAN.

IT WAS SO WITH DICK BENSON. HE HAD BEEN A MAN. AFTER THE DREAD LOSS INFLICTED ON HIM BY AN INHUMAN CRIME RING, HE BECAME A MACHINE OF VENGEANCE DEDICATED TO THE EXTERMINATION OF ALL OTHER CRIME RINGS.

HE TURNED INTO THE PERSON WE KNOW NOW: A FIGURE OF ICE AND STEEL, MORE PITILESS THAN BOTH; A MECHANISM OF WHIPCORD AND FLAME; A SYMBOL TO CROOKS AND KILLERS; A TERRIBLE, ALMOST IMPERSONAL FORCE, MASKING CHILL GENIUS AND SUPER NORMAL POWER BEHIND A FACE AS WHITE AND DEAD AS A MASK FROM THE GRAVE. ONLY HIS PALE EYES, LIKE ICE IN A POLAR DAWN, HINT AT THE DEADLINESS OF THE SCOURGE THE UNDERWORLD HEEDLESSLY INVOKED AGAINST ITSELF WHEN CRIME’S GREED TURNED MILLIONAIRE ADVENTURER RICHARD BENSON INTO—THE AVENGER.

THE IRON SKULL

A CRIMINAL WITH SUPERHUMAN MENTAL POWERS IS SEEKING CONTROL OF THE NEW YORK UNDERWORLD. KNOWN AS THE IRON SKULL, HE IS SAID TO BE ONLY PART FLESH-AND-BLOOD—THE REST OF HIM IS METAL. DOES SUCH A MONSTER REALLY EXIST? CAN HE MAKE GOOD HIS GOAL: TO DESTROY JUSTICE, INC., INCLUDING THE AVENGER?

“I’ve never seen a robot so sophisticated,”

said the Avenger. “I’ve heard rumors that a young scientist in Germany had accomplished some incredible things in the field of robotics, robots as convincing as this. But that scientist was killed in a lab explosion.”

“A lot of the stuff used to build this bozo is top priority stuff,” Smitty noted as he poked around among the parts of the ruined robot. “You can’t stroll into your neighborhood radio shop and ask for it.”

“Right,” replied the Avenger. “We’ll make note of every part and track down its source. Whoever made this robot used MacMurdie as his model, and the bomb he planted inside it was meant to explode inside our offices. Whoever designed this robot intended to kill every member of Justice, Inc.!”

Also In This Series

By Kenneth Robeson

#1: J
USTICE
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NC
.
#2: T
HE
Y
ELLOW
H
OARD
#3: T
HE
S
KY
W
ALKER
#4: T
HE
D
EVIL
’
S
H
ORNS
#5: T
HE
F
ROSTED
D
EATH
#6: T
HE
B
LOOD
R
ING
#7: S
TOCKHOLDERS
IN
D
EATH
#8: T
HE
G
LASS
M
OUNTAIN
#9: T
UNED
FOR
M
URDER
#10: T
HE
S
MILING
D
OGS
#11: R
IVER
OF
I
CE
#12: T
HE
F
LAME
B
REATHERS
#13: M
URDER
ON
W
HEELS
#14: T
HREE
G
OLD
C
ROWNS
#15: H
OUSE
OF
D
EATH
#16: T
HE
H
ATE
M
ASTER
#17: N
EVLO
#18: D
EATH
IN
S
LOW
M
OTION
#19: P
ICTURES
OF
D
EATH
#20: T
HE
G
REEN
K
ILLER
#21: T
HE
H
APPY
K
ILLERS
#22: T
HE
B
LACK
D
EATH
#23: T
HE
W
ILDER
C
URSE
#24: M
IDNIGHT
M
URDER
#25: T
HE
M
AN
FROM
A
TLANTIS
#26: R
ED
M
OON
#27: T
HE
P
URPLE
Z
OMBIE
#28: D
R
. T
IME
#29: T
HE
N
IGHTWATCH
D
EVIL
#30: B
LACK
C
HARIOTS
#31: T
HE
C
ARTOON
C
RIMES
#32: T
HE
D
EATH
M
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#33: T
HE
B
LOOD
C
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#34: T
HE
G
LASS
M
AN

WARNER PAPERBACK LIBRARY

WARNER PAPERBACK LIBRARY EDITION
F
IRST
P
RINTING
: A
PRIL
, 1975

C
OPYRIGHT
© 1975
BY
T
HE
C
ONDÉ
N
EST
P
UBLICATIONS
, I
NC
.
A
LL
R
IGHTS
R
ESERVED

T
HIS
W
ARNER
P
APERBACK
L
IBRARY
E
DITION
IS
P
UBLISHED
BY
A
RRANGEMENT WITH
T
HE
C
ONDÉ
N
EST
P
UBLICATIONS
. I
NC
.

C
OVER
I
LLUSTRATION
BY
G
EORGE
G
ROSS

W
ARNER
P
APERBACK
L
IBRARY
IS A
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IVISION
OF
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ARNER
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OOKS
, I
NC
.
75 R
OCKERFELLER
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LAZA
, N.Y. 10019.

A Warner Communications Company
ISBN: 0-446-75848-5

Printed in the United States of America

THE
IRON
SKULL

He wasn’t MacMurdie.

He looked exactly like the dour Scot, had the same lean face and sandy hair as the Justice, Inc., veteran. Had you spoken to him as he trudged along the snowy Manhattan street that cold December morning he’d have replied in the same Highland burr as Mac.

But he wasn’t MacMurdie.

The wind rushed at him when he reached the intersection, swirling snowflakes into his face. He heeded it not. The wind and the snow didn’t bother him at all, didn’t prompt him to turn up the collar of his overcoat.

MacMurdie’s drugstore, which contained a fully equipped laboratory concealed in its back rooms, was near here.

That’s where the man who looked like MacMurdie was heading. The snow was building up on his face, covering the cheekbones and the hollows beneath his eyes. It remained there, not melting.

Something was definitely wrong. The snow should have melted, since he was supposed to maintain a human body temperature.

He reached a gloved hand inside his overcoat, inside his coat and shirt. He pushed one of the small buttons built into his side. They were well hidden, these buttons, covered by highly realistic skin-like material. Even when his shirt was off, they weren’t noticeable.

His imitation flesh went on being too cold.

He was incapable of worry, but he was designed to be concerned about his functioning. He had a mission to accomplish; after that, all his concern would end.

As would he. The fact that he would only exist for another two hours and forty-three minutes didn’t bother him at all. He hadn’t been designed that way.

Life, which was a joy to some of those who shared the snowy street with him and a burden to others, was something he didn’t think about. No more than a blockbuster bomb plummeting down toward a crowded city worries about its own immediate end or the deaths it will cause.

And inside him there was an explosive charge powerful enough to destroy half a city block. That would go off, it was set to go off, in two hours and thirty-nine minutes.

When the charge went off, he would be inside the headquarters of Justice, Inc. The offices and everyone in them would be destroyed.

It meant nothing to him.

Smitty decided not to whistle. Every time he puckered his lips the giant sucked in a mouthful of snow. He’d hum. He’d decided he needed more exercise than he’d been getting. Not that all the brawling and running around he did as a member of Justice, Inc., didn’t provide a good workout. But what he figured he needed was a regular habit of exercise. So he was going to take a five-mile hike every morning, rain or shine.