Get Smart 8 - Max Smart Loses Control Read online

  MAX SMART Loses CONTROL

  It all started when Max got out of bed, punched the Eat and Wear buttons on his bedside computer and received the following message:

  YOU WILL LOOK SPIFFY TODAY IN YOUR GOLFING KNICKERS AND RED WHITE AND BLUE HORIZONTAL STRIPED PULLOVER. FOR BREAKFAST: RED JELLYBEANS. GREEN JELLYBEANS CAUSE ASTIGMATISM.

  Max certainly didn’t want to have anything to do with such an outlandish Oriental religion as Astigmatism, so he stuffed his pockets with red jellybeans and headed for Control headquarters—and another dangerous assignment.

  Control’s top agent is miffed when the Chief relegates him to the number two spot on this assignment—Hymie, Control’s robot-agent is put in charge of the search for the KAOS-naped computer Number One. Naturally, this only makes Max try harder. And the harder Max tries, the worse it gets, for himself, 99, Hymie, the Chief, the Operator, KAOS, Control, the Operator’s brother-in-law, innocent passers-by . . .

  GET SMART novels

  by William Johnston

  Get Smart!

  Sorry Chief . . .

  Get Smart Once Again!

  Max Smart and the Perilous Pellets

  Missed It By That Much!

  And Loving it!

  Max Smart - The Spy Who Went Out to the Cold

  Max Smart Loses Control

  Max Smart and the Ghastly Ghost Affair

  © 1968 TALENT ASSOCIATES—PARAMOUNT LTD.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THE RIGHT

  TO REPRODUCE IN WHOLE OR IN PART

  IN ANY FORM

  PUBLISHED SIMULTANEOUSLY IN CANADA

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER

  AC68-29985

  A TEMPO BOOKS Original

  TEMPO BOOKS EDITION, 1968

  FIRST PRINTING, July 1968

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  CONTENTS

  MAX SMART Loses CONTROL

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  MAX SMART

  Loses

  CONTROL

  1.

  MAX SMART, Agent 86 for Control, was awakened that morning by the jangling of his telephone. Always alert, Max jumped out of bed instantly—and went to the door of his apartment.

  “Yes . . . what is it?” Max muttered, looking out into the corridor. There was no one there. Yet, the bell was still ringing. Max’s eyes opened wide. “That’s a very good trick,” he said, impressed, addressing the empty corridor. “How do you do it?”

  The only response was the continuing jangle of the bell.

  “Oh . . .” Max said, addressing himself now, “maybe it’s the phone.”

  He closed the door, returned to his bedroom, and began looking for his shoes, one of which served also as a telephone. He peeked under the bed, and found the first base mitt he had lost several weeks earlier (just before the big game between the Control Angels and the KAOS Devils), but not his shoes. Max retrieved the mitt, slipped it on, then pounded his fist into it a few times. “I sure wish I’d had you during the game,” he told the mitt. “The Chief made me play with what was available. Have you ever tried to catch a hot grounder with Agent 99’s handbag? I kept losing the ball in the change purse. Twice, trying for double plays, I threw half-dollars down to second. It was very embarrassing.”

  The phone, meanwhile, continued to ring.

  Max searched the closet for his shoes. They were not there. He looked in the bathroom. Still, no shoes. He stood for a moment, baffled, shaking his head, then wandered out into the living room to look for them. They were not under the couch, nor under any of the chairs or tables. Then, raising up from the search under an end table, he toppled the table over—and the ringing abruptly stopped.

  Max pondered the situation. The apartment phone had been on the table and had been knocked to the floor. It was now lying at his feet, with the receiver off the cradle.

  “Well . . . that solves the mystery,” Max said proudly to himself. “There are my shoes right there. They’ve been on my feet all the time. I must have been pret-ty tired when I went to bed last night.”

  He removed his shoe phone and put it to his ear. “Agent 86 here,” he announced.

  All he could hear was a dial tone.

  Perplexed, Max slipped his shoe back onto his foot. “Maybe I’m still in bed, dreaming,” he suggested to himself, picking up the table he had accidentally knocked over. “That ringing certainly sounded real, though.” He lifted the apartment phone from the floor and started to place it back on the table. As he did, he heard a faint but familiar voice calling his name. It seemed, strangely, to be coming from the phone. Puzzled, Max spoke back to the instrument.

  Max: Chief? Is that you?

  Chief (excitedly): Max! Are you all right? Are you in trouble? The phone rang and rang, then the receiver was picked up, but I couldn’t get any response from you. What was happening?

  Max: Sorry about that, Chief. I was a little groggy. Do you know what time it is? It’s eight o’clock in the morning. Chief . . . am I getting overtime for taking this call before office hours?

  Chief: Max, that’s too preposterous to discuss—even if I had time to discuss it. But I don’t. I have an assignment for you, Max. I want you to get down here to headquarters just as quickly as possible.

  Max: I’m practically on my way, Chief. I’ll be— Oh, incidentally, Chief, I have some good news. I found my first base mitt.

  Chief: That’s fine, Max. At the moment, however, that doesn’t interest me a great deal.

  Max: I imagine Agent 99 will be pretty happy about it, though. If you see her, you can tell her it’s no longer necessary to keep rubbing her purse with saddle soap to keep it in condition.

  Chief: You can tell her yourself, Max. She’ll be on the assignment with you.

  Max hung up, then returned to the bedroom. He took a shower, then, wrapped in a towel, approached the small machine on the table beside his bed. The machine was his personal computer. It advised him on what was best for him to wear and to eat and, at times, to think. The computer was a great convenience. Max no longer had to concern himself with small, everyday details. He could concentrate on the Big problems.

  He punched the Eat and Wear buttons. The computer clattered, then produced a tape, which advised: YOU WILL LOOK SPIFFY TODAY IN YOUR GOLFING KNICKERS AND RED WHITE AND BLUE HORIZONTAL STRIPED PULLOVER. FOR BREAKFAST: RED JELLYBEANS. GREEN JELLYBEANS CAUSE ASTIGMATISM. ASTIGMATISM IS—

  “I know what astigmatism is,” Max snapped, discarding the tape. “It so happens that I’m an expert on all kinds of Oriental religions.”

  Max dressed as his personal computer had suggested, then filled his pockets with red jellybeans, left his apartment and drove to headquarters. When he reached the Chief’s office, he found Agent 99 and Hymie, Control’s almost-human robot, there, too.

  “Well . . . my loyal assistants, eh?” Max said to 99 and Hymie. “I want you to know, first off, that it will be a pleasure to have you helping me on this case. You are both exceptionally able agents. I have always found you to be loyal, trustworthy, reverent, and so forth and so on, and generous with your purse in time of need.”

  “Max—” the Chief began.

  “I was just establishing my authority, Chief,” Max explained. “When I’m in charge of a case, I want those who are working under me to know it. That way, when I give an order, there’s no confusion or hesitation—they jump!”

  “I understand, Max. But—” He interrupted himself, peering more closely at Max.
“Golf knickers, Max?” he asked, puzzled.

  “My computer’s idea,” Max explained. “When my computer gives an order—I jump!” He dug a hand into his pocket. “Want a jellybean, Chief? I brought a few more than I could eat. My eyes were bigger than my tummy, I guess.”

  “Was that your computer’s idea, too, Max?” the Chief asked.

  Max nodded. “My computer is always thinking about my health,” he said. “If it hadn’t been for my computer, I might have had my usual green jellybeans for breakfast. That could have been very embarrassing. I don’t even know any of the Astigmatists’ prayers. I often wonder, Chief: how did I function before I got my personal computer?”

  “Frankly,” the Chief said, “I haven’t noticed any great change. But,” he went on, “we’re not here to discuss your relationship with your personal computer, Max. This assignment—”

  Max had turned to 99. “How do you like my pullover,” he asked. “I hope it doesn’t make me look like too much of a flag-waver.”

  “No, no, you look very nice in red, white and blue, Max.”

  “It goes with your eyes,” Hymie said.

  “Yes, I guess they are a little bloodshot this morning,” Max replied. “I was up too late last night.”

  “Would I be out of line if I tried to fill you in on this assignment?” the Chief asked sourly.

  Max looked thoughtful for a second, then replied, “I don’t see how that could be, Chief. After all, that’s why you called us in, isn’t it—to fill us in on the assignment?”

  “Thank you,” the Chief sighed. “Now,” he said, “here’s the background. As you know, there’s a great interest in computers these days. It’s become almost a craze. It’s estimated that there are more personal computers in the country today than there are bathtubs. I—”

  “I don’t know why that’s so surprising, Chief,” Max said. “I’ve been eating green jellybeans for breakfast for years and my bathtub has never said one word about it. It took my computer to warn me that I was in danger of being converted to Astigmatism.”

  “Fine, Max. Now—”

  “Max,” 99 said, “astigmatism means weak eyes.”

  He stared at her, shocked. “Fantastic!” he said. “It’s almost unbelievable the things people will worship!”

  “Max—”

  “Go right ahead, Chief,” Max replied. “99 is sorry she interrupted you.”

  “As I was saying,” the Chief went on, “people have come to depend on computers. Computers tell them what to eat, what to wear, when to water the house plants, when to carry an umbrella, when to take out the garbage, when to take the car in for a spring check-up . . . The services performed by computers are increasing every day.”

  “I agree, Chief,” 99 said. “I don’t know how I’d get along without my computer.”

  “I’d be lost without mine, too,” Hymie said.

  The others looked at him.

  “Hymie, you are a computer,” the Chief said. “Why do you need a computer?”

  “It’s somebody to talk to,” Hymie replied. “I’d be very lonesome without it.”

  “I know what he means, Chief,” Max said. “Before I got my computer, I had nobody to talk to but the corridor outside my apartment door. But it never answered. I never fail to get an answer from my computer, though. Unfortunately, it’s a bit of a crank. It keeps telling me to ‘shut up.’ ”

  “I can’t imagine why, Max,” the Chief said sarcastically.

  “Chief,” 99 asked, “does this assignment somehow concern computers?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” the Chief replied. “Yes—it does. It has been predicted that within ten years computers will be doing all of our thinking for us. I—”

  “I must be ahead of my time, as usual,” Max said. “My computer does most of my thinking for me already.”

  “Yes, Max. As I was saying, it has been predicted—”

  “Ah . . . Chief . . . who made that prediction?” Max asked.

  “A computer.”

  “Oh. Well, it must be accurate, then. Computers never make mistakes.”

  “Chief . . .” 99 said. “Couldn’t that be dangerous?”

  “Exactly, 99,” the Chief replied. “In fact, the danger already exists. It has come to our attention that KAOS has been experimenting with a number of personal computers, readjusting them so that they give their owners outlandish instructions.” He looked at Max. “I suspect that we have an example of that right here,” he said.

  Max frowned. “You mean my computer?”

  “Well, Max, how else can you explain those golf knickers?”

  Max pondered for a moment. “I’ve just been named the new pro at the Chevy Chase Country Club?” he guessed.

  The Chief shook his head.

  “A flood is expected and by noon the water will be knee-high?”

  “No, Max.”

  “I give up, Chief. What’s the answer?”

  “Your computer has been gimmicked, Max.”

  Max shook his head. “Impossible. My computer would have mentioned it. It tells me everything. It tells me a lot of things I don’t even want to know. You should have heard what it tried to tell me last night about the people who have the apartment next door. Talk about gossip!”

  “All right, Max. Nevermind the—”

  “That’s why I was up so late last night,” Max said. “I was listening at the wall. And, believe me, Chief, my computer was right. That couple next door is ready for the loony bin. They were telling their guests about a fellow who lives next door to them who talks to the corridor. I’ve heard some wild stories in my time, but—”

  “Max!”

  “I’m just trying to defend my computer, Chief. You’re being very unfair to it.”

  “All right, Max. I won’t argue with you. Your computer is in perfect working order. However, there are a number of computers that KAOS has got to. When Agent 76 came in this morning, for instance, he was wearing a bedsheet and had a rose between his teeth.”

  “Are you sure it was his computer’s fault, Chief?” Max asked. “Maybe 76 is an Astigmatist.”

  “Chief,” 99 said, “I don’t understand what KAOS thinks it can gain by gimmicking a few computers. After all, there are hundreds of thousands of computers in use. KAOS can’t get to all of them.”

  “No, not one by one,” the Chief admitted. “But there is a way that, in time, KAOS could get control of all of those individual computers. As you may or may not know, 99, those individual computers were designed by a master computer. The master computer is kept here in Washington and it’s called: Number One.”

  “Does it have a middle name?” Max asked.

  “No, Max.”

  “I like to have all the details,” Max explained. “Going out on an assignment without all the facts is like being rejected by the Boy Scouts.”

  “Uh . . . the Boy Scouts, Max?” the Chief said. “I don’t get the connection.”

  “Without the facts, you’re not Prepared,” Max explained.

  “Oh. Well, anyway, these small, personal computers are designed—as I said—by the master computer, Number One. Number One, of course, is always making improvements on the new, personal, smaller computers. So, in time, the smaller computers that are in operation now, in homes all over America, will be replaced, having become obsolete.”

  “You mean today’s computers will be replaced by tomorrow’s computers,” Max translated.

  “That’s what I said, Max.”

  “Then that’s probably where I heard it,” Max nodded.

  “Now, just suppose that Number One could be brainwashed,” the Chief continued. “It would mean that all the personal computers she designed in the future would be brainwashed, too. As a matter of fact—”

  “Chief—” 99 interrupted. “Did you refer to Number One as ‘she’?”

  “Yes, 99. Number One is female.”

  99 looked at him doubtfully. “How do you know for sure, Chief?”

  �
�For heaven’s sake, 99,” Max said, “don’t you know yet how to tell the difference between boys and girls? Girls are the ones with the long hair and— Ah . . . well, come to think of it, I guess the long hair rule isn’t reliable anymore.” He turned to the Chief. “How do you know that Number One is a female, Chief?”

  “Her inventor told us so,” the Chief replied. “But, anyway, that’s not important. The point—”

  “Not important!” Max said indignantly. “Maybe it isn’t important to you, but I’ll bet it is to a boy computer.”

  “I’ll second that,” Hymie said.

  “See?” Max said to the Chief.

  “But Chief,” 99 said, “aren’t you worrying about something that couldn’t possibly happen? If Number One is here in Washington—headquarters for the Army, Navy and Marines—she must be under constant guard. And KAOS couldn’t brainwash her without first kidnaping her, could they?”

  “Right,” Max said. “You’re just an old worry-wort, Chief.”

  “Last night,” the Chief announced, “Number One was abducted.”

  “Did anybody think to give her an aspirin?” Max asked.

  “Abducted means kidnaped, Max.”

  “That’s terrible!” Max said. “Chief, do you realize what could happen? KAOS could brainwash Number One! And from then on, every computer it designed would be brainwashed, too! KAOS would soon be master of the entire civilized world! Why isn’t something being done? Am I the only one who understands how serious this is? Why are we just standing here? Chief!—do something!”

  “I had in mind assigning my top secret agents to finding Number One and bringing her back,” the Chief said.

  “Smart move,” Max said. “Have you done it yet?”

  “Well . . . not yet, but—”

  “There’s no time to waste,” Max said, hustling the Chief toward the door. “You get those agents on the job! Every second counts. Don’t waste time standing around talking to us. 99 and Hymie and I can wait.” He shoved the Chief out the door, then closed it behind him. “The Chief needs a little push every now and then,” he said, facing back to 99 and Hymie. “I hope he isn’t gone too long, though. I’m anxious to know what our new assignment will be.”