Get Smart 2 - Sorry, Chief . . . Read online

  WOULD YOU BELIEVE IT?

  In Maxwell Smart’s new assignment the fate of the whole civilized world is at stake!

  Well, would you believe half the civilized world is at stake?

  But there’s nothing to get excited about. It’s just a routine assignment for our intrepid sleuth. In fact, all Max has to do is find the diabolical Dr. X and stop him from selling the invisibility serum he developed to KAOS. And since the diabolical Dr. X has amongst his luggage six invisible guinea pigs, what could be easier?

  So, posing as a space scientist, his assistant, and a scientific experiment, Max, the beauteous 99, and Fang (as the scientific experiment) infiltrate a group of touring scientists on a ship bound for Europe. There they set to work to find out which of the bearded scientists is really Dr. X in disguise. With the help of ingenious gadgets developed by Control’s Research and Development Department, the three gain entrance to many staterooms . . . and to the ship’s brig.

  But nothing will stop Max Smart when he’s on the trail of The Enemy, not even a roomful of oatmeal!

  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

  © 1966 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

  AC66-100091

  A TEMPO BOOKS Original

  TEMPO BOOKS EDITION, 1966

  FIRST PRINTING, FEBRUARY 1966

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  CONTENTS

  SORRY, CHIEF . . .

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  SORRY, CHIEF . . .

  1.

  MAX SMART—known to Control as Agent 86—peered down at the wing-tipped brown-and-white oxford that the shoe clerk had just fitted snugly to his right foot. His left foot was already wearing its mate. As the clerk, still kneeling, glanced up hopefully, Max tested the feel of the shoes on his feet.

  “Would you like to walk in them?” the clerk asked.

  “What else?” Max replied. “What would I expect to do in them—fly? Just because they’re wing-tips?”

  “I meant,” the clerk explained, “would you like to walk around the floor—see how they feel?”

  “Good idea,” Max said, rising.

  He strolled around the section of chairs, then seated himself again. “They’re a lit-tle snug around the middle toe,” Max said.

  The clerk stared at him, perplexed. “The middle toe? That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that comment.”

  Max’s eyes narrowed. “This is the first time I’ve ever had these shoes on,” he said.

  The clerk nodded dimly.

  “However, they’ll probably loosen up after I’ve worn them a while,” Max said. “So . . . I’ll take them.”

  “Yes, six,” the clerk said. “Will you wear them or shall I have them wrapped?”

  “I’ll wear them,” Max replied. “When you’ve got a tight middle toe problem, it’s never too soon to start working it out.”

  The salesman rose, picking up the shoes that Max had worn into the store. “If you’ll come to the desk with me, sir,” he said, “I’ll have these wrapped.”

  Together—with Max limping slightly—they went to the cashier’s desk. The girl at the desk put Max’s old shoes into a box and began wrapping it. As she tucked paper around the box, a telephone rang.

  The girl looked at the clerk, then at Max, then continued wrapping.

  The telephone rang again.

  Max shifted uneasily.

  “Your phone is ringing,” the clerk said to the girl.

  She bit her lip nervously, then said, “That’s what I thought. But then I remembered—I don’t have a phone.”

  Max cleared his throat—but said nothing.

  The phone rang again.

  “Well, somebody’s phone is ringing,” the clerk said edgily.

  “Ahhh . . . I think it’s mine,” Max said.

  The clerk and the girl stared at him.

  “Your phone?” the clerk said, puzzled.

  “My shoe, actually,” Max said. “Excuse me.”

  He took the shoe box from the girl, parted it from the wrapping, opened the box, and took the right shoe from it. Then, as the clerk and the girl stared at him in utter dumbfoundment, he spoke into the sole, while listening at the heel.

  Max: You-know-who here, Chief. I don’t want to mention my number because I’m not alone.

  Chief: Max? Is that you? Why didn’t you answer your shoe?

  Max: It was tied up in a box, Chief.

  Chief (disgustedly): Max, sometimes I wonder how you ever got to be a secret agent!

  Max (wounded): Chief, you know full well how I got to be a secret agent. I got into the wrong line. I thought it was the line for the Christmas show at Radio City Music Hall. How did I know that Control would be recruiting over the holidays? That’s usually the slow period.

  Chief: All right, Max . . . never mind. Report to my office. I have a mission for you. In fact, it may be the most important mission you’ve ever handled. The fate of the whole civilized world may—

  Max (breaking in): Yes, I know, Chief—may hang in the balance.

  Chief: Isn’t that important to you, Max?

  Max: Of course it is, Chief. The fate of the whole civilized world is as important to me as it is to anybody. It’s just that . . . well, in all my cases the fate of the whole civilized world is hanging in the balance. I’d like to do something different for a change. Something to break the monotony. Like rescuing a pussy cat from a tree.

  Chief: Max, I promise—the next pussy-cat-up-a-tree case that comes in, you get it.

  Max: Gee . . . thanks, Chief.

  Chief: But, right now, get in here!

  Max: I’m on my way, Chief. And . . . Chief. Don’t forget. Meowwwww!

  There was a loud click on the line.

  Max turned back to the clerk and the girl. “I think I better wear the telephone, and you can wrap the brown-and-white wing-tips,” he said.

  Max changed his shoes, then left the store and got into his car, which was parked at the curb. The car, a sleek sports model, had been specially built for him. It was equipped with a number of “extras” that were invaluable to him in helping him follow his trade.

  Getting in behind the wheel, Max switched on the ignition. Or, rather, he intended to switch on the ignition. But, accidentally, his finger pressed the button that fired the forward machine guns. There was a rat-a-tat-tat, and a truck that was passing in front of the car had its top sheared off. The driver of the truck, however, did not notice that his vehicle had been noticeably altered. He drove on.

  Max, leaning out the window, called after him. “Sorry about that . . .”

  But, as the truck proceeded, Max pulled his head back in and shrugged. “It could happen to anybody,” he commented to himself.

  A bit rattled, Max reached for the ignition switch again—and this time touched the button that operated the ejection seat. The seat beside him rocketed into
the air.

  Max tipped his head back and peered up at it—then smiled as the parachute opened and the seat floated leisurely back toward the car.

  Nearby, a woman screamed. “The Martians are landing!”

  “No, no! That’s my car seat!” Max cried.

  But the explanation was drowned out in the sounds of pandemonium as the passersby, shrieking and screaming in terror, raced for safety.

  One gentleman, however, remained. And, with Max, he watched the car seat gently settle back into place.

  “So that’s how they look,” the gentleman said. “I thought they’d look more like bugs—with antennae.”

  “This is not a Martian,” Max insisted. “It’s my car seat.”

  The gentleman cupped an ear. “Eh? You’ll have to speak up. I’m a little hard-of-hearing.”

  “It’s my car seat!” Max bellowed.

  The gentleman nodded, smiling. “Yes, it’s hard to beat. But, with us talking about sending a man to Mars, it’s only natural that they’d send one of their folks down here. Ask him how the trip was.”

  Resigned, Max turned to the car seat. “How was your trip?” he said.

  “What’d he say?” the gentleman asked.

  “The weather was a little rough over Chicago,” Max said.

  The gentleman looked at his watch. “Yes, I have to go, myself,” he said. “I’m late for work. I’m in the complaint department at the discount store up the street.” He tipped his hat to the seat “Have a nice stay,” he said. Then he walked on.

  Very carefully this time, Max reached for the ignition switch. He found it, started the engine, and pulled out into traffic.

  Turning to the seat, he said, “You’ll find that, down here, some days are like that”

  Minutes later, Max entered the Chief’s office. He found that two of his fellow agents were already there. They were Agent 99, a slender, attractive brunette young lady, and Agent K-13, otherwise known as Fang, a pudgy, attractive blond young sheepdog.

  Max greeted them warmly. “Good-morning, 99,” he said. “Woof, Fang.”

  “Rorff!” Fang replied.

  “Oh, nothing—I had a little trouble with the car,” Max answered.

  “Max, we’re all going to be working together on this case,” 99 said. “You and I and Fang.”

  Max looked hurt. “I’m the senior agent,” he said. “I’m supposed to tell you that.”

  99 lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry, Max.”

  Max shrugged. “No harm done. Let’s not be petty about it. After all, we want to get along, since we’re all going to be working together on this case.”

  99 brightened. “Oh, are we, Max? That’s wonderful.”

  “I thought you’d be happy to hear it,” Max smiled.

  “Rorff!” Fang said.

  “I don’t know where you heard it before,” Max frowned. “But if it wasn’t from me, it wasn’t official.” He turned to the Chief. “Now, then, Chief, what exactly is this case?”

  “Well, Max,” the Chief began, starting to rise from behind his desk.

  “Just a second, Chief,” Max broke in. “Isn’t this Top Secret?”

  “Yes, Max.”

  “Then . . . shouldn’t we lower the Cone of Silence?”

  The Chief sighed. “All right, Max.” He lifted his eyes toward the ceiling. “Lower the Cone of Silence.”

  Immediately, a plastic bubble began to descend toward his desk. When it was in place, Max and the Chief crawled under, isolating themselves inside the bubble.

  “Now then—what’s the case, Chief?” Max said.

  “But what about 99 and Fang?” the Chief said. “They’re outside, they can’t hear us.”

  Max frowned. “Yes, there is that problem. Since they’ll be working with me, they’ll need to know the details of the case, too.” He pondered a second, then said, “I know—I’ll step outside and let 99 come in here. Ladies first, you know.”

  “But, Max, then you won’t know what the case is about.”

  “Hmmmmmmm. Then how about this, Chief? You step outside and let 99 and Fang get in here with me.”

  “Max, if I were outside, how could I tell you about the case?”

  “You could shout.”

  “Then what’s the point of having the cone of silence?”

  Max lifted his eyes toward the ceiling. “Raise the Cone of Silence!” he called.

  Magically, the plastic bubble ascended and disappeared into the ceiling.

  “Did we miss anything?” 99 asked.

  “Technical stuff—it would have been over your head, anyway,” Max replied.

  “Max,” the Chief said from his seat at his desk, “can we get down to business? You know, the fate of the whole civilized—”

  Max winced. “Not again, Chief.”

  “Sorry.”

  Max seated himself on a corner of the Chief’s desk. “Until you get a really top-notch pussy cat case, let’s just refer to everything as routine,” he suggested.

  “All right, Max. Now, here’s your assignment,” the Chief said, settling back in his chair. “A certain Dr. X has developed a serum that can make men invisible. One injection and—”

  “Excuse me, Chief,” Max interrupted. “But . . . this Dr. X . . . is that his real name?”

  “Yes,” the Chief nodded.

  “Why do you ask, Max?” 99 said.

  “I used to know a family of Xs,” Max replied. “Back in my old home town. Let’s see . . . there was Billy Joe X, and Fanny Rose X, and V. W. X.—I don’t know what his name was, he only used his initials—and Franklin Delano X . . . a whole family of Xs. I wonder if this Dr. X is any relation.”

  “I don’t see that it makes much difference, Max,” the Chief said.

  “It could be a conversation-starter—having the same home town,” Max pointed out. “I hate like the devil to get involved in a contest of wills with a Bad Guy—especially in a situation where the fate of the whole civilized world hangs in the balance—and not have anything to talk about.”

  The Chief sighed. “All right, Max. Let’s get on with it. As I was saying, Dr. X has developed a serum that can make men invisible. One injection and—”

  “Chief—are you sure that this serum can make men invisible?”

  “Well . . . that’s what Dr. X claims,” the Chief replied. “So far, he’s tried it only on guinea pigs. But the assumption is that, yes, it can make men invisible.”

  “Chief . . . ahhh . . . did you see these pigs?”

  “Well, no . . . they were invisible.”

  Max looked thoughtful for a second, then he said, “Well, I guess that proves it, all right. I was a little doubtful there for a moment, but as long as you actually didn’t see the pigs, then I guess there’s no doubt about it. Go on, Chief.”

  “Our first contact with Dr. X—if it can be called that—occurred about a week ago,” the Chief continued. “We received a package in the mail, and when we opened it, it contained what appeared to be an empty suitcase. But there was a note attached. The note explained that Dr. X had developed a serum that could make men invisible, and that he was including in the suitcase six invisible guinea pigs to prove it.”

  Max nodded. “Ah-hah!”

  “Well, we were a little skeptical at first,” the Chief went on. “But then somebody suggested that somebody reach into the suitcase and squeeze. And . . . somebody did . . . and . . . well . . . something squealed.”

  “Guinea pigs!” Max exclaimed.

  “Right.”

  “What else did the note say, Chief?” 99 asked.

  “Dr. X offered to sell us the formula for the serum. We were to put a million dollars in the suitcase and mail it to him at the return address on the package.”

  “Well?” Max said.

  The Chief lowered his eyes. “As you know, Max, we’re on an economy kick around here. Our allocation for buying invisible-man-serums is only five-hundred thousand dollars. We just couldn’t meet the price. So, we mailed the suitcas
e back to Dr. X, with a note of our own offering to bargain.”

  “Yes . . . and what happened.”

  “We got another note from him—this time in a plain envelope,” the Chief said. “He was rather nasty about it.”

  “What exactly did he say, Chief?”

  “For one thing, he said ‘Fooey on you!’ ”

  Max flinched. “Oh, that is nasty.”

  “But he also said something else,” the Chief continued. “He informed us that he plans to sell the formula and the serum to KAOS.”

  Max’s eyes opened wide in stark horror. “KAOS! That international organization of No-good-niks! Chief, that’s terrible! KAOS will use that serum for purposes of evil!”

  “Exactly, Max,” the. Chief said, rising. “That’s why Dr. X has to be stopped and the formula has to be destroyed.” He began pacing the room. “Through clever undercover work,” he said, “we have discovered the next step in Dr. X’s plan.”

  “How did you do that, Chief?” 99 asked.

  “Well, since we had his return address, we knew where he lived. So, we secreted an agent into his house. The agent had himself bronzed and delivered to the house as a statue. Dr. X, of course, thought the delivery was a mistake. But, being only human, he kept the statue, anyway. Which was exactly what our man had counted on.”

  “Brilliant,” Max said.

  “Yes. Anyway, our man has advised us that Dr. X is sailing tomorrow for Europe. He intends to go to KAOS International headquarters and turn over the formula and the serum.”

  “Chief, why don’t we stop him now—before he sails?” 99 asked.

  “That’s not possible,” the Chief replied. “He has eluded our surveillance.”

  “Pardon?” Max said.

  “Rorff!” Fang barked.

  Max looked surprised. “Oh, is that what it means? That he’s slipped away from our undercover man? I thought surveillance was some sort of exotic mushroom. You can imagine my surprise when I thought you said that Dr. X had eluded our mushroom.”