Get Smart 1 - Get Smart! Page 11

  “Not so strange,” Max said. “In fact, it explains quite a lot—it explains the whole summer of ’61. I distinctly remember Captain 49 now. He was the FLAG agent who was smuggling those orange ping-pong balls. We thought his purpose was to upset the orange market in Florida. But, all along, this is what he had in mind—a new-fangled submarine.”

  “I don’t think I understand,” Blossom said.

  “That submarine—that’s what kept it afloat. Its hull was filled with orange ping-pong balls. That’s why it’s hailing ping-pong balls now. Apparently when that seaman dropped his cigarette into the wastebasket, it . . . well, it’s too gruesome to discuss.”

  “Very sad,” a voice agreed.

  They turned and found Boris standing behind them.

  “Yes, they were good men,” Max said. “Rotten to the core, but good men, nevertheless.”

  “The men I won’t miss,” Boris said. “But the submarine, that’s a different story. When the submarine went, there went my ride home. You ever tried hitchhiking across the Atlantic Ocean?”

  “Especially hitch-hiking with a robotnapped computer,” Max said. “What have you done with Fred?”

  Boris grimaced. “Don’t even mention that name. He may have the world’s finest brain, but, to go with it, he’s got a cheatin’ heart. I’ll never trust him again.”

  “What did he do?” Blossom said curiously.

  “I don’t like to talk about it,” Boris said morosely.

  “Ah, come on,” Max said. “That’s the best thing to do—talk about it, get it out of your system.”

  A tear rolled down Boris’s cheek. “I made him such beautiful promises,” he said. “ ‘Come with me,’ I told him. ‘Live in the land where every man is equal, each and every one a servant of the State.’ I promised him everything. He could have lived like a czar.”

  “And he said no?”

  Boris nodded. “He said no. I didn’t mind that. That, I expected. It was all lies, anyway, everything I promised him. What saddens me is his ingratitude. After all my promises, he done me dirty. Just as I was about to shove him in front of a speeding automobile, he . . .” Overcome, Boris began to weep.

  “Buck up, old man,” Max said sympathetically. “What did he do—tell us?”

  “He stepped aside,” Boris sobbed.

  “Yes . . . and . . . ?”

  “I was very near killed,” Boris said. “I went plunging on, right out in front of the speeding automobile. I could have been seriously deceased.”

  “The driver stopped the car in time, I assume,” Max said.

  “Fortunately, yes,” Boris said. “Unfortunately, however, also in time for Fred to escape. There was a heated discussion with the driver of the car, and when it concluded, Fred had disappeared. I am heartbroken.”

  “You’ve been dealt a dirty deal, all right,” Max said.

  “I think he had it coming to him,” Blossom said sourly. “I’m just worried about Fred. Poor thing. That girl, trying to dismantle him. And this one, trying to push him in front of a car. And what has he done? His only crime is to have brains and want to lead a quiet, secluded life.”

  “No man is an island,” Max said. “And that goes for computers, too. Fred has a duty to participate in all the mayhem and double-dealing that’s known as Life. If he doesn’t like it the way it is, why doesn’t he go back where he came from?”

  “You mean back into the kit?”

  “Don’t confuse the issue,” Max said. “The point is, Fred has a duty to mankind. He has the brain power to develop the most powerful explosive the world has ever known. It’s the only thing that can save us.”

  “I don’t think I understand that,” Blossom said.

  “Of course not. You’re a woman.” He turned back to Boris. “Did you, by any chance, see in which direction Fred disappeared?”

  Boris shook his head. “I was too busy exchanging numbers with the driver of the car,” he said. “Social Security numbers, telephone numbers, insurance policy numbers, Unemployment Compensation numbers, Draft Board num—”

  “Apparently, then,” Max broke in, “we’re right back where we started. We have to figure out where a computer could go to hide. Any ideas?”

  “I’ll bet that girl has him, that Noel,” Blossom said.

  “Hmmmm . . . I forgot about her. Since 94 turned out to be Captain 49, I suspect that he didn’t take her to Control and turn her over for interrogation. Our problem, then, is to find Noel. Any ideas on that?”

  “Why don’t you call her home in Paree, Illinois,” Blossom suggested. “Maybe her family has heard from her.”

  Max considered this for a moment, then shook his head. “She didn’t strike me as the type of girl who keeps in touch with her mother.”

  Boris sighed. “Well, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I have to report in. If I miss calling headquarters, they worry.”

  “See you around,” Max said. “Maybe on the next case.”

  “Regards to the fellas at Control,” Boris said, departing.

  “Aren’t you awfully friendly, for enemies?” Blossom said to Max.

  “Well, we’re all in the same trade. You have to have a certain amount of respect for those FLAG—” He suddenly brightened. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that!”

  “Of what?”

  “FLAG. Boris. That’s where Boris is going right now—to check with FLAG headquarters.”

  “I know. He said that.”

  “Yes, but he didn’t say why.”

  “Yes, he did. He said—”

  “Never believe a FLAG agent,” Max counseled. “They wouldn’t know the truth if it sat down on their corns. The whole kit and kaboodle, they’re a bunch of lying, cheating, unscrupulous—”

  “Will you tell me what he’s up to!” Blossom demanded.

  “He’s going to call FLAG headquarters, all right. But not just to report in. He’s going to find out where Noel is. She has to report in, too, you know. She’ll advise FLAG of her whereabouts—they worry about them if they don’t know where they are every second.”

  “Gee,” Blossom said, “it’s too bad you’re not a FLAG agent. You could call in and find out where Noel is.”

  “I think it’s time to stop playing fair and square,” Max said. “If you can’t win on the up and up, then cheat—rule number twenty-three!”

  “Rorff!”

  “That’s right,” Max said. “That’s rule number twenty-one. Twenty-three is: Never knock Texas.”

  “Never knock Texas?”

  “We have a large Texas contingent,” Max explained. “They demanded that we insert that rule or they’d secede and start up a Secret Service of their own.”

  “All right, I’m sorry I asked,” Blossom said. “How are you going to cheat?”

  “I’m going to pretend to be Noel’s mother and go to FLAG headquarters and find out where she is.”

  Blossom put a hand to her forehead. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she said.

  “Buck up,” Max said. “This is no time to weaken. I think we’re going to crack this case. From here on out it looks like clear sailing.”

  “I know I’m going to be sick!” Blossom groaned.

  At Max’s urging, they hurried to where they had left the car, then drove to a department store. Reaching the store, they made their way to the Womens Wear department.

  “I’d like some motherly-looking apparel,” Max said to the clerk, a small, bird-like, motherly-looking woman.

  “I think you’re making a mistake,” the clerk said, appraising Blossom. “If you have anything at all, it’s a shame to hide it. Believe me, I know. It’s my motherly-looking clothes, for instance, that make me look the way I do. Would you believe that I’m only twenty-two?”

  Max shook his head. “Sorry.”

  “Would you believe thirty-four?” the clerk said.

  “Try seventy-six,” Max suggested.

  “Would you believe seventy-six?”

  “I wouldn’t ev
en believe eighty-seven,” Max said. “But that’s beside the point. I don’t want the clothes for her, I want them for me.”

  “For a masquerade?” the clerk said. “Or shall I call the police?”

  “I think it could be honestly said that it’s for a masquerade,” Max replied. “Now, hop to it, or I’ll forget that you’re a little old lady of twenty-two and complain to the management.”

  Approximately a half-hour later, they left the store. Max was now outfitted in an ankle-length housedress of flowered print, flat-heeled slippers, and a straw hat that was decorated with multicolored artificial butterflies. He was carrying a straw purse, into which he had put his pistol.

  “How do I look?” Max asked. “Like somebody’s mother?”

  “Like your own mother, possibly,” Blossom said. “But nobody else’s.”

  “You’re jealous. No one in the world would ever believe that I’m not a woman of—”

  A man touched Max’s shoulder, stopping him. “Got a match, Jack?” he said.

  Max opened his purse. “I may have. Let me . . .” He brought out the pistol, searching.

  “Skip it,” the man said, moving on. “If you’re going to get nasty about it, keep your matches.”

  “Wise guy,” Max muttered, putting the pistol back into the purse.

  Max, Blossom and Fang got into the car, then drove to FLAG headquarters, which was in a gray-stone building in midtown Manhattan; a building not unlike that in which Control was located.

  “You two wait in the car,” Max said. “I don’t think Noel’s mother will create any suspicion, but Noel’s mother with a dog and a gorgeous blonde might start somebody wondering.”

  Blossom giggled. “I accept,” she said.

  “Accept what?”

  “Where I come from, calling somebody a gorgeous blonde is practically like a proposal of marriage.”

  “Well, forget it,” Max said. “Where I come from, it’s merely idle conversation.” He got out of the car. “If I’m not back in an hour or so,” he said, “telephone an SOS to the Chief. I put my other shoes in the glove compartment—the telephone shoes, that is. And, for heaven’s sake, if you reach into the glove compartment and come out with a 20 mm. shell, don’t try to use it to call with. Reach back in and get the shoe. I tell you that because I don’t have a great deal of confidence in your ability to remain calm under stress. Okay? Any questions?”

  “Oh, go play mother,” Blossom pouted.

  Max turned away, took one step, tripped on the hem of the housedress, and fell flat on his face.

  “Help!” he shrieked. “I’ve been shot!”

  “Boy, that’s calm under stress,” Blossom said cattily. “Get up—you just tripped, that’s all!”

  Max got to his feet. Indignantly, he strode toward the building.

  Since it was a secret organization, FLAG hid its operations behind a front. To those who were not in the know, FLAG headquarters looked like a conventional tourist agency. There were huge banners pasted to the windows. JOIN UP! SEE THE WORLD! TRAVEL! HIGH RISK—LOW PAY! SPY NOW—PAY THE PRICE LATER! HELP A NEEDY COUNTRY! Max entered and approached the reception desk, behind which was a gorgeous redhead.

  “Yes, sir,” she smiled. “May I help you?”

  “You can stop calling me ‘sir,’ ” Max said. “That’s not a very nice thing to say to a mother.”

  “I’m sorry, sir—I thought there for a second—”

  “Well, you were wrong,” Max said. “If anyone should know a mother when she sees one, it’s another mother. And I say I’m a mother.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s better. Now then, in answer to your question, yes, you can help me. I’m looking for my daughter, a gorgeous brunette who claims her name is Noel and that she hails from Paree, Illinois. And don’t tell me you don’t know her, because I happen to know that she’s a FLAG agent and that this is FLAG headquarters.”

  “I wouldn’t think of telling you I didn’t know her,” the girl said, wounded. “What sort of people do you think we are here, anyway?”

  “All right, now that we understand each other, where is she?”

  “Who?”

  “Noel.”

  “Never heard of her,” the girl smiled.

  “Maybe we better take it from the top again,” Max said. “Being Noel’s mother, I’m aware that, as a FLAG agent, she is required to report in occasionally. Now, all I want to know is, where was she the last time she reported in?”

  “You wouldn’t believe it,” the girl said.

  “Try me.”

  “Well, she said she’d just escaped from a closet, where she’d been locked in with some dopey agent from Control and his dog. Where she’d really been, I haven’t the foggiest.”

  “Nice try,” Max said. “However, sticks and stones may break my bones, but allusions to dopey will never hurt me. And that goes for my dog, too.”

  “Oh, you’re the one,” the girl said. “I can hardly believe it. Noel said you were kind of cute.”

  “It’s these clothes,” Max said. “You should see me when I’m not pretending to be somebody’s mother.”

  “I’ll bet. Look, I’m off duty in about a half-hour, and there’s a little tea shoppe around the corner. Now, if you’d like to—”

  “Stow that,” Max said. “I’ve got trouble enough with that gorgeous blond out there in the car. All I want to know is: where is Noel?”

  The girl sighed deeply. “Well, if you’re going to be persistent, I suppose I might as well tell you. She’s not with us any more.”

  “I can hardly believe that!”

  “Would you believe that she’s on vacation?”

  “The only thing I’ll believe is your official check-off sheet,” Max said. “I happen to know that you keep a written record of where your agents are at every moment.”

  The girl handed him a clip board from the desk. “See for yourself.”

  Max ran his finger down the list of names until he came to Noel’s. “Resigned to accept better paying position with T. C. & S.” He looked up. “T. C. & S. Isn’t that the big computer manufacturing organization?” he said.

  “Yeah, that’s right. Typewriters, Computers & Stuff. It’s up the street aways.”

  “Thank you,” Max said. “I appreciate your cooperation.”

  “Look,” the girl said, “just so it won’t be a total waste, that tea shoppe around the corner—”

  “No thank you. I never sip tea while on duty.”

  “Then maybe I could book you on a tour somewhere,” the girl said. “We have a bargain in African safaris this week.”

  “Some other time,” Max said, backing away.

  “Well, listen, so long as we can’t do business, there’s something I’d like you to know.”

  “Yes?”

  “At no time did I ever think you were somebody’s mother,” the girl said.

  Max halted. He stared at her, pained. “You really know how to hurt a mother,” he said. He turned and stalked out.

  10

  WHEN MAX reached the car he removed his motherly-looking clothes and changed back into his shoes and his telephone.

  “Well?” Blossom said.

  “It paid off,” Max reported. “Noel has resigned from FLAG and taken a job with T. C. & S.”

  “Typewriters, Computers & Stuff? That big, worldwide computer manufacturing organization? Whatever for?”

  “The triple cross,” Max said. “She’s gone into business for herself. Apparently she’s discovered that that’s where Fred is hiding, and she’s gone after him on her own. Instead of turning him over to FLAG, she’ll peddle him herself. To the highest bidder, no doubt.”

  “That doesn’t sound very nice,” Blossom said.

  “No, it isn’t. But it’s a living.” Max started the engine. “One thing though, now we know where Fred is,” he said. “It’s a natural. What better place for a computer to hide than among the world’s largest collection of computers?” He turned the ca
r into traffic. “T. C. & S. is only a few blocks from here. We may be able to wrap this case up before dinner.”

  “What makes you think she’s been sitting around waiting for us to catch up with her?” Blossom said. “By now, she’s probably robotnapped Fred again and skipped the country with him.”

  “You forget—the Chief has agents posted at all the airports, train stations and bus terminals. She could never slip through the net.”

  “And boat docks,” Blossom said. “But she could have rented a car and driven him out of the city, you know.”

  Max glared at her. “Now, you tell me. Why didn’t you mention that while I had the Chief on the phone?”

  “Little me? Stupid me? A woman?”

  “I think I detect a note of sarcasm,” Max said. “This is no time to let personal feelings creep into our relationship. We’re a team. We have to pull together. So, from now on, knock off that bilge, and just do what I tell you. And the first thing I have to tell you is: don’t be sarcastic!”

  “Oh . . . go talk to your shoe!”

  “That’s better,” Max said. “It would be a good idea to have the Chief station agents at all the rent-a-car garages.” He reached down, while driving, and removed his shoe, then spoke into it.

  Max: Chief . . . this is 86. I have just been informed by a reliable source that a FLAG agent may be trying to sneak Fred out of the country by automobile. I’d suggest that you post agents at the rent-a-car joints and at all the main highways leading out of the city.

  Chief: We did that hours ago, Max. We do something besides sitting around here on our chairs, waiting for you to call, you know. Control is the brains of the operation.

  Max: Sorry, Chief. I suppose you’ve posted agents at the ferries, too.

  Chief: Ferries?

  Max: She could smuggle him aboard a ferry and slip him out of the city, you know.

  Chief: Now, you tell me! Why didn’t you mention that when you called about the train stations, airports and bus terminals!

  Max (sharply): You’re supposed to be the brains of this outfit!

  Chief: Oh, sure, sure, sure, put the blame on me. All I have to do is sit around here and think, I suppose. That’s all you know about it. You, you’re off chasing FLAG agents all day, what do you know about it? Who is it has to keep this place tidied up? Who is it who has to listen to all the complaints? Who is it who has to play nursemaid to all the agents around here? You know what I get all day? ‘I need a new gun!’ ‘Why don’t you ever assign me to any of the out-of-town cases?’ Complaints, complaints, complaints. I can’t do one little thing right! I don’t know why I stay in this place! Pick, pick, pick! That’s all I get, picked on!