Get Smart 1 - Get Smart! Page 2

  “Good, good,” Max said. “I was afraid there for a second that you had broken his little heart by not getting him a gift.”

  The Chief spoke up. “Miss Rose,” he said, “I think it might be helpful if you told Max exactly how Fred operates.”

  “I already know that—he operates alone,” Max said.

  “No . . . I mean how he functions.”

  “Well,” Blossom said, “I didn’t want him to be dependent on me. You know, have a mother complex. So I built him so he could operate himself. What he does is, I gave him a nickel, and he drops it into his slot, and that turns him on. Then he pushes a lever at his side, and his eyes start revolving, then he goes ‘peep-a-dotta, poop-a-dotta, dippa-dotta-boop,’ and that means he’s thinking.”

  “That’s the price of inflation,” Max said. “It used to be ‘a penny for your thoughts’—now it’s a nickel.” He scowled. “Doesn’t that run into money, a nickel every time he wants to think?”

  “No,” Blossom said. “I built him so that when he drops the nickel into his slot it falls back into his pocket. He uses the same nickel over and over again. I guess I did that because of working at the A & P. We’re always running out of change at the check-out counter.”

  Max turned back to the Chief. “Chief, I’d like to make a request. This looks like a tough caper to me—like looking for a robot in a haystack. I’ll need all the help I can get. I’d appreciate it if you’d also assign Agent K-13 to the case.”

  Blossom looked disappointed. “Three’s a crowd,” she said.

  Max spoke sternly to her. “I think we’d better get one thing straight,” he said. “When I’m on a case, I’m no longer Max Smart, wonderful human being and brilliant conversationalist—I’m Agent 86, dedicated secret operative. It’s all work and no play. My mind is fixed on the objective, like a foot stuck in the mud. Is that clear?”

  Blossom shrugged. “If that’s the way you want it. But I don’t see what harm maybe a movie or a little dancing could do.”

  The Chief intervened. “I’ll get K-13,” he said.

  As Max and Blossom observed, the Chief got up and went to the wall. He pressed a panel near the floor. It opened, and a large shaggy dog romped out. The dog had the appearance of having first been dropped into a vat of glue, then into a barrel of feathers.

  “Here, boy . . . here, Fang!” Max called.

  The dog leaped on him, pawing him. They exchanged greetings.

  “This is Agent K-13 . . . fondly known as ‘Fang,’ ” Max said to Blossom.

  She smiled. “He reminds me of Fred—that is, Fred my cocker spaniel,” she said. “Except, of course, that he’s about ten times bigger and doesn’t look a thing like Fred.”

  “One of our top agents,” the Chief said. “Absolutely fearless.”

  “Better punch in, boy,” Max said to Fang.

  The dog went to the open file where the time cards were kept, removed his card, using his teeth, and inserted it in the clock. He was unable to operate the mechanism, however.

  Max punched the card for him. “Absolutely fearless, but a complete butterfingers when it comes to anything mechanical,” he explained to Blossom.

  Fang barked a rejoinder, which was probably quite scathing.

  “I think that’s about all,” the Chief said. “Max, are you clear on your mission?”

  “Right, Chief! I’m to find Fred and bring him back—dead or alive!” He turned to Blossom. “Ready?”

  “Do you have any ideas about where to look?” she said, rising.

  “Absolutely none,” Max said confidently. “But, as somebody once said, ‘New York is really just a small town.’ So we’ll start out by just asking around.” He signalled to Fang. “Come on, boy!”

  “Rorff!”

  “Good luck,” the Chief said.

  Max paused. “You can send that to the members of FLAG,” he said to the Chief. “They’re the ones who’ll need the luck.”

  As Max, Blossom and Fang departed, Blossom asked, “Who is FLAG?”

  “That stands for Free Lance Agents Amalgamated,” Max answered, leading the way down the corridor. “It’s the trade union of the espionage agents. It’s my guess that a number of the FLAG agents will also be hot on Fred’s trail. They’re the opposition, you might say.”

  “Wouldn’t Free Lance Agents Amalgamated be FLAA?”

  “They have a little spelling problem,” Max explained. “They’re absolutely fearless, each and every one of them, but they can’t spell worth a darn. Fang is the same way.”

  “Rorfff!”

  “See what I mean?” Max said to Blossom. “He put in an extra ‘f.’ ”

  “These FLAG people,” Blossom said. “What country do they represent?”

  “Any country that hires them,” he answered. “They’ve found the one preferable substitute for loyalty, fidelity and playing-the-game.”

  “Good heavens, what’s that?”

  “Money,” Max said tersely.

  The three passed through the exit doors, ascended the steps, and got into Max’s car, with Fang settling in the rear seat. Max started the engine.

  “May I put my purse in your glove compartment?” Blossom said.

  “That’s not the glove compartment, that’s where I keep the shells for my 20 mm. cannon,” Max said. “You see, the lower headlight on the left side isn’t really a headlight—it’s the cannon. This car was specially built for me. The cannon was optional, but I took it because all the FLAG agents have cannons on their cars. Call it keeping-up-with-the-Joneses, if you want.”

  “Well . . . I guess a cannon is practical, in your business,” Blossom said.

  “It can be a drawback,” Max admitted. “Recoil, you know. I fired at a FLAG agent from 57th Street one day, and the recoil sent me all the way back to 42nd Street. I got fifteen tickets for driving backwards through fifteen stop lights.”

  “I’ll just hold on to my purse,” Blossom said.

  “Good idea. It might cause a misfire if I jammed it into the chamber without thinking.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “Instead of just asking around for Fred, I think it might be a better idea to go about this more methodically. Considering the answers I’ve got when I’ve asked my way on the subway, I don’t think asking strangers if they’ve seen a computer that was built with Rock Hudson in mind would get us very far. Rather, let’s ask ourselves a question. Namely: Where would we go if we were a computer trying to hide out?”

  Blossom smiled hopefully. “A cozy French restaurant?”

  “At this time of day? Don’t be ridiculous. There isn’t a French restaurant in town that opens before noon. No,” he said, “if Fred is as smart as you claim he is, he’d look for a place where he’d be inconspicuous. Now, all we have to figure out is, where could a robot go and not be noticed?”

  “A movie?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Rorff.”

  “I’m sorry, Fang, but that’s even more ridiculous than a French restaurant.”

  “A movie in the balcony,” Blossom suggested.

  “No. You’re forgetting the ushers and their flashlights.” Max suddenly brightened. “Of course! The perfect spot! The one place where a mechanical man could be mistaken for one of the bunch!”

  “Where?”

  “The United Nations,” Max said. “With all the new countries joining up, and old ones dropping out, who knows who’s who? He could pass himself off as the representative of some emerging nation.”

  Blossom sank down into the seat. “Well . . . if you think so.”

  Max gunned the car out into traffic. “That’s where we’ll find Fred!” he said exultantly. “Or my name isn’t 86!”

  “Rorffffff!”

  “Only two f’s, boy!”

  2.

  THE CAR covered the six crosstown blocks in only a little less than a half-hour. Within another forty-five minutes they had found a parking space. Both Blossom and Fang were dozing by the time the car finally came to a s
top.

  Max shook them awake. “All out . . . we’re here!”

  “Where?” Blossom said groggily, stretching.

  “The U.N. And, from now on, on your toes, both of you. Keep a sharp lookout for FLAG agents. The enemy is everywhere. Don’t trust a soul. There’s no way of knowing what disguise the adversary might be wearing.”

  “Then how will we know?” Blossom said worriedly.

  Max tapped his skull with an index finger. “Intuition,” he said. “After you’ve been in this business as long as I have, you develop a seventh sense. The instant a FLAG agent comes within ten feet of me, a warning sounds in my brain. A bell rings and a light flashes, and a little sign pops up, saying, ‘Apples 5¢’—that’s the code for ‘Watch it, Max!’ ”

  Blossom smiled. “That’s very comforting.”

  They started out—walking the twelve blocks from where Max had parked to the U.N. Building. But when they had gone only three blocks, Max suddenly grasped Blossom by the wrist and pulled her into a doorway. Fang quickly joined them.

  “What is it?” Blossom said fearfully.

  Max pointed back along the street. “See that lady with a poodle? She’s following us. It’s my guess that she’s a FLAG agent. Her poodle doesn’t look too trustworthy, either.”

  Blossom peered out of the doorway. “She just looks like a woman walking her dog to me,” she said.

  “Then why did my little sign pop up and say ‘Apples 5¢?” Max asked. “There’s definitely a FLAG agent in the vicinity. And that lady and her poodle are the prime suspects.” He spoke to Fang. “Boy, do your duty. Interrogate that poodle. But casually. Don’t give away your own identity.”

  Fang bounded from the doorway and romped toward the lady and the poodle.

  As Max and Blossom watched, they saw Fang sidle up to the poodle and touch cold noses with it.

  “Fast worker, isn’t he?” Blossom said. “There are some things some people could learn from dogs.”

  “He’s not so smart,” Max said. “It took me a week to teach him that trick. From morning to night, for seven days, we rubbed noses before he finally caught on.”

  “Look!” Blossom said. “The woman is chasing him away!”

  “But not before he got the information, I’ll wager,” Max said.

  Fang came galloping up to them.

  “How about it, Boy?” Max said. “Is she a FLAG agent?”

  “Rorff! Rorff!”

  Max frowned. “Hmmmm . . . are you sure?”

  “Rorff!”

  “What did he say?” Blossom asked.

  “He says the lady walking a poodle is only a lady walking a poodle. And, incidentally, he has a date with the poodle for tonight.” He scowled deeply. “Very puzzling. I’m sure there’s a FLAG agent in the vicinity.” He spoke again to Fang. “Are you positive that poodle didn’t pull your wool over your eyes?”

  “Rorff!”

  “Okay, okay, okay,” Max said placatingly.

  “What did he say?” Blossom asked.

  “He dared me to step outside and say that.”

  The trio moved on, heading once more for the U.N. building.

  “I hope there’s a meeting of the General Assembly going on,” Blossom said. “Maybe we could sit in the balcony and watch it.”

  “I don’t think it would do any good,” Max said. “Fred may be a member of the U.N. by now, but I doubt that he has enough seniority to address the General Assembly.”

  “That wasn’t what I—”

  Blossom interrupted herself as they were approached by a little round tub of a man who looked quite distraught and who seemed about to address them. The man was chewing nervously at the ends of a scraggly mustache and glancing this way and that, as if he were lost.

  “Haxcuse my Sothern accent,” the little man said, stopping them. “But I’m looking for the Hew Hen Building, and my eyes cannot find it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Max said. “Just as you began to speak, a little bell began ringing in my brain, and I didn’t hear a word you said. Would you repeat that?”

  “I’m lost from the Hew Hen Building,” the little man said. “And haxcuse my Sothern accent.”

  “It’s hardly any accent at all,” Max said genially. “I understood you quite clearly. You’re looking for a hen house—right? But I’m afraid you won’t find any around here. There hasn’t been any farming in this area since the Empire State Building went up and blocked out the sun.”

  “Rorff!” Fang barked.

  Max brightened. “Oh! The U.N. Building!” To the little man, he said, “My apologies. Your Southern accent threw me there for a second. What part of the South are you from?”

  The little man beamed. “Zinzinotti, Alleybama,” he replied.

  “Oh, yes,” Max smiled. “Beautiful country. I passed through there in the summer of ’61. On the trail of a FLAG agent who was trying to smuggle California oranges into Florida. I caught up with him on the outskirts of Atlanta. But he beat the rap by setting up a stand on the highway and peddling all his contraband as colored ping-pong balls. Fascinating case.”

  Blossom whispered to Max. “Careful. Maybe he’s a FLAG agent!”

  “Nonsense!” Max said. “He just told us he’s from Zinzinotti, Alleybama. Besides—get that Southern accent. No foreigner could fake that.” To the little man, he said, “You’re a tourist, I presume. My name is 86—Max, for short. This is Blossom Rose. She’s the inventor—more or less—of the most sophisticated computer ever developed. And, down here, this is Fang—K-13, for short.”

  The little man nodded, grinning. “I am Boris.”

  “There you are,” Max said to Blossom. “Boris—typical Southern name. I ran into millions of Borises on the outskirts of Atlanta. It’s short for Beauregard.”

  “Rorff!” Fang barked.

  “That’s very unkind of you, Fang,” Max said reproachfully. “It’s our nature—and our duty, I might add—as typical New Yorkers, to be as hospitable as possible to visitors to our fair city. It’s the humane thing to do—and, besides that, it’s good for business. What do you think these yokels do when they come to town? They spend money. And what supports the jails? Money. And if there were no jails, what would we do with all the criminals we capture? We’d have to sit up all night and watch them ourselves. Think about that. If it weren’t for tourists like Boris, you wouldn’t be getting any sleep.”

  Ashamed, Fang covered his eyes with his front paws.

  To Boris, Max said, “As long as you’re here to see the sights, why don’t you tag along with us? We’ll probably be chasing all over the city on the trail of this computer we’re after. We might as well kill two birds with one stone—as they say in Dixie. We can run down this idiot computer and show you the town at the same time.”

  “Da, da,” Boris nodded happily.

  As they continued toward the U.N., Boris trotted beside Max. He asked a number of questions, confirming Max’s belief that he was a tourist.

  “One thing I have always wondered about New York,” Boris said. “Is it possible for a robot to hide in Grant’s Tomb?”

  Max chuckled. “Everybody asks that. As for the answer, frankly, I’m not sure. I don’t think it’s ever been tried. I imagine there would have been something in the papers about it if it had.”

  “Is it your hinch then, that Fred is secreted in the U.N. Building?” Boris said.

  “Hunch—not ‘hinch,’ ” Max replied. “Funny you should mention the name Fred. This robot we’re trailing is also named Fred. But I guess that’s a pretty common name. I had an instructor at Spy School named Fred. Fred What’s-his-name. Although, What’s-his-name wasn’t his real name. He used it because he said that’s what people called him anyway. Myself, I always called him Fred Whosis. Because I couldn’t remember What’s-his-name. He didn’t make much of an impression on a person. Which was great for the spy business. No one could ever remember him. In fact, come to think of it, I’m not sure that What’s-his-name was his name. It may hav
e been You-know-who-I-mean—as in Fred You-know-who-I-mean—or something like that. I wonder what ever happened to Fred? I suppose nobody will ever know.”

  “Getting back to Fred—” Boris began.

  “Ah . . . here we are!” Max broke in. They had reached the U.N. Building, and Max led the way up the steps toward the entrance. “Sort of gets you right here, doesn’t it?” he said, covering his heart. “All these guys in here, screaming at each other, calling each other nasty names, threatening to blow each other up—and all for the sake of world peace.”

  “If they’d spend more time in the balcony, there wouldn’t be all that dissension,” Blossom said.

  “As a loyal American,” Boris said, “I must confess that it is we capitalists who cause all the trouble.”

  “I doubt that,” Max said. “I’m as loyal as the next guy, but I’m not the type that says we can do everything. We have our limitations just like the others. That’s why we need allies. We can’t do everything by ourselves.”

  As they reached the entrance, a gorgeous brunette, in the uniform of a U.N. guide, stepped forward to meet them.

  “Allo!” she smiled. “You are veesitors for the first time to the U.N., oui?”

  Max smiled knowingly. “Don’t tell me. I’d know that accent anywhere. Zinzinotti, Alleybama—right?”

  The young lady giggled girlishly and shook her head. “But you are close, as they say. Paree, Illinois.”

  “Ah, yes . . . Gay Paree, Illinois. I remember it well. Fascinating country. I passed through there in the summer of ’61. I was on the trail of a FLAG agent who was on his way to Florida by way of Atlanta. He was a ping-pong ball smuggler.”

  “Oranges,” Blossom reminded him.

  “That’s right—orange ping-pong balls.” He looked at Blossom suspiciously. “How did you hear about it? You aren’t by any chance a FLAG agent, are you?”

  “My heavens, no! A & P . . . check-out counter . . . remember?”

  Max was not completely convinced. “Just watch it,” he said. “I’ve got a mind like a hair-trigger. One little slip of the tongue, and . . . just watch it, that’s all.” He turned back to the girl guide. “Now then, we’ve established that you’re from Paree, Illinois. What else do you do?”