Get Smart 9 - Max Smart and the Ghastly Ghost Affair Page 3

  “I can’t stand the heat, either!” she shouted. “But it’s not hot enough in here to make a big, strappin’ boy like you go faint and fall in the aisle. Get along with you, now, or I’ll break open your skull with my purse and let the sawdust fall out!”

  “You may have that purse full of sawdust, but it certainly didn’t feel like it when you hit me,” Max shouted back. “And if you use it on me once more, I’ll kick you right in the shins—I don’t care if you are a hard-of-hearing old hen with white hair!”

  The little old lady smiled apologetically. “Why didn’t you say you dropped a penny under my chair,” she chided. “Go ahead and get it—I don’t mind.”

  “Thank you,” Max said.

  As soon as he had retrieved the Coolidge-head penny, Max joined 99, seating himself beside her and near the alleged KAOS assassins.

  “No matter how it turns out otherwise, this trip is a success for me already,” he whispered to 99. “I finally found out how to handle little old white-haired ladies. You have to threaten to kick them in the shins.” He glanced toward the group of men in dark glasses. “Are you convinced yet?” he asked.

  “Not exactly, Max,” 99 replied. “Listen to what they’re saying.”

  Max leaned toward the group of men.

  “Sir,” one of the thin, evil-looking men said to the big, fat evil-looking man, “all the yo-yo industry wants to do is make the men in the Army happy. We don’t care anything about selling yo-yos. We’d be happy to give these yo-yos to the men in the armed services, except that if we didn’t make a profit, we couldn’t pay our taxes, could we? And if we didn’t pay our taxes, where would the government get the money to pay the men in the armed services? So, do you see what I’m getting at?”

  “Well . . . ‘round-about, yeah,” the big fat, evil-looking man replied. “But ’splain it to me, anyways.”

  “All the yo-yo industry wants you to do—as Chairman of the Committee on Army Purchasing—is to pressure the Chief of Staff to buy our yo-yos for three-hundred dollars a dozen. That way, we’ll make a bigger profit, and—if we’re caught—we’ll pay higher taxes, and, unless it’s used for something else, like raising Senators’ salaries, there will be more money to pay the men in the armed services. Get it?”

  “I don’t know—do I get it?” the big, fat, evil-looking man asked. “And, if I do, what percentage?”

  “Ten per cent, sir?”

  “That’s fine. Just send the check to my favorite charity—the Society for the Preservation of the Coonskin Cap. Make it out to my wife—she’s the head coonskin.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Sir,” another thin, evil-looking man said, “we in the skinless frankfurter business have an old saying. It goes: What’s good for the yo-yo industry is good for the skinless frankfurter industry. Now, keeping that in mind . . .”

  Max leaned back toward 99. “Are you convinced?” he asked. “Shall I rub the Coolidge-head penny now?”

  “Max! Those aren’t KAOS assassins! After hearing that conversation, don’t you know who they are? That big, fat, evil-looking man in the dark glasses is a senator. And all those other evil-looking men in dark glasses are lobbyists.”

  Max glanced again toward the group. “You mean men who try to get senators and representatives and other people in government to do special favors for them?” he said. He turned back to 99. “That’s terrible! I didn’t think they were serious.” He shook his head. “I find that hard to believe, 99. He doesn’t look like a senator to me.”

  “Of course not, Max—he’s wearing dark glasses. But, if you don’t believe me, ask him.”

  “I will,” Max said. He moved his chair closer to the group, then broke in on the conversation. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, addressing the big, fat, evil-looking man, “but my wife and I are having a disagreement—”

  “Bring it around when it’s born, and I’ll kiss it on the forehead,” the fat man said. “That’s the worst thing about being a statesman—all that baby-kissing.”

  “No, I mean we have a difference of opinion. You see, I think you’re Arbuthnot, the international assassin and Great Teacher, and my wife thinks you’re just another corrupt politician. Which one of us is correct?”

  “You’re both wrong,” the big, fat, evil-looking man replied. “I’m not ‘just another’ corrupt politician. Why, I’m famous from coast to coast and border to border for my corruptionness.”

  “Oh . . . well, I guess that answers my question,” Max said. “I’m sorry I slighted you by calling you ‘just another’ corrupt politician. Are you on Senate business now?”

  “Yup. I’m headin’ down to Miami Beach to investigate all them terrible slum conditions in New York City,” the big, fat, evil-looking man replied.

  “But, New York City is up North,” Max pointed out.

  “I know that,” the Senator said. “But, what can I do? South is the way the train’s headed.”

  Max moved his chair back to where it was before. “You’re wrong, 99,” he said. “That’s not Arbuthnot, the international assassin, it’s just another corrupt politician.”

  “Max, that’s what I said. You’re the one who said it was Arbuthnot.”

  “All right, 99—if that’s what you want to believe. I’m still humoring you, so anything you say—I agree. Now, let’s try to concentrate on the mission again, shall we? Look around the lounge car—do you see anybody who looks like a KAOS assassin?”

  “I looked while you were talking to the Senator, Max,” 99 said. “I couldn’t find anyone who looked suspicious. Let’s stroll up and down the aisle again.”

  “That’s very romantic, 99. But, don’t you— Oh, I see what you mean. And look for suspicious-looking characters, you mean.”

  Max and 99 rose and left the lounge car and sauntered toward the rear of the train. Several cars later, they suddenly saw a herd of burly girls marching toward them. The girls looked a great deal like lady wrestlers.

  “Back!” Max shouted to 99. “Flatten yourself against the wall! It’s a stampede! We could be crushed!”

  There was a thundering sound as the burly girls drew nearer. Max and 99 pressed themselves against the wall. But they could not possibly flatten themselves out enough, and it seemed as if they would surely be crushed to pulp as the burly girls rumbled past. But, in the nick of time, the wall suddenly appeared to give ’way. Max and 99 stumbled backwards, out of the way, and the burly girls thundered by them, leaving behind a cloud of dust from the carpet in the aisle.

  “That was close!” Max said. “What saved us?”

  “The door opened and we fell into this vacant compartment, Max,” 99 explained.

  “Oh . . . yes . . .” Max looked around, “Mmmmmm . . . that’s odd, isn’t it? The train is crowded . . . yet we have this vacant compartment. Do you suppose it’s being used by someone who doesn’t want it known that he’s on the train?”

  “Max, I don’t quite understand your reasoning . . .”

  “Sometimes, 99, an experienced secret agent gets a hunch. He can’t explain it, but— You’ll notice, for instance, that there’s no luggage in this compartment. That makes it seem vacant. And yet, a closer look reveals this manila envelope, which contains—” Max opened the envelope and was peering into it. “—which contains—” He closed the envelope and dropped it onto the seat. “Nevermind, 99, you were wrong again,” he said. “If you’d looked on the door before we fell in here, you’d have noticed that this is our own compartment. Let’s get back to—”

  From the aisle came the voice of the conductor. “Lunch! Lunch is now being served in the Dining Car! Lunch! Hear ye! Hear—”

  Once more, the sound of a stampede was heard. The conductor leaped into Max’s and 99’s compartment, getting out of the way. A great mass of people suddenly galloped past the doorway. Then, just as abruptly, all became quiet once more—except for the sound of the dust settling.

  “What was that!” Max asked the conductor.

  “Just the fol
ks going in to lunch,” he replied. “They all want to be first in line.”

  “It looked like everybody on the train went past,” Max said.

  “They did,” the conductor said. “I guess I better get up to the dining car and set the table.” He hurried out and then disappeared up the aisle.

  “Well, now we know who the KAOS assassins are, 99,” Max said.

  She looked puzzled. “We do, Max?”

  “Of course. Didn’t you notice when that thundering herd went by that those big girls with those big muscles weren’t with them? That could mean only one thing!”

  “That they were in the powder room when lunch was announced, you mean?”

  “What I should have said, perhaps, is that it could mean only one of two things. The other one—the right one—is that they’re the KAOS assassins. Think about it, 99. Were those really big girls with big muscles, or were they actually big men with big muscles? Now, if they were men, isn’t it reasonable to assume that they’re the KAOS assassins in disguise?”

  “I guess that is kind of reasonable to assume, Max,” 99 admitted. “But, frankly, they looked like girls to me.”

  “99, I suspect I’ve had a great deal more experience at girl-watching than you. And I say they looked like men.”

  “Max . . . I’m hungry. Let’s go to lunch and argue about it.”

  “Good idea.”

  Max and 99 left the compartment and walked along the aisle in the direction the conductor had gone. When they reached the last car they saw the end of a line up ahead.

  Max looked back. “I wonder where those men with the big muscles are?” he said, sounding a little worried. “If they’re KAOS assassins, they might be up to anything.”

  Max and 99 got in line.

  “My guess is, they’re girls and they’re on a diet and they’re skipping lunch,” 99 said.

  “99, I think I know—”

  The sound of marching was heard again.

  “Here they come,” Max said, relieved.

  A moment later, the burly girls marched into the car and got in line behind Max and 99.

  “If those aren’t KAOS assassins in disguise,” Max whispered to 99, “my number isn’t 86. I’m going to try to get them to make a slip and reveal their true identities.” He then turned to the burly girl who was standing in line right behind him and who appeared to be the leader. “Well . . . nice train ride we’re having,” he said cordially. “Which is quite a surprise, considering how crowded it is. You’d think there’d be chaos, eh?”

  “Not for us,” the burly girl replied. “Everybody gets out of our way.”

  “I see. Well, that means it’s chaos for everybody else, then, when you’re around. Is that right?”

  The burly girl eyed him belligerently. “You trying to get fresh, puny?”

  “Puny. Uh . . . no, I was, uh, just, uh . . . Well, uh, on your way to Miami Beach on vacation, are you?” Max asked.

  “Business,” the leader of the burly girls replied. “We’re a team of lady wrestlers. We’re going down to Miami Beach to break some legs on some other lady wrestlers.”

  Max faced back to 99. “A likely story,” he whispered. “They’re a team, all right—but a team of KAOS assassins, not a team of lady wrestlers.”

  “Max . . . they look like lady wrestlers,” 99 said.

  “Of course. That’s the dead-giveaway. They wouldn’t look like assassins, would they? If they looked like assassins, we’d be able to spot them as assassins immediately. KAOS isn’t in the business of making things easy for Control, you know, 99. Now, watch this. With a couple deft verbal parries and thrusts, I’ll trick this assassin into revealing not only that he’s not a wrestler, but that also he’s not a lady.”

  “Be careful, Max,” 99 said worriedly.

  Max turned back to the leader of the burly girls. “Frankly,” he said, “I don’t happen to believe that you’re either a lady or—”

  Max found himself sailing through the air, headed for the opposite end of the car. The burly girl, upon having her word questioned, had picked him up, held him over her head a moment, then sent him flying. A moment later, Max crashed against the door at the end of the car and with the usual thud, dropped to the floor.

  “Max!” 99 cried, running to him. “Are you all right?”

  Max shook his head groggily to clear his vision. “I probably won’t know whether I’m all right or not until after I see the X-rays,” he replied. “In the meantime, however, I think I’ve proved at least half of my suspicion. That fellow may be a wrestler, all right, but he’s certainly no lady!” With 99’s help, he got to his feet. “I think I’ll wait until after lunch before I prove the other half, though,” he said. “The next time I get thrown against that door, I want to have more padding inside me. I hope they’re serving something light and fluffy for lunch.”

  Max and 99 returned to the line, which had become considerably shorter. As they approached, the burly girls steps back so that they could resume their place.

  “No, you go ahead,” Max said to the burly girls. “You know the old saying: Lady wrestlers first, if you don’t want your arm twisted.”

  The burly girls accepted Max’s gentlemanly gesture. One by one, they began entering the dining car. As the second from the last entered the car and the door closed behind her, Max turned to 99, looking puzzled. “Did you see that?” he said. “I caught a glimpse of the inside of the dining car when the door was open and it looked like a corn field.”

  “Max, don’t be silly.”

  “Just watch,” Max said.

  The door to the dining car opened and the last of the burly girls entered. Then the door quickly closed.

  “Max, you’re right!” 99 said. “Only it doesn’t look like a field of corn. It looks like a pasture—with Jersey cows!”

  “99—I have a theory.”

  “What is it, Max?”

  “Do you suppose those cows ate that corn?”

  “Max, I don’t think that’s the most important—”

  “The sheep couldn’t have done it, you know. The sheep are in the meadow. It’s the cows who are always in the corn. At least, according to the story I heard. Remember that story, 99? The sheep are in the meadow, the cows are in the corn, Little Bo Peep is fast asleep under the curds and whey, while Jack be Nimble—”

  “Max! The important thing is, I think we better find out what’s behind that door!”

  “You’re probably right, 99,” Max replied. Cautiously, he got hold of the doorknob. “Stand back,” he said. “I’m going to open it.” He turned the knob, then pulled. But the door remained closed. “It won’t open,” Max reported, puzzled. He released the knob.

  Just then, the door opened by itself. Instead of entering the dining car, though, Max —who was next in line—stayed where he was. He and 99 looked past the open doorway. What they saw, rather than the inside of a dining car, was scenery. A meadow, a farm house, then a pond flashed by. A moment later, the door closed automatically.

  “That explains it!” 99 said, impressed.

  “It certainly does,” Max nodded. He turned to 99. “You tell me your idea of how it explains it, then I’ll tell you mine,” he said.

  “Don’t you see, Max? That door to the dining car is operated by some sort of electronic timer. It lets in one passenger at a time. But, actually, the door opens into space. The passengers didn’t enter a dining car, they stepped off the train—to their deaths!”

  Exactly the way I had it figured out, Max said approvingly.

  “What should we do, Max?”

  “I think we better find that conductor,” Max replied. “He’ll probably want to put a warning sign on this door.”

  99 looked back along the aisle. “Max . . . we seem to be the only passengers left.”

  “I know that, 99. That’s why I want a sign on that door. We could get killed going to dinner this evening if something isn’t done about the dining car!”

  3.

  MAX AND 99 loc
ated the conductor—the fat, jolly-looking man with the white beard—a short while later. He was in the lounge car alone, standing behind the soda fountain, mixing himself a chocolate soda. The conductor looked quite surprised when he saw Max and 99 enter the car and approach the soda fountain.

  “We’d like to report an accident,” Max said.

  “I can see it,” the conductor replied. “How come you two didn’t step off the train—to your deaths—with all the others?”

  “No, no, that’s not the accident,” Max said. “The accident is that the door to the dining car— Oh, you know—” He peered at the conductor narrowly. “If you know about it,” he said, “Then apparently it wasn’t an accident—it was planned. And the only people I know who would plan a mass assassination are—”

  The fat, jolly-looking, bearded conductor had produced a pistol from behind the soda fountain and was pointing it at Max and 99. “And the only person I know who would know that the only people he knew who would plan a mass assassination would be a Control agent,” he said. With the pistol, he gestured toward the front of the train. “March!” he ordered. “All the way to the engine!”

  Max and 99 made their way up the aisle, with the conductor following them, keeping his gun pointed at them.

  “Keep an eye out for a guy with feathers,” Max whispered to 99. “He’ll be the injun.”

  “Not injun, Max. Engine.”

  “Oh. I guess that does make a lot more sense. After all, we’re on a train, not a reservation. Although . . . we have a compartment. And you can’t get a compartment without a reservation.” He looked thoughtful. “Just to be on the safe side, 99, keep an eye out for a guy with feathers, anyway.”

  “All right, Max.”

  They soon reached the engine. It was not easy to enter, however. More than a dozen men were crowded into a small space that normally accomodated only the engineer and the fireman.

  “Coming through!” the conductor shouted. “Watch it! Coming through with Control agent prisoners!”