Get Smart 1 - Get Smart! Page 5

  Noel’s arms were still in the air, and her pistol was still on the floor.

  Blossom snatched up the gun.

  “Good work!” Max said.

  Blossom handed the gun to Noel. “Here you are . . . you dropped your gun!”

  “No! No! No!” Max bellowed.

  “But you said—”

  “I said ‘get’ her gun, I didn’t say ‘give it to her.’ ”

  “But it’s her gun!”

  “The third rule!” Max raged. “Never give the enemy his gun back!”

  “Well, how should I know!” Blossom wept. “I’m not a professional!”

  “All right, all right,” Max sighed. “I guess that’s how you learn—by making mistakes.” He spoke to Noel. “Look, could we run through that again. You put the gun back, and I’ll say to her, ‘Quick . . . get the girl’s—.’ ”

  “Siiiiilence!” Noel screamed.

  “For a secret agent, you certainly are touchy,” Max grumbled.

  “You!” Noel said, addressing Fred. “You will accompany me!” To the others, she said, “If there is any attempt to follow us, I will destroy Fred. If you value his mechanism, believe me. For those are my orders!”

  “I hardly think that last was necessary,” Max said, hurt. “I would never call a lady a liar.”

  Boris stepped forward—hands up. “Perhaps we can come to an agreement,” he said to Noel.

  “Good old Boris,” Max commented to Blossom. “In there right to the last trying to save the day for us.”

  “What’s your deal?” Noel said warily to Boris.

  “I will swap you one secret agent, one lady inventor and a mangy dog for Fred,” said Boris. “And I will throw in two pistols, which, when drained, will work just like new.”

  “Is that a friend, or is that a friend!” Max said to Blossom. “It’s probably everything he owns.”

  “What kind of a deal is that!” Noel scoffed. “You’re trying to trade me something I already have, and don’t want, for something I also have, and do want.”

  Boris shrugged. “I am a poor man. I can only give what is someone else’s.”

  “No deal!” Noel snapped.

  “Good try, anyway,” Max said to Boris.

  Noel turned her pistol on Fred. “Follow me!” She backed toward the doorway.

  “Goodbye, Fred,” Blossom sniffled.

  “So long, friend,” Max said. “When you get to Panamania, give my regards to Brigitte Bardot. Ask her if she remembers the summer of ’61.”

  “Hurry!” Noel commanded Fred.

  Fred moved forward. As he did so, his arm raised, the nickel dropped into his slot. “Peep-a-dotta, poop-a-dotta, dippa-dotta-boop!” Lemons.

  He spoke. “Ladies first.”

  A blush crept into Noel’s cheeks. “How nice of you,” she murmured, lowering her eyes. “You are a gentleman.”

  Noel stepped through the doorway first.

  Fred’s arm came up again. He slammed the door and locked it, shutting Noel out. The key he dropped into his slot.

  Noel pounded angrily on the other side of the door and shrieked. “You ugly computer! You are no gentleman!”

  “Veeeery neat!” Max commended Fred. To Blossom, he said, “Do you see what he’s done? He’s locked her out!”

  “Let me in!” Noel shrilled.

  Max called back through the closed door. “We can’t. It’s locked! And we can’t shoot the lock off because we’re out of ammunition.” He winked at the tourist from Zinzinotti. “Right, Boris?”

  “Da,” Boris grinned.

  “Let me in!”

  “Tell you what I’ll do,” Max called. “Slip your gun under the door, and I’ll shoot the lock off from in here.”

  Silence.

  Then, from outside, Noel’s voice again. “Scout’s honor?”

  “Max Smart is a man of his word.”

  The gun came sliding under the door.

  Max picked it up. He spoke through the door again. “I said I’d shoot the lock off the door. But I didn’t say when I’d do it. Just be seated, please. I’ll be with you in just a moment.” He turned to Blossom. “Understand what I’m doing? I’ve got her trapped out there.”

  “But we’re the ones who are inside,” Blossom said.

  “Exactly. We’re inside, free to maneuver, and she’s outside, trapped. Think about it.” He faced toward Boris. “Boris, I appreciate everything you’ve done. None of it worked . . . but the thought was there, anyway.”

  “Perhaps I could do one more little thing for you,” Boris smiled. “Hold the gun, for example?”

  “Geeee . . . that’s nice of you. But I’m going to need it in a second to blast the lock off that door. There is one thing you can do for me, though. You can come along with me when I take that girl back to Control. I may need you to back up my story. Sometimes the Chief thinks I exaggerate. When I tell him this nice girl from Paree, Illinois, is actually a FLAG agent, he’s going to be a little . . . where are you going?”

  Boris was backing toward the window. “Suddenly I need a little air,” Boris said. “I thought I’d step out for a moment.”

  “Hey . . . watchit! We’re twenty stories up. If you step out that window, you’ll—”

  Boris disappeared.

  Max winced, closing his eyes tight.

  There was a long, long silence . . . then an explosive splash. River water sprayed in through the open window.

  Max sighed relievedly. “Lucky, lucky break,” he said. “Apparently the river is right below the window.”

  Blossom went to the window and looked out. “He’s swimming,” she reported. “And there’s that submarine again.”

  Max joined her at the window. “You’re certainly stubborn when you get an idea in your head,” he said. “That’s still not a submarine. It’s a periscope.”

  “Well, what’s under it?”

  “The bed of the river, of course. Any school child could answer that!” He went back to the door and spoke through it. “All right, out there! Just be patient. I’m going to blast this lock!”

  There was no reply.

  “I think she’s sulking,” Max said.

  “I think she’s gone,” Blossom said.

  “We’ll see about that!”

  Max aimed the pistol at the lock and fired. There was a shattering of metal and wood. The door creaked open.

  Max stepped out.

  Noel was nowhere in sight.

  “Fantastic!” Max said. “She eluded the trap! I would have bet my last Indian head penny that . . .” He shrugged resignedly. “Well, that just proves it. The best made plans of mice and men, eh?”

  Blossom came out of the inner office. “At least, we saved Fred,” she said.

  “Right! Mission accomplished. Now, it’s a simple matter of taking him to Control and turning him over to the authorities.” He beckoned to Fred. “Come along, fella. It’s clear sailing from here on out.”

  Fred joined them, clanking. And they made their way from the office of Fredonia toward the elevators.

  4.

  THERE WERE two men aboard the elevator when the door opened. They were in long coats and striped trousers, dignified-looking gentlemen.

  Max stopped Blossom and Fang as they started to board the car. “Just a minute,” he said. “Let me interrogate these passengers first. I don’t intend to step into a nest of FLAG agents.” To the gray-haired, older of the two men, he said, “Name, rank and serial number, please. And I want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Remember—it’s a sin to tell a lie!”

  The older gentleman looked him up and down stonily. “I’m Lord Alcorn—if that’s your question, sir,” he said. “Now, will you please either step inside or get your foot out of the door?”

  “Lord Alcorn, eh? Answer me this: Where were you at seven-thirty P.M. during the summer of ’61?”

  “London—if you must know.”

  “A-ha! And, in London, were you, by any chance, playing ping-po
ng?”

  The older turned to the younger. “By George, I think I’ve got it!” he said. “We’re on Candid Camera!”

  The younger nodded drearily. “I can’t think of any other possible explanation.”

  Max smiled, pleased. “It’s all right,” he said to Blossom and Fred. “These two are Americans. Did you catch the reference to a well-known American television program? It’s those little slips-of-the-tongue that tip the scales.” He made a sweeping arm motion. “All aboard!”

  When they were all inside the car, Max punched the main floor button. The door closed and the car began to descend.

  Instantly, the two men whipped off their long coats, revealing that they were wearing black leather jackets underneath.

  The older man spoke again—as he pulled a large pistol from his jacket and pointed it at Max. “Okay, Jack, grab fer da sky!” he snarled. “Dis is a heist!”

  Fang sprang into action. He leaped into a corner and covered his head.

  “Gentlemen,” Max said, “I like your act. But I’m afraid it’s a waste of time if you’re auditioning. This is not Candid Camera!”

  “Stow da gab, Mac!” the younger man said. “We’re here to put da snatch on dis tin can ya got widja.”

  “He means Fred!” Blossom gasped.

  “Dat’s right!” said the older man. “We’re gettin’ paid a pretty penny fer puttin’ da pinch on dis prefab putt-putt.”

  “Yes,” Max retorted challengingly, “and Peter Piper thought he could pick a peck of pickled peppers, too—but he didn’t get away with it!”

  “Pooey!” said the younger man petulantly.

  “No, not pooey—punch!” Max snapped back.

  “Pardon?” said the older man, puzzledly.

  “Punch!” Max repeated.

  At that same moment, the elevator door slid open.

  “All out—main floor!” Max called.

  The two men stepped out. “Follow us,” said the elder.

  But, instead, Max punched another button on the control panel. The door glided closed. And the car began to descend again.

  “How did you do that?” Blossom asked.

  “Simple,” Max smiled. “As I told that elderly gentleman, I punched. I punched the button for the fifth floor with my shoulder blade. As you can see, I’m backed up against the panel. And now,” he said, “we’re on our way to the main floor—all according to plan.”

  “Perfect!” Blossom giggled.

  Max shrugged modestly. “Possibly,” he said. “Who am I to say?”

  “Rorff!” barked Fang, emerging from the corner.

  Max laughed. “Very good,” he said.

  “What did he say?” Blossom asked.

  “I wouldn’t dare repeat it,” Max said. “It was a pun.”

  The car stopped at the main floor. Max, Blossom, Fang and Fred stepped out and headed across the lobby.

  “Well, it’s clear sailing from here on out,” Max said to Fred. “It’s only a half-hour or so walk from here to the car. Then a five minute drive to Control. After that, you won’t have a worry in the world.”

  Fred activated himself. “Computer who think he safe in his own house better take another look under the bed,” he said in his far-away voice.

  Max squinted at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “With my brains,” Fred replied, “I know better than to think there’s anywhere that’s safe.”

  “Your fears are groundless,” Max said. “I give you my word.”

  “Man gives his word only when he has nothing of value to offer,” Fred intoned.

  “Will you stop talking Hollywood Chinese,” Max said. “If you’ve got something on your mind, speak up, tell us what it is.”

  “I want to be free,” Fred said.

  “And that’s exactly what you’ll be,” Max said. “We’ll lock you up in a cell somewhere, underground, where those Bad Guys can’t get at you, and you’ll be free to work your transistors off, night and day, thinking up new ways to help us Good Guys work out a happy ending to this mess the world’s in. I don’t know what more a computer could ask for—frankly.”

  “I’ll be the object of greed, treachery, duplicity—”

  “Look, Fred, every job has its drawbacks. On the other hand, you’ll also be the object of admiration, worship, applause. You’ll be getting medals handed out to you right and left. You’ll be a celebrity—within the confines of your own little cell, of course.”

  “I don’t want to be a celebrity,” Fred said. “I want to live a simple life. Come and go as I please. Sleep late if I want to. Not shave for a week if I don’t want to. Not—”

  “Fred,” Max broke in, “you don’t have a beard, you couldn’t shave if you wanted to.”

  “It’s the principle of the thing,” Fred explained.

  “Oh . . . yeah.”

  They left the U.N. Building and walked up the street in the direction of the car.

  “Maybe we’d better get a cab,” Blossom suggested. “It’s a long walk to your car.”

  Max shook his head. “The car will be safer. There’s not a cab in the city that has a cannon under its left front headlight.”

  So they walked on.

  “Look, Fred,” Max said, “I sympathize with you. But if we let you go free—as you euphemistically put it—you wouldn’t be free for ten seconds. The FLAG agents would sweep down on you, carry you off, and turn you over to the Bad Guys. When we lock you up in that cell, I want you to know that we’re doing it for your own good. Believe me, I know those Bad Guys. They’d haul you off and lock you up in a cell somewhere. What kind of life would that be for a fun-loving robot?”

  “Why can’t I just be me!” Fred groaned.

  “Because you have a duty to Mankind!” Max said. “Why do you think Blossom created you?” To Blossom, he said, “Tell Fred why you created him.”

  “I’m a single girl,” Blossom explained to Fred. “Actually, I had Rock Hudson in mind.”

  “The other reason!” Max snapped.

  “Oh. Well, you see, I bought this set for my nephew for his birthday, and I wanted to see—”

  “Never mind!” Max broke in. To Fred, he said, “I’ll tell you why she created you. Because . . . because . . .” He scowled. “Because she’s a butterfingers, that’s why!” he finally said disgustedly.

  “Rorff!” Fang barked.

  Max whipped around. “Where? Where?”

  “Rorff!”

  Max peered back along the street in the direction from which they had come. He squinted, then said, “You’re right, Fang! Good boy!”

  “What is it?” Blossom said fearfully.

  “Fang has the eyes of an eagle,” Max said.

  “But what is it?”

  Max pointed. “See that little delicatessen back there . . . we passed it only a moment ago.”

  “Yes . . . yes . . .”

  “See that man standing there leaning against the window?”

  “Yes . . .”

  “And just to the right of him, see that sign?”

  “Yes, yes, yes . . . what is it?”

  “It says they’re having a sale on liverwurst,” Max said. “Liverwurst is Fang’s favorite.” He patted Fang’s head. “As soon as this case is closed, we’ll drop back and pick up a pound or two,” he said.

  Blossom stared at Max. Then she stared at Fang. Then she turned and walked on ahead alone.

  “It’s the pressure of living in constant danger,” Max explained to Fred. “It’s beginning to tell on her. Some people just aren’t cut out for it.”

  When Max, Fred and Fang finally reached Max’s automobile, Blossom was in the front seat, on the glove compartment side, peering icily straight ahead.

  “Relax,” Max said to her as he and the others got into the car. “Ten minutes from now this will all be a distant memory. At least, that’s the way it is with me. The second a case ends, I forget all about it. I remember in the summer of ’61—”

  “Drive!”
Blossom growled.

  Max switched on the ignition. There was a sound like a backfire.

  “Oops!” Max said. He got out and looked at the car that was parked behind his. Then, returning and getting behind the wheel again, he said, “I’ve always claimed these new models didn’t have enough ventilation in front, anyway. The guy who owns that Buick will probably thank me for it.”

  He started the engine and turned the car out into traffic.

  They had gone no more than a block when Blossom suddenly turned in the seat and looked out the rear window. “That car back there!” she said. “It’s trying to overtake us. It’s darting in and out of traffic!”

  Max consulted his rear-view mirror. “You’re jumping to a conclusion,” he said. “That looks like normal New York driving to me.”

  There was the zing of a bullet. The rear-view mirror shattered.

  “Is that normal!” Blossom shrieked, ducking down, hiding below the seat.

  “Nooooooo,” Max said reflectively, “I wouldn’t say that it’s entirely normal. But . . . sometimes there are extenuating circumstances. Let’s wait it out and see what happens.”

  Another bullet whined by the car.

  “Do something!” Blossom cried.

  “The one thing I’m not going to do is assume the obvious,” Max said. “The traffic is heavy . . . it’s easy to lose your sense of perspective in heavy traffic. That may be the explanation.”

  The car drew up alongside. A bullet whizzed in the front window, which was open, and missed Max’s eyebrows by less than a quarter of an inch.

  “Hmmmm,” he mused, “in this instance, the obvious seems to be correct. Well . . . live and learn.”

  Max stepped hard on the accelerator and the car shot forward.

  He glanced back. The pursuing automobile was right behind him! Bullets filled the air!

  “Fortunately,” Max said, “I’m prepared for such a situation.” Calmly, he turned his attention to the car’s control panel. “Now, let’s see . . . which is the button for that smoke screen? It was here when I left the garage this morning . . .”

  Bullets splattered against the car!

  “Dooooooooo Somethiiiiiiing!” Blossom pleaded.

  “Can I help it if I’ve misplaced my smoke screen button? It could happen to anybody. Let’s see . . . I had the car washed . . . could it be that . . . ah, ah . . . here it is!”