Get Smart 9 - Max Smart and the Ghastly Ghost Affair Page 5

  “Sound waves,” the conductor replied.

  “That only works one way,” Max called out to him.

  “I guess you better start hoping you were wrong about me not being magic, then,” the conductor said. “See you later—maybe.”

  “Wait!” Max cried.

  There was no response.

  “He’s gone, Max,” 99 said dismally. “What are we going to do now?”

  “Don’t panic, 99,” Max said calmly. “As I see it, we have several choices. We can use sound waves. Or we can use magic. Or we can die a horrible death. Now, as for the use of sound waves— Or, on the other hand, magic can be— Isn’t it funny, 99, how the first reaction so often turns out to be the correct reaction? You were right to panic.”

  “If we only had a light—” 99 said. “I can’t see a thing. But this mine tunnel must lead somewhere. Why don’t we try following it in the dark, Max?”

  “Because we’d lose it,” Max replied. “You know how impossible it is to shadow in the dark, 99. No, our best bet is to stay right here and try to do something about that rock slide in front of the entrance. Do you have a match?”

  “No, Max.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll have to use my lighter, then,” Max said.

  A moment later, a small flame appeared in the darkness.

  Max handed the lighter to 99. “Hold this,” he said. “I think I have some escape gadgets in my pockets. I picked up a handful the other day when I was in Research & Development. It’s a rare occasion when an escape gadget won’t come in handy. I’m always getting locked in closets and bath— Ah! Here’s something,” he said, extracting a pellet-like device from his trousers pocket. He read the instructions on the tag attached to the device. “ ‘Crush pellet in keyhole. Stand back. Stick fingers in ears.’ Well, that doesn’t seem too difficult,” he said. “Evidently the powder you get when you crush the pellet explodes, blowing the door right off its . . . Mmmmmm . . . we don’t seem to have a door, do we? No matter how you look at it, there’s just no keyhole in that rock slide.” He dropped the pellet to the floor of the tunnel. “Absolutely useless.”

  “Max—”

  “Don’t say it, 99! I know—not only is it littering to drop a pellet on a tunnel floor, but it’s also—in this case—dangerous. Somebody could come along and step on it and crush it and—and POW! But, don’t worry. I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. I’ll get rid of it.” He put his foot on the pellet and crushed it. “Now, there’s no danger that somebody will come along and step on it and— Oh-oh!”

  “Max!”

  Max and 99 raced deeper into the tunnel. They stopped. They stuck their fingers in their ears. A second later there was a tremendous explosion. When the dust cleared, they walked back to the entrance to the tunnel. The rock slide was still in place. Now, however, there was a gigantic hole in front of the entrance.

  “Max . . . if you’d crushed that pellet on the rock slide—”

  “Don’t be a Monday morning quarterback, 99,” Max said. “Nobody likes a secret agent and wife who’s a Monday morning quarterback.” He dug into his pocket again. “Instead of casting the first stone, let’s light a little candle in the darkness and see what else we have,” he said. “Well . . . what have we here . . .” He held up a device that looked like a skeleton key. “I don’t believe it!” he said. “R & D must still be living in the Dark Ages. Imagine. In this day of laser beams and space travel and organ transplants, they still classify an old-time skeleton key as an escape device. Not only is it ridiculous, it’s useless, too.” He tossed the device into the darkness.

  “Max,” 99 began, “don’t you think—”

  There was a glow of light from the direction in which Max had thrown the key.

  “That glow looks very familiar,” Max said.

  “I think you really should have read the instructions on the key, first, Max,” 99 said.

  “Who needs instructions to operate a skeleton key?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t—”

  “I know!” Max said. “That’s the glow of a laser beam. 99, that key isn’t a key, it’s a laser beam! Good old R & D! They disguised—”

  The glow faded.

  Carrying the lighter, Max made his way through the darkness to where the key had landed. He picked it up and read the instructions that were still attached to it. Then he tossed the key away again.

  “Yes, Max . . . what?” 99 said.

  “Good old R & D booted it again,” Max informed her. “They designed a laser to look like a skeleton key. Nobody would read the instructions to a skeleton key to find out that it was a laser.”

  “But can’t it still be used, Max?”

  “The battery is dead,” Max replied. “That’s another goof. They should have designed it as a wind-up laser.” He started going through his pockets again. “Well, if at first you don’t succeed, try, try—”

  Max was interrupted by a sudden blinding flash. Automaticaly, he and 99 threw up their arms to protect their eyes. A moment later, when they looked, they were startled to find that they were no longer alone. Standing before them was a grizzled old man with a heavy beard. He was wearing rough clothes and boots and holding a lantern. And beside him was a scraggly-looking mule, that had a pack and a pick and shovel strapped to its back.

  “Howdy,” the old man said. “If you’re lost and looking for the way back, it’s right through that pile of rocks.”

  Max and 99 looked at the rocks that were still piled in the entrance.

  “How did you get in here?” Max asked.

  “I materialized—that’s the technical term,” the old man replied. “If you want my opinion, though, it’s magic.” He frowned. “I guess you don’t recognize who I am,” he said. “I’m the resident ghost in this here ghost town. You can’t have a ghost town without you have a ghost, can you? Years and years ago, I was a prospector in these hyar hills. But I got caught in this tunnel and sealed in by a rock slide—just like that rock slide that’s blocking the door right now. Well . . . it turned out to be fatal. So, now I’m a ghost.”

  “That’s a lit-tle bit hard to believe,” Max said. “How about that mule? Don’t tell me the mule is a ghost, too.”

  “The mule’s a ghost, too,” the old prospector said.

  “I believe I asked you not to tell me that. But, now that you have, you might as well know that I refuse to believe it. I can accept the idea of a ghost prospector. But a ghost mule?”

  The old prospector raised the lantern. “If you can believe in a ghost lantern, you ought to be able to believe in a ghost mule,” he said.

  “He’s got a point there,” Max said to 99. He faced back to the prospector. “All right, for the time being, I’ll accept the possibility of a ghost prospector, ghost mule and ghost lantern. But what are you doing here in this tunnel? If you had a fatal accident here, I’d think you’d want to get out. That shouldn’t be any trouble for a ghost.”

  “This is the tunnel to the mine,” the old prospector explained. “My mule and me, we’re doomed to haunt this town and this mine until we find the lost vein of gold.”

  “Oh, really? Why is that?” Max asked, interested.

  “Don’t ask me,” the old prospector shrugged. “I don’t make up the rules. All I know is, I had that fatal accident here in the tunnel a long, long time ago, and when I got up to the pearly gates there was this fella there, and he said to me, ‘Where’s the gold?’ Well, I told him I was still looking for it when I suddenly took sick with that fatal accident. So, he says to me, ‘Go back and get the gold, you butterhead. And don’t come knocking around the gates ’til you find it.’ ”

  Max looked skeptical. “Is that all he said?”

  “No. He said to get rid of the mule before I came back, too.”

  “Oh . . . that’s too bad,” 99 said sympathetically.

  “Yeah, it kind of set my teeth on edge, too,” the old prospector said. “On account of that, I just might make a full career out of looking for that lost v
ein of gold. I’ll tell you the truth—I got a look through the gates while I was standing there jawing with that fella. And what I saw was, I saw all these folks sitting around on clouds in a bunch of sheets. They had wings on their backs and they were playing harps. Now, I could take about ten minutes of that. But if I had to put up with it for a whole eternity, I’d be climbing the walls trying to get out. See what I mean?”

  “I’ll admit to seeing what you mean, but only if it’s understood that I don’t believe any of this,” Max said.

  “Deal!” the old prospector grinned, holding out a hand.

  Max tried to shake it—but found himself grasping thin air. “Let’s make that a verbal agreement,” he said. “Now, what can you do about getting us out of here?”

  The old prospector looked at him speculatively. “Why would I want to get you out of here?” he asked. “I don’t know you, young fella. For all I know, you might turn out to be the worst enemy I ever had. I admit, you look kind of dumb. But maybe that’s an act.”

  “It is not an act,” Max said.

  “You’re really as dumb as you look, eh? It’s hard to believe.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Max said. “What I meant is, I’m not putting on an act of any kind. I’m really exactly what I seem to be—an innocent secret agent in trouble. Maybe it would help if I introduced myself. My name is Smart—”

  “Your middle name is smart, you mean?”

  “No—my last name. I’m with—”

  “Then what’s your middle name? Dumb—like it looks?”

  “Let’s forget the name,” Max said. “Just refer to me by my number. I’m 86.” He indicated 99. “And this is my wife, 99. You see, we’re secret agents. And, instead of being called by name, we’re called by number. Understand?”

  “All but a couple things,” the old prospector replied. “What’s a secret agent? And how come you got a number instead of a name?”

  “Yes . . . well . . . A secret agent is—in a way—like a private detective—understand?”

  “Sure—like a Pinkerton. Now, why do you have numbers in the place of names?”

  “That, I’m afraid, I can’t answer,” Max replied.

  “Oh. Too big a secret, eh?”

  “Actually, the reason I can’t explain it is because I haven’t the faintest idea why,” Max replied. “All I can tell you is, I don’t make the rules.”

  “That’s enough,” the old prospector said. “I can understand that.” He looked Max and 99 up and down. “Well, I guess you look okay to me,” he said, finally.

  “Thank you,” Max smiled.

  “Not you. I was talking about her,” the prospector said, winking at 99. “You,” he said, facing Max again, “don’t look quite right to me. But, if she’ll vouch for you—”

  “I will,” 99 assured the old prospector. “He’s really very nice. And honest and trustworthy, too.”

  “What puzzles me,” Max said to the old man, “is why you’re so suspicious. You’re a ghost—what harm could any of us do you? It seems to me that you’re as bad off as you’ll ever get”

  “You’re wrong,” the old prospector said. “Suppose somebody else found that lost vein of gold? And mined it? If that happened, it wouldn’t be there for me to look for any more. I’d go loopy just wandering around here in this ghost town with nothing to occupy my talents. If it came to that, I’d be just as well off up there behind them gates with them fellas in the sheets and wings. Only, I couldn’t get in. Without that gold, they’re not even going to let me within smelling distance of the place.”

  “Yes, well—”

  “So, when I saw you strangers pull into town, I disappeared myself,” the old prospector said. “I had to find out if you were after my gold or not. Now that I know you’re not—according to you—I can disappear myself again and go on about my business. And, you can do the same.” He tipped his hat to 99. “So long, ma’am, it’s been—”

  “Hold it a minute,” Max said. “You can’t leave us. It’s true, we’re not after your gold. But I can’t promise the same about those other fellows. If they happened to run across your vein of gold, they’d pack it up and ship it out of here quicker than you could bat an eyelash.”

  “Oh?” the old prospector said. “How come? Aren’t they friends of yours?”

  “Hardly. They’re our worst enemies,” Max replied. “We’re Control and they’re KAOS.”

  “Like cops and robbers?” the old prospector asked.

  “Not exactly,” Max responded. “It’s just not that simple. Nothing is quite that simple any more. You see, we’re all secret agents, both Control and KAOS, but the KAOS secret agents are dedicated to the propagation of evil, while the Control secret agents are dedicated to stamping it out. Although, of course, it’s not always that simple. I mean, every once in a while, we’re forced to fight fire with fire. Or, in other words, sometimes we have to propagate a little evil ourselves in the interests of stamping out the evil that the KAOS secret agents have propagated earlier—if you understand what I mean. Not that I’d blame you if you didn’t. Because nothing is really that simple any more. I mean, looked at from one standpoint, it could be said that in propagating evil to stamp out evil we are tarring ourselves with our own brush, or that we’re trying to put out the fire by dousing it with kerosene, or—”

  “Can you just tell me how I can tell the good guys from the bad guys?” the old prospector broke in. “If I just know who I’m for and who I’m against, I don’t need all that fiddle-faddle.”

  “Well, I’m afraid it’s just not quite that simple,” Max answered. “There was a time when you could distinguish the good guys from the bad guys by looking at their hats. The bad guys had on black hats and the good guys had on white hats. But things have changed. A lot of people these days don’t wear hats of any color. And, too, bad guys put on white hats, and good guys put on black hats. So, telling a good guy from a bad guy, or, even if you know the difference, really deciding what is essentially good and what is essentially bad is almost— Frankly, it’s so complicated, it’s absolutely impossible to explain. But, I’ll tell you what I do. I have a rule of thumb. I think of it as being like cops and robbers.”

  “I don’t see what’s so complicated about that,” the old man said. “Who’re you—cops or robbers?”

  “Actually, it’s not as simple—”

  “Cops!” 99 shouted.

  The old prospector nodded. “Got it. Now,” he asked, “what do I do to get them strangers out of here?”

  “They’re not in here,” Max said. “We’re the ones who are in here.”

  “Out of town, I mean!” the old prospector said.

  “Oh. Well, actually, that’s my job, not yours,” Max said. “You could go wave your arms at them or something, but I doubt that it would get rid of them. Not many people believe in ghosts these days. They’d probably only laugh at you. And then they’d disinfect you.”

  “But I got to get them out,” the old prospector said.

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” Max said. “And 99 and I will be happy to do the job for you. Not only will we remove them from your town, but we will lock them up where they will never get out—so you won’t have to worry about them coming back later to look for your lost vein.”

  “ ‘Lost vein of gold’ say,” the prospector requested. “When you call it ‘my lost vein’ it sounds kind of personal. Too personal to say in front of a lady.”

  “All right—your lost vein of gold.”

  “Well, don’t think I’m not obliged,” the old prospector said. “That’s right nice of you. I’ll just disappear now and let you get about it. When you finish up, whistle or something, and I’ll reappear—if I can—and see you off on your trip to wherever it is you’ll be going. In the meantime—”

  “Hold it,” Max said. “First, there are a couple things you’ll have to do for us.”

  The old prospector nodded knowingly. “Always a catch to it,” he said. “Things haven’
t changed so much. What do you want me to do—split my gold with you?”

  Max shook his head. “Nothing like that. First, I want you to get us out of here.”

  “That might be fixed,” the old prospector said.

  “Then, help us find our Coolidge-head penny.”

  The old prospector eyed Max narrowly. “Penny, I know,” he said. “Head, I know, too. But what’s a Coolidge?”

  “That’s an ex-president. His head is on the coin. He’s wearing an Indian headdress. Feathers.”

  “Feathers to you, too, bub.”

  “I mean Coolidge is wearing feathers on his head. But, just so you’ll be able to recognize it, it also looks a little like Abraham Lincoln standing on his head. If you have a vivid imagination, that is. The feathers look like his beard.”

  “But suppose when I find it I look at it upside-down?” the old prospector said. “Then it won’t look like Lincoln standing on his head. It’ll look like some total stranger right-side-up only with his beard on his head instead of on his chin. How’ll I know it’s not just some ordinary penny like all the others?”

  “That’s a problem,” Max admitted. “Tell you what. When you find a penny you’re in doubt about, check with me. I’ll recognize it.”

  “All right, that’s agreed,” the old prospector said. “I’ll show you how to get out of here, then I’ll pitch in and help you locate that feather-head penny, and then you’ll wrap them strangers up and haul them out of town and leave me in peace to look for my lost vein of gold.”

  “Very neatly put,” Max replied. “Although, actually, these days, nothing is really quite that simple. For in—”

  “Max, just say ‘yes!’ ” 99 begged.

  “Yes,” Max said to the old prospector. “Now, how do we get out of here?”

  Carrying the lamp and followed by the mule and Max and 99, the old prospector moved to the tunnel entrance. He held the lantern high, inspecting the pile of rocks. “Looks like a job for Madame DuBarry,” he said.

  “Oh? One of your ghost lady friends?”

  “That’s my mule,” the old prospector replied. He faced the mule and addressed it. “See that pile of rocks there in the doorway hole?” he said. “What I want you to do is, I want you to kick them out of the way.”