Get Smart 3 - Get Smart Once Again! (8 page)

“No, I mean someone we’ve met recently.”

“The girl at the rent-a-car desk?”

Peaches shook her head.

“Beats me,” Max said. “Maybe it will come to you.”

They entered a small town. The streets were totally deserted. The buildings looked extremely temporary—as if they might consist only of false fronts.

“These picturesque small towns fascinate me,” Max said. “This one looks almost like a movie set—as if it were put up for some special purpose and would be torn down tomorrow.”

“It does look unlived in,” Peaches frowned.

“Ahh . . . here we are,” Max said, pulling up behind the trooper’s car, which had stopped.

Max and Peaches got out, and joined the trooper, who was waiting.

“The courthouse is just up the street a ways,” the trooper said.

“A ways?”

“I talk that rustic talk when I stop in these small towns,” the trooper explained. “Let ’em know you have a college education, and you’re dead.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Well, lead the ways.”

They marched up the street.

“Isn’t it strange that none of the natives are out on the street?” Peaches said.

“Not really,” Max replied. “Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun. There probably isn’t a mad dog or Englishman in the whole town.”

“None of the stores seem to be open. In fact, I don’t think they’ve ever been open.”

Max stopped and rubbed a clean spot on the dusty window of a store. He saw the face of Agent 44 peering out at him from inside. Max nodded, then moved on.

“I’m worried,” Peaches said.

“Relax,” Max said. “We have at least one friend in this town.”

“Who?”

“You wouldn’t believe it.”

The trooper stopped in front of a dilapidated building. “This is it,” he said. “It’s not much, but it’s fine for collecting fines.”

“Fine,” Max replied.

They entered the building, then the trooper led them into a small courtroom.

“The judge is probably in the back room,” the trooper said. “I’ll get him.”

“Don’t try to sneak away,” Max said. “Remember—you’re under arrest.”

“Promise.”

The trooper disappeared into the back room. “Max, I’m getting worrieder and worrieder,” Peaches said.

“I don’t see why. Speaking as our lawyer, I’m sure I can get us off. Our arrest, as I see it, is clearly unconstitutional. It violates our freedom of speedsh.” He smiled. “Get it?”

“Where do I get another lawyer?”

“Never fear. With me—”

Max was interrupted by the sound of the door of the back room opening. The judge appeared. He was plump, and looked like a typical small town judge.

“Your Honor, first I want to say that this is a travesty of justice,” Max said. “Next, I’d like to say: Where is the trooper who arrested us?”

“He left by the back door,” the judge replied. “He’s got to get back to the highway and catch himself another city slicker.”

“But that man was under arrest!” Max protested. “I caught him speeding!”

“He told me all about it,” the judge said, seating himself at his bench. “I tossed the case out of court and released him. You were violating his constitutional right of freedom of the press.”

“I don’t quite understand that, Judge.”

“His freedom to press charges against you,” the judge explained.

“Oh. Well, in that case . . .”

“Now, we’ll get to your case,” the Judge said. “How do you plead?”

“What’s the choice?” Max asked.

“Guilty or Not Guilty or Somewhere-in-Between,”

“How about a little sample of each?” Max suggested.

“The Court finds you guilty,” the Judge said. “Do you have a statement to make before sentence is passed? Too late. You had your chance and muffed it. Now, I’ll pass sentence.”

“That wasn’t much of a chance, Judge,” Max complained. “And I had a dandy statement all ready, too.”

“Sorry about that,” the Judge said. “Rise, please, so I can pass sentence.”

“We’re already standing, Judge.”

“I thought you looked pretty tall for a pair who were sitting down.”

“Judge, if you don’t mind, would you get it over with?” Max said. “We have other fish to fry.”

The Judge cleared his throat, then said, “I sentence you to hand over the Dooms Day Plan.”

“Max!” Peaches squealed. “It just came to me—that’s Noman!”

“That’s hard to believe,” Max said.

The Judge pulled a pistol and pointed it at Max. “Would you believe this?”

Max nodded. “That, I believe. Noman, I’ll have to give you credit—you’ve done it again. You’re a worthy adversary.”

“Stow the gab and hand over the Plan,” Noman said.

“Not likely,” Max replied. “Before I’d hand over the Plan to you, I’d burn it.”

“With the same life raft you used to burn it last time?” Noman smirked.

“Max Smart never makes the same mistake twice,” Max said. He took his ballpoint pen from his pocket. “This pen, among other things, happens to be an acetylene torch,” he said. “I’ll just depress the button on the top and—”

There was the sound of a small motor.

“That’s the hair-dryer again, Max,” Peaches said.

“Well, if at first you don’t succeed—” Max depressed the button again.

Noman leaned forward over the bench, looking puzzled. “What are you going to do with one chopstick?”

“Let’s not panic,” Max said. “There’s an acetylene torch in there somewhere.”

“You’re not operating the pen correctly,” Noman said. “You should use both hands. Here, let me take that sheet of paper you’re holding in your left hand—just to get it out of your way.”

“That
might
help,” Max said. He handed the sheet of paper to Noman.

“Max! You gave him the Plan!” Peaches shrieked.

“No, I didn’t. I gave him— Oh, yes . . . that
is
the Plan, isn’t it. Well, I guess that’s a horse on me.”

“And, now—once more—I bid you
adieu,”
Noman said. “Happy landing!”

“I don’t think that’s the appropriate farewell,” Max said. “We’re no longer in a plane.”

“No, but you’re standing over a trap door. The effect will be the same. I’ll just pull this lever, and—”

The trap door opened beneath Max and Peaches.

Peaches screamed.

Max reached out and snatched the Plan from Noman.

Then they disappeared beneath the floor.

Noman sighed woefully. “Will I ever learn?”

S
URPRISINGLY
, M
AX
and Peaches landed on a soft carpet. When they looked around, they found they were in what appeared to be the living room of a comfortable suburban home. Besides the wall-to-wall carpet, there were comfortable-looking sofas and chairs, lamps and tables, and a large television set. And most surprising of all, the room was occupied. A number of men were seated around the TV set, absorbed in a program.

“The only thing I can think of is, there must be a mistake,” Max said. “I think Noman used the wrong trap door.”

Peaches shook her head. “No, Max. Look at the door. It has bars on it.”

“Oh, yes, I see. Well, if I had to be in a cell, this is the cell I’d choose.” He frowned. “I wonder what those other prisoners are in for?”

“They seem happy enough,” Peaches said. “They must be drugged or something. They didn’t even look up when we dropped through the floor.”

“Let’s check it out,” Max said.

They moved to the nearest chair, where a middle-aged man was seated, hunched forward, staring at the TV screen.

“Excuse me,” Max said. “I wonder—”

“Shhhhh!” the man said, annoyed, keeping his eyes on the screen.

“I guess we’ll have to wait for a commercial,” Max said.

As they waited, they watched the program. It was a soap opera, in which the heroine, Little Eva, was being chased across an ice floe by the villain, Simon Legree, and a pack of bloodhounds.

“I think I’ve seen it before,” Max said. “As I recall, just as Simon Legree and the bloodhounds are about to catch Little Eva, a squadron of Royal Mounted Police swoop down in helicopters and—”

“Now you’ve done it,” the man in the chair grumbled. “All the suspense is gone.”

“Sorry about that,” Max said sheepishly.

“Oh, well, this is the fourth time I’ve seen this episode anyway,” the man said. “This is the morning rerun of the noon rerun of the afternoon rerun of the evening program. I caught it first in 1936 when it was on a two-inch screen.”

“Has it changed any?” Max asked.

“It’s grown about nineteen inches,” the man replied. “But otherwise it’s the same.” He looked at Max closely. “Aren’t you new here?”

“We just dropped in,” Max said. “We don’t intend to stay.”

“Too bad.”

“You
like
it here?” Max said, puzzled.

“Why not? Four square meals a day, comfortable chairs, and a twenty-one-inch screen. What more could a man ask for?”

“But aren’t you locked in?”

“Sure. That’s the best part. This way, we’re not tempted to wander off.”

“But don’t you miss your freedom?” Peaches said.

The man squinted at her. “You been outside lately, lady?”

“Yes. We just came in from the outside.”

“What was going on out there?”

“Well, let’s see . . . We nearly got driven into the Potomac River . . . and we were almost in an airplane crash . . . and we were arrested for speeding . . . and . . .”

“In other words, a typical day,” the man said. “And you can ask me if I miss my freedom?”

“Yes, but—” Peaches thought for a second, then sat down in one of the chairs. “He’s right, Max. Have a seat.”

“You forget,” Max said. “Noman is probably on his way down here. And when he gets here, he’ll demand the Plan. Let’s not forget—the you-know-what of the entire you-know-what is hanging in the you-know-what.”

“That sounds familiar,” the man said. “You must be a Control agent.” He indicated the other men. “We were all Control agents once,” he said. “But, luckily, we were captured by Noman.” He smiled, recalling. “Oh, the many times I’ve heard that call to duty—the you-know-what of the entire you-know-what is hanging in the you-know-what. Fortunately, I don’t remember what it means any more.”

Max crooked a finger at Peaches. “I’d like to speak to you in private, please,” he said.

“I’m just getting comfortable.”

“If you don’t mind!”

Reluctantly, Peaches got up and followed Max to the other side of the room.

“I think we’re in luck,” Max said. “Right now, these men are under the spell of the TV set. But . . . once a Control agent, always a Control agent. I think I can revive their interest in the fate of the you-know-what. And when I do, they’ll rebel and help us break out of this cell.”

“They’d be fools to,” Peaches said. “They’ve got it made.”

“Nevertheless, instinct is stronger than security.”

“Who told you that?”

“I just made it up,” Max replied. “And now I’ll prove it.”

Max stepped to the center of the room. “Gentlemen!” he called. “May I have your attention!”

The program had paused so that the sponsor could deliver a commercial, so the men turned to Max.

“Gentlemen, my name is Max Smart. I have been sent here by Control to liberate you from the clutches of that diabolical monster, I. M. Noman.”

A voice replied. “Yeaaaa! Noman! Booooo! Smart!”

“I think you will change your minds,” Max went on, “when you learn that I have in my possession a Dooms Day Plan. As long as I keep the Plan, the world, as we know it, is safe.
But
—if the Plan falls into the hands of Noman, I think we can expect a
pretty messy
world in the near future. Consequently, I call upon you to—”

Max had lost his audience. The program was on again, and the men had turned back to it.

Max sighed. “I guess I’ll have to wait for the station break,” he said.

But at that moment Noman appeared at the bars of the cell.

“Smart!” he called. “Hand the Plan through the bars to me!”

“Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin,” Max replied.

“Smart, the cord to the television set is plugged in outside the cell. Hand me the Plan or I’ll unplug it. And when the set goes dead, these prisoners will go stark raving mad and destroy everything and everyone within reach. It’ll be a cruel way to go, Smart.”

“The key word is ‘everything,’ Noman. They’ll also destroy the Plan.”

Noman winced. “You have a point there. They’d be mad as wet hens back at Headquarters.” He sighed. “I’ll just have to come in and get it.”

“This is our chance,” Max said to Peaches. “When he opens the cell door, we’ll rush him.”

But Noman first pulled out a pistol,
then
opened the cell door.

“Scratch that,” Max said to Peaches. “We’ll have to play it by ear.”

Just then the program ended, and the between programs commercial came on. Noman took advantage of the situation.

“Prisoners,” he said. “You have an enemy in your midst.”

The men turned toward Max and Peaches, showing their teeth.

“That piece of paper that Smart is holding,” Noman said. “It’s next week’s program schedule. Get it!”

The men rushed at Max.

But Max wadded the Plan into a ball and tossed it across the room to Peaches. “Run!”

Peaches caught the ball—but found herself hemmed in by another group of men. She tossed it to Max.

Max caught it, and started to throw it back. But just then he was struck on the arm by one of the men.

“Foul!” Max cried.

The men stood back, looking sheepish.

“That’s a free-throw for me,” Max said. “Everybody keep away!”

The men waited, tense and eager. And Max lobbed the ball to Peaches.

As she caught it, the men came to life and rushed at her once more.

Peaches tossed the ball high into the air—toward Max. But, as the ball rose toward the ceiling, the trap door above opened, and a hand reached down and snatched the ball from the air.

“Interference!” Noman shrieked.

“What happened?” Peaches asked, perplexed.

“I think the referee got into the game,” Max said.

Noman whipped around and raced from the cell, leaving the door open.

“After him!” Max cried.