Get Smart 3 - Get Smart Once Again! (9 page)

Max and Peaches ran from the cell, and saw Noman disappearing up a stairway.

At the same time, the men in the cell cried out to Max and Peaches. “Stop! Wait! Lock the door!”

Max and Peaches halted.

“Lock the door?” Max said.

“We might escape!” one of the men explained fearfully.

“Oh . . . yes.” Max walked back to the cell and locked it. “There you are—snug in your spell in the cell.”

“We’ll never forget you for this,” the men said. “If you ever have a TV program, we promise to watch you.”

“That’s hardly likely,” Max said. He turned back to Peaches. “Onward and upward!” he cried.

They raced up the stairs. And just as they reached the top they saw Noman again. He went charging through the doorway. As he did, however, a foot was stuck in his path, and he fell flat on his face and skidded across the floor.

Max and Peaches reached the doorway just in time to see Noman plummet through the trap door.

“Happy landing!” Max called out.

They went to the trap door and looked down. Noman was in the locked cell, shaking a fist up at them.

Max shook a fist back at him.

“Why are you doing that?” Peaches asked.

“Good manners are never out of fashion,” Max replied. “When someone shakes a fist at you, politeness requires that you shake a fist back at him.” He closed the trap door. “That, I suspect, is the end of Noman,” he said.

“I hope so. But, Max, where is the Plan?”

Max looked around the room. It was vacant. “Look for a foot,” he said.

“A foot?”

“The foot that tripped Noman. Attached to that foot, I think, we will find our benefactor—whoever it was who snatched the Plan out of the air.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to look,” Peaches said.

“Logic will reveal the answer,” Max replied. “Now, logically, where would you expect to find a foot? In a shoe—right? And where would you expect to find a shoe?”

“On a foot?”

“Technically, yes. But I don’t think that kind of reasoning will get us anywhere. Where
else
would you expect to find a shoe? The answer, obviously, is: in a shoe store.”

“Max, you’re mad.”

“May I remind you that there is only a thin line between madness and genius. Now,” he said, glancing around, “let’s look for a thin line.”

“How about this crack in the floor?”

“That’s it!” Max said.

They followed the crack in the floor, which led to the doorway, which led outside.

Max looked up and down the street. “There it is,” he said, pointing. “The Happy Feet Shoe Store.”

They went to the store and entered. There was no one in sight.

“The Plan is lost,” Peaches said. “That must have been another KAOS agent who took it.”

“Let’s not give up yet,” Max said. “Not while we still have logic on our side. Now, where, in a shoe store, would a shoe be? In a shoe box, right?”

“I want to go home,” Peaches moaned.

Max walked to the shelves of shoe boxes. “Do you have any idea what size shoe that was that tripped up Noman?” he said.

“12-C?”

“No, I think it was closer to a size . . . Ah, here it is,” Max said. “A size 44.”

Max pulled the shoe box from the shelf—and the face of Agent 44 appeared in the opening.

“Here’s the Plan, Max,” 44 said, pushing the paper out through the opening.

“Thank you, 44.”

“See you around, Max.”

“Duck,” Max replied.

44 ducked. And Max pushed the shoe box back into the hole.

Max turned to Peaches. “Simple logic,” he said.

“Can we leave now?” Peaches said. “Even if Noman
is
locked in that cell, I’m frightened. Maybe he has another key. He may be looking for us right now.”

“I doubt that,” Max said. “I have a feeling that we’ve seen the last of Noman. Besides, I think I better report in to the Chief. As I told you, he worries.”

“All right. But hurry!”

Max took off his shoe, and dialed.

Chief:
Chief, here. Who’s calling?

Max:
This is Max, Chief.

Chief:
Max who?

Max:
Max Smart, Chief. Remember me? The one you worry about if I don’t call in every once in a while.

Chief:
Oh, yes,
that
Max. Well, where are you, Max—New York, Moscow or Peking?

Max:
Actually, Chief, we’re in a little town outside Washington. We’ve had a number of setbacks.

Chief:
Max—the Plan. Do you still have the Plan?

Max:
At the moment, yes. And, Chief, I have also found a number of the agents we’ve lost over the past few years. They’re here in this little town. They’re watching television.

Chief:
Max, we must have a bad connection. I thought you said they’re watching television.

Max:
It isn’t the connection, Chief. That’s exactly what I said.

Chief:
Max, that’s hard to believe.

Max:
Would you believe that they’re watching radio?

Chief:
I don’t believe so.

Max:
Then would you believe that they’re watching the third window from the left on the second floor of the building next door, waiting for the shade to go up?

Chief:
That sounds more like it. Tell them as soon as that shade goes up I want them to get right back here, Max. If they’re back by noon tomorrow, they can keep their retirement benefits.

Max:
I know a taxi driver who will be happy to hear that, Chief.

Chief:
Max, have you deciphered the code yet?

Max:
There’s still some debate about that, Chief. But, if you have an agent stationed in the Astor hotel, you might ask him to check the rooms. If he finds a gangster playing baseball with a Trojan horse to the tune of ‘Over the Waves,’ then, yes, I think we’ve broken the code.

Chief:
I’ll check it out, Max. But, in the meantime, keep trying.

Max:
Will do.

Max hung up and put his shoe back on his foot.

“Now can we go?” Peaches said nervously.

“Just one little matter to take care of,” Max said. “I have some good news for those missing Control agents. They may not lose their retirement benefits.”

Peaches sagged. “I’ll wait in the car,” she said.

They left the shoe store and walked to the car. Max left Peaches there, then entered the courthouse.

He returned a few minutes later.

“Did you tell them?” Peaches asked.

Max nodded sadly. “Yes.”

“What did they say?”

“They said, ‘TV, sí—Retirement Benefits, no.’ ”

“That’s too bad,” Peaches said.

“Yes, and that’s not all. Noman is no longer in the cell.”

“He escaped! I knew it!”

“However, little good it will do him,” Max said. “We have the Plan, and we’re on our way to New York. And, in this car, there’s no way he can stop us. We’re not likely to fall for that trooper gag again.”

“He’ll think of something else!”

“I will not stop this car again for anything,” Max said, getting in behind the wheel.

“Suppose we run out of gas?”

“I’ll peddle!”

Max started the engine and headed the car toward the highway. “While I drive, you work on the code,” he said, handing the Plan to Peaches.

She handed it back. “I’ve lost interest,” she said. “Why bother? We’re doomed, anyway. With Noman after us, we don’t have a chance.”

“There’s one thing you seem to forget,” Max said. “You are in the care of Control’s top agent—Max Smart.”

“Forget? That’s what makes me sure we’re doomed!” A tear trickled down her cheek. “My whole life has been wasted,” she wept.

“I don’t see how you can say that—you’ve known me.”

“Business, business, business,” Peaches sobbed. “All my life, I’ve kept my nose to the grindstone. And what’s it got me?”

“A short nose?”

“Nothing. Nothing but money and fame.”

“Fame?”

“In the world of cryptographers.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve missed out on the best part of life—romance,” Peaches wept.

“Actually, that’s not the best part,” Max said. “The best part is that instant when you get the shower adjusted exactly right and the water stops scalding you.”

“A waste!” Peaches wailed. “My whole life has been a waste!”

Max stopped the car.

“I thought you weren’t going to stop the car for anything.”

“This is an emergency,” Max replied. “Emergencies don’t count.”

“But why did you stop?”

“Somebody has to try to break that code,” Max said. “Since you won’t do it, I’ll have to. But I can’t break codes and drive, too. So, you’ll have to do the driving.”

“Oh, all right.”

Peaches got behind the wheel, and Max settled in the passenger’s seat. Then they started up again.

Max concentrated his attention on the Plan. “Let’s see . . . ‘Astor’. Now, the Astors have money—they must have, if they own a hotel. And ‘Mays’. Willie Mays, as I recall, is a highly-paid ball player. There we have ‘money’ again. Now—”

“Max, make a list for me, will you, please,” Peaches said.

“A list?”

“A list of all the romantic things I intend to do if I get out of this alive.”

“I’m busy with the code.”

“Just a little list. You can do both. I don’t want to forget any of these things.”

“Couldn’t you make a mental list?”

“The old me could have,” Peaches said. “But not the new me. The new me is an empty-headed blonde.”

Max got a sheet of notepaper from his notebook. “All right, but keep the list short,” he said.

“I’ll try. Put down: Fly to Rome, drop three coins in the fountain.”

“Got it,” Max said. “Now then, the code. We have Astor money, and Mays money. Oops! I forgot ‘Sad Al. Al, of course, is Al Capone—who was jailed for not paying income tax. And income tax suggests money.”

“Put down: Cruise to Bermuda,” Peaches said.

“Got it.” Max replied, shifting papers. “Okay now, where was I? Oh, yes. Three hotels in the fountain. Is that right?”

“We’re coming to the highway,” Peaches said.

“Fine. When we reach it, head for New York.”

“Put down: Dinner by candlelight.”

“Got it.”

“How are you doing on the code, Max?”

“So far, I have Al Capone taking a shower in a fountain.”

“How did you get that?”

“I’m not sure,” Max replied. “But what really puzzles me is that he’s doing it on a cruise to Bermuda. Are there many fountains on board ships these days?”

“I don’t know. But it sounds romantic,” Peaches giggled.

“Ah, well, let’s see,” Max said, concentrating on the Plan again. “Willie Mays by candlelight. No, that’s not right. What’s my next word? Oh, yes . . . Bronco Con. Con suggests a confidence game, which is usually played for money. And Bronco suggests horse. Horses are usually found at race tracks. And race tracks are where you bet money. So, we have money again.”

“Put down: Soft music.”

“Got it.”

“This highway seems familiar,” Peaches said.

“All highways seem familiar,” Max replied. “They’re all the same, a long stretch of concrete.”

“That must be it.”

“Al Capone betting his income tax money on a horse at the race track,” Max mused. “The name of the horse is ‘Cruise to Bermuda.’ And the name of the jockey is ‘Dinner by Candlelight.’ Then the name of the race track must be—”

“Washington, D. C.,” Peaches said.

“No, I don’t have that name on my list.”

“I meant that sign,” Peaches said, pointing.

Max looked. He saw a highway sign saying: Washington, D. C.

“We’re right back where we started from,” Peaches said.

“I told you to head for New York!”

“But you didn’t say which way New York was. How was I supposed to know? I’m an empty-headed blonde.”

“Well, we’re here now,” Max said disgustedly. “Drive into town and find the train station and we’ll take a train to New York. If you tried to drive us there, we’d probably end up in Moscow.”

“Or Peking,” Peaches giggled.

“Right.”

“Put down: Trip to Chinatown,” Peaches said.

“Got it.”

“Have you broken the code yet, Max?”

“I’m getting close,” Max replied. “I have Al Capone betting a fountain on a horse named ‘Candlelight in Bermuda.’ The horse is being ridden by a jockey named ‘Chinatown,’ who is taking a shower to Rome, where he intends to drop three coins in the soft music. How does that sound to you?”

Perfect!” Peaches said. “But then, I’m an empty-headed blonde.”

“I wish I were,” Max said. “As a level-headed brunette, it doesn’t make much sense to me.”

W
HEN
M
AX
and Peaches reached the train station, they parked the car, then went inside. The station was crowded. A red cap rushed up to them.

“Carry your bags, sir?” he said to Max.

“We don’t have any bags,” Max replied.

“Carry your Dooms Day Plan, then?”

“Why, yes,” Max said. He started to hand the Plan to the red cap—then stopped. “Oh, no you don’t! You’re—”

But the red cap quickly disappeared in the crowd.

“That was close!” Max said. “Do you know who that was?”

“I’ve never seen him before,” Peaches replied. “But he was sort of romantic-looking, wasn’t he?”

“That was Noman!”

“Oh, was it? I don’t remember him being so romantic-looking before.”

“Which only goes to prove the old saying: Romantic-looking is in the eyes of the beholder,” Max said. “From now on, keep an eye out for romantic-looking men. They’re Noman!”

They went to the ticket window, and Max addressed the agent. “We’d like to get a train to New York,” he said.

“Well, we have some nice tracks you could use,” the agent replied.

“Pardon?”

“Tracks,” the agent said. “You could try to get it there by bus, but I doubt that you could get it in the luggage compartment. Unless it’s a small train. Exactly how big is this train you want to get to New York?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Max replied. “It’s your train, not mine. Do you have a train going to New York?”

“Oh, yes, lots of trains going to New York,” the agent answered. “How would you like to go? By way of Philadelphia?”