Get Smart 8 - Max Smart Loses Control (10 page)

Max held the matches in front of the nozzle. There was a sizzling sound, and they completely disappeared.

“If that had been a mind, it wouldn’t be a mind anymore,” Max said. “What you just saw at work, Hymie, was a mind-destroying laser beam. I know because if it’d been an automatic sprinkler system, I would have had a very wet slightly damp pack of matches right now.”

“How do we get past it, Max?”

“We can’t. A laser beam is impossible to destroy. If you try to hit it with a hammer, you just lose your hammer.”

“Max . . . couldn’t we duck down and go under it?”

“Well, yes, if you want to cheat, I suppose you can do that,” Max said. “But if I have to make a choice between losing my mind and cheating— Mmmmmm . . . who’ll duck first, Hymie, you or me?”

Together, Max and Hymie crouched, passed the laser beam, then proceeded. But, a few yards on, Max stopped Hymie again.

“Experience proves itself again,” he said, pointing. “There’s another one.”

Hymie studied the nozzle-like protrusion. “Another mind-destroying laser beam?” he asked.

“Aha! You’re wrong!” Max cackled. “That’s because you don’t have my experience, Hymie. I was dealing with KAOS when you were still a gleam in some mechanical engineer’s eye. This is not a mind-destroying laser beam. Look at it a little more closely—but not too closely—and you’ll see that it’s scorched around the opening. Now—what does that suggest?” He shook his head. “No, it doesn’t mean that somebody left the iron on while they went to answer the telephone and the call was from an especially talkative friend. It means, Hymie, that this is a napalm spray. It sprays flame.”

“Well, then—”

“Which reminds me of a little joke,” Max broke in. “What command is given to a firing squad of soldiers who are using napalm sprays?”

“Max, I don’t think—”

“Go on—guess.”

“I don’t know, Max.”

“Ready, aim, fire!”

“That’s the usual command, Max.”

“I know that, Hymie. But when the soldiers are using napalm sprays, the command ‘fire’ has special significance. Because fire comes from the sprayers. Understand?”

Hymie nodded. “That’s very funny, Max.”

“You have a very warped sense of humor, Hymie,” Max said disappointedly. “There’s nothing at all funny about napalm. If you walk in front of that nozzle, for instance, you’ll get yourself burned to a crisp.”

“What shall we do, Max?” Hymie asked patiently.

“Well, we could turn back, and climb out of the pool and get the car out of hiding, and drive into Las Vegas, and see if we could find a store open, and try to buy some asbestos clothing.”

“Isn’t there an easier and faster way, Max?”

“Hymie, I don’t like what’s happening to you. You’re getting so you
like
to cheat.”

They crouched, passed the napalm sprayer, then proceeded.

“I can understand why they don’t have any guards in this corridor,” Hymie said.

“You’re right—it is damp in here,” Max said. “One tour of duty, and a guard would be down with pneumonia.”

“That’s not what I meant, Max. I meant that with all these defensive gadgets, it would be almost impossible for an intruder to make it to the end of the corridor.”

“Unless he was experienced,” Max nodded. He pointed again. “For instance,” he said, “see that fire extinguisher hanging on the wall up ahead?”

“Yes, What is it really, Max?”

“A fire extinguisher, probably,” Max replied. “KAOS isn’t totally heartless. If you get hit by that napalm spray, you probably get a second chance.”

“That’s very thoughtful,” Hymie said.

“Maybe not,” Max said. “If I know KAOS, that fire extinguisher is filled with gasoline.” He pointed once more. “Oh-oh—see that!”

“Just beyond the fire extinguisher, you mean? That nozzle that looks like those other nozzles? What is it, Max?”

“An electric eye,” Max replied. “And baby blue, or I’ll be very much surprised.”

“Is the color significant, Max?”

“Baby blue means that the electric eye operates a trapdoor,” Max replied. “With experience, you learn these things. Red would indicate that it fired a series of machine guns imbedded in the walls. And an orange electric eye opens and closes the garage doors.”

“I’m not going to ask you how to get by this,” Hymie said. “Let’s just cheat and save time.”

Crouching, they passed the electric eye. A moment later, they reached the door at the end of the corridor. Hymie turned the knob, opened the door a crack and peeked through it.

“What do you see?” Max asked.

“Just what I expected—a laboratory,” Hymie whispered. “And I see Ways and Means and Number One. They’re feeding information into her memory banks.”

“Making a deposit, eh?”

“I don’t see any guards,” Hymie said.

“Probably all in bed with terrible colds,” Max said.

“Do you have your gun, Max?”

Max got his pistol from his shoulder holster. Water poured from the barrel. “I think there’s going to be a hitch,” he said.

Hymie got out his own gun. It, too, was wet. “Well, we’ll just have to rush them and overpower them,” he said.

“Right. I’m ready when you are.”

“Maybe it would be better to try to slip up on them and surprise them,” Hymie said.

“You’re right,” Max nodded. “When I rush somebody, I always yell ‘Geronimo!’ And that always gives it away. Slipping up is much quieter.”

“Ready, Max?”

“Ready, Hymie.”

Hymie opened the door and he and Max entered the laboratory. Wayne Ways and Melvin Means had their backs to them, facing Number One, a refrigerator-size computer with a face that was a confusion of dials, gauges, buttons and levers.

“She looks just like I pictured her,” Max said.

“Shhhh!”

Max and Hymie crept closer and closer. They were only a few steps from Ways and Means when suddenly there was a ringing sound.

Ways and Means whipped around.

“You!” Means cried, staring at Max.

“You!” Ways cried, staring at Hymie.

The ringing sounded again.

“Your slipper, Max,” Hymie said.

“Guards!” Means shouted.

Doors began flying open and guards began rushing out.

“That’s loyalty for you,” Max said, impressed, “getting up out of a sickbed.”

“Run, Max!” Hymie commanded.

Max, his slipper still ringing, followed Hymie toward the doorway through which they had just entered. They dashed into the corridor.

“Wait!” Max called.

Hymie halted. “What is it?”

“Do you have a piece of chalk?”

Hymie handed him a fragment of white chalk.

Quickly, Max printed ‘Out of Order’ over the first nozzle. Then he and Hymie ducked under it and raced on along the corridor. A moment later, the guards poured through the doorway. Spotting the sign Max had printed above the nozzle, they elected not to duck. A trapdoor opened beneath them, and a number of them plummeted through the opening.

By then, Max and Hymie had reached the second nozzle. Max chalked ‘Out of Order’ over it. Then he and Hymie ducked down, then ran on. The remaining guards, still giving chase, saw the sign, and chose not to duck. They were burned to a crisp.

“I don’t understand,” Hymie said. “How could they be stupid enough to believe that second sign.”

“Because they’ve been brainwashed by their bedside computers,” Max explained. “They’d believe anything. That shows what will happen to the whole civilized world, Hymie, if we don’t stop Means and Ways.”

“We can’t go back now—not without weapons,” Hymie said.

“Well . . . tomorrow is another day,” Max said.

R-i-i-i-n-n-g, Max’s slipper persisted.

“Max . . . maybe you better answer your shoe.”

“Oh . . . yes. I was—”

At that moment, there was a shot. A bullet zinged past Max’s head. Max and Hymie turned and saw that Ways and Means had appeared from the laboratory. They had guns. And, since they had not been brainwashed, it was unlikely that they would fall victim to their own traps.

“Run!” Hymie commanded.

Max raced after him. Gunfire followed them. Bullets hit the walls all around. They ducked under the mind-destroying laser, then dashed through the doorway and into the pool. A few moments later, they bobbed to the surface, swam to the edge of the pool, pulled themselves out, ran to the bunkhouse, jumped into bed, and covered up their heads.

Max’s house slipper was still ringing.

From his own room, Hymie called out, “Max! Answer it!”

“It’s too dark in here. I can’t find it!”

“Push the covers back!”

“Oh.”

Max sat up on the edge of his bed and removed his house slipper.

Max:
Yes?

Unfamiliar Male Voice:
Mr. Maxwell Smart?

Max
(looking at his watch): Do you happen to know what time it is? It’s two o’clock in the morning!

UMV:
I have seven after.

Max:
I guess I’m a little slow. I’ve been swimming, and my watch isn’t waterproof. Who is this, anyway?

UMV:
Mr. Smart, I represent the Wide Awake Telephone Answering Service—WATAS, for short. WATAS would like to represent you, Mr. Smart.

Max:
You mean you’d like to be my telephone answering service?

Operator:
You catch on quick, Maxie. What’ve you been doing, taking lessons?

Max:
Operator, why did you let this screwball call me at this time of morning? You know this is a private line.

Operator:
Maxie, you need a telephone answering service. This man is trying to do you a favor. You listen to him. All right, Harold, get in there and sell!

Max:
Harold?

Harold:
I’m her brother-in-law.

Max:
Oh. Well, that explains a lot. It doesn’t excuse it, however. Couldn’t you have called me during regular business hours? It’s two o’clock in the morning!

Operator:
I have twelve after.

Max:
I guess my watch has stopped.

Harold:
I called you at this hour, Mr. Smart—

Operator:
Call him ‘Maxie,’ Harold. He’s nobody.

Harold:
I called you at this hour, Maxie-boy, for a special reason. This is the best way to show you how valuable our service can be to you. You don’t like being called at two-seven in the morning, do you?

Max:
No. But—

Harold:
If you subscribed to our answering service, you wouldn’t get calls at two-seven in the morning. We’d take the calls.

Max:
But nobody ever calls me at two-seven in the morning—except you.

Harold:
I’m finally getting through to you. That’s the point: Take our service, and we promise to stop calling you at two-seven in the morning. Or, if we do call you at two-seven, we’ll take the call ourselves, so you won’t be bothered. Either way, how can you lose?

Max:
I’ll think about it. Frankly, there’s something about it that doesn’t sound quite right to me.

Harold
(to Operator): I thought you told me he was dumb.

Operator:
Give it time. After he thinks it over, he’ll subscribe. He’s so dumb, it even takes him time to do something stupid.

Harold:
I’ll call you again tomorrow morning at two-seven, Maxie-boy.

Max:
It won’t do you any good. I won’t answer. You’ll only get my answering service.

Max put his house slipper back on, then got back under the covers. But a moment later, the slipper rang again.

Max:
Yes—who is it?

Harold:
This is your answering service, Maxie-boy. You’ve got a call from some whacko who calls himself a chief. Do you want to take it?

Max:
At two o’clock in the morning?

Chief:
Max! This is me, Max—the Chief. And it isn’t two o’clock in the morning—it’s two twenty-one. And, besides, what does that have to do with it? You’re on duty twenty-four hours a day, Max. When I call, I want you to be there! Is that clear?

Harold:
Shall I put him on, Maxie-boo?

Max:
Yes, I’ll accept that call, Harold.

Harold:
I’ll connect you, sir. You may speak to Mr. Smart, now.

Operator:
Harold . . . you’re crowding in on my territory. This is a private line. I handle all the calls on this circuit. This is a Control line, you know. Control is a secret government organization. For all we know, you might be a KAOS spy. I’ll tell you the truth, Harold, I warned my sister not to marry you. ‘A KAOS spy, if I ever saw one,’ I said to her. What’s this thing about telephones you’ve got? Can’t you get an honest job? It looks very suspicious—a grown man playing with telephones. It’s probably not play to you, I’ll bet. You’ve probably got the whole world bugged. Not that I mind. But you know what it’ll do to Mother when she finds out. Her daughter married to a bugger! She’ll start having her fainting fits again. Harold! Please! Give it up! Go straight! For Mother’s sake!

Harold:
Maxie-boo, I can’t be your answering service anymore. I’m going out of business.

Max:
I’m very glad to hear that, Harold. I’m sure Mother will be pleased, too.

Harold:
Who cares about her? I’m doing it for the profit I’ll make on declaring bankruptcy.

Operator:
Don’t forget my cut! It was my idea!

Chief:
Operator . . . Harold . . . please . . . would you get off the line? Max . . . are you still there?

Max:
Am I still where, Chief?

Harold:
He’s sure dumb, all right. It’s a pity to lose a customer like that. I could overcharge him and he’d never know it.

Operator:
Maybe you’d like to reconsider, Harold. Whatever you decide, Mother will be pleased. She looks on you like her own son.

Harold:
I thought your mother had only girls.

Operator:
That’s what I mean.

Max:
Operator, I don’t think I under—

Chief:
Max! Forget it! I want to talk to you. Why do you think I called you at two twenty-two in the morning? I couldn’t sleep. I’m worried about this case. What progress have you made?

Max:
I’ll have to ask Hymie, Chief. He’s in charge—remember?