Von BOOM started to wander off. Max reached out and grabbed him and held him. “When you said ‘line,’ he was reminded to go to the post office,” he explained to the puzzled-looking Arab.
“What is he—some kind of a Sidney?”
“So you know him, too,” said Max, shaking his head. He got out his wallet and handed the Arab a ten dollar bill. “Understand now, that’s not a bribe,” he said. “It’s payment for services rendered.”
The Arab winked. “I’ll never squeal.” He departed, folding the ten dollar bill, then tucking it into the folds of his burnoose.
“I think I handled that very well,” Max said, pleased. “Did you notice how antagonistic he was when we first met? But, when he left, he was a friend. It proves, I think, that the old saying is right: Money is the answer to everything.”
“Max, shouldn’t we go?” 99 said apprehensively. “If KAOS—”
“Later, 99. Right now, let’s get out of here. The local KAOS agents could be closing in on us right at this very moment.”
They hurried up the street. When they reached the sixth block, they slowed their pace, looking for the rent-a-camel agency.
“I don’t see it anywhere, Max,” 99 said.
“Do you suppose that undependable foreigner gave us a bum steer? I’d hate to lose my faith in the theory that money is the answer to—”
At that moment, a small, dumpy Arab stepped out of the doorway of what looked like an empty shop. “Linger a while,” he said to Max. “You walked too fast.” He then disappeared into the dimness of the vacant shop.
“What was that all about, Max?” 99 said, baffled.
Max shrugged. “I haven’t the vaguest. Let’s see what happens.”
A moment later, the small, dumpy Arab reappeared. He was toting a freshly-painted sign, which he mounted above the entrance to the shop. It said: Trustworthy Rent-A-Camel Agency.
“I think this is the place,” Max said to 99.
The Arab opened his arms to them. “Welcome, strangers,” he beamed. “I am your humble servant, Abdul Bim-Bam-Bom, local manager of the Trustworthy Rent-A-Camel Agency—Third Rate, But We Try Harder. What can I do for you?”
Max explained that they needed three camels to take them across the desert.
“Four camels,” Abdul corrected. “One camel for your trustworthy guide. You expect your guide to walk? The sun is terrible out in the desert. The sand is scorching. You want your trustworthy guide to burn his tootsies to a crisp?”
“All right,” Max agreed, “four camels. Now, where do we get a guide?”
“Don’t move,” Abdul replied. Once more, he disappeared into the vacant shop. A few minutes later he returned, carrying a second freshly-painted sign, which he hung over the first one. The new sign said: Trustworthy Rent-A-Guide Agency.
“Welcome strangers,” Abdul beamed. “What can I do for you?”
In short order, Max arranged for a guide, who turned out to be Abdul Bim-Bam-Bom.
“Now, just one more little thing, and we’re ready to leave,” Abdul said. “I’ll give you a boost, and you’ll climb up to the roof of the shop.”
“The roof?” Max asked.
“It’s the American way to board a rent-a-camel,” Abdul explained. “I saw it on a TV commercial. I’ll go get the camels and ride by, and you three jump on their humps.”
Max shrugged. “Well . . . when in America . . .”
Abdul strolled up the street, and Max, 99 and von BOOM climbed to the roof of the shop.
“Max, I wonder if we’ll ever see him again,” 99 said.
“I’m sure we will, 99. These people have a very highly developed sense of honor. And, besides, I haven’t paid him yet.”
“Oh. Well, in that—”
The shrill shriek of a police whistle suddenly pierced the quiet. An angry voice was heard shouting, “Stop! Thief!” A moment later there was the sound of camels’ hoofs. Four camels came racing into view, with Abdul Bim-Bam-Bom riding the leader.
“He certainly is hurrying,” Max said. “It’s a wonder he isn’t curious about all that commotion behind him. I suppose he just doesn’t want to get involved.”
“Jump!” Abdul cried, nearing the shop.
Max, 99 and von BOOM leaped, landing on the camels.
“Head for the dunes!” Abdul shouted.
The camels galloped through the streets, with Max, 99, von BOOM and Abdul hanging on precariously, and with the sound of the police whistle and the shout, “Stop! Thief!” becoming dimmer in the background. Finally, nearly an hour later, the town far behind, the camels slowed to a joggling walk.
“We got a good start,” Abdul said happily. “Only five-hundred-and-ninety-six billion pounds of sand to go.”
“When will we reach our destination?” 99 asked.
“Sooner or later, give or take a day,” Abdul replied. “That is, of course, if the water holds out. Which it should. I brought a ten-gallon canteen.”
“How many billion pounds of sand do you get to the gallon out here?” Max asked.
“Sometimes more, sometimes less, give or take a billion,” Abdul replied. “Anybody thirsty?” He halted his camel. “Yes, now that you mention it, I am,” he said.
The others stopped their camels, too, and the whole party got down and Abdul passed around paper cups of water.
99 pointed. “What’s that dark cloud in the distance?” she asked.
Max, von BOOM, Abdul and the camels looked in the direction in which she was pointing. The camels suddenly reared up, then galloped away, heading back toward town.
“I’m a lit-tle disappointed, Abdul,” Max said. “I’ve been using the rental system for transportation for a good many years now, and never in my life has a Chevrolet ever done that to me.”
“What does a Chevrolet know about a sand storm?” Abdul answered. “Those camels have got good sense. If they’d stayed here, they’d’ve probably got buried alive right along with us.”
“Max! It’s a sand storm!” 99 screamed.
“I gathered that, 99,” Max said. He turned back to Abdul. “All right, guide, how do we protect ourselves?”
Abdul looked wistfully back toward town. “I guess it’s a little late to jump aboard our camels and hightail it out of here,” he said. “I’m open to suggestion.”
“A fine guide you are!” Max said.
“Would you put that in writing?” Abdul asked. “I might want a job with an American again, and a good reference could tip the scales, one way or the other.”
Von BOOM headed off across the desert.
Max grabbed him and escorted him back. “Don’t use that word ‘tip,’ ” he said to Abdul. “It sends him out looking for a restaurant.”
“Tip, tip, tip!” Abdul said.
“Don’t do that!” Max snapped, holding fast to von BOOM.
“I’m trying to save our lives,” Abdul explained. “If he finds a restaurant, we can all go in and sit out this sand storm.”
“Max! The storm is almost here!” 99 wailed.
“All right . . . everybody behind that big dune over there,” Max said. “Maybe it will protect us.”
Abdul raced toward the dune. “Follow your guide,” he called back. “Everybody behind the dune.”
Max, 99 and von BOOM hurried after him. Just as they reached the huge hill of sand, the storm hit. The wind whipped the sand, swirling it into their eyes, blinding them. Grains of sand bit painfully at their faces.
“Max!” 99 cried above the wild howling of the wind. “It’s getting deeper! We’ll be buried alive!”
“Even a camel knows that, 99!” Max shouted back.
“Think of something, Max!”
“I am thinking of something—my office back at headquarters. I wish I were there!”
“I mean think of something to help, Max!”
“How can I think, 99, with you shouting at me!”
“Max! Help! The sand is up to my neck!”
“Stand on tippy-toes!” Max sug
gested.
“Frabbersink bon sprottlepump!” von BOOM cried.
“You’re right, even that doesn’t help if you’re short and dumpy,” Max replied. “Try this—climb up on my shoulders.”
Von BOOM scrambled up Max’s body.
“Pommerdink!” Abdul shouted.
“All right, you climb up on his shoulders,” Max said.
Quickly, Abdul pulled himself upward on Max, then on von BOOM.
“Rowgerschmidt!” Max screamed.
“Max! Max! Get on Abdul’s shoulders!” 99 shouted.
Max clambered upward. “I’m all right now, 99,” he called down, after reaching Abdul’s shoulders. “How are you making out?”
“Razzerflinklebrump!”
“Climb, 99, climb!” Max shouted.
A few moments later, safe on Max’s shoulders, 99 said, “Max—isn’t it Professor von BOOM’s turn?”
“Okay, von BOOM,” Max called. “Up on 99’s shoulders now.”
There was no reply.
“Max . . .” 99 said worriedly, “. . . do you think . . .”
“Let’s hope for the best, 99. Maybe he’s angry about something and just isn’t speaking to us.”
“The storm, Max—it’s letting up.”
“The Chief is going to be very unhappy about that, 99.”
“About the storm? Why?”
“Not exactly about the storm,” Max replied. “More about what we’re going to discover, I’m afraid, when the storm ends. I just stuck my hand down into the sand and found out that I’m not sitting on anybody’s shoulders.”
“But where’s Abdul?”
“That’s part of what the Chief’s going to be unhappy about. If Abdul is gone, I should be sitting on von BOOM’s shoulders—right? But I’m not. And that means—unless I’ve suddenly lost my powers of deduction—that Professor von BOOM is gone, too.”
“Max, you don’t mean—”
“Apparently so, 99. My guess is that Abdul is a KAOS agent, and that he took advantage of the storm to kidnap Professor von BOOM.”
“Max! That’s terrible!”
“It certainly is. Although, of course, it could be worse.”
“I don’t see how, Max.”
“If I’d paid him his guide fee in advance, I’d really be feeling silly about now,” Max explained.
The storm ended as suddenly as it had started. Max and 99 looked around. There was nothing but sand, sand, sand, sand as far as the eye could see. The sun blazed down on them.”
“Max, I wonder if Abdul left us any water,” 99 said.
“No. But I think he left us his share of the sand. None seems to be missing.”
“Max—what are we going to do?”
“There’s only one thing we can do, 99—try to find our way back to town. The chances are mighty slim, but, we have no other choice.”
“Which way is it, Max?”
“I’m not really sure, 99. But, in this case, we do have a choice. It’s either that way or that way or that way or that way, or somewhere in between.”
“Then, all we can do is just start walking and hope for the best.” 99 sighed woefully. “I suppose we might as well get started.”
“99, I don’t want to be the one to be the grouch in this small crowd,” Max said, “but I think I could make better headway if you’d climb down off my shoulders.”
“Oh . . . yes . . . sorry, Max.”
99 jumped down and they set out across the sand, hoping they were traveling in the direction of the town. The sun seemed boiling hot. They soon weakened, near collapse.
“Water . . . water . . .” 99 gasped.
“Ice cream soda . . . ice cream soda . . .” Max wheezed.
“Max . . . that’s . . . ridiculous . . .”
“I know . . . 99 . . . But . . . if somebody answered our cries . . . and I got water . . . and I learned later that I could have had an ice cream soda . . . I’d be pretty let-down . . .”
“Max . . . we’ll . . . never make it . . .”
“Don’t give up, 99. Where there’s a will . . . there’s a way . . .”
“Then . . . Max . . . get up off the sand . . . and keep walking . . .”
“I was looking . . . for camel tracks . . . 99.”
“Did you find any?”
“I don’t . . . know . . . If I did . . . they were full of sand . . .”
“Max!” 99 suddenly shouted. “We’re saved! Look! Coming this way! A ship, Max!”
“99 . . . did anyone ever tell you . . . that you have a very sick sense of humor?” Max asked.
“Max, it is! It’s a ship! It’s a ship!”
“99, you have a very sick sense of humor.”
“Max, look! Look, please!”
Max raised his head and peered out across the desert. “I apologize, 99,” he said drearily. “You’re right. I see it, too. It is a ship. It’s a four-masted sailing ship. A whaler, I believe. It’s probably on a whaling expedition. Whale blubber brings a very good price, I’m told.”
99 looked at him puzzledly. “Max, you’re not very excited. I don’t understand—we’re saved!”
“99, think about it a minute. So far, how many whales have you seen out here on the desert? You could probably count them on the fingers of one elbow. Now—keeping that in mind—ask yourself: What would a whaling ship be doing out in the middle of the Sahara Desert?”
“Max, I don’t care what it’s doing out here,” 99 said. “Maybe it’s off course. The important thing is, it’s here! I see it! You see it!”
“We’re seeing a mirage, 99. A mirage is an hallucination. It’s a figment of the imagination. It doesn’t exist. It’s a trick of the mind.”
“I know what a mirage is, Max. But that ship is real.”
“A ship sails on water, 99. This is sand we’re standing on.”
“Max, that ship is on wheels.”
“You have a very sick sense of mirages, 99.”
“It’s on wheels, and there’s a whole long string of automobiles following it.”
“You have a very sick and crowded sense of mirages, 99.”
“Max! Someone’s waving to us from the deck!”
“Wave back, 99. Let’s not let the fact that we’re dying out here in the middle of the desert make us forget our manners.”
“Max, the ship is almost here! There’s a man on the deck. He’s wearing knickers and a Hawaiian shirt and sun glasses and a pith helmet.”
“Sick, sick, sick, 99.”
“Max, the whole caravan is stopping—the ship and the cars. The man is being lowered in a longboat. The longboat is resting on the sand now, Max. The man is getting out. He’s heading this way, Max!”
“Ask him how he’s fixed for ice cream sodas,” Max muttered.
“Max! He’s here!”
Max raised his eyes. Standing before him was a small, dumpy man who was wearing sandals, knickers, a Hawaiian shirt, dark glasses and a pith helmet. “99, you’re mirage is straight out of Hollywood,” Max said.
“Greetings, natives,” the man smiled. “I’m Max von Sydesheau, straight out of Hollywood. I’m shooting a picture out here. Moby Dick. I could use you two as extras. Either one of you had any experience ducking a harpoon?”
“Water!” 99 gasped.
“Now, wait a minute,” Max said, staring narrow-eyed at the man. “Are you for real? Do you expect us to believe that you’re actually a motion picture director? That you’re making a movie of Moby Dick? Where’s your whale?”
“In the trunk of one of the cars,” Max von Sydesheau replied. “It’s inflatable. That means that if you blow air into it—”
“I know what inflatable means,” Max broke in. “But it still doesn’t make sense. Why would you bring a ship—”
“Water!” 99 gasped.
“Just a second, 99,” Max said. “There’s something very fishy about this.”
“It’s in the trunk of one of the cars,” von Sydesheau said. “It’s inflatable. You—”
“Don’t change the subject,” Max snapped. “Why would you bring a ship way out here into the middle of the desert to shoot a sea picture? Why not film it on the ocean?”
“My ship leaks,” von Sydesheau replied. “I’m working on a very tight budget.”
“Water!” 99 gasped.
“Well, now it’s beginning to make a little sense,” Max said grudgingly. “But, I’m sorry, we’re not available as extras. You see, we’re a couple of secret agents, and we’re on duty.”
Von Sydesheau nodded. “Spying on the sand—I got it.”
“No, no, we got caught in a sand storm and we’re lost,” Max said. “If you could just help us get back to civilization, we’d—”
“Water!” 99 gasped.
“—appreciate it a great deal,” Max continued. “We have to report in to headquarters.”
“Of course. You can go back when we go,” von Sydesheau said.
“Uh . . . about how long will that be?”
“Well, let’s see . . . we start shooting in the morning. If we’re lucky, and we don’t get a blowout in the whale, in about six months, give or take a month.”
“Well . . . since our mission is somewhat of a bust, I guess there’s no hurry to get back,” Max decided. “All we’ll get is a bawling out, anyway.”
“Water!” 99 gasped.
Max looked at her, then turned back to von Sydesheau. “I wonder if my friend and I could get a drink of water?” he said.
“Well . . . we expect to be out here quite a while, so we’re trying to conserve our water,” von Sydesheau replied. “Would you settle for an ice cream soda?”
Von Sydesheau took Max and 99 aboard the ship. They quenched their thirst, then followed the director about as he oversaw the setting up of the scenery—large canvases on which were painted views of an ocean.
Suddenly, 99 pulled at Max’s sleeve. “Max . . . over there . . . look . . . Doesn’t that short, dumpy man look familiar?”
Max looked. “Which one, 99?”
“Now that you mention it, both of them. Max! That’s—”
“Von BOOM and Abdul!”
“Yes!”
Max and 99 rushed over to the two men. Abdul was still wearing his burnoose. But von BOOM was now dressed in the uniform of a ship’s captain.
“Von BOOM!” Max cried. “You’re safe!”
Get Smart 7 - Max Smart - The Spy Who Went Out to the Cold Page 5