Get Smart 7 - Max Smart - The Spy Who Went Out to the Cold

by William Johnston

  “Don’t see nobody else around,” Cap’n O’Patterer said. “If she ain’t yur’n, who’s she?”

  “He’s out there on the desert. Now—”

  “Comin’ fur ’er, is he?”

  “I doubt it,” Max answered. “It blew away from him and we found it. Now—”

  “Then it’s yurs,” Cap’n O’Patterer said. “That’s the law o’ the sea, Jackson. Flotsam and jetsam. Or, to put it the way you landlubbers maul it—finders keepers, losers weepers. Tell you what I’ll do. You got the itch to get to o’ Alex and get runned down by a crosstown bus, eh? I’ll trade you—far and squar—my houseboat for your four-master.”

  “That wouldn’t be fair,” Max replied. “It has a hole in it.”

  “Don’t no more. I patched it up a couple days ago, Johnny.”

  “I mean the ship has a hole in it.”

  Cap’n O’Patterer shrugged. “Don’t make no nevermind to me, Willie,” she said. “Don’t ’tend to sail her. Gonna let her sit. I’m retirin’, ya see. Gonna perch up there in the riggin’ and watch the boats go by.”

  “Oh. Well, in that case,” Max said, “it’s a deal.”

  Max and Cap’n O’Patterer shook hands to seal the bargain, then the captain climbed the rigging of the four-master, and Max, 99 and von BOOM got aboard the houseboat.

  “Max, are you sure you can sail this?” 99 said.

  “Nothing to it, 99. We’ll just push off, then drift with the current.”

  “I don’t know, Max. It seems so simple . . . There must be more to it than that. Shouldn’t you ask Cap’n O’Patterer?”

  “Have a little faith, 99. Get hold of one of those poles and help me get the boat off the beach.”

  Using the poles, Max and 99 freed the houseboat from the sand, while von BOOM looked on.

  “There we are,” Max smiled victoriously. “We’re floating—free as a bird.”

  “We’re not moving,” von BOOM said.

  “Nonsense. We’re in the water, aren’t we?”

  “We’re not moving,” von BOOM repeated.

  Max looked over the side. The boat was not moving. He shouted up to Cap’n O’Patterer. “One thing—” he began.

  “Pull up yur dum-doo-dee-doo-doo anchor, Marvin!” she shouted back.

  “Oh.”

  Max hoisted the anchor and a moment later the houseboat began drifting along with the current, headed in the direction of Alexandria at the mouth of the Nile.

  “One word o’ caution, Reggie!” Cap’n O’Patterer bellowed after them. “Always pull ’er over to shore when it comes up a heavy rain!”

  “Why?” Max bellowed back.

  “She gets water in the basement!” Cap’n O’Patterer replied.

  “Basement, Max?” 99 said puzzledly.

  “She means the hold, 99. On a houseboat, it’s called the basement.”

  “I see.”

  The day passed quietly. Von BOOM sat on deck, reading a book he had found in the cabin. Max and 99 took turns steering. When they were not at the helm, they lounged in deck chairs.

  “I think we’ve given KAOS the slip, 99,” Max said. “From now on, it looks like clear sailing.”

  “Doesn’t that seem a little odd to you, Max?” 99 replied. “We’ve never been able to outwit KAOS so easily before.”

  “Practice makes perfect, 99.”

  That night they anchored the houseboat near the bank of the river. Max and 99, who were weary from steering, stretched out on bunks to get some sleep. Von BOOM was still wide-awake, however. So he stayed up, reading by lamplight.

  Abruptly, in the middle of the night, Max was roused by a sound. He sat up. The cabin was completely dark.

  “Von BOOM?” he called.

  “You don’t have to shout,” a rough voice that he did not recognize replied.

  “Who is that?” Max demanded.

  “Ain’t nobody here but us river pirates,” the voice replied.

  At the same moment, a beam of light flashed in Max’s face.

  “Cut that out!” Max complained. “I can’t see!”

  “You don’t want to see a river pirate, anyway—it’s scary,” the voice said.

  A different voice spoke up. “The lights won’t go on,” it said. “They must’ve blown a fuse.”

  “Max!” 99 cried out. “What’s happening?”

  The beam of light moved from Max to 99. “Don’t worry, lady,” the rough voice said. “You’re being kidnapped by river pirates, that’s all. If you’re rich, or if you have rich friends, and they’re willing to pay a king’s ransom to get you back, you have no problems.”

  “We’re not rich,” Max said gruffly. “And we don’t have any rich friends.”

  “Oy!—do you have problems!” the voice groaned.

  The second voice spoke up again. “On the contrary, Chief,” it said. “If they’re not rich, then that’s our problem. We can’t get a ransom for them. Let’s just raid the ice box and leave it at that.”

  “Yeah, box,” a third voice said.

  “But can we trust them?” the first voice asked. “Under normal conditions, they might be honest as the day is long. But this is an extreme circumstance. They could be lying, saying they’re not rich.”

  “Chief, look at it logically,” the second voice said. “If they were rich, what would they be doing on this ratty old houseboat, floating idly up the Nile? Only rich Americans do that.”

  “And that’s another thing,” Max said. “We’re American citizens!”

  “Bring ’em along,” the first voice said.

  “Yeah, bring,” the third voice said.

  The pirates hustled Max and 99 off the houseboat and took them through the darkness to their hideout, which, from the outside, looked like a huge pile of rocks, and, from the inside, looked like the interior of a tomb. In the beam of light, Max caught a glimpse of a number of mummy cases.

  “It’s not your conventional hideout,” the first voice said. “But, in our business, it saves time. After we rub out our victims, we don’t have the bother of carting the bodies out to the cemetery. We just stuff them into these mummy cases. Then, in time, an archeologist comes along and discovers them and ships them off to a museum in New York or London or Paris or somewhere.”

  “You mean they think they’re mummies?” Max said incredulously.

  “You know the mummy of King Akim-Tut-Amen at the Metropolitan in New York?” the first voice replied. “Actually, that’s a Mr. Hiram Overholt, late of Omaha, Nebraska.”

  “That’s terrible!” Max said.

  “As a matter of fact, it was a break for old Overholt,” the voice replied. “He and his wife didn’t get along too well. And now she’s in London.”

  “A mummy?”

  “I doubt it,” the voice replied. “At least, she was childless when she left here. But now,” he said, “let’s talk about you. To whom shall we send the ransom telegram? Your bank? Your stock broker? Your lawyer? The Diners Club?”

  “Yeah, Club?” the third voice said.

  “You’re wasting your time,” 99 said. “We’re not—”

  “Uh . . . 99, just a minute,” Max interrupted. “I think we would be wise to cooperate with these gentlemen.” He addressed the bandits. “You can send the telegram to The Chief at Control in Washington, D.C.,” he said. “I’m sure he’ll take immediate action.”

  “Doesn’t he have a name?” the first voice said. “Isn’t that a little odd?”

  “What’s so odd about that?” 99 asked.

  “Yes, Chief, what’s so odd about that?” the second voice asked.

  “Yeah, what’s?” the third voice asked.

  “Sorry I brought it up,” the first voice said. “Tie these two up with tape and stuff them into a couple of mummy cases,” he commanded his followers. “Then we’ll get that telegram off to what’s-his-name.”

  Max and 99 were bound hand and foot with tape and then placed in a pair of empty cases. After that, the lids were closed.
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  “We’ll be back to rub you out as soon as we get an answer to the telegram,” the bandit leader advised them. “In the meantime, try to relax.”

  “You fiends!” 99 cried.

  “What kind of gratitude is that?” the second voice said, hurt. “Your body will probably get a free trip to New York, Paris or London out of this.”

  “Let’s get going,” the leader said. “That telegram to the Chief won’t send itself.”

  “With our luck, he’ll probably be away on vacation,” the second voice said.

  The bandits could be heard departing. Then the tomb became quiet.

  “Max . . .” 99 whimpered.

  “I know, 99, we’re in a very tough spot. I can’t see any possible way out of this. Unless, of course, the Chief has returned from vacation and he sends someone to rescue us when he gets that telegram. But how would our rescuer know where to look? The bandits probably won’t mention the location of their hideout in that telegram.”

  “The mission is a total failure, Max.”

  “I know. Von BOOM is probably wandering around out there in the desert again. If KAOS doesn’t find him first, he’ll undoubtedly die of thirst or hunger or exposure—or all three.”

  “I wonder what happened to him, Max?”

  “Didn’t I make that clear? He wandered off. Apparently, I said the wrong thing again.”

  “But, Max, he was there when we went to sleep.”

  “99, just forget it.”

  “But, Max, I don’t understand. How could you have said the wrong thing? You weren’t awake.”

  “99, please—it’s very embarrassing.”

  “Max . . . you mean . . .”

  “All right, now you know—I talk in my sleep, 99. I’ve been trying to cure myself of the habit for years. But nothing works.” He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I guess I’ll be cured of it now, though. I’ve never heard of a corpse talking in its sleep.”

  “That’s what I like about you, Max. You always see the bright side.”

  “Thank you, 99. I hope we both get sent to the same museum.”

  “Max—I think I heard something! The bandits must be coming back!”

  “That was quick. There must be a telegraph office right here in the tomb.”

  “Maybe they phoned it in.”

  “Oh. Yes, I suppose that could explain it.”

  A few seconds later, they heard voices—but not the voices of the bandits. The speakers had British accents.

  “Desmond, we’ve been in here before,” the first voice said. “I recognize the surroundings. There—those mummy cases—they’re all vacant, remember?”

  “I’d be the last chap in the world to dispute your word, Archie,” a second voice replied. “But the surroundings are totally unfamiliar to me. And how do you know that those cases are empty? They’re all closed.”

  “Shall I prove it to you, dear boy?”

  “I’d be much obliged, Archie.”

  The lid of Max’s mummy case was lifted. Max found himself peering up into the faces of two middle-aged men who were dressed in khaki and wearing pith helmets. One had a drooping handle-bar mustache: The other did not.

  “There you are, chap—vacant as dear old Mother Hubbard’s jam closet.”

  “Archie, old boy, I’d be the last person in the world to dispute your word,” Desmond responded. “But isn’t that foreign-looking blighter in there a mummy? He has all the characteristics. The tape, you know. And that unhealthy complexion. I do believe he’s crumbling to dust.”

  “For your information,” Max said, “I have a very healthy complexion. And I am not a mummy. At least, I hope I’m not. I was childless when I was put in here.”

  Archie and Desmond exchanged looks.

  “Fantastic,” Desmond said. “Perfect preservation. He must be thousands of years old, and yet he functions as well as the day he was placed in this case. Too bad we don’t savvy his tongue, eh, chap? What a story he must have to tell!”

  “You idiots!” Max raged. “I’m not a mummy. I’m Agent 86. I’m a Control agent. Now, get me out of here!”

  Again, Desmond and Archie exchanged looks.

  “What do you make of it?” Desmond asked.

  “Quite unbelievable, old boy. He claims to be a Control agent. Yet, Control is an American organization. And, thousands of years ago, America did not even exist.”

  “Do you suppose he’s putting us on, Archie?”

  “Wouldn’t be surprised, Des. He does have that foreign look, you know.”

  “Max! Convince them!” 99 cried.

  Desmond’s eyebrows shot up. “Jove! Did you hear that? It came from this other mummy case, didn’t it?”

  “Wouldn’t that be a bit of too much, chap—two mummies in one day?” Archie replied. “No, I rather suspect that the truth of the matter is that this one—” He indicated Max. “—is a ventriloquist.”

  “Throwing his voice?”

  “Let’s just open up this other case,” Archie said, “and I think we’ll find that it’s— Well, well, what have we here?” He smiled. “And I suppose, my dear, that you’re a Control agent, too, eh?”

  “99,” 99 nodded.

  “Looks like we’re going to have a busy day on our hands, Des,” Archie said.

  “Really? How so?”

  “Well, that first one identified himself as 86, and this one claims to be 99. Obviously, that means that these other cases contain 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97 and 98. Rather a haul, I’d say.”

  “Deuce!” Desmond grumbled. “We’ll be tied up ’way past tea time.”

  “Will you muttonheads listen!” Max said angrily. “We’re American secret agents. We were kidnapped by river pirates. They’re on their way to send a ransom telegram now. And if you two don’t get us—and yourselves—out of here, we’ll all soon be in the same kettle of fish!”

  Desmond and Archie looked at each other once more.

  “He could be telling the truth, Des,” Archie said. “Unlikely, of course, but possible.”

  “Terrible thing if we made a mistake,” Desmond nodded.

  “Very British of us, though—and therefore forgivable.”

  “I rather think I have the solution to the matter, chap,” Desmond said. “Let’s transport them back to Alexandria, shall we? There, we can show them to the authorities and get an expert opinion on their story.”

  “Brilliant—so un-British of you, Desmond. Although, we may have a bit of a time, carrying them back, cases and all, on our motorbike.”

  “Wasn’t that a houseboat we saw down by the river?” Desmond said. “Perhaps we could commandeer it.”

  “Pardon, old boy?”

  “Steal it.”

  “Now then, that’s the Desmond I know,” Archie beamed.

  The two archeologists removed Max and 99 from the cases, then unwrapped their legs so that they could walk, leaving them bound above the waist. They then picked up the cases, and the four set out for the river.

  “I say, Des, why are we bringing the cases?” Archie inquired.

  “For identification purposes, old boy. As I understand it, it’s very difficult to tell a mummy without its case.”

  “Jove! What one learns in the course of— I say! There’s the houseboat. And that must be the captain there on deck.”

  “Max!” 99 said. “It’s von BOOM!”

  “No need to shout,” Desmond said disapprovingly.

  As they neared the houseboat, Professor von BOOM called out to them. “There you are!” he said crossly. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Just over yonder in the tomb, old fellow,” Desmond replied. “Terribly decent of you to worry. I didn’t even think you saw us when we passed this way before.”

  Baffled, von BOOM looked at Max.

  “You wouldn’t believe it,” Max said glumly. “They think we’re mummies.”

  “As a matter of fact, the case is still in court,” Archie said. “The evidence seems to indicate that
they’re mummies. We discovered them in these cases, swathed in tape. That certainly has a mummy ring to it. However—”

  “They’ve cooked up a bit of a story,” Desmond said, taking over. “Outlandish. Claim to have been American secret agents at a time when America hadn’t even been discovered yet. Consequently, we’re transporting them to Alexandria to have them authenticated.” He smiled broadly. “That’s why we’re commandeering your boat, old fellow.”

  “Pardon?” von BOOM said, still puzzled.

  “Stealing.”

  “Say—are you two British?”

  “Let’s the cat out of the bag every time, doesn’t it, Des,” Archie mused.

  “If you two will just listen for a minute,” Max began.

  “Later, chap,” Desmond interrupted. “Work to be done, you know.” He turned to Archie. “Shall we shove off?”

  “Charming thought, old boy!”

  Archie and Desmond set about getting the houseboat back out onto the river.

  “What the devil is going on?” von BOOM said to Max.

  “You’re a fine one to ask that,” Max replied. “Where were you when those river pirates kidnapped us?”

  “Pirates? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was reading and the light suddenly went out. I went down the basement to change the fuse, and when I came back, you were both gone.”

  “That isn’t important now,” 99 said. “Get us out of this tape.”

  As quickly as he could, von BOOM unwrapped the lengths of tape that were binding Max and 99. Just as he finished the job, Archie and Desmond reappeared, having successfully launched the houseboat.

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to take offense at that, old fellow,” Desmond said to von BOOM. “Diddling with another person’s property is . . . well, it’s—”

  “Very British,” Archie said.

  “Even so, we can’t allow it,” Desmond continued. “Very important, you know, to have these two authenticated. And, loose like this, they might take advantage of the freedom and trot off to . . . to Heaven knows where. Under the circumstances, I rather believe we’ll have to hold you all prisoner.” He turned to Archie. “Do you have the firearm, old chap?” he asked.

  “Now, look—” Max said.

  “Terribly sorry, Des. I believe I left it on the motorbike,” Archie broke in.

  Desmond chuckled. “Oh, Archie, you are your father’s son, aren’t you?”