Get Smart 2 - Sorry, Chief . . .

by William Johnston

  “Yes, Max.”

  “It didn’t make sense.”

  “Yes, Max.”

  “How, exactly, did Dr. X elude our surveillance, Chief?”

  “He disguised himself and slipped out of the house.”

  “Disguised himself as what, Chief?”

  “If we knew that, Max, he wouldn’t have eluded our surveillance.”

  Max nodded. “Finally, something makes sense.”

  “In other words, Chief,” 99 said, “we don’t know what this Dr. X will look like. How will we know him when we see him?”

  “You will have one thing to go on,” the Chief replied. “He will be the only man on board the ocean liner who is carrying a suitcase that contains six invisible guinea pigs.”

  “That ought to be easy to spot,” Max said.

  “Chief,” 99 said, “do I understand that Max and I and Fang will be sailing on the ocean liner, too?”

  “I don’t know—is that what you understand?” the Chief said.

  99 nodded. “Yes.”

  “Then you’re absolutely right,” the Chief said. “You and Max and Fang will be sailing on the ocean liner, too.” He reached into a pocket and brought out a small envelope. “Here are your tickets,” he said. “You’re sailing tomorrow at noon on the ‘Queen Edward.’ ”

  Max squinted at him. “The ‘Queen Edward,’ Chief?”

  “That’s the name of the ocean liner, Max.”

  “Yes, I understand that. But, the ‘Queen Edward?’ ”

  “Her father, the King, wanted a son,” the Chief explained.

  “Oh.”

  “There’s one other thing,” the Chief said. “There will be a group of touring scientists on board. They’re going to Europe to see the laboratories. Dr. X, using an assumed name, has infiltrated this group. He—”

  “Chief . . . infiltrated . . . isn’t that some sort of exotic—”

  “No, Max, it isn’t a mushroom. It means that he has sneaked in among them.”

  “It does make a lot more sense that way,” Max admitted.

  “In order to cloak his true identity,” the Chief went on, “Dr. X has joined this group of touring scientists. So, we have executed a counter maneuver, Max, by infiltrating you into the group, too.”

  “I see. I will be posing as a scientist.”

  “Right. More specifically, you’ll be posing as a space scientist. I’ve obtained a book on space science. You can read it—sometime between now and tomorrow noon—so that you’ll be able to discuss the subject if anyone should challenge you.”

  “Good thinking, Chief. It will give me something to do this evening—after I finish packing, of course.”

  The Chief turned to 99. “99,” he said, “you will be traveling as Max’s assistant. So, it might be a good idea for you to leaf through the book, too.”

  “Rorff!” Fang barked.

  “No, Fang, you won’t have to read the book,” the Chief replied. “You will be posing as a scientific experiment—a dog that Max intends to send into space.”

  “Rorff! Rorff!” Fang barked.

  “All right, if you’re really interested, then read the book,” the Chief said.

  “You’re next after me, Fang,” 99 said.

  “Rorff!” Fang barked.

  “That’s a good idea,” Max said. “Since Fang doesn’t have any packing to do, he can read the book and then give 99 and me the gist of it. That will save time.”

  “Well, work it out however you want to,” the Chief said. “Just don’t miss the boat.”

  Max hopped down from his seat on the corner of the Chief’s desk. “Is that all, Chief?”

  “Yes. Oh . . . no,” the Chief said. “One other thing.”

  He went behind his desk and got an attache case from beneath it. “Our Research and Development Department has come up with some new counter-belligerence tools it wants you to test on this mission, Max.”

  “Counter-belligerence tools?” Max said puzzledly. “That couldn’t be—”

  “No, not mushrooms. Gadgets.” He opened the attache case. “Let’s see . . . here’s a beam-less flashlight. As I understand it, it throws a beam of ultraviolet light—which, of course, cannot be seen by the naked eye. The advantage is that you can make a secret search at night without having to worry about your light being observed.”

  “Excellent!” Max said. “What else is in there, Chief?”

  “Oh, oodles of stuff,” the Chief said, closing the attache case. “Each of the gadgets is labeled, telling you what it can be used for. You can apply each one as the need for it arises. It will be a big help to the Research and Development Department. And, that way, even if you don’t catch Dr. X and destroy the formula, the trip won’t be a total loss.”

  “Chief, you can count on us,” Max said, picking up the attache case. “We’ll probably have this case wrapped up before we’re a day at sea.”

  “Then we can just relax and enjoy the cruise,” 99 said happily.

  “Rorff!” Fang barked.

  “Don’t be a spoil sport,” Max said. “Just because they won’t let dogs sit in the deck chairs that doesn’t mean there won’t be a lot of other things you can do.”

  “Max . . . keep in touch,” the Chief said.

  “I’ll try,” Max said. “Of course, when we get out into the middle of the ocean, that may be difficult. I’m not sure my shoe will carry this far.”

  “Try, anyway,” the Chief said. He waved as the trio departed. “Bon voyage!”

  Max paused. “Chief, is that, by any chance, some sort of exotic—”

  The Chief interrupted the question, raising his eyes toward the ceiling. “Lower the Cone of Silence!” he begged.

  Max quietly closed the door.

  2.

  MAX, 99 and Fang arrived at the dock in a taxi a little before noon the next day. A porter took their luggage—except for the attache case, which Max retained—and they boarded the “Queen Edward,” and got in line with the other passengers who were having their tickets inspected.

  “So far, so good,” Max said smugly.

  “Max, we’ve only been on board a few seconds,” 99 pointed out.

  “The statement still stands—so far, so good,” Max insisted.

  99 peered along the line of passengers. “Do you see anyone who might be Dr. X?” she said.

  He’s a scientist—he’ll be wearing a beard,” Max replied. “Do you see any beards?”

  99 began counting. “Five . . . six . . . seven . . .”

  “Let me put it another way—do you see any men with beards?”

  “. . . thirteen . . . fourteen . . . fifteen . . .”

  Max shrugged. “All right, knock it off. I’ll grant you—that may not be our best clue.”

  A few minutes later, they reached the ship’s officer, who, seated at a desk, was inspecting tickets.

  “Let’s see,” Max said, patting his pockets, “tickets . . . tickets . . . I had the tickets right here just a second ago.”

  “Rorff!” Fang barked.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Max said, “I did put them in the attache case.”

  He placed the case on the desk and opened it. “Let’s see now,” he muttered, “tickets . . . tickets . . .”

  “You’re holding up the line,” the officer complained.

  “What kind of a ‘welcome aboard’ is that?” Max grumbled. “I’ve got the tickets right here . . . tickets . . . tickets . . .”

  “Could they be in that envelope?” 99 said, pointing.

  Max picked up the envelope and read from the tag that was attached to it. “ ‘Envelope for mailing plea for HELP when all other means of communication destroyed.’ ” He turned to 99. “Research and Development thinks of everything,” he said. “It even has a Special Delivery stamp on it.”

  “Rorff!” Fang barked.

  “I guess you’re right,” Max said. “It isn’t such a good idea. Special Delivery does take longer.” He began pawing in the attache case again.
“Tickets . . . tickets . . .”

  “There they are, Max,” 99 said.

  “Oh, yes! They slipped into this little opening here.”

  “What is that, Max?”

  “That’s the little place where you stick your finger in to open the secret compartment,” Max explained. “Without that little finger-hole, you’d never be able to find it.” He handed the tickets to the ship’s officer. “There you are, Admiral. Two staterooms on Deck C.”

  The officer counted Max and 99 and Fang. “One—two—three. That’s three,” he said.

  “The mutt and I are bunking together,” Max explained. “We’re on a bit of an economy kick back at the office.”

  The officer handed back the tickets and pointed. “Gangway that way,” he said.

  “Gangway? We’re in no hurry,” Max said. “We’ll just toddle, if you don’t mind.”

  “He means the stairway is that way,” 99 explained.

  “Oh.” He scowled. “I thought the stairway was called the ladder on a ship.”

  “It probably is,” the officer said. “I never learned much seafaring talk. I specialized in ticket-taking.”

  Bumped from behind by an impatient passenger, the trio moved on.

  “Gee, Deck C—that must be pretty close to the top,” 99 said enthusiastically. “I think there’s A Deck, then B Deck, then C Deck. That’s pretty luxurious—considering that Control is on an economy kick.”

  “First Class, all the way,” Max said. “Control may not pay well, but the fringe benefits make up for it.”

  “Oh . . . here’s the gangway . . . or ladder . . .” 99 said. “See, it says ‘stairway’ above it.”

  They started the descent down the stairs, with Max leading and 99 and Fang following, in that order.

  “We were on A Deck,” 99 said. “So B Deck must be the next one, and then C Deck will be next.”

  But when they reached the next deck it was marked “A-1”.

  “Well, the next deck must be B Deck,” 99 said.

  But the next deck down was “A-2”.

  “As I calculate it,” Max said, “C Deck will be three decks lower than a submarine.”

  They continued downward, past decks A-3, A-4, A-5, B, B-1, B-2, B-3, B-4, B-5, until they finally reached C Deck.

  “The breathing is a little touch-and-go down here,” Max panted. “I wonder how far below sea level we are?”

  “I don’t know,” 99 said. “But one thing—don’t open a porthole!”

  They walked along the corridor, checking stateroom numbers, until finally they found their own.

  “Isn’t that cozy,” 99 said. “We’re side by side. You and Fang have Stateroom C-12, and I have Stateroom C-13.” She pushed on the door of her stateroom. But it opened only a crack. “There must be something against it,” she said.

  “Let me put this attache case in my own room, then I’ll help you,” Max said. He pushed open his own door and peered into the room. “I think I know what it is that’s against your door,” he said. “I think it’s the opposite wall.”

  99 stood on tip-toe and looked over his shoulder. “It is little, isn’t it?” she said sadly.

  “Well . . . it’s bigger than a breadbox—but that’s about all I can say for it,” Max replied. He stepped into the room. “Come on in.”

  Fang trotted in after him.

  “You, too, 99,” he said.

  “If I do,” she said, “I’ll be riding Fang bareback.”

  Max looked back over his shoulder. “Oh, yes, I see. With Fang and me in here, there isn’t any room for anyone else.”

  “There isn’t even room for you and Fang,” 99 said. “His tail hangs out.”

  “He can sleep in the corridor and keep watch,” Max said.

  “Rorff!”

  “All right, all right, we’ll take turns. But, right now, let’s see what we can do about getting 99’s door open.”

  Fang backed out, and Max emerged behind him—or in front of him.

  Max put his weight against the door of 99’s stateroom. But it refused to budge. “I think I see what the trouble is,” he said. “If your stateroom is like my stateroom, then the door to the bathroom is directly behind the entrance door. Except, of course, on the adjoining wall. Which means that when the bathroom door is open, it’s impossible to open the entrance door—because it strikes against the bathroom door. Do you see what I mean? In other words, if you’re in the bathroom and someone opens the entrance door, you’re stuck in the bathroom until whoever it is closes the entrance door so that you can open the bathroom door. Or, to put it another way—”

  “I think I understand, Max,” 99 said. “But how will I get into my room?”

  “Simple,” Max said. “Go in and close the bathroom door, then— Oh, yes, I see that does make it difficult, doesn’t it?”

  “Rorff!” Fang barked.

  “Excellent idea, Fang!” Max said. “Go to it!”

  Fang squeezed in through the narrow opening. A moment later there was the sound of a door being closed inside the stateroom. Then the entrance door swung open, revealing Fang.

  “Lucky you didn’t close yourself into the bathroom,” Max said to him. “If you had, we might have had to do without your valuable services on this mission. As I calculate it, once you go into a bathroom in one of these staterooms, there is no way out. Unless you escape by way of the drain.”

  “My luggage is here, Max,” 99 reported from inside her room. “Is yours?”

  “No, mine’s in my stateroom,” Max replied. “Why would it be in yours?”

  “That’s what I meant.” She poked her head out. “I want to change. Then we better get started on our mission. What do we do first, Max?”

  “According to the schedule the Chief acquired for me,” Max replied, “there is a ‘welcome aboard’ party for the touring scientists on A Deck in half an hour. I think we ought to attend. If we keep a sharp eye out, we may be able to identify the diabolical Dr. X.”

  “See you in half an hour, Max,” 99 said, closing her door.

  Max went to his own stateroom. Pausing in the doorway, he said to Fang, “I want to change, too. So you take the first watch.”

  “Rorff!”

  “Don’t be difficult!” Max snapped. “That’s utterly ridiculous! What could you change to?”

  Fang growled peevishly. But then he accepted his fate and stretched out in the corridor.

  “You might as well make your peace with the fact,” Max said sympathetically. “You’re a dog, and you’re going to live a dog’s life.”

  Then he closed the door.

  A half-hour after the ‘welcome aboard’ party for the scientists was scheduled to begin, Max, 99 and Fang began the slow and laborious climb from C Deck to A Deck. They had decided to arrive late so that, in the crowd, they would not be especially noticed.

  “When you’re working undercover, it’s always best not to be the first one to arrive at a party,” Max explained. “If you are, the host or hostess feels compelled to introduce you to every blessed soul who arrives after you. And, after a while, after remembering all those names, he or she gets a little groggy. And he or she is just liable to introduce you as Secret Agent such-and-such. There is nothing that will uncover an undercover as quickly as that!”

  “But that couldn’t happen to us,” 99 said. “Nobody on board knows that we’re secret agents.”

  “And let’s keep it that way,” Max said. “That’s why it’s important that we arrive late at the party. You see, when you’re working undercover— Oh, I explained that, didn’t I?”

  However, when they reached the lounge where the party was to be held, they found it vacant, except for one young man in a ship’s uniform who was standing at the doorway. The young man welcomed them exuberantly.

  “Where are the others?” Max asked.

  “Oh, it’s too early,” the young man replied. “The party was only scheduled to begin forty-five minutes ago. No one wants to be the one to arrive first at
a party, you know. So, it will be at least another half-hour before the others begin to arrive. But you’re here—so we can start.”

  “Actually,” Max said, “we’re not here. We were just passing by, on our way to take a half-hour stroll on deck.” He motioned to 99 and Fang. “Come along. We’re a bit early for the party.”

  “But you’re not early, you’re late,” the young man protested.

  “Late, yes—but early late,” Max corrected. “We’ll come back when we can be late late like everyone else.”

  They walked out onto the deck. The liner was moving smoothly through the water, and the Manhattan skyline could be clearly seen in the near distance.

  “Isn’t it beautiful, Max?” 99 said, peering at the skyline.

  “Yes, but I wouldn’t care to sit on it,” Max replied. “Not with all those spires sticking up.”

  “Instead, let’s sit in the deck chairs,” 99 suggested. “I’m a little pooped after that climb from C Deck.”

  “Excellent idea. And we can keep an eye out for the diabolical Dr. X.”

  Max, 99 and Fang each settled in a deck chair. But the instant they were seated, a steward appeared. “Dogs aren’t allowed in the deck chairs,” he said.

  “This doesn’t happen to be your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, everyday pooch,” Max replied. “He has a ticket, so I think he’s entitled to occupy a deck chair.”

  “The rule is: No Dogs in Chairs,” the steward insisted.

  “Not even a secret agent dog?” Max snapped.

  The steward peered at Fang. “That overgrown woolly worm is a secret agent? I can hardly believe that!”

  Max looked thoughtful for a second, then said, “Would you believe that he’s a typist in the steno pool for the F.B.I.?”

  The steward shook his head. “Hardly.”

  “Then how about this?” Max said. “Would you believe that he once shed his hair on the couch in the outer office of the Director of the C.I.A.?”

  “That, I’d believe,” the steward said. “That’s why he can’t sit in that chair. We don’t want him shedding his coat all over it. Out.”

  Max turned to Fang. “You heard the man. Out!”

  Fang jumped out of the chair. “Rorff!” he barked.