Get Smart 2 - Sorry, Chief . . .

by William Johnston

  “Rorff!”

  “There’s one at every meal,” Max said disgustedly. He spoke to the waiter. “Fang will settle for buttered toast and coffee,” he said. “But he wants them curried.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The waiter departed.

  “Well now,” Max said, “let’s see what’s on the professional menu. We still have a mission to complete. And, so far, the diabolical Dr. X has eluded our rapidly closing pincers.”

  “Pardon, Max?”

  “He’s outsmarted us.”

  “Oh . . . yes. Max,” 99 said, “I think we ought to concentrate on those scientists again. After all, we know that Dr. X is among the group.”

  “You’re probably right, 99,” Max said. He took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and began unfolding it. “I have the scientists’ schedule here,” he said. “It was given to me along with my membership in the tour. Let’s see what the scientists will be doing today.” He scanned the sheet closely. “At nine this morning,” he said, “they met in the ship’s auditorium to hear a lecture on ‘Molecules and Atoms—Do They or Don’t They (And Why Only Their Scientist Knows).’ Too bad we missed that.”

  “What are the scientists doing now, Max?”

  “Let’s see . . . well, right now, they’re on a coffee break. Then at noon—” He glanced at his watch. “—exactly four minutes from now—they gather again in the auditorium for a lecture on ‘Space—The Way-Out Element’. That lecture is to be given by Dr. Maxwell Smart.” He folded the sheet of paper. “That lecture might prove interesting,” he said. “Personally, I don’t know the first thing about space. I forgot to read that book the Chief gave me.”

  “Max!” 99 said, horrified. “That’s you!”

  “What is me, 99?”

  “That Dr. Maxwell Smart—the one who’s supposed to give the lecture on Space!”

  Scowling, Max unfolded the sheet of paper again and looked at the schedule. “Yes,” he sighed, “that’s me, all right. I’d recognize that name anywhere.”

  “Max, what are you going to do!”

  “There’s only one thing to do, 99—give that lecture. If I don’t show up, the scientists may suspect that I’m not really a scientist. And, among those scientists who will suspect that I’m not really a scientist will be the diabolical Dr. X.”

  “But, Max! You don’t know the first thing about Space. You said so yourself.”

  “Don’t worry, 99. I’ll simply rely on Rule 17.”

  “I don’t believe I remember that rule, Max.”

  “Rule 17 reads: ‘Fake it!’ ”

  At that moment, the waiter appeared with the food. “Roast turkey, scrambled; two four-minute lambs; and buttered toast and coffee curried,” he announced.

  “Sorry, but we don’t have time to eat,” Max said, rising. “But I’m sure someone else will order the same thing—so the food won’t go to waste.” He motioned to 99 and Fang. “Let’s go—we’re due in the auditorium.”

  They hurried from the dining room, raced down the deck, and darted into the auditorium just as the scientist who was conducting the meeting was opening the noon session.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, addressing the large gathering of scientists, “I know this is a moment you have all waited for with growing anticipation. And so, without further delay, let us welcome our expert on Space, Dr. Maxwell Smart!”

  A cheer went up. And Max, cool, calm and collected, took his place in front of the scientists.

  “A funny thing happened to me on the way to the auditorium,” Max began.

  There was genial laughter.

  “I thought you would appreciate that,” Max smiled. “Now, for our subject for today—Space—The Way-Out Element.” He adjusted his tie. “As you gentlemen probably know, space is one of our most important elements. Without space, there would be nothing to put things in. Which, of course, would result in a great deal of overcrowding. Basically, I think, that explains what space is.

  “The next question that comes to mind, of course, is ‘what are the various uses of space?’ And, the first thing we think of, naturally, is the use to which space is most commonly put. That is, to fill empty places—such as this auditorium—when all of the people have gone somewhere else.”

  A half-dozen scientists rose and left.

  “Which reminds me of a little poem that one of my fellow scientists once wrote on the subject of space,” Max went on. “As I remember it—and correct me if I’m wrong—it went: ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, great big space / There you are, all over the place. / Up above the world so high / And in between the apples and the crust in my apple pie.’ ”

  A dozen-and-a-half scientists departed.

  “But,” Max continued, “the thing about space that is probably of the most interest to us today is the fact that it is fire-proof—or, to be more truthful, fire-resistant. The records show that there was one instance in which space actually did catch on fire. But, just prior to that moment, it had fallen into a can of gasoline. So, that instance probably doesn’t count.”

  Three dozen scientists made their way from the auditorium.

  “In conclusion,” Max said, “I think it should be pointed out that there is always a danger in working with space. For instance, if you get too much of it into the laboratory, you will find that there is a great distance between you and your test tubes. All that running back and forth can be injurious to the health if you’re not used to it.”

  Now, only one scientist was left.

  “I think that just about covers all I know about space,” Max said. “Now . . . are there any questions?”

  The one scientist raised his hand.

  “I see a hand,” Max said. “Yes, sir?”

  “Dr. Smart, I am Dr. Zee.”

  “Yes, I thought I recognized you, Dr. Zee. We’ve met before, haven’t we? In your stateroom, I believe.”

  “Dot is right. Dr. Smart, I have a qvestion.”

  “Fire away, Doctor.”

  “Dr. Smart, vot is your opinion of the Van Allen Belt?”

  “I think the buckle is coming loose,” Max replied. “If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times—if Van Allen doesn’t get himself a pair of suspenders, he’s going to lose his pants.”

  “I have anoder qvestion, Doctor.”

  “Yes, Doctor?”

  “Do you believe dere is life on Mars?”

  “Well, I hope there is, Doctor. And, you know the old saying: Where there’s hope, there’s life.”

  “One more qvestion, Doctor.”

  “Let’er rip, Doctor.”

  “Vot you doink in mine staderoom?”

  “Sorry, Doctor. I refuse to answer that on the grounds that it could get me tossed into the brig.”

  Dr. Zee bowed. “I tank you, Doctor.”

  Max bowed in return. “Don’t mention it.”

  Dr. Zee departed.

  99 and Fang hurried to Max.

  “You were marvelous, Max,” 99 said. “You were so far over those scientists’ heads, they slunk away in shame. How did you do it?”

  “Rule 17,” Max smiled. “It never fails. I used it once when speaking on the subject of exotic mushrooms and cleared the hall in less than half the time it took me today.”

  “The only one you didn’t fool, I think, was that Dr. Zee,” 99 said.

  “Yes, and there’s a good reason for that, 99,” Max replied. “Unless I miss my guess, Dr. Zee is not really Dr. Zee.”

  “You mean you think he’s—”

  “Exactly. The diabolical Dr. X.”

  “But, Max—we searched his stateroom. There was nothing to indicate that he was Dr. X.”

  “Because we didn’t have the chance to search his stateroom thoroughly, 99. Remember? We were caught in the act.”

  “I don’t know, Max. Why do you suspect Dr. Zee?”

  “For the obvious reason that Dr. Zee suspects that I am not Dr. Smart.”

  “You mean you suspect him because he suspects you?”


  “Right. If he were really Dr. Zee, why would he suspect that I’m not really Dr. Smart? He’s suspicious, you see, because he suspects that he’s being sought.”

  99 nodded. “I see, now. You’re suspicious of Dr. Zee because he’s suspicious of you, and he’s suspicious of you because you’re suspicious of him. That makes sense, Max. What do we do now?”

  “Go back and have breakfast,” Max said.

  “How will that help, Max?”

  “It will fill the space in my tummy,” Max said. “And, it’s the only thing we can do right now. We can’t search Dr. Zee’s stateroom—because he’ll probably be in it.”

  “When will we search his stateroom, Max?”

  “Tonight. While Dr. Zee is at dinner, we’ll go over his stateroom with a fine-tooth comb.”

  “All right, Max. But I still have my doubts about him being Dr. X.”

  “I think someone is in for a big surprise,” Max smiled.

  “Rorff!”

  “Yes, yes, we’re going to breakfast,” Max said. “Come on.”

  They left the auditorium, stepped out on deck, and headed for the dining room.

  “I just hope that waiter hasn’t given away my scrambled turkey,” Max said.

  That evening, at the dinner hour, Max, 99, and Fang entered the corridor that led to Dr. Zee’s stateroom.

  “We’re taking an awful chance, Max,” 99 said. “You know what will happen if we get caught again.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” Max replied. “I did a little scouting, and I’m happy to announce that that nosy steward is nowhere around.”

  “I hope not, Max.”

  “Ah . . . here’s the door. I’ll knock first—just to make sure Dr. Zee isn’t in there.”

  Max knocked.

  There was no response.

  “All clear,” Max said.

  “How do we get in this time, Max?” 99 said. “I don’t think it would be wise to use that explosive again.”

  “I brought along another little gadget provided by the boys in Research and Development,” Max said. “It’s a hinge-remover. I’ll simply use it to remove the hinges from the stateroom door.”

  99 looked closely at the gadget. “What is it called, Max?”

  “A screwdriver,” Max replied, setting to work.

  Thirty minutes later, Max had the hinges off the door. Rising from his knees, he inspected the job he had done. “Perfect,” he said. “I think I can give R and D a passing mark on this screwdriver gadget. Now, then, let’s lift the door away from the opening. 99, you get hold of the knob. And I’ll get hold of these hinges. Then we’ll pull—out and away!”

  “Max . . .”

  “Yes, 99?”

  “Max, when I took hold of the knob, it turned.”

  “I don’t think that will give us any trouble, 99. The fact that the knob turned simply means that— Oh, yes, I see what you mean. The door has been unlocked all the time.” He shrugged. “Well, that doesn’t mean that the screwdriver isn’t a success. I still say, someday, somewhere, sometime, it will come in handy for something.”

  Max opened the door and leaned it against the wall.

  “Where shall we look, Max?” 99 said, entering the stateroom.

  “Well, we can skip the closet this time. We did it the last time we were in here.” He looked around. “Those brief cases,” he said, pointing, “let’s go through them.”

  “Rorff!”

  “All right, Fang, you check under the bunk again. But don’t breathe too much of that dust.”

  Max and 99 began opening and inspecting the contents of the several brief cases.

  “Any invisible guinea pigs?” Max asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Ah . . . 99 . . .” Max said, “are you sure you’d know an invisible guinea pig if you saw one?”

  “I think so, Max. They look a little like big invisible rats, don’t they?”

  “That’s right—just checking.”

  “Max, there’s nothing here but papers,” 99 sighed. “Scientific papers. Papers, papers, papers.”

  “I’m finding the same thing, 99 Papers, papers, papers.”

  “I don’t even understand what they say,”

  “Oh. well, that’s simple enough. These are scientific papers on—”

  “Max? What’s the matter?”

  “I think I know now why Dr. Zee was suspicious of me, 99.”

  “Why, Max?”

  “Dr. Zee is a space scientist.”

  “Oh. Well, Max, you said someone was in for a surprise. I guess it’s you.”

  “Surprised, yes,” Max said grimly. “But not beaten. These papers on space science could be a ruse. They could be a red herring. Or, to put it more succinctly—a scarlet ruse.”

  “You mean you think Dr. Zee planted these papers here to lead us off the trail?”

  “Exactly. He hoped that we would find these papers, think he was a space scientist, and chalk him off as a suspect.”

  “Then we better continue to search the room, right, Max?”

  “Right, 99.”

  “There isn’t anything else to search, Max.”

  “Then we’ll start back at the beginning. We must have missed something. 99, check that closet again.”

  “Yes, Max,” 99 said, going to the closet.

  “And I’ll look under the bed,” Max said.

  “Bunk, Max.”

  “No, I mean it—I’m really going to do it.”

  “All right, Max.”

  Max kneeled and peered under the bunk.

  “Rorff!”

  “What do you mean by that—‘there’s nobody here but us chickens!’?”

  “Rorff!”

  “Oh, yes, I see what you mean. Covered with those dust puffs, you do look a little like a chicken.”

  “Max . . .” 99 called.

  “Yes?”

  “I think you’re in for another surprise, Max.”

  Max got to his feet. He looked in 99’s direction. She had opened the closet door. And standing inside the closet was the nosy steward.

  “That’s exactly what I mean by ‘dirty pool,’ ” Max said to 99.

  “I knew you’d come back here sooner or later,” the steward said, stepping from the closet. “A criminal always returns to the scene of the crime.” He gestured toward the door. “The Captain is waiting.”

  Discouraged, Max and 99 marched out.

  “You, too, chicken,” the steward called.

  Fang crawled out from under the bunk and fell into line.

  The Captain sternly surveyed the culprits the steward had brought him. “Those two I believe,” he said. “They look like looters. But what’s that chicken doing with them?”

  “One of the gang,” the steward replied.

  The Captain leaned forward, addressing Fang. “How did a nice chicken like you get mixed up with this bunch?” he said.

  Fang shook himself. Dust puffs flew. “Rorff!” he barked.

  “Well, you could have fooled me,” the Captain muttered. He turned to Max. “You know what this means, of course. This is the third time you’ve been caught. Three strikes and you’re in.”

  “Out,” Max corrected.

  “In,” the Captain said. “In the brig. Take ’em away, steward.”

  “Captain, you’re making a terrible mistake,” Max protested. “I know, the evidence is against us, it looks like we’re looters, all right. But that happens to be circumstantial evidence. Number one, if we’re looters, what did we steal? Is anything missing?”

  The Captain spoke to the steward. “Is anything missing?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Another thing,” Max said. “What proof do you have that we were even in that stateroom? We claim that we were nowhere in the vicinity.”

  “I was in my own stateroom,” 99 said.

  “And I was in the dining room having lunch,” Max said.

  “Rorff!”

  “That, I won’t believe,” the Cap
tain said. “Boston is thousands of miles from here.”

  “Let me put it this way,” Max said. “Do you have a witness who can definitely place us in Dr. Zee’s stateroom at the time of the alleged crime?”

  “I was there, sir,” the steward said. “I saw them.”

  “Your testimony is inadmissible,” Max said.

  “Why can’t I accept his testimony?” the Captain asked, puzzled.

  “Because, Your Honor, this man is a bribe-taker. I, personally, can testify that he accepted a bribe from me.”

  “Me, too,” the Captain said. “It cost me ten bucks to get him to forget that I don’t know port from starboard—or, vice versa, as the case may be.” He addressed the steward. “Your testimony is inadmissible,” he said.

  “So, you see,” Max crowed, “you have no evidence.”

  “I agree,” the Captain said. He turned to the steward again. “Take ’em to the brig,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” the steward beamed.

  “But, Your Honor!” Max objected. “I just proved to you that you have no evidence.”

  “Evidence-schmevidence,” the Captain said. “Looting is bad for business.” He waved a hand. “Lock ’em up!”

  The steward turned the key in the lock, then hung the key on a hook—which was too far away from the cell to reach—then ambled off, whistling happily.

  Max looked around at the cell. It was about the size of a closet. There was a cot—on which 99 and Fang were seated. He rattled the bars—and the bars rattled back.

  “One thing about our predicament—it’s going to make solving the case more of a challenge,” Max said.

  “Max, don’t you think we ought to tell the Captain who we really are?”

  “And break our word, 99? We promised when we took our oath never to reveal our true identities to anyone.”

  “Max, maybe, just this once, we could get permission from the Chief.”

  Max considered this for a moment, then said, “Well, we can try it.”

  He sat down on the cot next to 99 and Fang and removed his shoe.

  Max: Chief? Agent 86 calling. Are you there?

  Operator: I’m sorry, sir. The line is busy.

  Max: That’s impossible, operator. This is a private line.

  Operator: I don’t make the rules, sir, I just follow them. And the rule is, I can’t break in when the line is busy.