Get Smart 3 - Get Smart Once Again! (11 page)

“A slight error,” Max said. “It could happen, to anybody.”

“You’ve ruined everything!” Peaches sobbed.

“Actually, it’s all in the way you look at it,” Max said. “Since I’ve kept the Dooms Day Plan out of the hands of Noman, some might say that I’ve saved the day.”

“That’s selfish!” Peaches wept. “My list! Now I’ll have to start all over again.”

“But civilization (as we know it) has been given a second chance!” Max said.

“What does that mean to an empty-headed blonde who’s lost her list of romantic things to do?”

“Let’s argue about it on the train,” Max said. “We started early this morning, and it’s past noon, and we’re still not out of Washington. Considering that we’re living in the jet age, that’s not a very good record.”

“All right, let’s go,” Peaches wept. “Anything to take my mind off my loss.”

They boarded the train, then looked for their compartment.

“What number is it?” Peaches asked.

“Compartment 44,” Max replied. “That sounds familiar, doesn’t it? I wonder if I’ve ridden this train before.”

“That’s your friend,” Peaches reminded him.

“My friend? I don’t have any friends who are train compartments.”

“Agent 44.”

“Oh . . . yes. Good old Agent 44. He must be well thought of by the railroad.”

“Why is that?”

“They named a compartment after him,” Max said.

“Maybe it was some other 44,” Peaches said.

“That’s possible.”

They met a porter coming along the aisle from the opposite direction. Max stopped him.

“Porter, we’re looking for Compartment 44,” Max said. “Do you have any idea where it might be?”

“Yes, sir. Right between Compartment 43 and Compartment 45.”

“That’s helpful. Now, where would we find, say, Compartment 45?”

“Well, sir, that’s right between—”

“Never mind,” Max broke in. “I’ve found it. It’s right here—this compartment we’re standing in front of.”

The porter looked and nodded. “That’s it all right, sir. Right where I said it was—right between Compartment 43 and Compartment 45.” He opened the door. “Right in here, sir, and lady.”

Max and Peaches stepped in. The porter followed them.

“May I see your tickets, sir?” the porter said.

Max handed him the tickets. “That’s for a round-trip one-way,” he said.

“Yes, sir, I see it is.” The porter pointed to the right-hand seat. “The lady sits here,” he said. He pointed to the left-hand seat. “And the gentleman sits here.”

“Why is that?” Max asked. “Why can’t we sit in any seat we want to?”

“You got a round-trip ticket, sir,” the porter explained. “One seat is the ‘going’ seat and the other seat is the ‘coming’ seat. You sit in the ‘going’ seat, and the lady sits in the ‘coming’ seat.”

“I’m sorry I asked,” Max replied. “All right, porter. Thank you for your help. I’ll call you if I need you.”

The porter backed out and closed the door.

“He looked familiar to me, Max,” Peaches said.

“I don’t wonder. He looked like a typical pullman porter.”

“Yes, I suppose that was it.”

Max went to the window and raised the shade—and found himself face-to-face with Agent 44.

“Good to see you again,” Max said. “Unless, of course, you’re Noman masquerading as Agent 44.”

Agent 44 made signals, indicating that he could not hear Max through the window.

“I said, ‘Good to see you again’!” Max shouted.

“Why don’t you open the window, Max?” Peaches suggested.

“Because train windows do not open.”

Peaches went to the window, touched a finger to the bottom of the frame, and raised the window easily.

“Let me put it another way,” Max said. “
Normally,
train windows do not open.” He turned back to Agent 44. “Good to see you again,” he said. “Assuming, of course, that you’re not Noman.”

“I don’t think I am,” 44 answered. “What does he look like?”

“If he’s in a public locker, he looks like you,” Max said.

“Ask him if he has my list of romantic things to do,” Peaches said. “If he does, he’s Noman. If he doesn’t, he’s 44.”

“I’ll try that,” Max said. He turned back to Agent 44.

“I don’t have it,” 44 said.

Max turned back to Peaches.

“Then he’s 44,” she said.

Max turned back to Agent 44. But he was gone.

“I felt a little left out of that conversation there at the end,” Max said, closing the window.

“Shhh!” Peaches said. “I’m trying to remember what I had on my list of romantic things to do.”

“You were going to dunk Al Capone in a fountain, I remember that,” Max said.

“That doesn’t sound romantic.”

“It does to me. But then, all fountains sound romantic to me,” Max said.

“Candlelight—I remember that,” Peaches said.

“Yes, and—” Max interrupted himself. “Wait a minute! Hear that?”

Peaches cocked an ear. “What?”

“Listen.”

Then Peaches heard the sound, too. It went: “Choo-Choo-Choo!”

“We’re on our way!” Max said happily. “New York—here we come!”

A
S THE
train moved slowly out of the terminal, Max sat down in his seat and removed his shoe. “Time to check in,” he said. “The Chief will be glad to hear that we’re finally on our way.”

“Ask him if he knows of any romantic things to do,” Peaches said.

“Sorry,” Max said, dialing. “This is a business phone.”

Operator:
Sorry, sir, this is impossible.

Max:
Impossible, Operator? What’s impossible?

Operator:
You’re calling from a compartment on a train, sir. That can’t be done.

Max:
Operator, this is official business. Couldn’t you make an exception?

Operator:
Well . . . just this once. If you promise you won’t do it again.

Max:
I promise. Now, please, connect me with Control.

Operator:
Yes, sir. Here is your number, sir.

Chief:
Control, here.

Max:
Is that you, Chief?

Chief:
Da.

Max:
Da, Chief?

Chief:
That’s Russian for ‘yes,’ Max. I assume you’re calling from Moscow.

Max:
Well, no, not exactly, Chief. We’re a little short of that mark.

Chief:
From New York, then?

Max:
We’re a wee bit short of
that
mark, too, Chief.

Chief:
Miami, Florida?

Max:
That’s in the other direction, Chief.

Chief:
Baltimore, Maryland?

Max:
You’re getting warmer, Chief. Try Washington, D.C.

Chief:
Max! You haven’t even left town yet?

Max:
Chief, it isn’t because we haven’t tried. We’ve tried it by plane, and we’ve tried it by car. Now, we’re trying it by train.

Chief:
I see. You’re taking a train to New York. Is that right?

Max:
No, Chief, the train is taking
us
to New York. You see, we’re in a compartment, and the train is on the tracks.

Chief:
You didn’t have to tell me that. I know how a train goes.

Max
(smiling smugly): How does a train go, Chief? There’s a very funny answer to that. Want to hear it?

Chief:
I don’t have to hear it, Max. I know how a train goes. It goes: Choo-Choo-Choo! I can hear it over your shoe.

Operator
(breaking in): So that’s how you’re doing it, is it?—talking on a shoe. I knew we didn’t have any telephones in any train compartments.

Max:
All right, now you know. Will you please get off the line, Operator? This is a private conversation.

Operator:
Is that your shoe or our shoe?

Max:
It’s
my
shoe.

Chief:
Sorry to dispute you, Max. But, actually, that isn’t your shoe. We lease that shoe from the Telephone Company.

Max:
Maybe so. But I keep it under
my
bed. That should give me
some
rights.

Operator:
It’s
our
shoe, so I can listen to your conversation.

Max:
Chief, couldn’t you arrange to buy this shoe from the Telephone Company?

Chief:
They won’t sell, Max.

Max:
Why not?

Chief:
They don’t want to break up a pair.

Max:
Oh. Well . . . I can understand that.

Chief:
Max, has Peaches broken the code yet?

Max:
I’m afraid Peaches has lost interest in the code, Chief. Our hard-hearted Hannah has turned into a soft-headed Susie. If you know what I mean.

Chief:
No, Max, I don’t know what you mean.

Operator:
Me, neither.

Max:
Well, folks, what I mean is, our Peaches has gone soft. She thinks we’re doomed, and she wants to live a little before she goes. Her only interest at the moment is Romance.

Operator:
With a capital ‘R’? Good for her.

Chief:
Well, I guess you’ll just have to make the best of it, Max. Try breaking the code yourself.

Max:
I’m one step ahead of you, Chief.

Operator:
In
our
shoe? Watch where you step in that shoe.

Max:
As I was saying, Chief, I’m already at work on the code. Do you see any connection between Papa Bear and Dooms Day?

Chief:
No, I don’t, Max. How did you arrive at Papa Bear?

Max:
It wasn’t easy. I started with money. That gave me Goldilocks. And Goldilocks suggested Papa Bear.

Operator:
Why Papa Bear? Why not all three of the bears?

Max:
Because Noman is a male. And Papa Bear is a male.

Operator:
Maybe Baby Bear was a male, too. I think you picked the wrong bear.

Max:
You may be right, Operator. Let’s see . . . Baby Bear. Or, if you turn that around, you get Bear Baby. Or, to put it another way, bare baby. And all newly-born babies are bare. So, what we’re looking for is—no, I don’t think that’s it.

Chief:
Max, keep working on it. I know you’ll come up with something. And . . . keep in touch.

Operator:
Don’t encourage him to make a lot of calls, Chief. We don’t want him to wear out our shoe.

Chief:
Good-by, Max.

Max:
So long, Chief.

Operator:
Keep your laces tight, Max.

Max put his shoe back on.

“That was the Chief,” he said to Peaches. “And the Operator,” he added.

“Shhh! I’m thinking.”

Max looked out the window. “Well, we’re on our way,” he said. “We’ve left the station.”

“Will you stop bothering me with trifling little details,” Peaches said. “I’m trying to—”

She was interrupted as the door of the compartment opened and the porter stepped in. He was holding a gun. And he quickly closed the door behind him.

“If you’re peddling guns, we don’t want any,” Max said, annoyed.

“Max!” Peaches shrieked. “It’s Noman!”

Noman smiled. “I would have been around sooner,” he said, “but I didn’t want to interrupt while you were on the shoe.”

“A fellow with good shoe manners can’t be all bad,” Max said. “Noman, let’s make a deal. Let me keep the Dooms Day Plan, and I’ll try to talk the Chief into giving you a job at Control. There are a lot of benefits connected with being on the side of the Good Guys.”

“Like what?” Noman asked.

“Peace of mind.”

“At KAOS we get three weeks vacation after twelve years.”

“Well, at Control we get a sense of accomplishment.”

“We get time-and-a-half for overtime. And overtime is any time after we sight our victim.”

“We have a friendly atmosphere,” Max responded.

“Our cafeteria serves chocolate sauce on the ice cream,” Noman said. “Even on the chocolate ice cream.”

“Well, I can’t match that,” Max admitted. “I guess you’ll just have to go your way, and I’ll go mine.” He stepped toward the door. “Excuse me—I’ll go mine.”

Noman pressed the pistol against his abdomen. “You can go your way,” he said, “but you’ll go feet first if you don’t hand over that Plan.”

Max backed away. “I can’t give you the Plan,” he said. “If I did, you’d rush out that door with it, and I’d never see it again.”

Noman smiled craftily. “Suppose I promised
not
to rush out the door with it?”

Max considered. “That throws a different light on the situation,” he said. “But how do I know I can trust you?”

“How do I know I can trust
you?”
Noman replied. “I’m taking as big a chance as you are. But I’m willing. I guess it’s a matter of basic character—you either trust people or you don’t.”

“You put me to shame,” Max said. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“Then it’s a deal?”

“Right. I’ll hand over the Plan. And you’ll promise not to rush out the door with it.”

“Shake,” Noman said.

They shook hands, then Max reached into his pocket and pulled out the Plan and handed it over to Noman. “A promise is a promise,” he reminded him.

Noman grinned evilly, taking the Plan. “Right,” he said. “But I
didn’t
promise not to jump out the window!”

Max looked disappointed. “Once a KAOS agent, always a KAOS agent,” he said.

Holding the gun on Max, Noman moved around to the window. With his back to it, he opened it.

“So long, sucker!” he laughed derisively.

“Happy landing,” Max said.

Noman threw himself backward through the opening and disappeared.

A second later a face appeared—the face of Agent 44.

“Good work, 44,” Max said. “You snatched the Plan from him as he hurtled past, of course.”

“The Plan and something else,” 44 said, handing in two sheets of paper.

“My list!” Peaches cried happily, leaping up.

Max accepted the two sheets of paper from 44 and handed one of them to Peaches.

“This isn’t my list!” she said angrily, throwing the sheet of paper to the floor.

“Here!” Max said, giving her the other sheet of paper. “That one is the Plan,” he said, picking it up.

“How could you mistake my lovely list for your horrid old Plan!” Peaches exclaimed, hugging her list to her bosom. “They should have named you Max Dumb.”