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

The elevator came to a halt, and the door slid open.

“All out,” Max announced.

“Where do we go from here?”

“Well, this is a series of tunnels—a little like a maze. If you know your way, it’s very simple to get from here to the secret exit—which is a manhole that opens in a deserted section of the city. However, if you don’t know your way, you could get lost down here and never find your way out.”

Peaches looked at him, fear-stricken. “You’re going to lead us out?”

“That’s right.”

Peaches screamed. “Help! Somebody! Help! We’re lost!”

“If I were thin-skinned, I’d consider that as evidence of a lack of confidence in my ability,” Max said.

“Help!”

At that moment, a man in an usher’s uniform appeared. He was stooped, and had a long white beard. He looked to be about one-hundred-and-ninety.

“At your service, Mr. Smart,” the man creaked.

“Just in time, Willowby,” Max said.

Peaches pointed. “Who’s he?”

“This is Willowby, our head usher,” Max replied. “You see, we were losing so many secret agents down here we had to put in guides. That was years ago. We haven’t lost a secret agent since. That is, none of ours, anyway.” He turned to Willowby. “Isn’t that true?”

“That’s true,” Willowby replied. “And I ought to know—I’ve been down here from the first.”

“All right, Willowby,” Max said, “which way to the secret exit?”

Willowby pointed to the entrance to a tunnel. “That way, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh . . . Mr. Smart,” Willowby said, “one thing. I haven’t been out lately, you know. What’s the news on the outside?”

“World, national or local?”

“Well . . . how is the President doing these days?”

“I’m afraid, Willowby, that he’s having a bit of a hard time with some of the members of the Senate.”

“That’s too bad,” Willowby said. Then he smiled. “But Mr. Lincoln can handle it.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure he can,” Max said. He turned to Peaches. “Shall we flee?”

As they proceeded down the tunnel, Max again put his mind to deciphering the Plan. “So far,” he said, “we have three men in a Trojan horse. Now, the next phrase is ‘Map Change.’ That’s pretty clear. These three men in a Trojan horse intend to change the map. But how would they do it? I suppose they could collect all the maps in the world and draw in false lines. But that would take too long. What’s the next word?”

“Three Bs,” Peaches replied. “And please be quiet.”

“Three Bs. Of course! Three bombs! Three men in a Trojan horse intend to change the map of the world with three bombs! Super-destructive bombs, no doubt.”

Ahead of them, an aged voice called out. “Halt! Who goes there?”

“That would be Ponsenby, the second usher,” Max explained to Peaches.

They approached the man, who, like Willowby, was stooped and had a long white beard. “Oh . . . Mr. Smart,” he said. “Are you lost again?”

“If I were lost, would I be here?” Max replied sharply.

“I thought maybe you bungled into the right tunnel—like the last time.”

“Never mind that,” Max said. “Which way to the secret exit?”

Ponsenby pointed. “Thataway.”

They started to go, then Max stopped and turned back to Ponsenby. “Incidentally, if you’re interested,” he said, “Mr. Lincoln is having trouble with the Senate.”

“Don’t give me that,” Ponsenby said. “Lincoln was assassinated.”

“Oh. How did you hear?”

“Heard it from a fellow who was passing through here. A John Wilkes Booth.”

“Oh . . . yes.”

“Actor fellow,” Ponsenby said. “I asked him to do me some imitations. But he was in too big a hurry. Had to go hide in a barn, he said. Didn’t say why.”

Max saluted. “Keep alert, Ponsenby.”

“Don’t I always?”

Max and Peaches continued along the tunnel.

“Is it much further?” Peaches complained.

“Try not to think about it. Concentrate on the code.”

“How can I with you babbling in my ear?”

“Shh!” Max said. “I’m trying to think.”

Peaches turned her attention back to the Plan.

“Three men in a Trojan horse intend to change the map of the world with three super-destructive bombs,” Max mused. “Now, how could they do that? Simple. By setting off those bombs in the three main capitals of the world, that’s how. A bomb in Moscow. A bomb in Peking, And a bomb in New York.”

“New York isn’t the capital,” Peaches said. “Washington is the capital.”

“Yes, I know, that’s what they think in Washington. But in the eyes of the world, New York is the capital. Blow up Washington, and what do you get? A few politicians. But blow up New York and you destroy the symbol that holds the whole nation together.”

“The Statue of Liberty, you mean.”

“No, the Automat. Where else can you get a piece of apple pie for a nickel? That’s what we’re fighting for, you know. Mom’s apple pie. And the Automat turns out a piece of apple pie that makes Mom’s taste like warmed over glue. Yes, I think I’ve got it. The code is broken. The Plan is revealed. Definitely. Three men in a Trojan horse— Strike that. Make that three men in three Trojan horses. Three men in three Trojan horses will change the map of the world by exploding three super-destructive bombs in the three main capitals of the world—Moscow, Peking and New York.”

“What about the word ‘watch’? You left that out.”

“It’s obvious. Three men in three Trojan horses with three bombs in the three main capitals of the world. That would be something to ‘watch.’ ”

“You’re insane.”

“And you’re jealous—because I broke the code before you did. Nevertheless, since I am in command of this mission, we will assume that my interpretation of the Plan is correct. And we will proceed to the three main capitals of the world.”

“But why?”

“Well, as long as we’re running, we may as well do something constructive. My idea is to go to the three capitals, find the KAOS headquarters in each of those cities, infiltrate the headquarters, and foil the plot.”

“How, exactly?”

“Well, when we get inside the headquarters, we’ll look for a Trojan horse. That’s something that won’t be easy to hide. And, once we find the horses, we’ll take them apart, mane by mane, and hoof by hoof, and sadal by sadal.”

“Sadal by sadal?”

“The code-maker-uppers at KAOS aren’t the only lousy spellers in this world, you know.”

“Just for the sake of intelligent conversation,” Peaches said, “let me tell you what I’m beginning to get from the code.”

“Later. We’re coming to the elevator.”

Peaches looked. “Where does that take us?”

“Up,” Max replied. “It takes us to the manhole in the deserted section of town that is, in fact, a cleverly disguised secret exit.”

They boarded the elevator and Mas punched the ‘up’ button.

“What happens if you punch the ‘down’ button?” Peaches asked.

“You go down, naturally. To the sub-sub-sub-sub-sub-sub-sub-sub-basement.”

“That’s pretty far down.”

“Yes, and very unpleasant. The temperature down there sometimes gets up to 150 degrees. It’s as hot as— Well, as I said, it’s extremely uncomfortable.”

“Will you let me tell you what I’ve deciphered so far?”

“Why not? I’m always willing to listen.”

“Well,” Peaches said, “I’ve been using the Hoppman method. Hoppman was a sixth-grade math teacher in Framingham, Massachusetts, who stumbled onto the method by accident. He was always confusing the number ‘3’ with the letter ‘B.’ Whenever he saw the number ‘3,’ he would say, ‘Who left the stick off this letter B?’ And, after that, naturally, he evolved his method.”

“That’s a good basis,” Max said. “The same thing used to happen to me. Except that it was with the number ‘1’ and the letter ‘l.’ I could never tell them apart. I used to spell the word ‘sadal’ with a one at the end.”

“Anyway,” Peaches went on, “using the Hoppman method, I gave every phrase the value of six, then multiplied it by itself in series.”

“The value of six? Why is that?”

“Six was the only number that Hoppman didn’t confuse with a letter. So he decided to play it safe and use the number six for everything.”

“Good thinking.”

“So,” Peaches continued, “we get a series of numbers. Six times six is thirty-six. And six times thirty-six is two-hundred-sixteen. And six times two-hundred-sixteen is one-thousand-two-hundred-ninety-six, and so on. Then, we take those numbers and transpose them into letters. Take the number thirty-six, for instance—our first number. It is composed of a three and a six. And the third letter of the alphabet is ‘C’, and the sixth letter is ‘F’. So, thirty-six stands for ‘CF’. Understand?”

“What could be simpler?”

“Fine. So, what we get is: CF BAF ABHF GGGF DFFEF.”

“I see. And now that you have it, how do you pronounce it?”

“Oh, we don’t. We’re just starting. Next, we eliminate all the unnecessary letters. You’ll notice that there are many too many ‘Fs and ‘G’s. So we toss them out. That gives us: CBAABHDE.”

“Excuse me,” Max said, “but we’re coming to the secret exit.”

Peaches looked up, and saw the underside of a manhole cover. “Through there?”

“Right. Through there, and we will find ourselves in a deserted section of the city. There probably won’t be a soul around.”

Peaches shuddered. “It’s creepy.”

“But necessary,” Max said. “It’s the one sure way of eluding Noman.”

The elevator stopped. Max reached up and raised the manhole cover—and found himself face-to-face with a particularly expressionless face.

“Excuse me,” Max apologized. “I thought this was the secret exit.”

The face spoke. “It is, Max. I was just checking to make sure you hadn’t got lost in the tunnels again.”

“Oh! Agent 44!” Max said, recognizing the face. “Good fellow. Glad to see that you’re on duty.”

44 nodded. “I’ll see you around, Max,” he said. Then his face disappeared from the opening.

“Now then, we’ll just crawl out of here, then we’ll be on our way to New York,” Max said to Peaches.

“Why not Moscow or Peking?”

“Limited expense account,” Max explained, helping Peaches out.

When she reached the street, Peaches offered a hand to Max, and, with her help, he pulled himself out of the hole.

“It’s gloomy,” Peaches said, looking around. “Even in the daylight it’s gloomy.”

“No one ever comes here,” Max explained. “We are as alone as we would be in the middle of the Sahara desert.”

At that moment, a taxi came screeching around a corner and stopped a few feet away.

“We’re in luck,” Peaches said. “There’s a camel.”

“The driver must be lost,” Max said. “No one ever comes to this part of town.”

Followed by Peaches, Max walked over to the cab. The driver, a rather plump man, who, all in all, looked like a typical taxi driver, put his head out the window. “Cab?” he said.

“Yes, that’s what it is,” Max replied. “But, more important, what is a cab doing in this deserted section of town? You couldn’t possibly find any business here.”

“What would be your guess?” the driver said.

“You’re lost?”

The driver brightened. “Right! I’m a new driver, and I’m lost.”

Max turned to Peaches. “That explains it,” he said. “At first, I was a little worried. I thought this driver might actually be I. M. Noman in disguise.”

“Can I take you somewhere?” the driver said.

“Do you think you could find the airport?” Max replied. “We want to take a plane to New York.”

“How come?” the driver asked. “If I had a plane, I think I’d keep it right here. I sure wouldn’t take it to New York. There’s a lot of sharpies in New York. You take your plane to New York and somebody’ll swindle you out of it.”

“You don’t understand,” Max said. “We don’t have a plane. All we— Never mind. Just take us to the airport.”

The driver shrugged. “Hop in.”

Max and Peaches got into the cab, and it started off.

“Now, what was it you were saying when we reached the secret exit?” Max said to Peaches.

“I was telling you what I’d worked out, using the Hoppman method.”

“Oh, yes. ‘CBAABHDE’ wasn’t it?”

“That’s right. Now, the problem is to rearrange those letters so that they make sense.”

The driver turned in the seat. “What’s that, some kind of new game?” he said.

“Sorry. We can’t tell you,” Max replied. “It’s top secret.”

The driver laughed.

“No, really, it is,” Max insisted.

“That’s okay, if you don’t want to tell me, don’t tell me,” the driver said. “My feelings won’t be hurt. Us cab drivers are used to that kind of thing. Nobody won’t explain no new games to us. It hurts—at first—but we get used to it.”

“Honest,” Max said. “It isn’t a game, it’s a top secret code. We’re trying to decipher it.”

“Sure.”

“Cross my heart,” Max said.

“Yeah, yeah . . . it’s the same old story. A cab driver’s not human. He’s just a slob that sits up front and steers. I know. I get it all the time. But that’s okay. It don’t hurt so much no more.”

“Look,” Max said, getting out his wallet. “Here are my credentials. I’m a secret agent. And this young lady is a free-lance cryptographer.”

The driver glanced at Max’s credentials, then looked back at Peaches. “A cryptographer, eh? Ain’t you a little grown up to be going around taking pictures of graves?”

“That’s not what she does,” Max said. “She breaks codes.”

“Max, ignore him,” Peaches said. “We have work to do.”

“Ignore him? Hasn’t the world hurt him enough? Do you want me to add to that by ignoring him? I couldn’t sleep nights with that on my conscience.”

“Them’s nice credentials,” the driver said, handing back Max’s wallet.

“Then, you believe me?”

“Sure, sure, sure,” the driver said sourly, facing front again.

“No you don’t. You don’t really believe me,” Max said.

“All I know is, anybody can get a bunch of phony credentials made up.”

Max turned to Peaches. “Let’s let him play our game.”

“No thanks,” the driver said. “I don’t want to play in no game where I ain’t wanted.”

“Please,” Max begged.

“Well . . .” He turned back to them once more. “Okay, if it’ll make you happy. How does the game go?”