Get Smart 3 - Get Smart Once Again! (6 page)

The clerk looked at Peaches. “How much are you asking?”

“No, no, she’s not for sale. What I mean is, how much will it cost for her to fly to New York?”

The clerk thought for a moment, then said, “Well, let’s see, she’ll need gas and oil. Gas, I think, is twenty cents a gallon. And oil—”

“No, no, no. She doesn’t fly herself. What I’m trying to find out is, what will you charge for a ticket to fly to New York on your airline?”

“Tickets fly free,” the clerk replied.

“Let me put it another way,” Max said. “Suppose a secret agent came in here, accompanied by a lady cryptographer, and asked you what it would cost for a ticket for the lady cryptographer to fly to New York—what would your answer be?”

“Nothing.”

“You wouldn’t answer?”

“No, I mean there would be no charge. You see, there’s a vicious story going the rounds that Arr Dee frowns on ladies who take pictures of graves. There’s not a bit of truth in it. Some of our best friends are lady cryptographers. So, to combat that awful lie, we let lady cryptographers fly free—as long, of course, as they’re accompanied by secret agents.”

Max extended a hand. “I think we’ve got ourselves a deal,” he said.

The clerk shook Max’s hand warmly. “Your plane is waiting,” he said. “Just go out to the runway and walk to the far end of the field.”

“Don’t your planes come to the terminal?”

“No, it’s much too crowded. Our planes like privacy.”

“That’s understandable,” Max said. “I like a little privacy myself every now and then.”

Max and Peaches left the Arr Dee office, made their way back through the terminal, walked across the ramp to the runway, then headed for the far end of the field. Every once in a while they had to step off the runway to let a plane land or take off.

“I’m still not sure about this,” Peaches said. “I’m afraid we’re making a mistake.”

“At these prices? Impossible.”

“That clerk—he looked familiar to me. He looked a lot like that tout. As a matter of fact, he looked a lot like our first cab driver, too.”

“Ridiculous. They all had different faces.”

“I think they were all Noman. They were all plump.”

“So is Santa Claus. But I don’t think you’d get very far accusing Santa Claus of being Noman. Besides, if you did, you’d break a lot of little hearts.”

“Children’s hearts mend quickly.”

“I wasn’t thinking of children, I was thinking of me.”

Peaches pointed. “There’s the plane. See, it has Arr Dee Airline painted on it—in fresh paint.”

“I can read,” Max replied sharply.

They boarded the plane, then stopped in the aisle. All of the seats except two were occupied by passengers. But, oddly, all the other passengers appeared to be asleep.

“That’s funny,” Peaches said.

“Funny? What’s funny about it? They’re probably all first-time-flyers, and they were probably up all night worrying. No wonder they’re tuckered out.”

“Where’s the stewardess?” Peaches said, looking around.

“You get in your seat and buckle yourself in and I’ll look for her,” Max said. “I want to make a thorough inspection of the plane, anyway. It’s just possible that Noman has slipped aboard and is hiding somewhere.”

“Would you know him if you found him?”

“I think so. He’s plump—reminds me a bit of Santa Claus.”

Peaches buckled herself into her seat, and Max made his way forward, tiptoeing so he wouldn’t disturb the other passengers, to the cockpit.

A moment later, he returned. “No pilot,” he said. “I’m beginning to understand why the prices are so reasonable.”

“He’s probably still at the terminal, checking the weather,” Peaches said.

Max looked out a window. “He could do that from here,” he said. “It’s a beautiful day.”

“The weather in New York, I mean.”

“Oh. Well, if he can see what the weather is in New York from the terminal, he’s got better eyes than I have. I can barely see the terminal.”

“You better check the rear of the plane,” Peaches said.

Max moved on, toward the rear of the plane, then disappeared into a rear compartment.

He checked the lavatory, then the baggage compartment. Both were empty. Next, he opened a small door marked: ‘Danger—Do Not Open.’

A bland, unsmiling face appeared. “Hello, Max.”

“Agent 44! What are you doing back here?”

“On duty, Max.”

“Good fella!” Max peered through the opening. “What’s in this compartment?”

“A lot of wires,” 44 replied. “I think they control the plane.”

“Hmmmm. All right. But don’t fiddle with anything. It could be dangerous. They ought to put a warning sign on the door to this compartment.”

Max returned to the cabin and buckled himself into the seat next to Peaches.

“Did you find anything?” she asked.

“You wouldn’t believe it.”

“Try me.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I found Agent 44 hiding in the little compartment that contains the wires that control the plane?”

“Hardly.”

“Would you believe Agent 22?”

“No.”

“Agent 11?”

Peaches did not get a chance to reply. At that moment, they heard a sound behind them—the sound of hearty laughter. And, turning, they saw that the pilot had entered the plane. He moved toward them along the aisle.

“Ho! Ho! Ho!” he laughed. He was plump, and looked like a typical airline pilot.

“What’s so funny?” Max asked.

“ ’Tis the season to be jolly.”

Max peered at him closely. “Are you sure you know how to fly a plane?”

“Positive,” the pilot replied. “Although, frankly, I prefer reindeer.”

Max turned to Peaches. “I’ve seen that face somewhere before,” he whispered.

“I think—”

But the pilot broke in. “All ready to fly, are you?”

“Have you checked the weather in New York?” Max asked.

“I can’t see New York from here,” the pilot replied. “I can barely see the terminal.”

“That’s what I told her,” Max said, indicating Peaches. “But she had some crazy idea that—”

“Fasten Seat Belts,” the pilot said, breaking in again.

“Don’t you have a co-pilot?” Max asked.

The pilot shook his head. “They’re too much trouble. They keep wanting to take over the controls. And you’re so busy slapping their hands, you sometimes lose your way.” He saluted. “See you in Kansas City.”

“New York,” Max corrected.

“Oh, yes. Good thing you reminded me.”

The pilot headed up the aisle, then disappeared into the cockpit.

“I still say I’ve seen that face somewhere before,” Max said.

“No, I think it’s the body. It’s plump.”

Max shook his head. “No, it’s the face. I have a little trouble remembering faces, but I never forget a body.”

The engines roared, then the plane began taxiing.

“You’d think the passengers would wake up,” Peaches said.

“Never mind the other passengers. We have work to do.” He took the Plan from his pocket and began studying it. “Let’s see now. We have Sad Al / Astor / Mays / Bronco Con / Map Change / Three Bs and Watch.”

“I’m going to try the Frankmacher method,” Peaches said. “You take the second letter of every word, transpose the letters to numbers, spell out the numbers, then take the first letter of each word, transpose the letters into numbers, then—”

“Do you mind?” Max interrupted. “I’m trying to think. How can I think with you babbling that gibberish in my ear? Please keep your Frankmacher to yourself.”

“Oh, all right.”

The engines were being revved up.

“We must be about ready for take-off,” Max said.

At that moment, sliding panels opened at the front of the cabin, exposing a movie screen.

“Scratch that take-off,” Max said. “Revving up the engines apparently means that the movie is about to start.”

The picture flashed on the screen.

“Drat!” Max said. “I’ve seen it. That’s what happens when you fly these cheap re-run airlines.”

“Max, will you do something about that picture,” Peaches said. “I can’t think with that going on.”

Max got up and went to the front of the cabin. In a service compartment he found a blanket, and he hung it over the screen, then returned to his seat. At that moment, the plane began to move.

“Finally—take-off,” Max said. “Now, let’s settle down to work.”

Peaches began muttering to herself, decoding by means of the Frankmacher method.

“Sad Al,” Max mused aloud. “That might refer to Al Capone. I imagine he was pretty unhappy when they plunked him in jail.”

“So far, I have ‘ALSAROAHHSA’,” Peaches said.

Max ignored her. “Astor. That’s a hotel. That gives me Al Capone in a hotel. Or, any gangster in a hotel. Mays. That definitely refers to baseball.”

“ ‘ALSAROAHHSA’ breaks down to ‘1-12-19-1-18-15-1-8-8-19-1’,” Peaches said.

“And Bronco Con can’t mean anything but Trojan horse. So, that gives me a gangster in a hotel room playing baseball with a Trojan horse. I think I’m getting close.” He frowned, cogitating, and, as he thought, he glanced out the window. Then suddenly he straightened in his seat. “That’s an airport down there,” he said.

“So?”

“It looks like the airport we just left.”

Peaches looked out the window. “It does, doesn’t it.”

“We seem to be flying in circles,” Max said.

“That
is
strange.”

“Oh well,” Max said, relaxing. “The pilot is probably just taking no chances. My guess is that he’s waiting for another New York-bound plane to take off so he can follow it. That’s the surest way. Especially if you have difficulty distinguishing between New York and Kansas City.”

“I
think it’s strange,” Peaches said.

“Back to work,” Max said. “That’s the important thing.” He turned his attention back to the Plan. “Map Change. That might refer to the time when the days change—in other words, 12 midnight. Now, let’s see—Three Bs.”

“I have ‘OTNOEFOEENO,’” Peaches informed him.

Again, Max ignored her. “Three Bs. Bach, Beethoven and Brahms. Music. A tune. A certain tune. ‘Over the Waves.’ ”

“Over the Waves?” Peaches said puzzledly.

“I used to play ‘Over the Waves’ on my piccolo when I was a child.”

Peaches turned back to her deciphering.

“All right now, let’s see what I have,” Max said. “A gangster in the Astor hotel will play baseball with a Trojan horse at 12 midnight to the tune of ‘Over the Waves.’ ” He shook his head, “dose, but not yet it.”

“What about ‘Watch’?”

“That, apparently, is the key word,” Max replied. “But it’s a stumper.”

“Here’s what I have,” Peaches said. “I have ‘FFFFFF.’ Now, ‘F’ is the sixth letter of the alphabet. So, I have ‘666666’. And, following the Frankmacher method, I turn those 6s upside down, and I get ‘999999.’ in other words, I have a series of 9s. And 9 times 9 equals 81. That is two separate numbers, an 8 and a 1. Now, 8 is H—”

“How do you arrive at that?” Max asked.

“ ‘H’ is the eighth letter of the alphabet.”

“Oh, yes, I see.”

“So the 8 and the 1 stand for H and A.”

“HA!”

Peaches saddened. “I’m afraid so.”

From the cockpit they heard the sound of laughter again.

The pilot emerged. “Ho! Ho! Ho!”

“No, it’s ‘Ha! Ha! Ha!,’ ” Max corrected.

“You’re right,” the pilot replied, grinning sinisterly. “The laugh is on you!”

Max stared, stunned. “Noman!”

“It ain’t Santy Claus,” Noman smirked.

“Now I know why we’re circling the airport,” Max said. “You never had any intention of flying us to New York.”

“This is as far as you go,” Noman said. “Hand over the Dooms Day Plan.”

“Not so fast, Noman. We are not alone,” Max said. He got to his feet and addressed the other passengers. “Fellow air travelers,” he said, “there comes a time in every secret agent’s life when he must go to the people for support. My time has come.”

“In spades,” Noman commented.

“The fight waged against the forces of evil by your secret agents is a lonely fight,” Max continued, still addressing the passengers. “Imagine yourself in a lonely hotel room, on a dark and stormy night, in a strange city, with the forces of evil knocking on your door. Sometimes a secret agent wants to cry out ‘Help! Help!’ But he knows that it is his duty to stand alone. However, this is not a hotel room, it is not a dark and stormy night, and we are not in a strange city—so, I think that, for this one time, we can forget about the rules. It would be permissible, I think, considering the circumstance, for me to yell ‘Help! Help!’ ”

“Yell already,” Noman shrugged. “Yell your head off.”

“With your permission, I will,” Max replied. He faced the passengers again. “Help! Help!”

The passengers slept on.

“They
are
tuckered out!” Max said, disappointed.

“They’re dummies,” Noman said.

Max looked at him disapprovingly. “You’re not going to have this airline very long, referring to your passengers in that way,” he said.

“When I say dummy, I mean dummy,” Noman replied. He picked up a passenger and tossed it to the floor. “See? Dummy. Filled with rags. It was a trick to lure you onto the plane. I knew you wouldn’t board the plane if it was empty.”

“As a matter of fact, I would,” Max said. “I like my privacy, too.”

“Enough of this babble,” Noman said. “Hand over the Dooms Day Plan!”

“Not quite yet,” Max said. “A Control secret agent is always prepared for emergencies like this.” He reached into a pocket and brought out a cigarette lighter. “I’ll burn the Plan before I’ll turn it over to you, Noman!”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Just watch me!”

Max flicked the lighter—and a fully inflated life raft popped out.

“Right emergency, wrong lighter,” he muttered. “Or, to put it another way—wrong emergency, right lighter.”

“It amounts to the same thing,” Noman said. “Hand over the Plan.”

Resigned, Max passed the Plan to Noman. “Little good it will do you,” he said. “When this plane lands it will be immediately surrounded by the National Guard, the city police, and a retired General of the Army, all armed to the teeth.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Noman said.