Get Smart 8 - Max Smart Loses Control (4 page)

“I find that hard to do,” the captain said, noting that the water had risen to knee-level.

“I’m used to it,” Max shrugged. “It’s very rare when the people appreciate what their public servants do for them. We’re taken for granted.” He waved to the helicopter, and it began descending toward the deck. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you now,” he said to the captain. “The civilized world’s work is never done.”

“You’ve got somebody else’s barge to blow up?”

“That’s not at all kindly of you,” Max said, hurt, reaching for the rope that was dangling above him.

“For you, I have one word,” the captain said.

“Yes?” Max asked, pulling himself up the rope.

“Glubble, glubble, glubble!” the captain said.

Max looked down, intending to request an explanation. But there was no need to—he understood. The captain had disappeared below the surface of the water. “Anyway,” Max said to himself, “glubble, glubble, glubble is three words. Some people never know when to stop.”

A few seconds later, Max climbed back into the helicopter.

“Max! I saw what happened!” 99 said. “And I’m sure you did the right thing. Since you couldn’t rescue Number One, the only thing you could do was destroy her!”

“There were a few little details you may have missed, being up here out of hearing range, 99,” Max said. “But there’s no point in discussing it further. Let’s just say that the mission fell a bit short of total success and let it go at that.”

“That was Number One in the crate, wasn’t it, Max?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then—”

“99, remember what you said? About time being precious? Let’s not waste it, shall we?”

“All right, Max.” She held out her arm. “How do you like my new wristwatch?”

“New? You mean—”

“I had a window open and it rained in,” 99 explained.

“I don’t want to hear any more about it, 99,” Max said gruffly. “Drive on!”

Max and 99 began circling the harbor again, still looking for a barge that might belong to KAOS.

“All I see are garbage scows, Max.”

“99, I am positive—”

He was interrupted by a ringing sound.

Max picked up the air-to-shore phone. “Yes?” he said, speaking into the transmitter.

“Control’s secret airport. Shhhh!” a voice replied.

“Don’t shhhh! me; I didn’t call you, you called me,” Max said.

The ringing was heard again.

“How could I call you? I don’t even know who you are,” the voice said.

“Max—” 99 said.

“Just a second, 99. I’ve got a smart-aleck on the line.” He spoke into the transmitter again. “If you don’t know who I am, then I don’t know who you are, either,” he said. “How do you like that!”

The ringing continued.

“Max, it’s not the air-to-shore phone, it’s your shoe,” 99 said.

“Oh.”

Max hung up, then took off his shoe.

Max:
Agent 86 here. Is that you, Chief?

Chief:
Max! Where are you? I just got a call from Hymie and he told me you’d gone off on a wild goose chase!

Max:
That just goes to show how much he knows about it, Chief. It was a wild barge chase. Right now, 99 and I are directly over the harbor.

Chief:
Max, get out of there. Our weather section tells me there’s some strange activity going on in that area. You won’t believe it, but they tell it’s been—

Max:
I know . . . raining wristwatches.

Chief:
Then it’s true? You saw it?

Max:
We not only saw it, Chief, but 99 had the presence of mind to leave a window open. I’m saving a 17-jewel, self-winding, water-proofer for you.

Operator:
And what do you have in your old kit bag for a devoted fan, Maxie?

Max:
Operator, for you, I have one word: glubble, glubble, glubble.

Operator
(wildly): This means war!

Chief:
Operator, will you get off the line, please. This is official business.

Operator:
He started it, Chief! You heard him: glubble, glubble, glubble!

Chief:
He probably meant it as a compliment. Max . . . are you still there? I want to know what you’re doing over the harbor when you’re supposed to be with Hymie. I told you to follow his orders. Yet, he tells me that you insisted on following some silly hunch of your own.

Max:
Hymie is a little mixed up, Chief. He’s the one who insisted on following a silly hunch. I was motivated by my know-how and my many years of experience. And I think it’s unfair of you to make a judgment before all the votes are in. The proof of the pudding will be when Number One is found. Where was Hymie calling from?

Chief:
From the Krunchy Knutt Candy Company.

Max:
There you are, Chief. It’s Hymie who’s chasing wild geese. Considering the fact that Number One was loaded onto a barge and taken out to sea, isn’t it a little ridiculous for Hymie to be hanging around a candy factory? What was his excuse?

Chief:
He’s found Number One.

Max
(somewhat subdued): In a candy factory?

Chief:
That’s right, Max.

Max
(suspiciously): With or without almonds?

Operator:
Boy, if this is going to be a war of brains, I can hire the hall for my victory celebration right now.

Max:
Chief, answer me this: has Hymie actually made contact with Number One?

Chief:
No, not exactly. He’s waiting for you and 99. But he knows she’s in there. He heard her ticking.

Max:
Mmmmm . . . heard her ticking, eh? Take my word for it, Chief, that’s not too reliable. He might have been hearing five-hundred-thousand wristwatches.

Chief:
Max, that’s ridiculous. I want you and 99 to join Hymie at the Krunchy Knutt Candy factory as quickly as possible. And Max . . . on the way . . .
don’t do any thinking for yourself.
Just follow orders!

Max:
All right, all right—blow the case! See if I care!

Max hung up, then told 99 what he had learned from the Chief.

“A candy factory?” she said. “Then KAOS must have transferred Number One to that other truck. Apparently, Hymie was right.”

“I’d expect that from somebody like that telephone operator,” Max said, wounded, turning the helicopter back toward the airport. “But I thought you’d be loyal to me, 99. As I mentioned before, you’re my own kind.”

“Isn’t the telephone operator, Max?”

“In this day and age? She’s automated. She’s probably nuts and bolts and transformers, just like Hymie.”

“Still, Max, the fact remains: Hymie was right, and you were wrong.”

“Or so it seems,” Max said huffily.

“What do you mean, Max?”

“Hymie heard a ticking. That could be anything. He could have been listening to a clock.”

“Well . . .”

“Or a mattress.”

“A mattress, Max?”

“A mattress has ticking, 99. A mattress is full of ticking.”

“But in a candy factory?”

“You’re right—it was probably a clock he heard.”

“Max, try to be nice to Hymie,” 99 said. “It isn’t his fault that he’s in charge of this case. He didn’t ask for it. You can’t even blame the Chief. It was HIM’s idea. Be big about it, Max. Nobody likes a sorehead.”

“Who’s a sorehead?” Max protested. “I just happen to be better qualified to be in charge, that’s all. Hymie is only a machine. I happen to be a human being, and human intelligence is superior to machine intelligence. That’s a known fact, that’s all.”

“Max . . . why are we flying around in circles?”

“Because somebody moved the airport,” Max replied. “I can’t find it.”

“Use the air-to-shore telephone. Ask for directions.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Max replied. “I’ll just switch to the automatic pilot. It’ll take us straight home.”

99 smiled. “You mean you, a human, are going to depend on a machine, Max?”

“Right. And it proves my point.”

“How, Max?”

“Without an intelligent human being around to turn it on, that automatic pilot wouldn’t be worth the nuts and bolts and transformers it’s made of,” Max explained.

A
S SOON AS
the helicopter had delivered Max and 99 safely to the Control secret airport, they got back into Max’s car and drove toward the industrial district, where the Krunchy Knutt Candy factory was located. They left the car about a block from the site, then proceeded on foot.

“The Chief wasn’t very specific about where we’ll find Hymie,” Max complained. “I hope we don’t have to make an intensive search for him. Robots aren’t like humans, they don’t have a natural sense of direction. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were lost.”

“Max . . . when are we going to reach the factory?” 99 asked.

“Very soon. We left the car only a block away.”

“We’ve walked three blocks already, Max.”

Max halted, wet a finger, held it in the air, then said, “Mmmmm . . . by some quirk of circumstance, 99, we’ve been walking in the wrong direction. The candy factory is back the other way.”

They turned and began retracing their steps. Four blocks later, they reached the factory. Hymie was standing near the entrance with an ear pressed to the building. Max and 99 hurried up to him.

“Why aren’t you in hiding!” Max scolded. “If this is a KAOS secret installation—which I doubt—they’ll spot you as a Control agent. Who else would go around listening to bricks?”

“They might think I’m an exterminator, listening for termites,” Hymie said.

“Ridiculous. But, I don’t suppose it really matters. My knowledge of the KAOS mind tells me they’d never pick a place like a candy factory as a hideout.”

“Number One is in there,” Hymie insisted. He put his ear to the building again. “Listen . . .”

Max hesitated a moment, then shrugged and placed his own ear against the bricks. He listened intently, frowning. “I do hear something,” he said, surprised. “It’s a sort of crunching sound.”

“That’s the termites,” Hymie informed him. “They’re not used to bricks.”

Max nodded. “And I think they’re chewing with their mouths open, too.”

“It’s that other sound I’m talking about,” Hymie said. “Hear it?”

“No,” Max replied, taking his ear from the building.

“But Hymie has super-sensitive hearing, remember, Max,” 99 said. She turned to Hymie. “What does it sound like?” she asked.

“Ticking,” Hymie replied. “I’m ashamed to say, she’s ticking along happily. It doesn’t bother her a bit that she’s been computer-napped by KAOS. It won’t bother her when she’s brainwashed, either. Keep her in oil, and she’ll work for anybody.”

“This is preposterous!” Max said to 99. “He’s talking about that machine as if she were a human. I don’t even believe she’s in there. If you ask me, Hymie is overdue for a spring check-up.”

“Hymie,” 99 asked, “what brought you here to this candy factory in the first place?”

“The tire tracks,” Hymie replied. “I followed them, and they led me straight here. Then I listened at the wall and heard Number One ticking.”

“All right, all right,” Max said. “The only thing to do is go in there and search the place and show him that he’s wrong. You can’t reason with a machine. A machine has a one-gear mind.”

“Max,” Hymie said, “I have twenty-six gears just running the main gear that runs all the secondary gears.”

“All right,” Max replied, “put yourself in gear and let’s go in there and prove to you that you’re wrong.”

They entered the factory and found themselves in a large, lavishly-decorated reception area. At the far end there was a huge desk, with an attractive blonde seated behind it.

“She’s either the receptionist or the chairman-of-the-board,” Max said, leading on.

As they neared the desk, the young lady waggled her fingers amiably at Hymie. “Hi, cutie!” she smiled. “Hear any termites?”

“As a matter of fact—” Hymie began.

But Max interrupted. “As a matter of fact,” he broke in, “we exterminators haven’t quite finished our inspection of the premises yet, Miss. We like to examine a building both from the outside and the inside.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” the receptionist said.

Max whispered to 99. “You can tell a dumb blonde anything,” he said. “Now watch this.” Speaking in a normal tone, he addressed the young lady again. “It will be necessary for us to examine every square inch of the building,” he said. “And when I say every square inch, I mean all the nooks and crannies and all the secret tuck-away places where a computer the size of a refrigerator might conceivably be hidden.”

The young lady sighed. “Boy, what a dumb secret agent,” she said. She got a pistol from a drawer of the desk and pointed it at Max. “I knew you weren’t exterminators,” she said. “Only Control agents would go around listening to bricks.”

“See!—what did I tell you?” Max said to Hymie. “Now look what you’ve got us into!”

Holding the gun on them, the blonde marched them through a secret opening in the wall behind her desk, then into the factory area. Giant machines were humming away, turning out candy bars by the hundreds.

“Say . . . this is interesting,” Max said. “I’ll bet you make a nice little profit on a secret installation like this.”

“Profits were up seventeen per cent last year,” the blonde replied. “We had a hot item—the Fudgy-Nut Bar.”

“I saw your television commercials,” Max said. “Very good. My favorite was where the little kid got his Fudgy-Nut Bar stuck in his father’s hairpiece. I like the humorous approach.”

“That was a tragedy,” the blonde said.

“Well . . . for the father, I suppose. But—”

“No, no, I think you missed the nuances,” the blonde said. “You see, several years earlier, the boy’s mother was kidnaped by a protoplasm from outer space. As the commercial opened, the father was dandying himself up to visit a go-go dancer he’d been courting. Now, the boy did not want a go-go dancer for a stepmother. So, flashing code signals with a laser beam, he’d contacted the protoplasm and asked for his mother back. The protoplasm was completely willing to return her—in the first place, it’d thought it was getting a sample of hybrid seed corn, and, in the second place, the mother had turned out to be a regular shrew. The only problem was, the protoplasm could return to earth only at a certain time. And by then, the father would be gone, calling on the go-go dancer to ask her to become his second wife. So, somehow, the boy had to keep his father at home until the protoplasm appeared, returning the mother. Consequently—”