Get Smart 9 - Max Smart and the Ghastly Ghost Affair (7 page)

“Can you just tell me how I can tell the good guys from the bad guys?” the old prospector broke in. “If I just know who I’m for and who I’m against, I don’t need all that fiddle-faddle.”

“Well, I’m afraid it’s just not quite that simple,” Max answered. “There was a time when you could distinguish the good guys from the bad guys by looking at their hats. The bad guys had on black hats and the good guys had on white hats. But things have changed. A lot of people these days don’t wear hats of any color. And, too, bad guys put on white hats, and good guys put on black hats. So, telling a good guy from a bad guy, or, even if you know the difference, really deciding what is essentially good and what is essentially bad is almost— Frankly, it’s so complicated, it’s absolutely impossible to explain. But, I’ll tell you what I do. I have a rule of thumb. I think of it as being like cops and robbers.”

“I don’t see what’s so complicated about that,” the old man said. “Who’re you—cops or robbers?”

“Actually, it’s not as simple—”

“Cops!” 99 shouted.

The old prospector nodded. “Got it. Now,” he asked, “what do I do to get them strangers out of here?”

“They’re not in here,” Max said. “We’re the ones who are in here.”

“Out of town, I mean!” the old prospector said.

“Oh. Well, actually, that’s my job, not yours,” Max said. “You could go wave your arms at them or something, but I doubt that it would get rid of them. Not many people believe in ghosts these days. They’d probably only laugh at you. And then they’d disinfect you.”

“But I got to get them out,” the old prospector said.

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Max said. “And 99 and I will be happy to do the job for you. Not only will we remove them from your town, but we will lock them up where they will never get out—so you won’t have to worry about them coming back later to look for your lost vein.”

“ ‘Lost vein of gold’ say,” the prospector requested. “When you call it ‘my lost vein’ it sounds kind of personal. Too personal to say in front of a lady.”

“All right—your lost vein of gold.”

“Well, don’t think I’m not obliged,” the old prospector said. “That’s right nice of you. I’ll just disappear now and let you get about it. When you finish up, whistle or something, and I’ll reappear—if I can—and see you off on your trip to wherever it is you’ll be going. In the meantime—”

“Hold it,” Max said. “First, there are a couple things you’ll have to do for us.”

The old prospector nodded knowingly. “Always a catch to it,” he said. “Things haven’t changed so much. What do you want me to do—split my gold with you?”

Max shook his head. “Nothing like that. First, I want you to get us out of here.”

“That might be fixed,” the old prospector said.

“Then, help us find our Coolidge-head penny.”

The old prospector eyed Max narrowly. “Penny, I know,” he said. “Head, I know, too. But what’s a Coolidge?”

“That’s an ex-president. His head is on the coin. He’s wearing an Indian headdress. Feathers.”

“Feathers to you, too, bub.”

“I mean Coolidge is wearing feathers on his head. But, just so you’ll be able to recognize it, it also looks a little like Abraham Lincoln standing on his head. If you have a vivid imagination, that is. The feathers look like his beard.”

“But suppose when I find it I look at it upside-down?” the old prospector said. “Then it won’t look like Lincoln standing on his head. It’ll look like some total stranger right-side-up only with his beard on his head instead of on his chin. How’ll I know it’s not just some ordinary penny like all the others?”

“That’s a problem,” Max admitted. “Tell you what. When you find a penny you’re in doubt about, check with me. I’ll recognize it.”

“All right, that’s agreed,” the old prospector said. “I’ll show you how to get out of here, then I’ll pitch in and help you locate that feather-head penny, and then you’ll wrap them strangers up and haul them out of town and leave me in peace to look for my lost vein of gold.”

“Very neatly put,” Max replied. “Although, actually, these days, nothing is really quite that simple. For in—”

“Max, just say ‘yes!’ ” 99 begged.

“Yes,” Max said to the old prospector. “Now, how do we get out of here?”

Carrying the lamp and followed by the mule and Max and 99, the old prospector moved to the tunnel entrance. He held the lantern high, inspecting the pile of rocks. “Looks like a job for Madame DuBarry,” he said.

“Oh? One of your ghost lady friends?”

“That’s my mule,” the old prospector replied. He faced the mule and addressed it. “See that pile of rocks there in the doorway hole?” he said. “What I want you to do is, I want you to kick them out of the way.”

The mule stared at the rocks for a moment. Then it turned around and with its hind hoofs gave the pile of rocks a vicious kick. The rocks flew in all directions, as if blasted out by an explosion.

“That’s marvelous!” Max said.

“Yup. Too bad I didn’t think of it a hundred-year-or-so ago when I got caught in this tunnel by a rock slide,” the old prospector said. “The idea just come to me a couple days ago. But . . . live and learn, they say, eh?”

Max and 99 hurried from the tunnel. A second later, the old prospector and the mule followed them out into the light. Max pointed toward the cluster of buildings. “They’re down there somewhere,” he said. “In the hotel, probably. Or perhaps in the barbershop. Or maybe— But, that’s not important. First, we’ll go to the saloon.”

“I’ll drink to that,” the old prospector said.

“We’ll go to the saloon to find the Coolidge-head penny,” Max explained. “It dropped through a crack in the floor.”

“I got a better idea,” the old prospector said. “First, let’s lock up them strangers and make lost veins of gold safe for cranky old prospectors, like you said you were going to do. After that, we’ll look for the penny.”

Max shook his head. “I need the penny first,” he said. “You see, I’ll rub it. And then the Chief, back in Washington, will get the signal, and he’ll send a squad of Control agents out here, and they’ll surround the hotel or the barbershop or wherever the KAOS agents are holding their meeting, and they’ll take them captive and transport them back to Washington and lock them up. But first I have to— Why are you looking at me that way?”

“You’re going to rub a penny and somebody’s going to hear it in Washington? I know Indians’ve got good hearing. But it’s not that good.”

“What Indians?”

“The Chief, you said.”

“The Chief of Control—not an Indian chief,” Max explained. “And it’s not that he’ll hear me rubbing the coin. It isn’t as simple as that. This is an electronic— No, that won’t mean anything to you, will it? I’ll just have to start at the beginning. Once upon a time, you see, there was a Founding Father named Benjamin Franklin who liked to fly his kite in thunder storms. Well, one day—”

“Max,” 99 broke in, “couldn’t you, just for once, give a simple answer? We don’t have time for a full explanation.”

“You’re right, 99,” Max said. He turned back to the old prospector. “It’s magic,” he said.

“Now, you’re making sense,” the old man told him.

C
AUTIOUSLY, AND AS
quietly as possible considering that the pots and pans dangling from the pack on the mule’s back were clanging, Max, 99, the old prospector and the mule made their way down the hillside toward the town.

“Can you do something with those pans?” Max said to the old prospector.

“Sure. I cook in them. What do you
think
I have them for? Just to keep the mule from getting lost?”

“What I mean is, isn’t there some way you can keep them quiet?”

“Well . . . I don’t need them any more, since I don’t cook,” the old prospector replied. “So, I guess I could get rid of them. A ghost don’t eat, you know. Anything a ghost eats, it goes straight on through and drops to the ground. Who wants to eat stuff that’s dropping on the ground all the time?”

Max halted the march. “The pans . . . please?”

The old prospector unfastened the pots and pans from the pack and tossed them aside. They went banging and clattering down the hill.

“Why don’t you just go down there to the hotel and make a general announcement to those KAOS assassins that we’re coming,” Max said sarcastically.

“You sure don’t know much about sneaking up on folks,” the old prospector said. “That’s no way to do it. You got to take them by surprise.”

Max decided there was nothing to be gained by further discussion. He motioned and proceeded and 99 and the old prospector and the mule tagged after him again. Soon, they reached the bottom of the hill. Then, Max led them into town. When he saw that they would have to pass the hotel, where he assumed the seminar was in progress, to get to the saloon, he signalled the march to a halt.

“We’ll have to keep down,” he said in a hushed tone. “If those KAOS assassins spot us, all is lost. There are too many of them for us to handle alone. Now, everyone down. Flat on the ground. From here to the saloon, we’ll crawl on our bellies.”

“That sounds kind of dumb to me,” the old prospector said.

“It just so happens that it’s a generally accepted military tactic,” Max replied. “Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘an army travels on its stomach?’ ”

“I heard it. But I never believed it,” the old prospector said. “How about the mules? Look at Madame DuBarry—you think you’re going to get her down on her belly? She’s got too much dignity for that.”

“All right—everybody stoop, then,” Max said, compromising.

The old prospector addressed the mule. “Think you can do that, Madame?” he asked. “Think you can look stoopid like this fella here?”

“Isn’t there another way you could phrase that?” Max asked.

“Max—we’re wasting so much time!” 99 protested.

“You’re right, 99.” He turned to the old prospector again. “The important thing is to get to the saloon,” he said. “If you and your mule want to walk upright, that’s your business. But 99 and I happen to be experienced secret agents and we know how to do these things, so we’ll crawl on our stomachs. Now—ready?”

“Max . . . if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll walk upright, too,” 99 said. “This dress just came back from the cleaners, and I don’t see—”

“Well,
I’ll
crawl!” Max said disgustedly. And he dropped to the ground and began slithering through the dust toward the saloon.

99 and the old prospector and the mule ambled along behind.

“He does that good,” the old prospector remarked to 99.

“He’s had a lot of practice,” she replied. “He drops his cuff links a lot, and they always roll under the bed, and he always has to crawl under after them.”

“He’s sure got to be expert,” the old prospector said, genuinely impressed. “If there was any demand for that kind of thing, I bet he could make a good living at it.” He addressed the mule. “Watch that technique,” he said. “You might want to crawl under a fence someday, and that’s the way to do it. You might have a little trouble pulling yourself forward with your elbows, though. I never noticed that before—you got no elbows, Madame.”

The mule hee-hawed.

“True, true,” the old prospector nodded.

Max stopped crawling and got to his feet. “What did she say?” he asked the old prospector, indicating the mule.

“He’s not a she, he’s a he,” the old prospector replied.

“A he? Named Madame DuBarry?”

“That was his idea, not mine,” the old prospector said. “I didn’t give him a name at all when I got him. I figured that ought to be his right, picking a name for himself. So, for the first nine years I just called him ‘Hey, you!’ Then, on his tenth birthday, I told him to take any name he wanted. Madame DuBarry was the pick. He figured being French it had class.”

“I’ll accept that,” Max said. “Now, what was it he replied when you made that comment about him not having any elbows?”

“He said it saves him the trouble of sewing patches on his sweaters.”

Remaining upright, Max moved on toward the saloon once more. The others hurried after him. As Max neared the entrance to the saloon, however, he abruptly halted. He cocked his head, listening. Then he gestured urgently to the others, signalling them to flatten themselves against the side of the building.

“What is it?” 99 whispered.

“Somebody’s in there!” Max whispered back. “I heard a voice—talking. Let’s get close to a window. Maybe we can hear what’s going on.”

Quietly and warily, they advanced to a window. They could all hear the voice, then.

“It’s Arbuthnot!” 99 said. “What’s he doing—talking to himself?”

“I don’t think so, unfortunately,” Max replied. “Evidently the seminar is being held in the saloon instead of in the hotel. All those assassins must be in there.”

“I see—it’s the KAOS assassins he’s addressing,” 99 nodded. “Then, that means—”

“It means we can’t get in there to look for the Coolidge-head penny,” Max said gloomily. “Unless— Let’s listen. The meeting may break up soon. Then, when the KAOS assassins leave, we can slip in and find the penny.”

“We might pick up some helpful hints, too, listening,” 99 said. “After all, Arbuthnot is recognized as the master. Even around Control he’s known as the assassins’ assassin.”

“Shhhhh!” Max said. He stood on tippytoes to get closer to the window in order to be able to hear better.

“The important thing, when you get an assignment to assassinate some sick person, is not to get that sick person’s germs,” Arbuthnot was saying. “Or, in the words of the prophet: ‘What does it profit an assassin to carry out his mission and then come down with pneumonia?’ ”

“That makes a lot of sense,” Max said to 99.

“Shhhh—I don’t want to miss any of this!”

“There is a lot of agitation these days for a code of ethics for assassins,” Arbuthnot went on. “And, regarding that, I would like to say that, in my personal opinion, what is needed is not a code of ethics for assassins, but a code of ethics for assassins’ victims!”

There were cheers.

“And, thinking along that line,” Arbuthnot continued, “I have compiled a list of rules that I think victims ought to be compelled to abide by. Let’s see what you think of the list. Now, number one, all victims ought to be completely disinfected at least one hour prior to the assassination. Free disinfection clinics ought to be set up for those victims for whom the process would cause economic hardship. I, personally, do not want to assassinate anybody knowing that he, she or it will end up in debt because of it. Agreed?”