Get Smart 1 - Get Smart! (14 page)

“How do I look?” Max asked. “Like somebody’s mother?”

“Like your own mother, possibly,” Blossom said. “But nobody else’s.”

“You’re jealous. No one in the world would ever believe that I’m not a woman of—”

A man touched Max’s shoulder, stopping him. “Got a match, Jack?” he said.

Max opened his purse. “I may have. Let me . . .” He brought out the pistol, searching.

“Skip it,” the man said, moving on. “If you’re going to get nasty about it, keep your matches.”

“Wise guy,” Max muttered, putting the pistol back into the purse.

Max, Blossom and Fang got into the car, then drove to FLAG headquarters, which was in a gray-stone building in midtown Manhattan; a building not unlike that in which Control was located.

“You two wait in the car,” Max said. “I don’t think Noel’s mother will create any suspicion, but Noel’s mother with a dog and a gorgeous blonde might start somebody wondering.”

Blossom giggled. “I accept,” she said.

“Accept what?”

“Where I come from, calling somebody a gorgeous blonde is practically like a proposal of marriage.”

“Well, forget it,” Max said. “Where I come from, it’s merely idle conversation.” He got out of the car. “If I’m not back in an hour or so,” he said, “telephone an SOS to the Chief. I put my other shoes in the glove compartment—the telephone shoes, that is. And, for heaven’s sake, if you reach into the glove compartment and come out with a 20 mm. shell, don’t try to use it to call with. Reach back in and get the shoe. I tell you that because I don’t have a great deal of confidence in your ability to remain calm under stress. Okay? Any questions?”

“Oh, go play mother,” Blossom pouted.

Max turned away, took one step, tripped on the hem of the housedress, and fell flat on his face.

“Help!” he shrieked. “I’ve been shot!”

“Boy, that’s calm under stress,” Blossom said cattily. “Get up—you just tripped, that’s all!”

Max got to his feet. Indignantly, he strode toward the building.

Since it was a secret organization, FLAG hid its operations behind a front. To those who were not in the know, FLAG headquarters looked like a conventional tourist agency. There were huge banners pasted to the windows. JOIN UP! SEE THE WORLD! TRAVEL! HIGH RISK—LOW PAY! SPY NOW—PAY THE PRICE LATER! HELP A NEEDY COUNTRY! Max entered and approached the reception desk, behind which was a gorgeous redhead.

“Yes, sir,” she smiled. “May I help you?”

“You can stop calling me ‘sir,’ ” Max said. “That’s not a very nice thing to say to a mother.”

“I’m sorry, sir—I thought there for a second
—”

“Well, you were wrong,” Max said. “If anyone should know a mother when she sees one, it’s another mother. And I say I’m a mother.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s better. Now then, in answer to your question, yes, you can help me. I’m looking for my daughter, a gorgeous brunette who claims her name is Noel and that she hails from Paree, Illinois. And don’t tell me you don’t know her, because I happen to know that she’s a FLAG agent and that this is FLAG headquarters.”

“I wouldn’t think of telling you I didn’t know her,” the girl said, wounded. “What sort of people do you think we are here, anyway?”

“All right, now that we understand each other, where is she?”

“Who?”

“Noel.”

“Never heard of her,” the girl smiled.

“Maybe we better take it from the top again,” Max said. “Being Noel’s mother, I’m aware that, as a FLAG agent, she is required to report in occasionally. Now, all I want to know is, where was she the last time she reported in?”

“You wouldn’t believe it,” the girl said.

“Try me.”

“Well, she
said
she’d just escaped from a closet, where she’d been locked in with some dopey agent from Control and his dog. Where she’d really been, I haven’t the foggiest.”

“Nice try,” Max said. “However, sticks and stones may break my bones, but allusions to dopey will never hurt me. And that goes for my dog, too.”

“Oh,
you’re
the one,” the girl said. “I can hardly believe it. Noel said you were kind of cute.”

“It’s these clothes,” Max said. “You should see me when I’m not pretending to be somebody’s mother.”

“I’ll bet. Look, I’m off duty in about a half-hour, and there’s a little tea shoppe around the corner. Now, if you’d like to—”

“Stow that,” Max said. “I’ve got trouble enough with that gorgeous blond out there in the car. All I want to know is: where is Noel?”

The girl sighed deeply. “Well, if you’re going to be persistent, I suppose I might as well tell you. She’s not with us any more.”

“I can hardly believe that!”

“Would you believe that she’s on vacation?”

“The only thing I’ll believe is your official check-off sheet,” Max said. “I happen to know that you keep a written record of where your agents are at every moment.”

The girl handed him a clip board from the desk. “See for yourself.”

Max ran his finger down the list of names until he came to Noel’s. “Resigned to accept better paying position with T. C. & S.” He looked up. “T. C. & S. Isn’t that the big computer manufacturing organization?” he said.

“Yeah, that’s right. Typewriters, Computers & Stuff. It’s up the street aways.”

“Thank you,” Max said. “I appreciate your cooperation.”

“Look,” the girl said, “just so it won’t be a total waste, that tea shoppe around the corner—”

“No thank you. I never sip tea while on duty.”

“Then maybe I could book you on a tour somewhere,” the girl said. “We have a bargain in African safaris this week.”

“Some other time,” Max said, backing away.

“Well, listen, so long as we can’t do business, there’s something I’d like you to know.”

“Yes?”

“At no time did I ever think you were somebody’s mother,” the girl said.

Max halted. He stared at her, pained. “You really know how to hurt a mother,” he said. He turned and stalked out.

W
HEN MAX
reached the car he removed his motherly-looking clothes and changed back into his shoes and his telephone.

“Well?” Blossom said.

“It paid off,” Max reported. “Noel has resigned from FLAG and taken a job with T. C. & S.”

“Typewriters, Computers & Stuff? That big, worldwide computer manufacturing organization? Whatever for?”

“The triple cross,” Max said. “She’s gone into business for herself. Apparently she’s discovered that that’s where Fred is hiding, and she’s gone after him on her own. Instead of turning him over to FLAG, she’ll peddle him herself. To the highest bidder, no doubt.”

“That doesn’t sound very nice,” Blossom said.

“No, it isn’t. But it’s a living.” Max started the engine. “One thing though, now we know where Fred is,” he said. “It’s a natural. What better place for a computer to hide than among the world’s largest collection of computers?” He turned the car into traffic. “T. C. & S. is only a few blocks from here. We may be able to wrap this case up before dinner.”

“What makes you think she’s been sitting around waiting for us to catch up with her?” Blossom said. “By now, she’s probably robotnapped Fred again and skipped the country with him.”

“You forget—the Chief has agents posted at all the airports, train stations and bus terminals. She could never slip through the net.”

“And boat docks,” Blossom said. “But she could have rented a car and driven him out of the city, you know.”

Max glared at her.
“Now,
you tell me. Why didn’t you mention that while I had the Chief on the phone?”

“Little me? Stupid me? A woman?”

“I think I detect a note of sarcasm,” Max said. “This is no time to let personal feelings creep into our relationship. We’re a team. We have to pull together. So, from now on, knock off that bilge, and just do what I tell you. And the first thing I have to tell you is: don’t be sarcastic!”

“Oh
. . . go talk to your shoe!”

“That’s better,” Max said. “It would be a good idea to have the Chief station agents at all the rent-a-car garages.” He reached down, while driving, and removed his shoe, then spoke into it.

Max:
Chief . . . this is 86. I have just been informed by a reliable source that a FLAG agent may be trying to sneak Fred out of the country by automobile. I’d suggest that you post agents at the rent-a-car joints and at all the main highways leading out of the city.

Chief:
We did that hours ago, Max. We do something besides sitting around here on our chairs, waiting for you to call, you know. Control is the brains of the operation.

Max:
Sorry, Chief. I suppose you’ve posted agents at the ferries, too.

Chief:
Ferries?

Max:
She could smuggle him aboard a ferry and slip him out of the city, you know.

Chief: Now,
you tell me! Why didn’t you mention that when you called about the train stations, airports and bus terminals!

Max
(sharply): You’re supposed to be the brains of this outfit!

Chief:
Oh, sure, sure, sure, put the blame on me. All I have to do is sit around here and think, I suppose. That’s all you know about it. You, you’re off chasing FLAG agents all day, what do you know about it? Who is it has to keep this place tidied up? Who is it who has to listen to all the complaints? Who is it who has to play nursemaid to all the agents around here? You know what I get all day? ‘I need a new gun!’ ‘Why don’t you ever assign me to any of the out-of-town cases?’ Complaints, complaints, complaints. I can’t do one little thing right! I don’t know why I stay in this place! Pick, pick, pick! That’s all I get, picked on!

Max
(sympathetically) : I’m sorry, Chief. You’re right. I should have mentioned the ferries. Now, will you stop crying, please? Look, as soon as I wrap up this case, I’ll take you out to dinner. That’s a promise.

Chief:
Cross your heart?

Max:
Cross my heart with butter beans on it.

Chief:
You’re a nice secret agent, Max.

Max:
Welllll . . . you’re a nice Chief.

Chief:
I’ll station some agents at the ferries. They’ll complain about it—‘Why do
I
always have to watch the ferries?’—that’s what I’ll get. But I’ll do it.

Max:
So long, Chief. And . . . take it easy. And remember: Tomorrow is another day.

Chief:
Big deal! All my days are alike. Complaints, com—

Max hung up and turned his attention back to the driving.

“What did he say?” Blossom asked.

“I’d rather not say. It’s very sad.” He pointed. “There’s the T. C. & S. Building. Now . . . if we can just find a parking space . . .”

Much, much later that afternoon, Max, Blossom and Fang entered the building where Typewriters, Computers & Stuff had its offices. Max approached the starter who was standing near the elevators.

“Pardon me,” he said. “I’m looking for a computer—”

“You came to the right place, friend,” the starter said. “We got thirty-six floors of computers. Anything special you got in mind? We got computers that add, we got computers that subtract, we got computers that multiply and divide. Long division, short division.”

“How about a computer that quotes Charlie Chan?” Max said.

“If it exists, we got it,” the starter said.

Max signalled to Blossom and Fang. “This is the place,” he said.

“There’s a tour starting in ten minutes,” the starter said. “Go to the tenth floor. There, you’ll find a crowd of people standing around complaining. They’re complaining because the tour was
supposed
to start a half-hour ago. Join them. They’ll be standing on one foot, then the other. You can do that, too. It will help pass the time. Actually, it will probably be another half-hour before the tour really starts. That ten minutes is just a rough estimate.”

“On this tour,” Max said, “will we be shown every computer in the building?”

“Every blessed one,” the starter said. “And if the tour director likes you he may even take you across the street and show you the computer over there. It isn’t ours—but if the tour director likes you, he gets carried away.”

Max thanked the starter, then led the way as he and Blossom and Fang boarded an elevator.

“Fifth floor,” Max said to the operator.

“The starter said ‘ten,’ ” Blossom said.

“The tour doesn’t start for half-an-hour,” Max said. “That will give us time to do a little scouting around on our own.”

“Gee . . . is that wise?”

“It’s preferable to getting mixed up with an eager-beaver tour director,” Max said.

“Five,” said the operator.

They got out. The elevator door closed behind them. Facing them was a frosted-glass door marked: EMPLOYMENT

“Fred may have gone in here,” Max said. “He’d want a job if he planned to stay here. He isn’t the kind who’d be happy just sitting around rolling his eyeballs. We’ll check it out.”

Max opened the door. They entered a large room that was chock full of computers. Attending the machines was a slender, bifocaled young man.

“Come right on in,” the young man smiled. “I’m Mr. Wright.”

“I’ve been looking for you for simply years!” Blossom giggled.

“Stow that,” Max snapped. To Mr. Wright, he said, “We’re on the trail of a computer. We thought—”

“Now, now,” Mr. Wright smiled, “don’t be nervous. No evasions. I know why you’re here. After all, this is EMPLOYMENT, isn’t it? And I know exactly how you feel. You’re afraid of the computers. You think of them as some sort of Black Magic! Well, that’s silly, of course. They’re machines, that’s all they are. Simple, everyday, complex machines.”

“That’s reassuring,” Max said. “But—”

“Of course, if they take a dislike to you they can be nasty, I’ll admit that,” Mr. Wright went on. He glanced warily toward the computers, then whispered. “See that one over there? The one with the black patch over its left hiccometer?”

“Hiccometer?”

“Sometimes it hiccups,” Mr. Wright explained. “The hiccometer measures the hiccups per revolution. Anyway, last Thursday it stole my lunch.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Max said.