Get Smart 4 - Max Smart and the Perilous Pellets (3 page)

“Why would I want a cigar?” 99 hollered back puzzledly.

“You’re right, it wasn’t very far,” Max replied, getting out of the car.

They hurried across the apron to the helicopter. The pilot was in the cockpit, leaning out the window.

“We’re from Control!” Max bellowed up to him.

“Who’s standing in a hole?” the pilot yelled.

Max turned to 99. “He says to get aboard and bring the pole!” he hollered.

99 cupped a hand to her ear. “Stroll where?”

Max shook his head, indicating that he could not hear. Then he and 99 got aboard the helicopter and made their way to the cockpit.

The pilot was a handsome, blond, granite-jawed, steely-eyed young man. He nodded to them perfunctorily.

“We’re all set!” Max shouted.

The pilot shook his head. “I don’t bet!” he yelled back.

Max reached forward and closed the cockpit window, shutting out most of the engine racket. “Now then,” he said, “what pole was it that you wanted us to bring aboard?”

“Pole?” the pilot replied. “I thought you said hole.”

“I thought he said cigar,” 99 put in.

“Maybe we’d better start all over,” Max suggested. He extended a hand. “I’m Max Smart, Agent 86,” he said. “And this,” he added, nodding toward 99, “is 99, Agent 99.”

The pilot took the hand. “Lance Chalfont, silent birdman, here,” he said. “I don’t talk much about myself—that’s why they call me a silent birdman. The way I figure it, if a man is courageous, compassionate and conscientious, he doesn’t have to talk about it—folks’ll notice it. You’ll see. As the hours pass, and you get to admire me more and more, you’ll see that it won’t be because of anything I say, it’ll be because of what I do. Actions speak louder than words. You’ll wonder to yourself, you’ll wonder, ‘I wonder if Lance’d tell me about some of his hair-raisin’ adventures?’ But you won’t get a word out of me. Like that time I saved them pygmies from themselves. Want to hear that?”

Max shook his head. “No, I think we’d better get going.”

“Good thing you don’t want to hear about it,” Lance Chalfont said. “ ’Cause you’d never get a thing out of me. The way it happened was, you see, I’d crash landed in this jungle. Well, no sooner’d I crawled out of the wreckage than here comes these pygmies. ‘My Heaven! school must be out!’ I said to myself. A bunch of itty-bitty fellas, they was. No taller’n a second-grader that’d been brought up standin’ under a porch! And, the next thing I knowed, they started throwin’ spears at me. Didn’t hit me, of course. A man like me, courageous, compassionate and conscientious, can’t be hit. ‘Here, now!’ I said to them pygmies. ‘Is that any way to behave?’ Well, that caught ’em like a whack across the backside with a canoe paddle. They come in closer and started lookin’ me over. So I addressed them. ‘Boys,’ I said, ‘just look at yourselves! Runnin’ around the jungle like that! Throwin’ spears! You oughta be ashamed of yourselves.’ Then, lookin’ down on ’em from my towerin’ height, I said, ‘Boys! Grow up!’ ”

“Yes, well that’s very interesting,” Max said. “But now, could we—”

“Did ’em a world of good,” Lance Chalfont continued. “It was just what they needed—a good talkin’ to. And—you know?—today, them pygmies is six feet tall.”

“That
is
interesting,” Max said. “However—”

“You won’t get any stories like that out of me, though,” Lance Chalfont said. “The one thing a silent birdman won’t do, he won’t boast. Though, shucks knows, this one here’s certainly got reason to. You’ll look a fur distance before you find anybody as courageous, compassionate and conscientious as Lance Chalfont. Not that I’d say that myself. I’m just quotin’ what everybody else that knows me says.”

“Could we leave now?” Max said wearily.

“You wanta go? Shoulda said something. In this world, son, you gotta blow your own horn. If you don’t, nobody’ll blow it for you.” He smiled sweetly. “Where we goin’?”

“Oh, yes, that—” Max said. He opened the black satchel and got out a sheaf of official orders. “Ah . . . let’s see . . . Our first destination is KAOS’s Science Laboratory, and it’s located in . . . the Sahara Desert?”

“Know the place well,” Lance Chalfont said, revving up the engine. “I got a story about the Sahara Desert I could tell if I wasn’t a silent birdman. The way it goes is . . .”

The engine roared, drowning out Lance Chalfont’s words, and the helicopter rose from the ground and then, high aloft, swung east. Soon they were winging swiftly across the ocean.

“Hadn’t we better look at the fact sheet on the installation, Max?” 99 said. “We’ll want to know all we can about it before we try to infiltrate.”

“Excellent idea,” Max said, getting a second sheaf of papers from the black satchel. He studied the first page. “That’s odd,” he said. “This fact sheet says the installation is six fathoms below sea level. In the Sahara Desert? I didn’t think the KAOS people were that clever.”

“Max,” 99 said, looking over his shoulder, “you have the wrong fact sheet. That’s the fact sheet for KAOS’s weapons arsenal under the Atlantic Ocean.”

“Oh . . . yes.” Max got out another fact sheet. “Here it is,” he said. He shook the sheaf of papers. “Little sand in it,” he explained. “According to this,” he continued, reading, “the KAOS science lab is commanded by the infamous Dr. Yeh! Oh-oh!”

“What is it, Max?”

“Well, apparently the infamous Dr. Yeh! has been stationed in the desert too long. He thinks he’s a sheik. And he runs the KAOS science lab like a sheikdom.”

“Sahara Desert below!” Lance Chalfont called out.

Max and 99 looked out the window.

“But that’s water down there,” Max said.

Lance Chalfont frowned. “Accordin’ to my calculating that’s the Sahara Desert,” he insisted.

“Look for yourself,” Max challenged.

Lance Chalfont peered out his window. “That sure is wet sand, ain’t it!” he said. “A fella’d have trouble, all right, keepin’ it inside a sandbox.”

“Let’s keep going for a while,” Max suggested. “When you see some dry sand, sing out again.” He turned back to 99. “We better think up a story,” he said. “Something logical. If we show up in the middle of the Sahara Desert claiming that we took a wrong turn in Altoona, Pennsylvania, the KAOS people are liable to be a little suspicious. Now, think, 99, what can we use for an excuse?”

“Tell ’em you’re a couple secret agents,” Lance Chalfont said. “In the long run, honesty’s the best policy. When you lie, boy, speak right out, tell the truth. People’ll respect you for it.”

Max ignored him. “We could claim to be camel-herders,” he said to 99. “We could say that we’ve lost our herd.”

“Very good, Max,” 99 said. “It’s logical, at least.”

“Then that’s it,” Max said. “We’ll—’”

“Thar she blows!” Lance Chalfont bellowed.

“What blows?” Max asked.

“The sand! See it down there? Blowin’ all over the place!”

Max and 99 looked out again. “Yes, that’s it, all right,” Max said. He reached into the black satchel, got out a map, and handed it to Lance Chalfont. “This will give you the exact latitude and longitude of the KAOS science lab,” he said.

Lance Chalfont tossed the map back to him. “Can’t read them things,” he said. “They got lines drawed all over ’em. Every time I look for a place I want to go, it’s got a line drawed through it.”

“Then how do you find your way?” Max asked him acidly.

“Usually, I just stop at a fillin’ station and ask,” Lance Chalfont replied. He pointed. “There’s a fillin’ station up ahead. We’ll stop there.”

Max raised up and looked out the front window. “That’s an oasis,” he corrected.

“Call it anything you want,” Lance Chalfont replied. “To me, it’s a foreign fillin’ station.”

Lance Chalfont landed the helicopter near the oasis, then got out and walked to the well, where an Arab was watering his camel. He spoke with the Arab, then returned to the helicopter.

“What did he say?” Max asked, as the helicopter rose into the air.

“It’s just over that next hill,” Lance Chalfont replied.

“Dune,” Max said.

“I’m doin’ the best I can. Don’t rattle me with all that yammerin’. Know why I’m called a silent birdman? ’Cause when I’m zeroin’ in on my destination, I want a lot of silence from you birds!”

“Yes. Well, we’ll—”

“There she is!” Lance Chalfont pointed.

Max and 99 looked out the front window. They saw an enclave of cement buildings surrounded by a high cement wall.

“Land behind one of those dunes—uh, hills—and we’ll approach the installation on foot,” Max said. “A couple camel-herders flying around in an atom-powered helicopter might be just a wee bit much. Undoubtedly, it would cast some doubt on our story.”

“Max, you think of everything,” 99 smiled.

“It’s the little things that count,” Max said.

Lance Chalfont landed the helicopter behind a dune, and Max and 99 got out. “Wait here,” Max commanded.

“Better shake a leg,” Lance Chalfont said. “I’m gonna keep the meter runnin’.” He grinned. “That’s a silent birdman joke, boy.”

Max nodded. “Very funny.” Then he and 99 set out across the sand.

When they reached the top of the dune, they halted. “I wish we had a pair of binoculars,” Max said. “I’d like to get a look at that installation before we approach it.”

“Try the black bag, Max,” 99 suggested.

Max raised the black bag to his eyes. “Nope. Can’t see a thing.”

“I mean look inside the black bag. Maybe R & D sent some binoculars.”

“Oh . . . yes.” Max opened the satchel. “Ah, here we are—a pair of binoculars. Good old R & D!” He put the binoculars to his eyes. “That’s odd,” he said, “I can’t see a thing.” He lowered the binoculars.

“Max,” 99 said, “you have two black, sooty rings around your eyes.”

He dropped the binoculars back into the satchel. “R & D is having its little joke again,” he said disgustedly. “If there’s anything more useless than an R & D department with a sense of humor, I don’t know what it is!” He bent down to the satchel again. “Wait a minute—what’s this?” When he straightened, he was holding a foot-long aluminum rod. “Collapsible pole for vaulting over high walls,” he said, reading the label on the rod. “Good old R & D!”

“Then we won’t have to pose as camel-herders,” 99 said.

“Exactly. We’ll use this pole, vault over the wall, and land on the inside.”

Crouching low, Max and 99 approached the wall. When they got nearer they saw that the wall was patrolled by guards.

“This will call for perfect timing,” Max said. “If you’ll notice, 99, you’ll see that there is a period of about three seconds when all of the guards are out of sight. That’s KAOS’s one mistake. In that three seconds, we will gallop toward the wall, vault, and disappear inside.”

“I’m ready, Max.”

“This will be tricky,” Max said. “It will be a two-vaulter vault. In other words, we’ll both have to vault at the same time, using the one pole. And, in addition, one of us will have to carry the black satchel.”

“We can do it, Max,” 99 said stoutly.

“All right—ready? There go the guards. They’re out of sight! Let’s go, 99!”

Holding the pole between them, Max and 99 raced across the sand toward the wall. In addition, Max was carrying the black bag.

“Now!” Max cried.

They plunged the end of the pole into the sand and rose up, up, up, up—then, slowly, down, down, down.

“I think there’s been a slight miscalculation,” Max said.

“Yes,” 99 nodded. “The pole is sinking into the sand. And we’re still outside the wall.”

“Well, we’ll be inside very soon,” Max assured her. “Here come the guards.”

As the pole sank further and further into the sand, the guards gathered at the base, waiting for Max and 99 to reach the ground. They shouted, in a language that neither Max nor 99 could understand.

“That explains something that’s been puzzling me,” Max said. “I wondered why they were dressed like Arabs. Now I know.”

“They
are
Arabs, Max.”

“Yes, that’s what I’ve decided, too.”

When Max and 99 had descended to within a few feet of the ground, the guards grabbed them and hustled them inside the wall. They were taken to a large building, then into a huge auditorium-size room. The room was richly decorated. A thick red carpet stretched from the entrance to the far side. It ended at a large, jewel-encrusted throne. And seated on the throne was a plump, apple-cheeked man who was dressed in a white burnoose. The guards prodded Max and 99 toward the throne.

“Ah! Here you are—at last!” the apple-cheeked man greeted them happily.

“Yes, well, we would have been here sooner, but we had a slow pole,” Max replied.

One of the guards spoke up, but the apple-cheeked man silenced him. “Don’t babble at me!” he scolded. “I don’t have to be told who these two are.” He smiled at Max. “You are my American Advisor, right? You have been sent to me by the U.S. State Department—is that not correct.”

Max nodded. “Yes, that
is
not correct. Let me intro—”

But the apple-cheeked man had turned his attention to 99. “And you,” he said, “you are my new dancer.”

“I am?” 99 smiled weakly.

“You have come just in time,” the apple-cheeked man said to her. “For weeks, my ballet company has not had a flung.”

“A flung?” Max asked puzzledly.

“Yes, a flung. You are familiar with ballet, aren’t you? Have you not seen the dancers when they lift one of their number from the stage and fling her high into the air? Well, those who do the flinging are the flingers. And the one who is flung is the—”

“Flung,” Max nodded.

“Correct. My troupe has been without a flung for weeks. They’ve tried to substitute a flinger as a flung. But when a bunch of flingers fling another flinger, it’s just not the same. No matter how hard they try to pretend, they know—a flinger is not a flung.” He smiled at 99. “That’s why I sent to Sears Roebuck for you,” he explained. “You look exactly like your picture in the catalog.”

Max eyed the apple-cheeked man narrowly. “Unless I miss my guess,” he said, “you must be the infamous Dr. Yeh!”

“Yeh! Yeh! And your name is . . . ?”

“Around the State Department, I’m known as Maxwell Smart,” Max replied.

“Max—the State Department?” 99 said.