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

Max winked. “That’s right, ballet dancer, whatever your name is. I’ve been sent here by the State Department to plant a— That is, to assist Dr. Yeh! in his efforts to—” He faced back to Dr. Yeh! “—to what?” he asked.

“To develop my sheikdom,” Dr. Yeh! replied. “We’re behind the times. But, with your advice, and your money, we hope soon to become modern.” He leaned forward, smiling, and indicated the black satchel. “That’s the money, I assume.”

“Don’t you want a little advice first?” Max said, hedging.

“Oh, is that the way it’s done?” Dr. Yeh! shrugged. “All right, what harm can a little advice do?” He motioned to an attendant. “Take the ballet dancer to the ballet dancer place,” he ordered.

“Max!” 99 cried, alarmed.

Max appeared to ignore her. “The ballet dancer place?” he said to Dr. Yeh! “Doesn’t it have a name?”

“I can never think of it,” Dr. Yeh! sighed.

Max smiled. “Is it by any chance called, ‘Go along with the pretense until I get a chance to plant the you-know-what, and I’ll contact you at the first opportunity’?” he asked.

99 nodded that she had understood.

“No. That’s close,” Dr. Yeh! replied. “But it’s shorter.”

Max shrugged. “It was only a guess.”

The attendant and 99 departed. When they had gone, Dr. Yeh! said to Max, “Now, let’s get that advice bit over with. I want to see what’s in the bag.”

“Do you mind if we take a little stroll about the premises?” Max said. “I advise better when I’m walking.”

“Mmmmm, think on your feet, eh? All right.” Dr. Yeh! got up from the throne and, taking the lead, started the stroll. “You might want to suggest that we put up some factories,” he said. “That’s the first step toward modernization, isn’t it?”

“Excellent idea,” Max replied, following, carrying the black bag, and looking for a place to plant the explosive. “But there’s one hitch.” He stopped at a huge, waist-high, earthenware jug. “To manufacture, you need raw materials. Out here in the desert, there’s an acute shortage of almost everything.” He looked into the jug and saw that it was empty.

“I’ve thought of that,” Dr. Yeh! said, pausing. “My idea is to manufacture sand piles. We have the raw material right here at hand.”

“Sand piles?” Max reached into the satchel for a pellet. “Yes, I can see the possibilities. Although, frankly, lately the market has been a little slow for sand piles.” He dropped the pellet into the jug.

“Ah, yes, but today it’s the packaging that counts,” Dr. Yeh! replied. “What I have in mind is shipping the sand piles in jugs like this,” he said, putting a hand on the jug that Max had just dropped a pellet into. “People would buy the sand piles just to get the jugs. These jugs are—” He had glanced down while talking. “Somebody dropped a pea in my jug,” he said, surprised. He reached into the jug, picked out the pellet, and flicked it away. “The help you get today,” he said morosely. “Last week, I found dust on a camel. The servant problem is atrocious.”

Max ambled idly in the direction in which the pea had rolled. “I wonder if I could have that pea for a souvenir?” he said. “When I left, the Secretary asked me to bring something back. In fact, whenever I go to a foreign country, he asks me to bring something back. He usually wants a mutual defense treaty. But, in this case, I think he’ll settle for a pea.”

“Take it,” Dr. Yeh! said. “I got a pea patch full of ’em.”

Max found the pellet and retrieved it. “How would you like a little advice on weeding a pea patch?” he asked.

“Then
can we open the bag?”

“Not that quickly,” Max replied, as the two continued the stroll. “You see, at the State Department our main job is to give advice. The money part of it is just incidental. If I traveled all this distance and did nothing but give you a wad of money, I’d feel I was doing a sloppy job. You wouldn’t want me to have
that
on my conscience, would you?”

Dr. Yeh! groaned. “I asked them to send me a money order. And what do I get? A blabbermouth!”

“Why don’t you show me your science lab?” Max suggested. “I have a lot of dandy advice on operating science labs.”

“Why not?” Dr. Yeh! replied. He turned down a corridor. “Bring the bag,” he said.

At the end of the corridor, they reached a blank wall. Nearby, on a pedestal, was a sculpture of a ballet dancer. Dr. Yeh! lowered one of the dancer’s legs, and the wall rose automatically into the ceiling, revealing an opening. They proceeded, moving along another corridor, until finally they emerged from the building and entered a lush garden.

“Magnificent camouflage!” Max said. “It doesn’t look one bit like a science lab.”

Dr. Yeh! frowned. “It isn’t a science lab,” he said. “We used the wrong blank wall.”

Dr. Yeh! led the way back. When they reached the spot from which they had started, he turned in a different direction. A moment later, they reached a second blank wall. But, tacked onto the wall was a small hand-lettered sign. It said: Temporarily Out of Order.

“Too bad,” Dr. Yeh! said. “We’ll have to try again tomorrow.”

“I had my heart set on it,” Max pouted.

“I’ll show you to your room,” Dr. Yeh! said. “I think you’ll find it very interesting. It has a built-in tape recorder. If you don’t mind a suggestion, why don’t you put your advice on tape? I could listen to it at my leisure, some time when I don’t have anything else to do. That way, we wouldn’t have to delay the business with the black bag, eh?”

“I’ll think about it,” Max replied. He had spotted a tall, round, waist-high vase, and he angled toward it. “Say . . . there’s an interesting piece of pottery,” he said.

“Woolworth,” Dr. Yeh! replied.

Max stopped at the vase and circled it, inspecting it admiringly. “Beautiful handwork,” he said. He palmed the pellet, then, gripping the edge of the vase, dropped it into it.

The pellet hit the bottom of the vase and clinked.

Dr. Yeh! looked inside. “You dropped your souvenir,” he said.

“Thank you for bringing it to my attention,” Max replied dryly. He put his arm into the vase and retrieved the explosive.

Dr. Yeh! smiled broadly. “What are friends for? Now, it’s your turn to do me a favor.”

“Anything,” Max said grimly. “Anything within reason, that is.”

“Just
show
me the money,” Dr. Yeh! said. “Hold on to it for another couple hours or so, if you want to, but at least show it to me.”

Max thought for a second. Then, “Just a quick glance,” he said.

“That’s all I ask.”

Max held up the satchel, then quickly opened it and closed it. “What color did you see?” he asked.

“Green!” Dr. Yeh! beamed.

“Now, may I go to my room?” Max said.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Dr. Yeh! replied, still grinning. As they moved on down the corridor, Dr. Yeh! said, “I like it. I like the new style.”

“The new style?”

“The new round-style money,” Dr. Yeh! said. “You know what it reminds me of?”

“Peas, perhaps?”

“Right.”

“Everybody comments on that,” Max said.

A
LONE, FINALLY
, in his room, Max hurriedly scribbled a note to 99. It said: Will meet you at the ballet dancer place.

Then, opening his door, he peeked out and looked up and down the corridor. At the far end he saw a guard.

“Hsssst!” Max hissed.

The guard, an Arab, looked at him speculatively for a second, then, hefting his rifle, approached.

“You speak English, fella?” Max asked.

“Like a native,” the guard smiled. “How about you?”

“Yes, I handle it fairly well,” Max replied. “Although, I have trouble with some of the southern and western dialects. For instance, in southern New York State there is a place the natives refer to as Lawn Guylin. I’ve never been able to find that on a map.”

“That’s Brooklynese for Albany,” the guard explained.

“Oh, is that it? Well, live and learn.”

The guard saluted. “Any time you need any more help,” he said, “I’m just down the hall.”

“Uh . . . just a second,” Max said, gesturing him back. “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. I wonder if you would deliver a message for me? Do you know the new dancer in the ballet troupe? She’s quartered in the ballet dancer place. Would you take a message to her?”

“I’m on guard,” the guard replied. “I can’t leave my post.”

“Oh, really? What would happen if you got caught?”

“I’d get a red star,” the guard replied. “Gold stars are for staying at your post, and red stars are for leaving your post.”

“Look, how about this?” Max said. “I’ll relieve you at your post, and that will leave you free to deliver the message. Okay?”

“But I’m supposed to be guarding you,” the guard pointed out.

“Perfect. I can handle that.”

“Well . . .”

“There’s a buck in it for you,” Max said.

The guard brightened. “I could buy a whole box of gold stars,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Max gave the guard the message and a dollar, and the guard handed Max his rifle. Then Max assumed the watch over himself, and the guard departed to deliver the message.

As the guard was approaching the ballet dancer place, he met another guard. In fact, they collided at a corner.

“Watch it, you clumsy Arab,” Max’s guard grumbled. “I’m carrying an important message to the new ballet dancer from the American Advisor.”

“Big deal, you camel’s hump,” the other guard replied. “It just so happens that I am carrying a double-important message to the American Advisor from the new ballet dancer.”

“My message is triple-important,” Max’s guard retorted. “I didn’t mention it only because I’m not the type to brag.”

“May the Golden Peacock of Paradise drop bread crumbs in your ear,” the other guard snarled.

“May the Emperor’s horse swish his tail in your face!” Max’s guard responded.

“May the full moon fall from Heaven and land in your soup bowl!” the other guard growled.

“May the seventh son of your seventh son flunk math!” Max’s guard said nastily.

“Hey! That’s an awful thing to say!” the other guard winced.

“Sorry about that,” Max’s guard replied apologetically. “I guess I kind of lost my head. Are we still friends?”

“You know the rule,” the other guard said. “When two good friends insult each other, in order to become good friends again they have to exchange gifts. What do you have to give?”

“What do
you
have to give?” Max’s guard replied warily.

“I got a buck for delivering this message,” the other guard said.

“Me, too.”

“We could exchange dollars.”

Max’s guard shook his head. “I need this buck. I’m going to buy myself a box of gold stars.”

“Well . . . let’s see . . . what else do we have?”

“We have the messages,” Max’s guard pointed out.

“Just the thing!” the other guard beamed.

The two guards exchanged messages, then parted, each guard going his own way, the best of friends once more.

Thus, it was written that Max received the message he had sent to 99, and 99 received the message that she had sent to Max. Max’s message, which he received himself, read: Will meet you at the ballet dancer place. And 99’s message, which she received herself, read: I will meet you at the wall.

Late that evening, Max slipped out of his room, nodded amiably to the guard, then made his way stealthily toward the ballet dancer place.

At the same time, 99 slipped out of the ballet dancer place, nodded amiably to the guard, then made her way stealthily toward the wall.

Reaching the ballet dancer place, Max nodded amiably to the guard, then rapped lightly on the door.

The knock was answered by another of the female ballet dancers.

“I’m looking for 99,” Max whispered.

“You’re in the wrong place,” the girl whispered back. “There are only sixteen of us here.”

“You don’t understand,” Max whispered. “I’m looking for the new flung.”

“Oh. She just stepped out. Would you like to come in and wait?”

Max entered, and the girl closed the door.

“We’re having a practice session,” the girl said. “You can watch if you want to. But you can’t stay very long. Dr. Yeh! is due soon. He stops in every evening to watch us practice. And I don’t think he’d like it if he found a man in the ballet dancer place.”

“Uh, the new flung, did she say when she’d be back?” Max asked.

The girl giggled.

“Pardon?” Max said.

“What a character—the new flung,” the girl replied. “She told us a wild story about being a secret agent and having a rendezvous with another secret agent. She’s probably meeting a boy friend. Who knows when she’ll be back?”

“Oh. Well, in that case—”

“Hssst!” another ballet dancer interrupted. “Dr. Yeh! is coming!”

The first ballet dancer pushed Max toward the door. “Out! He mustn’t find you here!”

“No! Not that way!” the second ballet dancer cried. “He’ll ran right into Dr. Yeh!”

“He can’t leave!” a third ballet dancer said. “Disguise him!”

“How?” the second dancer asked.

“Give him a mop and let him pretend to be the cleaning woman,” a fourth ballet dancer suggested.

“We don’t have a cleaning woman. You know how atrocious the servant problem is,” the second ballet dancer said.

“I do a pretty good imitation of Jimmy Cagney doing a fair imitation of Edward G. Robinson,” Max said. “Do you think that would fool him?”

“The mop!” a twelfth ballet dancer said.

Max shook his head. “I do a lousy imitation of a mop.”

“Put the mop on his head and dress him in tights and he’ll look like one of us,” the twelfth ballet dancer explained.

At that moment, there was a knock at the door.

“It’s him! It’s Dr. Yeh!” the ballet dancers cried in unison.

The second ballet dancer snatched up a pair of tights and the mop. She shoved them into Max’s hands, then shoved Max into a closet. “Dress!” she hissed. “You’re our new flung!”

“But I—”

The door slammed.

Inside the closet, Max grudgingly changed into the tights and mop. Through the door, he could hear Dr. Yeh! in conversation with the ballet dancers.

“Where is the new flung?” he heard Dr. Yeh! ask.