“Put down: Soft music.”
“Got it.”
“This highway seems familiar,” Peaches said.
“All highways seem familiar,” Max replied. “They’re all the same, a long stretch of concrete.”
“That must be it.”
“Al Capone betting his income tax money on a horse at the race track,” Max mused. “The name of the horse is ‘Cruise to Bermuda.’ And the name of the jockey is ‘Dinner by Candlelight.’ Then the name of the race track must be—”
“Washington, D. C.,” Peaches said.
“No, I don’t have that name on my list.”
“I meant that sign,” Peaches said, pointing.
Max looked. He saw a highway sign saying: Washington, D. C.
“We’re right back where we started from,” Peaches said.
“I told you to head for New York!”
“But you didn’t say which way New York was. How was I supposed to know? I’m an empty-headed blonde.”
“Well, we’re here now,” Max said disgustedly. “Drive into town and find the train station and we’ll take a train to New York. If you tried to drive us there, we’d probably end up in Moscow.”
“Or Peking,” Peaches giggled.
“Right.”
“Put down: Trip to Chinatown,” Peaches said.
“Got it.”
“Have you broken the code yet, Max?”
“I’m getting close,” Max replied. “I have Al Capone betting a fountain on a horse named ‘Candlelight in Bermuda.’ The horse is being ridden by a jockey named ‘Chinatown,’ who is taking a shower to Rome, where he intends to drop three coins in the soft music. How does that sound to you?”
Perfect!” Peaches said. “But then, I’m an empty-headed blonde.”
“I wish I were,” Max said. “As a level-headed brunette, it doesn’t make much sense to me.”
7.
WHEN MAX and Peaches reached the train station, they parked the car, then went inside. The station was crowded. A red cap rushed up to them.
“Carry your bags, sir?” he said to Max.
“We don’t have any bags,” Max replied.
“Carry your Dooms Day Plan, then?”
“Why, yes,” Max said. He started to hand the Plan to the red cap—then stopped. “Oh, no you don’t! You’re—”
But the red cap quickly disappeared in the crowd.
“That was close!” Max said. “Do you know who that was?”
“I’ve never seen him before,” Peaches replied. “But he was sort of romantic-looking, wasn’t he?”
“That was Noman!”
“Oh, was it? I don’t remember him being so romantic-looking before.”
“Which only goes to prove the old saying: Romantic-looking is in the eyes of the beholder,” Max said. “From now on, keep an eye out for romantic-looking men. They’re Noman!”
They went to the ticket window, and Max addressed the agent. “We’d like to get a train to New York,” he said.
“Well, we have some nice tracks you could use,” the agent replied.
“Pardon?”
“Tracks,” the agent said. “You could try to get it there by bus, but I doubt that you could get it in the luggage compartment. Unless it’s a small train. Exactly how big is this train you want to get to New York?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Max replied. “It’s your train, not mine. Do you have a train going to New York?”
“Oh, yes, lots of trains going to New York,” the agent answered. “How would you like to go? By way of Philadelphia?”
“I’m not sure. How does your fastest train go?”
“The same as all the others,” the agent replied. “It goes: Choo-Choo-Choo!”
“Then that’s the one we’ll take,” Max said. “Two tickets, please.”
“Round-trip or one-way?”
“One-way,” Max replied. “We’ll probably fly back from Peking.”
“Sorry—we’re all out of one-way tickets.”
“Then give us a round-trip ticket and we’ll split it in two,” Max said. “I’ll use half, and the lady will use half.”
“All right. But she’ll be coming while you’re going.”
“The way she is now, she doesn’t know whether she’s coming or going, anyway,” Max said. “The typical empty-headed blonde.”
The agent handed over the ticket. “The train leaves in exactly one hour,” he said.
“Isn’t there a train that goes sooner?”
“No, I told you, they all go: Choo-Choo-Choo!”
Max turned back to Peaches. “Well, apparently we have no choice,” he said. “We’ll have to wait.”
“Let’s have lunch,” Peaches said.
“I’ll go to the restaurant with you,” Max replied. “But I won’t be able to eat.”
“Nervous tummy?”
“No, I’m skipping lunches to pay for that parachute—remember?”
“Oh . . . yes. Well, anyway, let’s go to the restaurant. Maybe we’ll meet a romantic stranger.”
“I hope not,” Max said. “Any romantic stranger we meet is likely to be Noman.”
They left the ticket window and walked toward the restaurant. On the way, Max kept glancing about, as if expecting to be attacked. “I’d feel safer if I didn’t have this Dooms Day Plan on me,” he said.
“You could check it in a locker,” Peaches suggested.
“That’s an excellent idea,” Max said. “In fact, I was just about to think of that myself.”
They detoured and went to the row of public lockers. Max opened the door of one of the empty lockers—and found himself face-to-face with Agent 44.
“You’re right on the job, 44,” Max said. He passed him the plan. “Hold onto that until we return,” he said. “And guard it with your life.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” 44 replied.
Max closed the door, dropped a quarter into the slot, then removed the key and put it into his pocket.
“You should have put my valuable list of romantic things to do in there, too,” Peaches said. “If it gets lost, I’ll have to start thinking all over again. And for an empty-headed blonde that’s not easy.”
“Aren’t you overdoing this empty-headed blonde business?” Max said, as they headed once more for the restaurant.
“Practice makes perfect,” Peaches said.
As they entered the restaurant, the headwaiter approached them.
“On your toes,” Max said to Peaches. “This fellow looks like Noman to me.”
“Max, I don’t—”
But she was too late. The headwaiter had reached them. And as he opened his mouth to speak, Max grasped him by the wrist, turned, and flung him over his shoulder. The headwaiter landed on the flat of his back on the floor.
“Table for two?” the headwaiter said painfully, looking up.
Max eyed him narrowly. “That’s the wrong line,” he said. “You’re supposed to demand the Plan.”
“I didn’t know,” the headwaiter apologized. “I thought all I was supposed to do was take you to a table. That’s all I’ve been doing for years.”
“Max,” Peaches said, “he isn’t Noman.”
“Apparently not,” Max said. “But he sure fooled me.” He extended a hand to the headwaiter. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I thought you were a fellow I know.”
“I’m glad I’m not,” the headwaiter said, accepting Max’s hand and pulling himself up. “If I were, and you did that to me, do you know what I’d do?”
Max shook his head. “No, what?”
The headwaiter clipped Max at the back of the neck with a karate chop. Max dropped to the floor.
“That,” the headwaiter smiled.
“And I would have deserved it,” Max said, rising. “But, of course, I would have to respond in kind.”
“In kind?”
“Like this,” Max said.
He pounded a fist into the headwaiter’s midsection. The headwaiter do
ubled over, then collapsed.
“Now I know what ‘in kind’ means,” the headwaiter smiled from his position on the floor. “It means something like this.”
The headwaiter swung a leg, knocking Max’s legs out from under him. Max joined the waiter on the floor.
“Yes,” Max said, “table for two, please.”
The headwaiter got to his feet. “Right this way, sir.”
“Thank you,” Max replied, rising.
Max and Peaches followed the headwaiter to a table. When they were seated, he bowed, then departed.
“Nice fellow,” Max said. “But he’s wasting his talent as a headwaiter. He could be a first-class assassin.”
Peaches was reading the menu. “Here’s something romantic,” she said. “Hearts of lettuce with vinegar and oil dressing.”
“That’s about as romantic as oatmeal cookies,” Max said.
The waiter came to the table.
“Could we have a candle, please?” Peaches said. “Lunch by candlelight is so romantic, don’t you think?”
“I can take it or leave it,” the waiter replied. “To me, with or without, it’s just a job.”
“The lady would like to have a candle,” Max said sharply to the waiter.
“What watt?”
“What what what?”
“How many watts?”
“Well, let’s see—what what what—that’s three whats.”
“We’re all out of three-watt candles,” the waiter said. “How about a sixty-watt candle?”
“Oh, ‘watt’!”
“I said how about a sixty-watt candle.”
“I know what you said, waiter. And I said, ‘Oh, watt!’ At first, I thought you were saying ‘what?’. Then I realized that you were saying ‘watt’.”
“Okay—what watt?”
“What?”
“Maybe I could get the electrician to turn the lights up a little higher,” the waiter said.
“It wouldn’t be the same,” Peaches replied. “Just bring me any watt candle, please.”
The waiter departed.
“Watt was that all about?” Max asked.
“What?”
“Just like an empty-headed blonde,” Max said. “You don’t know what’s watt.”
Peaches turned her attention back to the menu. “I think I’ll have French fries,” she said. “The French are so romantic.”
“Try the Hungarian goulash, too,” Max said. “It’s probably served by a strolling violinist. In the meantime, if you don’t mind, I’ll work on that code again.”
“But you don’t have the Plan with you.”
“The words are etched in my mind,” Max said. “For instance, ‘Three Bs’. It’s just occurred to me that that may not represent Bach, Beethoven and Brahms, but, on the contrary, The Three Bears.”
“Like in the fairy story?”
“Why not? If you’ll recall, I figured out a while back that ‘Sad Al’ ‘Astor’ ‘Mays’ and ‘Bronco Con’ stand for money. And money is gold—right? So, what do we have? Goldilocks and the Three Bears.”
“All right. But, now that you have it, what do you have?”
“I’m not sure. Let’s take the next phrase—‘Map Change’. Maybe it doesn’t refer to changing the map of the world. Map is a slang word for face. And who do we know who changes his face?”
“Noman!”
“Correct. Now, could Noman be masquerading as Goldilocks? Hardly. He’s too plump for the part. But . . . one of the bears? That’s much more logical. In fact, he’d be perfect for the part of Papa Bear.”
“And what does that get you?”
“A candle,” Max. replied.
“A candle?”
“Here is your sixty-watt candle, lady,” a voice said. It belonged to the waiter.
“That’s an electric candle!” Peaches protested. “That’s not romantic. I want a candle that burns.”
“The outside wrapping is pasteboard,” the waiter said. “You can set it on fire.”
“Oh, well, it’ll have to do,” Peaches said. “Plug it In.”
“The cord won’t reach,” the waiter replied.
“Then watt good is it?” Peaches pouted.
“It’s cheap,” the waiter answered. “It doesn’t use up a lot of electricity that way.”
Peaches waved irritably. “Take it away!”
Again, the waiter departed.
“Papa Bear,” Max mused. “What connection would Papa Bear have with a Dooms Day Plan?”
“I think you’re on the wrong track, Max,” Peaches said.
Max looked at his watch. “You’re right. We should be on the track that has a train on it. It’s time to board.”
“But I haven’t had lunch.”
“Going without lunch is pretty romantic,” Max said, rising. “Let’s go.”
At the door they were met by the headwaiter.
“Did you enjoy your lunch?” he smiled.
“I didn’t eat,” Max replied. “But I did enjoy that little tussle we had when we first came in.”
“Next time, I’ll throw you through a plate glass window,” the headwaiter smiled.
“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Max said.
“Your food would probably have been all right—if I’d had any,” Peaches said to the headwaiter. “But I can’t say much for your candles.”
“Watt?” the headwaiter replied, puzzled.
“Never mind,” Max said. He hurried out, pulling Peaches after him.
“Don’t forget the Plan, Max,” Peaches said. “You left it in a locker—remember?”
“How could I forget that?” Max said, leading the way toward the lockers. “I put the Plan in the locker, then I locked the locker, then I put the key in—”
“What’s the matter, Max?”
Max had stopped and was going through his pockets.
“I seem to have misplaced the key,” he said.
“Max!”
“A pickpocket has pocked my picket!” Max said.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive!”
“Then how can we get into the locker to get the Plan?”
“Fortunately, we secret agents are prepared for such emergencies,” Max replied. “Come along.”
They made their way through the crowded station to the row of lockers.
“If you don’t have the key, how will you know which locker it is?” Peaches asked.
“By the process of elimination. I’ll simply open all of the lockers until I find the one with a Dooms Day Plan in it.”
“Without any keys, Max?”
Max got out his ballpoint pen. “With this acetylene torch, I’ll burn a hole in the door of each locker, then reach in and inspect the contents.”
“Oh, dandy. But what will you do when you punch the button and get a hair-dryer?”
“I’ll go soak my head and put it to use,” Max replied. “After that, I’ll punch the button again. As I recall, the acetylene torch is activated by the second punch.”
“Why don’t you just punch twice the first time?”
“Very good—for an empty-headed blonde,” Max said. “I’ll try it.”
He punched the button—twice. And a tongue of flame leaped from the end of the pen.
“I think you’ve got it,” Peaches said.
Max burned a round hole in a locker, then stepped back, and handed the torch to Peaches. “Hold this. I’ll reach in.”
“Careful.”
Max reached in through the hole. “I’ve found something,” he said. “In fact, I’ve found a lot of whatever it is.”
“Is it the Plan?”
“No. It seems to be a basket of very large marbles.”
“Max, they’re not your marbles!”
“I know. But this is— No, they’re not marbles. They’re more like . . . wait a minute, I’ll give one of them a squeeze.”
Max squeezed. An unpleasant expression appeared on his face. He withdrew his hand, which was d
ripping.
“Not marbles?” Peaches said.
“More like a basket of eggs,” Max said.
“I guess the yolk’s on you,” Peaches giggled.
Grimly, Max wiped his hand with his pocket handkerchief. Then, “All right,” he said, “I’ll take the torch again.”
“The flame seems to have gone out,” Peaches said, handing him the pen.
Max studied it. “It needs a little adjusting,” he said. “Do you have a hairpin?”
“Sorry.”
“Well, let’s see what I have,” Max said, beginning to go through his pockets. “Here’s my door key, and my car key, and a locker key, and . . . locker key?”
“Max, your picket wasn’t pocked. You’ve had that key all the time.”
“A slight error,” Max shrugged. “It could happen to anybody. The important thing is, we now have the key, and we can retrieve the Plan. Let’s see, which locker was it? Oh yes, locker 44, it says on the key.”
“You should have remembered that.”
“A slight loss of memory,” Max replied. “It could happen to anybody.”
Max fitted the key into the lock, turned it, and opened the door. The locker was completely empty.
“Agent 44?” Max called, putting his head into the locker.
There was no reply.
“Maybe he’s out to lunch,” Peaches said.
“No. He would have hung a little sign on the outside of the locker,” Max replied.
“Max . . . do you suppose . . . ?”
Max withdrew his head from the locker. “I’m afraid so. Evidently the Agent 44 we gave the Plan to wasn’t Agent 44. My guess is that Agent 44 was Noman. And, by now, Noman is well on his way to KAOS headquarters to report the success of his mission.”
“I’m awfully sorry about that, Max,” Peaches said sympathetically.
“And you should be,” Max snapped. “This is entirely your fault!”
“Did I give the Plan to Agent 44?”
“No, but—”
“Did I mistake Noman for Agent 44?”
“No, but—”
“Was I the one who said it was a good idea when I suggested putting the Plan in the locker?”
“No, but—”
“Was I the one who insisted on having candlelight for lunch?”
“No, but—”
“Yes, that was me, Max.”
“Oh.”
“So how can you say it’s entirely my fault?”
“Because,” Max replied, “my mind hasn’t been on my work. It’s been on you.”
Get Smart 3 - Get Smart Once Again! Page 8
