William Johnston - The Spy Who Went Out to the Cold

“Say, you know the schedule pretty well,” the clerk said. “Try this one: If you were an American businessman and you had an appointment for lunch at the Cafe Le Pousse Cat, which flight would you take? The one that goes by way of London, Rotterdam and Dusseldorf? Or the one that goes by way of Glasgow, Stockholm and Madrid?”

“That’s a toughy,” Max scowled, opening his international schedule.

“Max. .”

“Just a minute, 99. The answer should be. . Yes, this is it.” He faced the ticket clerk again. “By way of London, Rotterdam and Dusseldorf,” he said.

“Wrong. You’d go outside and get a taxi and take it into town. The Cafe Le Pousse Cat is only about a half-hour drive from here. You’re already in Paris.”

Max glared at him. “Nobody likes a smart ticket clerk,” he said. “Just exchange these three one-way tickets to Vladivostok for three one-way tickets to Madrid.”

“Madrid, Max?” 99 said.

“While I was looking up that answer, 99, I happened to notice that there’s a daily flight from Madrid to Vladivostok. We can make the connection, I think, if we can get on the plane that’s leaving here for Madrid in exactly-” He looked at his watch. “-four minutes.”

“If you’re going to Madrid,” the clerk said, “ I can give you a tip. Don’t-”

Von BOOM started to wander away. Max grabbed him and escorted him back to the counter.

“We don’t need a you-know-what,” Max said to the clerk. “Just give us the tickets.”

“All right,” the clerk said, handing Max the tickets. “But when you get to Madrid, watch out for what you Americans call the policemen.”

“The what?” 99 asked.

“Nevermind, 99,” Max said, urging her away. “We’ll miss the plane.”

They rushed from the terminal and got aboard the airliner only moments before it started to taxi out to the runway. They had been settled in their seats for only a few seconds when it took off.

“What do we Americans call policemen, Max?” 99 said puzzledly.

“Fuzz, 99.”

“Why are we supposed to watch out for fuzz in Madrid?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because it tickles. That ticket clerk probably doesn’t want us to enjoy ourselves.”

In time, the plane landed in Madrid. Max, 99 and von BOOM hurried into the terminal. But there was a long line at the ticket desk.

“Oh, Max, this would happen now,” 99 groaned.

“I’ll see if we can get some rush service,” Max said, leading the way to the head of the line. “Excuse me,” he said to the clerk, “but could we-”

“End of the line,” the clerk said.

“But, we-”

“End of the line.”

Max shrugged, then led the way back to the end of the line. “It’s moving quickly,” he said to 99. “And there’s still a half-hour before that plane is scheduled to leave for Vladivostok. So we’ll probably make it.”

“I hope so, Max. We’ve missed so many- Max! Professor von BOOM! He’s gone!”

“Drat! What did I say?”

“It wasn’t you, Max. It was that clerk. He said ‘end of the line.’ Line! Von BOOM must be looking for the post office.”

Max and 99 rushed to the exit and looked out. Von BOOM was nowhere in sight.

“Quick-where is the post office?” Max said to a porter who was standing nearby.

“If you’re in that big a hurry, why don’t you just drop it in a mailbox?” the porter replied. He pointed. “There’s one over there.”

“No, no, I’m looking for a dumpy little fellow who looks like he needs a keeper,” Max replied.

“You’d have better luck dropping it into a mailbox,” the porter told him. “They don’t make pickups at dumpy little men who look like they need keepers.”

“I’m not trying to mail a letter,” Max said. “I’m looking for a lost scientist.”

“I see. And you think somebody found him and will probably mail him back to you. I don’t think they’d take him all the way into town to the post office, though. Not with that mailbox so handy. Have you looked in the mailbox?”

“Forget it,” Max said.

Max and 99 dashed from the terminal and got into the back seat of a cab that was parked at the curb.

“Quick! To the post office!” Max commanded.

The driver turned in the seat and looked at them. “You’re from out of town, eh?” he said.

“Yes, yes-hurry,” Max said.

“I can’t do it,” the driver said. “It’s the code of the Spanish taxi drivers never to take undue advantage of a tourist. I can’t cheat you. There’s no need to go all the way into town to the post office. There’s a mailbox right inside the terminal.”

“Look-” Max began wearily.

“Max, let me try,” 99 said. She addressed the driver. “It’s very simple,” she said. “We don’t want to mail a letter. We’re looking for someone-a small, dumpy man who looks as if he needs a keeper. We think we may find him at the post office.”

The driver peered at her, scowling, then looked at Max. “A small, dumpy guy that looks like he needs a keeper, eh, lady? What do you want with two of them? Trying to make up a set?”

“I am not dumpy,” Max said.

“Could you just take us to the post office?” 99 said. “And let us worry about the reason?”

The driver shrugged and faced front. “Why not?” he said. “The code of the Spanish cab driver is: If some tourist nut insists on getting took-be of service.”

A half-hour later, they reached the post office, located in the center of Madrid. Max and 99 jumped out and headed up the steps-just as von BOOM came out the door and headed down the steps.

“Professor!” Max called.

But at that same instant, from behind them, came the sound of thundering hoofs, which drowned-out Max’s shout. Whipping around, Max and 99 saw a solid wall of fierce-looking bulls pounding toward them through the street.

“Well, now we know what that ticket clerk meant, 99,” Max said.

“When he said to watch out for what we Americans call policemen? You mean he meant-”

“Bulls,” Max nodded.

“Max! We’ll be trampled!”

“Run, 99!”

“But, Max! The Professor!”

“99, the Professor is already a block ahead of us. Now, run!”

Max and 99 raced up the street, with the bulls thundering behind them, getting closer. Ahead of them, Professor von BOOM drew farther and farther away.

“He sprints very nicely for a small, dumpy man,” Max commented.

“Max, run faster! If we don’t, we’ll not only lose von BOOM, but the bulls will get us.”

“You know, actually, this is the sort of thing we ought to relax and enjoy, 99,” Max said. “This is not just a simple stampede. It’s a ceremony.”

“Really, Max?”

“Oh, yes. This is the way the bull-fighting season starts. The bulls are chased through the streets to the bull ring. It’s a very interesting and colorful sight. That is, it is if you happen to be behind the bulls.”

“Max, we’re gaining on von BOOM.”

“I knew he’d slow up sooner or later, carrying all that dump with him.”

“But. . Max. . the bulls are gaining on us!”

“See that corner up ahead, 99? According to my calculations, the three of us, you and I and von BOOM, will reach it at the same moment. You get the Professor by the right hand, and I’ll get him by the left hand, and we’ll steer him around the corner.”

“Good thinking, Max!”

A few moments later, they reached the corner. 99 got von BOOM by the right hand. Max got him by the left hand. Then they turned. Unfortunately, 99 turned left, and Max turned right. They collided, bumped heads, and dropped to the street, unconscious. Professor von BOOM had just enough time to drag them both to safety before the bulls went thundering past.