William Johnston - The Spy Who Went Out to the Cold

“You keep rowing,” Max said, rising. “I’ll get rid of the records.” He bent down, picked up a stack of records, then headed toward the stern of the boat with it.

Unfortunately, he tripped over his own oar. The stack of records fell from his hands-and crashed through the bottom of the boat.

“Max. . I’m getting water in my shoes,” 99 said.

“About two seconds and you’re going to have water in your ears,” the young man said. “This row boat is going to sink like a row boat full of records.”

“Max! We’re going down!”

“Everybody overboard!” Max shouted. “Abandon boat!”

“Anybody notice anything funny?” the young man said.

“I do,” 99 replied. “Max-look! The boat is rising!”

“It’s got a submarine under it!” the young man said, surprised. “Now, isn’t that one for the books. I’ve had this ol’ nitty-gritty boat for almost five years, and I never noticed that submarine down there before.”

“It’s a Navy sub,” Max informed him.

“Then somebody hide those records. The Navy and the Coast Guard are in cahoots!”

“Max! We’re saved!” 99 cried ecstatically. “The submarine will take us to Alaska!”

“That’s very nice, 99,” Max said gruffly. “But it isn’t all that nice, you know.”

“Why not, Max?”

“I’m going to have a dickens of a time when I begin making out my report on this mission,” Max replied. “How will I say we got to Alaska-by submarine or row boat?”

It was mid-day when the submarine reached the coast of Alaska. In the meantime, the evidence-the row boat and the rock ’n’ roll records-had been lost at sea.

“Are you sure that’s Alaska?” Max said to Captain Jinx as they stood on the deck viewing the shore. “From here, it looks green.”

“It’s always that color from here,” Captain Jinx replied.

“Very strange. On my map, it’s yellow.”

“I’ve been making this trip for years-Alaska to Russia, Russia to Alaska, Alaska to Russia, Russia to Alaska-and Alaska has always been in this very spot,” Captain Jinx insisted. “If you were standing on the shore, you could see that I’m right.”

“How’s that?”

“You could see this submarine out here. And right now this submarine is scheduled to be arriving in Alaska.”

“I guess I can’t argue with that,” Max said.

Max called 99, von BOOM and the smuggler up on deck. Then a rubber raft was lowered for them.

As they climbed into it, Max called back to the Captain, “Shall we leave this raft on the beach for you?”

“Take it with you,” Captain Jinx replied. “There’s plenty more where that one came from.”

“It would just be a nuisance,” Max replied.

“You won’t think so when you start getting ice water in your shoes.”

“Pardon?”

“There’s a good stretch of Arctic Ocean between Alaska and the North Pole,” Captain Jinx explained.

“Oh. In that case, we’ll keep it.”

“Why not? There’s plenty more where that one came from.”

Max pushed off and he and the smuggler rowed and the raft soon reached the shore. When they were all safely on land, Max deflated the rubber raft and tucked it into his back pocket. Then, after goodbyes were said, the smuggler turned south, and Max, 99 and von BOOM headed north.

In the early evening, Max, 99 and von BOOM reached a highway. They began thumbing and were soon picked up by a truck driver, who advised them that he was on his way to Barrow, Alaska’s northernmost city.

“Is that on the way to the North Pole?” Max asked.

“If that’s were you’re going, it is,” the driver replied. “But then, if you’re heading for Florida, it’s on the way to Florida, too. Is that where you’re going-the Pole?”

“I don’t think I’d better say,” Max replied. “We’re on a secret mission.”

When they reached Barrow, Max, 99 and von BOOM proceeded on foot again. It was only a short distance to the shore. There, Max reinflated the rubber raft and they set out across the Arctic Ocean.

“Things are going too smoothly, Max,” 99 said. “I’m worried.”

“Worried? 99, we’re out in the middle of the Arctic Ocean in a rubber raft-how could we be any safer?”

“Has anybody else noticed the chill in the air?” von BOOM said.

“I’m too cold to notice anything,” 99 shivered.

“Then grab a paddle,” Max advised. “Not only will paddling keep you warm, but it will get us there faster.”

After a number of near collisions with icebergs, they finally reached land again.

“Now, this is more like it,” Max said, leading the party ashore. “It’s the same color here as it is on my map.”

“I think snow is always white, Max, no matter where it is.”

“It’s wetter here than on my map, though,” Max said. “I wonder if that’s be-” He suddenly peered into the distance. “Is that smoke?”

“Max! It must be a town or a settlement or something.”

“Maybe so, 99. But it certainly looks like smoke.”

“I mean, if there’s smoke, there must be people. And if there are people, it must be civilized. And if it’s civilized, we can get some warm clothes.”

“99, your theory just won’t stand up. It isn’t always true that where there are people there are also clothes. For all we know, that might be a nudist colony.”

“In this snow, Max?”

“Come along, Professor,” Max said. “I think we’ll find warm clothes up ahead.”

Max, 99 and von BOOM trudged through the snow and soon reached an Eskimo village. It consisted of a general store, built of sheets of tin, and a number of igloos. They hurried into the store and then huddled around the wood stove, thawing out. The proprietor, an old man with a walrus mustache, watched them curiously.

“We’re strangers in town,” Max called out to the man.

“Do tell! I figured you was Admiral Byrd.”

“I think Admiral Byrd specialized in the South Pole,” Max said.

“Well, I figured-the skimpy way you’re dressed-you was lost, Admiral.”

“I’m not an admiral, I’m a secret agent,” Max said.

“Your secret’s safe with me, son. I sure ain’t dumb enough to admit to nobody that I ever even saw you.”

“Could we buy some warm clothes?” 99 said. “We’re on our way to the Pole.”

“Want to see if it’s really red-and-white striped, eh?” the old man chuckled. “We get a lot of you college kids through here-all with the same idea in mind. Well, I can save you the trouble. That’s the color it is, all right. At least, on my map, anyways.”

“That doesn’t happen to be our reason,” Max said.

“Looking for Santy Claus Land?”

“Could you just get us the clothes?” Max said grumpily.

The proprietor supplied them with heavy, fur-lined parkas, then said, “You’ll need some snowshoes, too. What size?”

“Size isn’t really important,” Max replied. “But my left one has to be a telephone.”

“No got,” the old man replied. “But how about a right boot that sends up smoke signals?”

“That’s interesting,” Max said. “How does it work?”

“You set it on fire, then wave a blanket over it.”

“No thanks,” Max replied. “Regular snowshoes will have to do, I guess. Will we need anything else?”

“I’m all out of what you really need,” the old man said. “I didn’t get my shipment in from the brain factory this week.”

“Max, maybe we ought to have a dog sled,” 99 said.

“I can fix you up with a dog sled,” the old man nodded.

“And dogs?” Max asked.

“I can fix you up with some dogs, too. And what size whip would you like?”