William Johnston: And Loving It!

As Max Smart, Agent 86, neared the entrance to Control Headquarters, he observed a tall, attractive, dark-haired female approaching from the opposite direction. He calculated that they would reach the doorway at approximately the same moment.

Playing it cool, Max pretended to be unaware of the girl. When he reached the doorway he stepped quickly inside and closed the door behind him. Hurrying, he moved down the corridor toward the first set of double iron doors that stood as a barrier between the outside world and the super secret goings-on at Control.

Behind him, the outer door opened and closed. Obviously, the girl had followed him.

“Max. .!” she called.

He moved faster. The double iron doors opened for him, then clanged closed behind him. Ahead, the second set of double iron doors was in sight.

But behind him he heard a metallic clang.

Then the girl’s voice called to him again. “Max. . wait!”

She was closer and gaining fast. He heard the click of her heels as she ran after him.

Realizing now that it was useless to try to escape her, Max halted, then turned and faced her, steely-eyed and granite-jawed.

“Max, for heaven’s sake,” she said, reaching him. “Why didn’t you wait?”

“Madam, this is a clear case of mistaken identity,” Max replied coolly. “I am Ronald Fastbender, a plumber’s helper from Bent Fork, Utah, and I have never seen you before in my life.”

The girl stared at him, baffled. “Max! It’s me. Agent 99.”

Max glanced about furtively. Then convinced that the conversation was not being monitored, he replied, lowering his voice. “I know who you are, 99. But I can’t let on. I got a call from the Chief a few minutes ago and he told me to report for a top secret assignment-and furthermore he told me not to talk to anyone about it!”

“But, Max, you could have said hello without telling me about the assignment.”

“No, I couldn’t, 99. You know what a blabbermouth I am. I can’t help it. I’m proud of being a secret agent. I’m proud of knowing a lot of official secrets that not everybody knows. And I just have to tell somebody about it.”

“Well, Max,” 99 smiled, “in this case, I think it would have been all right. I got a call from the Chief to report for a top secret assignment too. And I imagine it’s the same top secret assignment.”

Max beamed. “Wonderful, 99! That solves the problem. Now, I can talk about it.”

“By the way, Max, what did the Chief tell you about the assignment?”

“Nothing, 99.”

“Nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing. Somehow, 99, I think the Chief has got the notion that I’m a blabbermouth.”

“I see. Well. . shall we go, Max? The Chief is probably wondering what’s keeping us.”

They proceeded, passing through the series of double iron doors, then crowded into the telephone booth at the end of the corridor. Max dialed the secret number. The trapdoor beneath their feet opened and they dropped to the floor below. Getting to their feet, they continued along another corridor and soon reached the Chief’s office.

Max knocked on the door.

“Come in,” the Chief’s voice replied.

“I can’t recall, Chief-is that the password?” Max called in.

“No, Max. We don’t use a password any more. Some of our agents can’t remember it.”

Max opened the door and he and 99 entered.

“If they can’t remember the password, Chief, you ought to give them detention and make them stay after their assignments and write it one-hundred times,” Max said. “That would teach them.”

“It isn’t important, Max. Now, if you’ll take a seat-you, too, 99-I’ll brief you-”

“Say, isn’t that a new addition?” Max said, interrupting, pointing to a painting on the wall.

“Yes, Max. Now-”

“It’s a life-size painting of HIM, isn’t it, Chief?” Max broke in again. “And very life-like, too. I get the feeling that it could step right out of the frame and shake my hand.”

“Yes, Max, it’s very life-like. Now-”

“A marvelous painting,” Max enthused. “No professional artist could have caught his exact likeness like that. Did he paint it HIMself?”

“Uh. . no, Max. Max, will you forget about the painting? I’d like to fill you in on the assignment.”

“Oh. . sorry, Chief.”

Max and 99 settled in chairs facing the Chief’s desk and the Chief continued. “Have you ever seen an Indian snake charmer in action?” he said.

“No, Chief. I’ve never been in Action-wherever that is. I saw one in India once, though. He had this snake in a basket, and when he played a certain tune on his tuba, the snake came coiling up out of the basket and performed a sort of eerie dance, swaying back and forth to the oom-pah-pah oom-pah-pah.”

“A tuba, Max?” the Chief said dubiously. “Most Indian snake charmers use a pipe.”

“I think this one was a non-smoker, Chief.”

“Well, anyway,” the Chief went on, “your assignment concerns an Indian snake charmer who has moved up to charming bigger and better things.”

“Elephants?” Max guessed.

“No, Max.”

“That would have been a little hard to believe,” Max said. “It would be quite a trick getting an elephant into a basket. And getting an elephant to listen to a tuba solo. . well!”

“Max, what this Indian snake charmer is now charming is men!” the Chief said.

“Really? That’s fantastic!”

“Yes, as a matter of fact-”

“How does he get them into the basket, Chief?”

“Max, while you’re forgetting about the painting, try to forget about the basket too, will you? Actually, what Guru Optimo does is-”

“How can I forget the basket, Chief, if you keep mentioning it?”

“I didn’t mention it.”

“You just called it by name.”

“No, Max, Guru Optimo is the name of the Indian snake charmer.”

“Oh. All right, if you say so, Chief. But it sounds more like the name of a basket to me.”

“What Guru Optimo does,” the Chief went on, “is hypnotize his victim. With a quick gesture of his hand-which is always accompanied by a sudden flash of light-he can cloud men’s minds and make them think they are anything he wants them to think they are.”

Max frowned. “I don’t quite get that, Chief.”

“Well, for instance, do you remember Agent 32? Agent 32 recently tangled with Guru Optimo. And at this moment he is standing at the corner of Forty-Second Street and Fifth Avenue in New York, with a lion on each knee, convinced that he is the New York Public Library!”

“You mean Guru Optimo hypnotized him into believing that!” 99 said, appalled.

“Exactly,” the Chief nodded.

“Are you sure, Chief?” Max said doubtfully. “Are you positive that Agent 32 isn’t faking?”

“Max, why would anybody want to pretend to be the New York Public Library?”

“Maybe he’s interested in meeting some pigeons on a personal basis.”

“I hardly think so.”

“Then maybe-”

“Will you let me get on with the briefing, Max?” the Chief said. “The fact is that, in spite of what he did to Agent 32, Guru Optimo is not a bad fellow. He’s a simple peasant-a kind of Indian farm boy. And, being simple, he’s easily talked into things. A few weeks ago, after I heard about his talent for instant hypnotism, I sent Agent 32 to make contact with him. My idea was to get him to use his gift in the service of the Good Guys. To make a long story short, Agent 32 found him, made the offer, and Guru Optimo agreed.”

“Couldn’t we hear the long story, Chief?” Max said. “Cutting it short like that, you leave out all the thrilling parts.”