William Johnston - Get Smart Once Again!

“You’re right,” the pilot replied, grinning sinisterly. “The laugh is on you!”

Max stared, stunned. “Noman!”

“It ain’t Santy Claus,” Noman smirked.

“Now I know why we’re circling the airport,” Max said. “You never had any intention of flying us to New York.”

“This is as far as you go,” Noman said. “Hand over the Dooms Day Plan.”

“Not so fast, Noman. We are not alone,” Max said. He got to his feet and addressed the other passengers. “Fellow air travelers,” he said, “there comes a time in every secret agent’s life when he must go to the people for support. My time has come.”

“In spades,” Noman commented.

“The fight waged against the forces of evil by your secret agents is a lonely fight,” Max continued, still addressing the passengers. “Imagine yourself in a lonely hotel room, on a dark and stormy night, in a strange city, with the forces of evil knocking on your door. Sometimes a secret agent wants to cry out ‘Help! Help!’ But he knows that it is his duty to stand alone. However, this is not a hotel room, it is not a dark and stormy night, and we are not in a strange city-so, I think that, for this one time, we can forget about the rules. It would be permissible, I think, considering the circumstance, for me to yell ‘Help! Help!’ ”

“Yell already,” Noman shrugged. “Yell your head off.”

“With your permission, I will,” Max replied. He faced the passengers again. “Help! Help!”

The passengers slept on.

“They are tuckered out!” Max said, disappointed.

“They’re dummies,” Noman said.

Max looked at him disapprovingly. “You’re not going to have this airline very long, referring to your passengers in that way,” he said.

“When I say dummy, I mean dummy,” Noman replied. He picked up a passenger and tossed it to the floor. “See? Dummy. Filled with rags. It was a trick to lure you onto the plane. I knew you wouldn’t board the plane if it was empty.”

“As a matter of fact, I would,” Max said. “I like my privacy, too.”

“Enough of this babble,” Noman said. “Hand over the Dooms Day Plan!”

“Not quite yet,” Max said. “A Control secret agent is always prepared for emergencies like this.” He reached into a pocket and brought out a cigarette lighter. “I’ll burn the Plan before I’ll turn it over to you, Noman!”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Just watch me!”

Max flicked the lighter-and a fully inflated life raft popped out.

“Right emergency, wrong lighter,” he muttered. “Or, to put it another way-wrong emergency, right lighter.”

“It amounts to the same thing,” Noman said. “Hand over the Plan.”

Resigned, Max passed the Plan to Noman. “Little good it will do you,” he said. “When this plane lands it will be immediately surrounded by the National Guard, the city police, and a retired General of the Army, all armed to the teeth.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Noman said.

“Would you believe six members of the Seaford, Long Island, Lions Club, all carrying firecrackers?”

“Hardly.”

“Then would you believe-”

“I wouldn’t even believe a toy fox terrier with a lit match in its teeth.”

“Then there’s no point in my mentioning it,” Max said. “However, we are thousands of feet in the air, so I see no way for you to escape with the Plan.”

“Look out the window,” Noman commanded.

Max looked. “That airport is much nearer than it was the last time I looked,” he said.

“Before I left the cockpit I put the plane in a crash dive and locked the controls,” Noman said. “Within minutes it will hit the ground and explode.”

Max shook his head derisively. “That’s no way to run an airline,” he said.

“You, Max Smart, and your lady cryptographer, will be destroyed.”

“And you?”

“You’ll notice that I’m wearing a parachute.”

“Oh. Is that a parachute? I thought you were putting on a little weight in the rear.”

“Now,” Noman said, “I’m going to the door and jump.” He headed down the aisle toward the rear of the plane.

Max followed him. “I know you have your orders, Noman,” he said. “But, secret agent to secret agent, couldn’t we talk this over?”

“I’d like to,” Noman said. “But there isn’t time. The plane is going to crash very soon.”

“Oh… well, I understand, then.”

Noman opened the door. “Happy landing!”

“The same to you.”

“Sorry about this,” Noman said.

“You’d better go-time is running out.”

“Yes… well…”

Noman dived out the doorway. But, just as he did, Max reached out and snatched the Dooms Day Plan from his grasp.

Noman’s cry of protest floated back. “That’s dirty pooooooo…”

Peaches rushed to Max’s side. They stood together in the doorway of the plane, watching Noman float safely to earth.

“History repeats itself,” Max said. “Once more, the bad guy bites the dust.”

“But, Max-he’s safe, and we’re hurtling to our doom.”

“True,” Max replied. “But you forget one little element — we have the Plan.”

“Hooray for us,” Peaches said sourly.

“You have to look at it in the broad perspective,” Max said. “It’s true, as you say, that you and I are doomed. But, on the other hand, the you-know-what of the you-know-what is you-know-whated. That’s worth something, you know.”

“How much in actual cash?”

Max thought for a second. “You have a point there. It might not be unpatriotic for us to try to get ourselves out of this scrape. Let’s trot up to the cockpit and see what we can do about changing the course of the plane.”

Reaching the cockpit, they slipped into the pilot’s and co-pilot’s seats. Max grasped the wheel and pulled back on it.

“Locked! Just as Noman said. Well, it’s comforting to know, anyway, that he’s no liar.”

“Max! Do something!”

“I’ll call the tower,” Max said. “They might have a suggestion. I suppose this is old hat to them.” He picked up the pilot’s microphone, punched the button, and spoke.

Max: Crashing airplane calling tower. Crashing airplane calling tower. Come in, please. Over.

Tower: Identify yourself, crashing airplane. Over.

Max: Well, let’s see… what can I say? We’re the plane with the sun shining brightly on our fuselage. Our nose is down and our tail is up. And we’re about to make violent contact with the earth and explode in a shower of multicolored flames. Over.

Tower: Yes, I see you now. What seems to be the trouble? Over.

Max: Think back on that description I just gave you and I think you’ll be able to figure it out. Over.

Tower: Oh, yes… Well, I wish there were something I could do to help. But I just don’t have time right now. I’m going off duty. Could you call back tomorrow? About eight hours earlier? Over.

Max: May I make a countersuggestion? Over.

Tower: It’s your nickel. Over.

Max: Perhaps I could talk to your relief. He might have something to offer. Over.

Tower: Oh, I’m sure he would. Old Big Mouth. You name it and he’s got the answer. But I’m afraid that would involve us all in a nasty jurisdictional dispute. You see, you’re crashing in my time period. So you’re my responsibility. If I turn you over to Big Mouth, he’d get to share in all the glory. Over.

Max: Glory? Over.

Tower: Whenever there’s a crash, the tower operator on duty is always interviewed on TV. Over.

Max: I can understand that. But I’m a little vague on the jurisdictional aspect. Could you fill me in? Over.

Tower: My wife has jurisdiction over my TV appearances, and Big Mouth’s wife has jurisdiction of his TV appearances. My wife would have a tantrum. She’s grooming me to be the new Arthur Godfrey. Over.