William Johnston: Get Smart!

“Yes?”

“At no time did I ever think you were somebody’s mother,” the girl said.

Max halted. He stared at her, pained. “You really know how to hurt a mother,” he said. He turned and stalked out.

When Max reached the car he removed his motherly-looking clothes and changed back into his shoes and his telephone.

“Well?” Blossom said.

“It paid off,” Max reported. “Noel has resigned from FLAG and taken a job with T. C. amp; S.”

“Typewriters, Computers amp; Stuff? That big, worldwide computer manufacturing organization? Whatever for?”

“The triple cross,” Max said. “She’s gone into business for herself. Apparently she’s discovered that that’s where Fred is hiding, and she’s gone after him on her own. Instead of turning him over to FLAG, she’ll peddle him herself. To the highest bidder, no doubt.”

“That doesn’t sound very nice,” Blossom said.

“No, it isn’t. But it’s a living.” Max started the engine. “One thing though, now we know where Fred is,” he said. “It’s a natural. What better place for a computer to hide than among the world’s largest collection of computers?” He turned the car into traffic. “T. C. amp; S. is only a few blocks from here. We may be able to wrap this case up before dinner.”

“What makes you think she’s been sitting around waiting for us to catch up with her?” Blossom said. “By now, she’s probably robotnapped Fred again and skipped the country with him.”

“You forget-the Chief has agents posted at all the airports, train stations and bus terminals. She could never slip through the net.”

“And boat docks,” Blossom said. “But she could have rented a car and driven him out of the city, you know.”

Max glared at her. “Now, you tell me. Why didn’t you mention that while I had the Chief on the phone?”

“Little me? Stupid me? A woman?”

“I think I detect a note of sarcasm,” Max said. “This is no time to let personal feelings creep into our relationship. We’re a team. We have to pull together. So, from now on, knock off that bilge, and just do what I tell you. And the first thing I have to tell you is: don’t be sarcastic!”

“Oh… go talk to your shoe!”

“That’s better,” Max said. “It would be a good idea to have the Chief station agents at all the rent-a-car garages.” He reached down, while driving, and removed his shoe, then spoke into it.

Max: Chief… this is 86. I have just been informed by a reliable source that a FLAG agent may be trying to sneak Fred out of the country by automobile. I’d suggest that you post agents at the rent-a-car joints and at all the main highways leading out of the city.

Chief: We did that hours ago, Max. We do something besides sitting around here on our chairs, waiting for you to call, you know. Control is the brains of the operation.

Max: Sorry, Chief. I suppose you’ve posted agents at the ferries, too.

Chief: Ferries?

Max: She could smuggle him aboard a ferry and slip him out of the city, you know.

Chief: Now, you tell me! Why didn’t you mention that when you called about the train stations, airports and bus terminals!

Max (sharply): You’re supposed to be the brains of this outfit!

Chief: Oh, sure, sure, sure, put the blame on me. All I have to do is sit around here and think, I suppose. That’s all you know about it. You, you’re off chasing FLAG agents all day, what do you know about it? Who is it has to keep this place tidied up? Who is it who has to listen to all the complaints? Who is it who has to play nursemaid to all the agents around here? You know what I get all day? ‘I need a new gun!’ ‘Why don’t you ever assign me to any of the out-of-town cases?’ Complaints, complaints, complaints. I can’t do one little thing right! I don’t know why I stay in this place! Pick, pick, pick! That’s all I get, picked on!

Max (sympathetically): I’m sorry, Chief. You’re right. I should have mentioned the ferries. Now, will you stop crying, please? Look, as soon as I wrap up this case, I’ll take you out to dinner. That’s a promise.

Chief: Cross your heart?

Max: Cross my heart with butter beans on it.

Chief: You’re a nice secret agent, Max.

Max: Welllll… you’re a nice Chief.

Chief: I’ll station some agents at the ferries. They’ll complain about it-‘Why do I always have to watch the ferries?’-that’s what I’ll get. But I’ll do it.

Max: So long, Chief. And… take it easy. And remember: Tomorrow is another day.

Chief: Big deal! All my days are alike. Complaints, com Max hung up and turned his attention back to the driving.

“What did he say?” Blossom asked.

“I’d rather not say. It’s very sad.” He pointed. “There’s the T. C. amp; S. Building. Now… if we can just find a parking space…”

Much, much later that afternoon, Max, Blossom and Fang entered the building where Typewriters, Computers amp; Stuff had its offices. Max approached the starter who was standing near the elevators.

“Pardon me,” he said. “I’m looking for a computer-”

“You came to the right place, friend,” the starter said. “We got thirty-six floors of computers. Anything special you got in mind? We got computers that add, we got computers that subtract, we got computers that multiply and divide. Long division, short division.”

“How about a computer that quotes Charlie Chan?” Max said.

“If it exists, we got it,” the starter said.

Max signalled to Blossom and Fang. “This is the place,” he said.

“There’s a tour starting in ten minutes,” the starter said. “Go to the tenth floor. There, you’ll find a crowd of people standing around complaining. They’re complaining because the tour was supposed to start a half-hour ago. Join them. They’ll be standing on one foot, then the other. You can do that, too. It will help pass the time. Actually, it will probably be another half-hour before the tour really starts. That ten minutes is just a rough estimate.”

“On this tour,” Max said, “will we be shown every computer in the building?”

“Every blessed one,” the starter said. “And if the tour director likes you he may even take you across the street and show you the computer over there. It isn’t ours-but if the tour director likes you, he gets carried away.”

Max thanked the starter, then led the way as he and Blossom and Fang boarded an elevator.

“Fifth floor,” Max said to the operator.

“The starter said ‘ten,’ ” Blossom said.

“The tour doesn’t start for half-an-hour,” Max said. “That will give us time to do a little scouting around on our own.”

“Gee… is that wise?”

“It’s preferable to getting mixed up with an eager-beaver tour director,” Max said.

“Five,” said the operator.

They got out. The elevator door closed behind them. Facing them was a frosted-glass door marked: EMPLOYMENT

“Fred may have gone in here,” Max said. “He’d want a job if he planned to stay here. He isn’t the kind who’d be happy just sitting around rolling his eyeballs. We’ll check it out.”

Max opened the door. They entered a large room that was chock full of computers. Attending the machines was a slender, bifocaled young man.

“Come right on in,” the young man smiled. “I’m Mr. Wright.”

“I’ve been looking for you for simply years!” Blossom giggled.

“Stow that,” Max snapped. To Mr. Wright, he said, “We’re on the trail of a computer. We thought-”

“Now, now,” Mr. Wright smiled, “don’t be nervous. No evasions. I know why you’re here. After all, this is EMPLOYMENT, isn’t it? And I know exactly how you feel. You’re afraid of the computers. You think of them as some sort of Black Magic! Well, that’s silly, of course. They’re machines, that’s all they are. Simple, everyday, complex machines.”