William Johnston: Get Smart!

Blossom smiled. “That’s very comforting.”

They started out-walking the twelve blocks from where Max had parked to the U.N. Building. But when they had gone only three blocks, Max suddenly grasped Blossom by the wrist and pulled her into a doorway. Fang quickly joined them.

“What is it?” Blossom said fearfully.

Max pointed back along the street. “See that lady with a poodle? She’s following us. It’s my guess that she’s a FLAG agent. Her poodle doesn’t look too trustworthy, either.”

Blossom peered out of the doorway. “She just looks like a woman walking her dog to me,” she said.

“Then why did my little sign pop up and say ‘Apples 5??” Max asked. “There’s definitely a FLAG agent in the vicinity. And that lady and her poodle are the prime suspects.” He spoke to Fang. “Boy, do your duty. Interrogate that poodle. But casually. Don’t give away your own identity.”

Fang bounded from the doorway and romped toward the lady and the poodle.

As Max and Blossom watched, they saw Fang sidle up to the poodle and touch cold noses with it.

“Fast worker, isn’t he?” Blossom said. “There are some things some people could learn from dogs.”

“He’s not so smart,” Max said. “It took me a week to teach him that trick. From morning to night, for seven days, we rubbed noses before he finally caught on.”

“Look!” Blossom said. “The woman is chasing him away!”

“But not before he got the information, I’ll wager,” Max said.

Fang came galloping up to them.

“How about it, Boy?” Max said. “Is she a FLAG agent?”

“Rorff! Rorff!”

Max frowned. “Hmmmm… are you sure?”

“Rorff!”

“What did he say?” Blossom asked.

“He says the lady walking a poodle is only a lady walking a poodle. And, incidentally, he has a date with the poodle for tonight.” He scowled deeply. “Very puzzling. I’m sure there’s a FLAG agent in the vicinity.” He spoke again to Fang. “Are you positive that poodle didn’t pull your wool over your eyes?”

“Rorff!”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Max said placatingly.

“What did he say?” Blossom asked.

“He dared me to step outside and say that.”

The trio moved on, heading once more for the U.N. building.

“I hope there’s a meeting of the General Assembly going on,” Blossom said. “Maybe we could sit in the balcony and watch it.”

“I don’t think it would do any good,” Max said. “Fred may be a member of the U.N. by now, but I doubt that he has enough seniority to address the General Assembly.”

“That wasn’t what I-”

Blossom interrupted herself as they were approached by a little round tub of a man who looked quite distraught and who seemed about to address them. The man was chewing nervously at the ends of a scraggly mustache and glancing this way and that, as if he were lost.

“Haxcuse my Sothern accent,” the little man said, stopping them. “But I’m looking for the Hew Hen Building, and my eyes cannot find it.”

“I’m sorry,” Max said. “Just as you began to speak, a little bell began ringing in my brain, and I didn’t hear a word you said. Would you repeat that?”

“I’m lost from the Hew Hen Building,” the little man said. “And haxcuse my Sothern accent.”

“It’s hardly any accent at all,” Max said genially. “I understood you quite clearly. You’re looking for a hen house-right? But I’m afraid you won’t find any around here. There hasn’t been any farming in this area since the Empire State Building went up and blocked out the sun.”

“Rorff!” Fang barked.

Max brightened. “Oh! The U.N. Building!” To the little man, he said, “My apologies. Your Southern accent threw me there for a second. What part of the South are you from?”

The little man beamed. “Zinzinotti, Alleybama,” he replied.

“Oh, yes,” Max smiled. “Beautiful country. I passed through there in the summer of ’61. On the trail of a FLAG agent who was trying to smuggle California oranges into Florida. I caught up with him on the outskirts of Atlanta. But he beat the rap by setting up a stand on the highway and peddling all his contraband as colored ping-pong balls. Fascinating case.”

Blossom whispered to Max. “Careful. Maybe he’s a FLAG agent!”

“Nonsense!” Max said. “He just told us he’s from Zinzinotti, Alleybama. Besides-get that Southern accent. No foreigner could fake that.” To the little man, he said, “You’re a tourist, I presume. My name is 86-Max, for short. This is Blossom Rose. She’s the inventor-more or less-of the most sophisticated computer ever developed. And, down here, this is Fang-K-13, for short.”

The little man nodded, grinning. “I am Boris.”

“There you are,” Max said to Blossom. “Boris-typical Southern name. I ran into millions of Borises on the outskirts of Atlanta. It’s short for Beauregard.”

“Rorff!” Fang barked.

“That’s very unkind of you, Fang,” Max said reproachfully. “It’s our nature-and our duty, I might add-as typical New Yorkers, to be as hospitable as possible to visitors to our fair city. It’s the humane thing to do-and, besides that, it’s good for business. What do you think these yokels do when they come to town? They spend money. And what supports the jails? Money. And if there were no jails, what would we do with all the criminals we capture? We’d have to sit up all night and watch them ourselves. Think about that. If it weren’t for tourists like Boris, you wouldn’t be getting any sleep.”

Ashamed, Fang covered his eyes with his front paws.

To Boris, Max said, “As long as you’re here to see the sights, why don’t you tag along with us? We’ll probably be chasing all over the city on the trail of this computer we’re after. We might as well kill two birds with one stone-as they say in Dixie. We can run down this idiot computer and show you the town at the same time.”

“Da, da,” Boris nodded happily.

As they continued toward the U.N., Boris trotted beside Max. He asked a number of questions, confirming Max’s belief that he was a tourist.

“One thing I have always wondered about New York,” Boris said. “Is it possible for a robot to hide in Grant’s Tomb?”

Max chuckled. “Everybody asks that. As for the answer, frankly, I’m not sure. I don’t think it’s ever been tried. I imagine there would have been something in the papers about it if it had.”

“Is it your hinch then, that Fred is secreted in the U.N. Building?” Boris said.

“Hunch-not ‘hinch,’ ” Max replied. “Funny you should mention the name Fred. This robot we’re trailing is also named Fred. But I guess that’s a pretty common name. I had an instructor at Spy School named Fred. Fred What’s-his-name. Although, What’s-his-name wasn’t his real name. He used it because he said that’s what people called him anyway. Myself, I always called him Fred Whosis. Because I couldn’t remember What’s-his-name. He didn’t make much of an impression on a person. Which was great for the spy business. No one could ever remember him. In fact, come to think of it, I’m not sure that What’s-his-name was his name. It may have been You-know-who-I-mean-as in Fred You-know-who-I-mean-or something like that. I wonder what ever happened to Fred? I suppose nobody will ever know.”

“Getting back to Fred-” Boris began.

“Ah… here we are!” Max broke in. They had reached the U.N. Building, and Max led the way up the steps toward the entrance. “Sort of gets you right here, doesn’t it?” he said, covering his heart. “All these guys in here, screaming at each other, calling each other nasty names, threatening to blow each other up-and all for the sake of world peace.”