Get Smart 7 - Max Smart - The Spy Who Went Out to the Cold (8 page)

“Enough!” Max broke in.

“Don’t you want to hear the part where, when I was a boy, I had to walk a mile to school every day through twelve feet of snow?” Abdul said.

“What I want to hear is the part where you guide us back to the camp so we can make another try at kidnapping von BOOM,” Max replied.

Abdul looked around. “I’m your prisoner—I have no choice, I guess. Which way is it?”

“You’re the guide,” Max reminded him.

“I’m a talent agent,” Abdul reminded him. “No wonder you’re lost—you don’t even know a talent agent from a tourist guide.”

“Oh, Max . . .” 99 wept. “What can we do?”

“Let’s wait for him to come to us,” Abdul suggested. “As soon as he finishes this picture, he’ll be looking for another job. And who will he come crying to on hands and knees? His agent.”

“That won’t be for six months,” Max said. “Without water, I don’t think we’ll make it.”

Abdul nodded, agreeing. “I don’t even think we could make it without ice cream sodas,” he said. “All we can do is hope for another sand storm.”

“How will that help?” 99 asked.

“Well, the last one brought us a ship,” Abdul replied. “If it can do it once, it can do it again.”

“I hardly think we can count on that,” Max said. “That’s the kind of luck that—”

“Max!” 99 suddenly cried. “Look! That dark cloud! Another sand storm!”

“99, that’s very nice, but it isn’t a sand storm we need. What we need is—”

“Max! Look! Sailing in front of the storm! The ship!”

Max squinted into the distance. “Yes . . . and isn’t that . . . there in the rigging . . . isn’t that Professor von BOOM?”

From across the desert came a shout: “Thar She Blows!”

“He’s got his line down perfect,” Abdul cackled. “Is that a Star or is that a Star!”

“All right, get ready everybody,” Max said. “When the ship gets here, we’ll all grab a rope and climb aboard.”

“Not me,” Abdul said. “I stay here.”

“But you’ll die out here in the desert,” 99 said.

“Better than getting aboard a ship,” Abdul replied. “For you, it’s all right. But for me, it would be very dangerous. That ship has a hole in the bottom, you know.”

“What does that have to do with it?” 99 asked.

“I can’t swim,” Abdul explained.

“Now!” Max shouted.

The ship had reached them. Max and 99 ran alongside, then caught hold of ropes that were dangling down from the deck and, hand over hand, pulled themselves aboard. The wind whipped at them, swirling sand in their faces.

“Get below!” Max shouted to 99. “I’ll get von BOOM!”

“Max . . . you don’t have to . . . he’s coming down . . .”

A few seconds later, von BOOM appeared, struggling against the wind to keep his balance. “I quit!” he shouted. “Get yourself another Moby Dick, von Sydesheau!”

“I’m Smart!” Max shouted back.

“I’m not as dumb as I used to be, either!” von BOOM shrieked. “You’ll never get me up in that rigging in a sand storm again!” He grabbed hold of Max, enraged. “ I could have been killed! I could have been blown overboard! And I can’t swim!”

“All right! All right!” Max shrieked back. “If it makes you happy—you’re fired!”

“Lucky I’ve got the scientist racket to fall back on,” von BOOM said.

Fighting the wind and sand, the three grappled their way along the deck, looking for a hatchway. When they finally found one, they climbed down into the hold, out of the storm.

Von BOOM was surprised to see Max and 99. “Somebody better go back on deck and get von Sydesheau,” he said.

Max explained that the director was not on board.

“Then that firing doesn’t count,” von BOOM groaned. “I’m still a Star.”

“When we get back to civilization, you can resign by telegram,” Max suggested.

“Forget it,” von BOOM shrugged. “Let him get the bad news from my agent.”

They made themselves comfortable in the hold. Outside, the storm raged. And it continued that way for several days. Fortunately, there was food and water on the ship. Max was concerned, however, about where the wind was blowing them.

“The way it’s blowing,” he said, “it could blow this ship right off the desert and into the ocean. We’d sink like a rock.”

The following morning when Max awakened it looked as if his worst fear had come true. There was nearly a foot of water in the hold, and it was rising rapidly.

He shook 99 and von BOOM. “Abandon ship!” he shouted. “We’re sinking like a rock!”

They rushed up onto the deck. The storm had passed. Most of the ship was resting on a beach, but its prow was protruding into a river.

“Max! We’re saved!” 99 squealed happily.

“We may be safe, 99, but we’re still lost.”

“No, Max—look! There comes help. A houseboat. And it’s coming this way.”

“Oh . . . yes. Isn’t that a woman at the helm? It’s a little hard to tell.”

As the houseboat neared the ship, the skipper, a large, beefy woman in a captain’s uniform, waved to them. “Ho, there!” she bellowed. “Cap’n O’Patterer, Queen o’ the Nile, at yur service, mates!”

“Max! It’s the Nile!” 99 said. “We found it!”

“Dumb luck,” von BOOM muttered.

“Not exactly,” Max said testily. “Dumb
modus operandi
would be more like it.”

M
AX
, 99 and von BOOM climbed down to the beach, then waited for Cap’n O’Patterer to dock her houseboat.

“If we can hitch a ride to Alexandria, all our problems are solved,” Max said. “From Alexandria, we can catch a plane to Russia. That’s where we’ll get the Trans Siberian Railway, which will take us to the Pacific, where we’ll take a submarine to Alaska. And, from Alaska, on to the Pole. It’s a cinch from here on out.”

“She may not be going our way, Max,” 99 said.

“In that case, we’ll rent her houseboat,” Max replied. “Money is the answer to everything, 99.”

The boat ploughed into the beach and stopped and the big, beefy woman dropped an anchor over the side. “Looks like ya got yurself a peck o’ dum-doo-dee-doo-doo trouble there, Spike,” she said, addressing Max and indicating the ship.

Max shook his head, “The ship isn’t ours,” he replied. “Our problem is getting to Alexandria. Are you by any chance going that way?”

“Wouldn’t set foot in that town for a million beans and a pack o’ dum-doo-dee-doo-doo salty pork bacon!” Cap’n O’Patterer replied. “Last time I did, I near got runned down by a crosstown bus. That don’t never happen on the river, you can bet yur two-toed boots.”

“Suppose I offered you a great deal of money?” Max suggested.

“What’d I do with it? Buy me a million beans and a pack o’ dum-doo-dee-doo-doo salty pork bacon, that’s all. No gain there. Say, that’s a ding-dong beauty of four-master ya got there,” she continued, pointing to the ship again. “First one I ever seen that rolled on wheels. Got any idea of partin’ with it, Oscar?”

“As I said, it isn’t ours,” Max replied. “Now—”

“Don’t see nobody else around,” Cap’n O’Patterer said. “If she ain’t yur’n, who’s she?”

“He’s out there on the desert. Now—”

“Comin’ fur ’er, is he?”

“I doubt it,” Max answered. “It blew away from him and we found it. Now—”

“Then it’s yurs,” Cap’n O’Patterer said. “That’s the law o’ the sea, Jackson. Flotsam and jetsam. Or, to put it the way you landlubbers maul it—finders keepers, losers weepers. Tell you what I’ll do. You got the itch to get to o’ Alex and get runned down by a crosstown bus, eh? I’ll trade you—far and squar—my houseboat for your four-master.”

“That wouldn’t be fair,” Max replied. “It has a hole in it.”

“Don’t no more. I patched it up a couple days ago, Johnny.”

“I mean the ship has a hole in it.”

Cap’n O’Patterer shrugged. “Don’t make no nevermind to me, Willie,” she said. “Don’t ’tend to sail her. Gonna let her sit. I’m retirin’, ya see. Gonna perch up there in the riggin’ and watch the boats go by.”

“Oh. Well, in that case,” Max said, “it’s a deal.”

Max and Cap’n O’Patterer shook hands to seal the bargain, then the captain climbed the rigging of the four-master, and Max, 99 and von BOOM got aboard the houseboat.

“Max, are you sure you can sail this?” 99 said.

“Nothing to it, 99. We’ll just push off, then drift with the current.”

“I don’t know, Max. It seems so simple . . . There must be more to it than that. Shouldn’t you ask Cap’n O’Patterer?”

“Have a little faith, 99. Get hold of one of those poles and help me get the boat off the beach.”

Using the poles, Max and 99 freed the houseboat from the sand, while von BOOM looked on.

“There we are,” Max smiled victoriously. “We’re floating—free as a bird.”

“We’re not moving,” von BOOM said.

“Nonsense. We’re in the water, aren’t we?”

“We’re not moving,” von BOOM repeated.

Max looked over the side. The boat was not moving. He shouted up to Cap’n O’Patterer. “One thing—” he began.

“Pull up yur dum-doo-dee-doo-doo anchor, Marvin!” she shouted back.

“Oh.”

Max hoisted the anchor and a moment later the houseboat began drifting along with the current, headed in the direction of Alexandria at the mouth of the Nile.

“One word o’ caution, Reggie!” Cap’n O’Patterer bellowed after them. “Always pull ’er over to shore when it comes up a heavy rain!”

“Why?” Max bellowed back.

“She gets water in the basement!” Cap’n O’Patterer replied.

“Basement, Max?” 99 said puzzledly.

“She means the hold, 99. On a houseboat, it’s called the basement.”

“I see.”

The day passed quietly. Von BOOM sat on deck, reading a book he had found in the cabin. Max and 99 took turns steering. When they were not at the helm, they lounged in deck chairs.

“I think we’ve given KAOS the slip, 99,” Max said. “From now on, it looks like clear sailing.”

“Doesn’t that seem a little odd to you, Max?” 99 replied. “We’ve never been able to outwit KAOS so easily before.”

“Practice makes perfect, 99.”

That night they anchored the houseboat near the bank of the river. Max and 99, who were weary from steering, stretched out on bunks to get some sleep. Von BOOM was still wide-awake, however. So he stayed up, reading by lamplight.

Abruptly, in the middle of the night, Max was roused by a sound. He sat up. The cabin was completely dark.

“Von BOOM?” he called.

“You don’t have to shout,” a rough voice that he did not recognize replied.

“Who is that?” Max demanded.

“Ain’t nobody here but us river pirates,” the voice replied.

At the same moment, a beam of light flashed in Max’s face.

“Cut that out!” Max complained. “I can’t see!”

“You don’t want to see a river pirate, anyway—it’s scary,” the voice said.

A different voice spoke up. “The lights won’t go on,” it said. “They must’ve blown a fuse.”

“Max!” 99 cried out. “What’s happening?”

The beam of light moved from Max to 99. “Don’t worry, lady,” the rough voice said. “You’re being kidnapped by river pirates, that’s all. If you’re rich, or if you have rich friends, and they’re willing to pay a king’s ransom to get you back, you have no problems.”

“We’re
not
rich,” Max said gruffly. “And we don’t have any rich friends.”

“Oy!—do you have problems!” the voice groaned.

The second voice spoke up again. “On the contrary, Chief,” it said. “If they’re not rich, then that’s
our
problem. We can’t get a ransom for them. Let’s just raid the ice box and leave it at that.”

“Yeah, box,” a third voice said.

“But can we trust them?” the first voice asked. “Under normal conditions, they might be honest as the day is long. But this is an extreme circumstance. They could be lying, saying they’re not rich.”

“Chief, look at it logically,” the second voice said. “If they were rich, what would they be doing on this ratty old houseboat, floating idly up the Nile? Only rich Americans do that.”

“And that’s another thing,” Max said. “We’re American citizens!”

“Bring ’em along,” the first voice said.

“Yeah, bring,” the third voice said.

The pirates hustled Max and 99 off the houseboat and took them through the darkness to their hideout, which, from the outside, looked like a huge pile of rocks, and, from the inside, looked like the interior of a tomb. In the beam of light, Max caught a glimpse of a number of mummy cases.

“It’s not your conventional hideout,” the first voice said. “But, in our business, it saves time. After we rub out our victims, we don’t have the bother of carting the bodies out to the cemetery. We just stuff them into these mummy cases. Then, in time, an archeologist comes along and discovers them and ships them off to a museum in New York or London or Paris or somewhere.”

“You mean they think they’re mummies?” Max said incredulously.

“You know the mummy of King Akim-Tut-Amen at the Metropolitan in New York?” the first voice replied. “Actually, that’s a Mr. Hiram Overholt, late of Omaha, Nebraska.”

“That’s terrible!” Max said.

“As a matter of fact, it was a break for old Overholt,” the voice replied. “He and his wife didn’t get along too well. And now she’s in London.”

“A mummy?”

“I doubt it,” the voice replied. “At least, she was childless when she left here. But now,” he said, “let’s talk about you. To whom shall we send the ransom telegram? Your bank? Your stock broker? Your lawyer? The Diners Club?”

“Yeah, Club?” the third voice said.

“You’re wasting your time,” 99 said. “We’re not—”

“Uh . . . 99, just a minute,” Max interrupted. “I think we would be wise to cooperate with these gentlemen.” He addressed the bandits. “You can send the telegram to The Chief at Control in Washington, D.C.,” he said. “I’m sure he’ll take immediate action.”

“Doesn’t he have a name?” the first voice said. “Isn’t that a little odd?”

“What’s so odd about that?” 99 asked.

“Yes, Chief, what’s so odd about that?” the second voice asked.

“Yeah, what’s?” the third voice asked.

“Sorry I brought it up,” the first voice said. “Tie these two up with tape and stuff them into a couple of mummy cases,” he commanded his followers. “Then we’ll get that telegram off to what’s-his-name.”