“I don’t quite understand that, Judge.”
“His freedom to press charges against you,” the judge explained.
“Oh. Well, in that case…”
“Now, we’ll get to your case,” the Judge said. “How do you plead?”
“What’s the choice?” Max asked.
“Guilty or Not Guilty or Somewhere-in-Between,”
“How about a little sample of each?” Max suggested.
“The Court finds you guilty,” the Judge said. “Do you have a statement to make before sentence is passed? Too late. You had your chance and muffed it. Now, I’ll pass sentence.”
“That wasn’t much of a chance, Judge,” Max complained. “And I had a dandy statement all ready, too.”
“Sorry about that,” the Judge said. “Rise, please, so I can pass sentence.”
“We’re already standing, Judge.”
“I thought you looked pretty tall for a pair who were sitting down.”
“Judge, if you don’t mind, would you get it over with?” Max said. “We have other fish to fry.”
The Judge cleared his throat, then said, “I sentence you to hand over the Dooms Day Plan.”
“Max!” Peaches squealed. “It just came to me-that’s Noman!”
“That’s hard to believe,” Max said.
The Judge pulled a pistol and pointed it at Max. “Would you believe this?”
Max nodded. “That, I believe. Noman, I’ll have to give you credit-you’ve done it again. You’re a worthy adversary.”
“Stow the gab and hand over the Plan,” Noman said.
“Not likely,” Max replied. “Before I’d hand over the Plan to you, I’d burn it.”
“With the same life raft you used to burn it last time?” Noman smirked.
“Max Smart never makes the same mistake twice,” Max said. He took his ballpoint pen from his pocket. “This pen, among other things, happens to be an acetylene torch,” he said. “I’ll just depress the button on the top and-”
There was the sound of a small motor.
“That’s the hair-dryer again, Max,” Peaches said.
“Well, if at first you don’t succeed-” Max depressed the button again.
Noman leaned forward over the bench, looking puzzled. “What are you going to do with one chopstick?”
“Let’s not panic,” Max said. “There’s an acetylene torch in there somewhere.”
“You’re not operating the pen correctly,” Noman said. “You should use both hands. Here, let me take that sheet of paper you’re holding in your left hand-just to get it out of your way.”
“That might help,” Max said. He handed the sheet of paper to Noman.
“Max! You gave him the Plan!” Peaches shrieked.
“No, I didn’t. I gave him- Oh, yes… that is the Plan, isn’t it. Well, I guess that’s a horse on me.”
“And, now-once more-I bid you adieu,” Noman said. “Happy landing!”
“I don’t think that’s the appropriate farewell,” Max said. “We’re no longer in a plane.”
“No, but you’re standing over a trap door. The effect will be the same. I’ll just pull this lever, and-”
The trap door opened beneath Max and Peaches.
Peaches screamed.
Max reached out and snatched the Plan from Noman.
Then they disappeared beneath the floor.
Noman sighed woefully. “Will I ever learn?”
6
Surprisingly, Max and Peaches landed on a soft carpet. When they looked around, they found they were in what appeared to be the living room of a comfortable suburban home. Besides the wall-to-wall carpet, there were comfortable-looking sofas and chairs, lamps and tables, and a large television set. And most surprising of all, the room was occupied. A number of men were seated around the TV set, absorbed in a program.
“The only thing I can think of is, there must be a mistake,” Max said. “I think Noman used the wrong trap door.”
Peaches shook her head. “No, Max. Look at the door. It has bars on it.”
“Oh, yes, I see. Well, if I had to be in a cell, this is the cell I’d choose.” He frowned. “I wonder what those other prisoners are in for?”
“They seem happy enough,” Peaches said. “They must be drugged or something. They didn’t even look up when we dropped through the floor.”
“Let’s check it out,” Max said.
They moved to the nearest chair, where a middle-aged man was seated, hunched forward, staring at the TV screen.
“Excuse me,” Max said. “I wonder-”
“Shhhhh!” the man said, annoyed, keeping his eyes on the screen.
“I guess we’ll have to wait for a commercial,” Max said.
As they waited, they watched the program. It was a soap opera, in which the heroine, Little Eva, was being chased across an ice floe by the villain, Simon Legree, and a pack of bloodhounds.
“I think I’ve seen it before,” Max said. “As I recall, just as Simon Legree and the bloodhounds are about to catch Little Eva, a squadron of Royal Mounted Police swoop down in helicopters and-”
“Now you’ve done it,” the man in the chair grumbled. “All the suspense is gone.”
“Sorry about that,” Max said sheepishly.
“Oh, well, this is the fourth time I’ve seen this episode anyway,” the man said. “This is the morning rerun of the noon rerun of the afternoon rerun of the evening program. I caught it first in 1936 when it was on a two-inch screen.”
“Has it changed any?” Max asked.
“It’s grown about nineteen inches,” the man replied. “But otherwise it’s the same.” He looked at Max closely. “Aren’t you new here?”
“We just dropped in,” Max said. “We don’t intend to stay.”
“Too bad.”
“You like it here?” Max said, puzzled.
“Why not? Four square meals a day, comfortable chairs, and a twenty-one-inch screen. What more could a man ask for?”
“But aren’t you locked in?”
“Sure. That’s the best part. This way, we’re not tempted to wander off.”
“But don’t you miss your freedom?” Peaches said.
The man squinted at her. “You been outside lately, lady?”
“Yes. We just came in from the outside.”
“What was going on out there?”
“Well, let’s see… We nearly got driven into the Potomac River
… and we were almost in an airplane crash… and we were arrested for speeding… and…”
“In other words, a typical day,” the man said. “And you can ask me if I miss my freedom?”
“Yes, but-” Peaches thought for a second, then sat down in one of the chairs. “He’s right, Max. Have a seat.”
“You forget,” Max said. “Noman is probably on his way down here. And when he gets here, he’ll demand the Plan. Let’s not forget-the you-know-what of the entire you-know-what is hanging in the you-know-what.”
“That sounds familiar,” the man said. “You must be a Control agent.” He indicated the other men. “We were all Control agents once,” he said. “But, luckily, we were captured by Noman.” He smiled, recalling. “Oh, the many times I’ve heard that call to duty-the you-know-what of the entire you-know-what is hanging in the you-know-what. Fortunately, I don’t remember what it means any more.”
Max crooked a finger at Peaches. “I’d like to speak to you in private, please,” he said.
“I’m just getting comfortable.”
“If you don’t mind!”
Reluctantly, Peaches got up and followed Max to the other side of the room.
“I think we’re in luck,” Max said. “Right now, these men are under the spell of the TV set. But… once a Control agent, always a Control agent. I think I can revive their interest in the fate of the you-know-what. And when I do, they’ll rebel and help us break out of this cell.”
“They’d be fools to,” Peaches said. “They’ve got it made.”
“Nevertheless, instinct is stronger than security.”
“Who told you that?”
“I just made it up,” Max replied. “And now I’ll prove it.”
Max stepped to the center of the room. “Gentlemen!” he called. “May I have your attention!”
The program had paused so that the sponsor could deliver a commercial, so the men turned to Max.