But the red cap quickly disappeared in the crowd.
“That was close!” Max said. “Do you know who that was?”
“I’ve never seen him before,” Peaches replied. “But he was sort of romantic-looking, wasn’t he?”
“That was Noman!”
“Oh, was it? I don’t remember him being so romantic-looking before.”
“Which only goes to prove the old saying: Romantic-looking is in the eyes of the beholder,” Max said. “From now on, keep an eye out for romantic-looking men. They’re Noman!”
They went to the ticket window, and Max addressed the agent. “We’d like to get a train to New York,” he said.
“Well, we have some nice tracks you could use,” the agent replied.
“Pardon?”
“Tracks,” the agent said. “You could try to get it there by bus, but I doubt that you could get it in the luggage compartment. Unless it’s a small train. Exactly how big is this train you want to get to New York?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Max replied. “It’s your train, not mine. Do you have a train going to New York?”
“Oh, yes, lots of trains going to New York,” the agent answered. “How would you like to go? By way of Philadelphia?”
“I’m not sure. How does your fastest train go?”
“The same as all the others,” the agent replied. “It goes: Choo-Choo-Choo!”
“Then that’s the one we’ll take,” Max said. “Two tickets, please.”
“Round-trip or one-way?”
“One-way,” Max replied. “We’ll probably fly back from Peking.”
“Sorry-we’re all out of one-way tickets.”
“Then give us a round-trip ticket and we’ll split it in two,” Max said. “I’ll use half, and the lady will use half.”
“All right. But she’ll be coming while you’re going.”
“The way she is now, she doesn’t know whether she’s coming or going, anyway,” Max said. “The typical empty-headed blonde.”
The agent handed over the ticket. “The train leaves in exactly one hour,” he said.
“Isn’t there a train that goes sooner?”
“No, I told you, they all go: Choo-Choo-Choo!”
Max turned back to Peaches. “Well, apparently we have no choice,” he said. “We’ll have to wait.”
“Let’s have lunch,” Peaches said.
“I’ll go to the restaurant with you,” Max replied. “But I won’t be able to eat.”
“Nervous tummy?”
“No, I’m skipping lunches to pay for that parachute-remember?”
“Oh… yes. Well, anyway, let’s go to the restaurant. Maybe we’ll meet a romantic stranger.”
“I hope not,” Max said. “Any romantic stranger we meet is likely to be Noman.”
They left the ticket window and walked toward the restaurant. On the way, Max kept glancing about, as if expecting to be attacked. “I’d feel safer if I didn’t have this Dooms Day Plan on me,” he said.
“You could check it in a locker,” Peaches suggested.
“That’s an excellent idea,” Max said. “In fact, I was just about to think of that myself.”
They detoured and went to the row of public lockers. Max opened the door of one of the empty lockers-and found himself face-to-face with Agent 44.
“You’re right on the job, 44,” Max said. He passed him the plan. “Hold onto that until we return,” he said. “And guard it with your life.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” 44 replied.
Max closed the door, dropped a quarter into the slot, then removed the key and put it into his pocket.
“You should have put my valuable list of romantic things to do in there, too,” Peaches said. “If it gets lost, I’ll have to start thinking all over again. And for an empty-headed blonde that’s not easy.”
“Aren’t you overdoing this empty-headed blonde business?” Max said, as they headed once more for the restaurant.
“Practice makes perfect,” Peaches said.
As they entered the restaurant, the headwaiter approached them.
“On your toes,” Max said to Peaches. “This fellow looks like Noman to me.”
“Max, I don’t-”
But she was too late. The headwaiter had reached them. And as he opened his mouth to speak, Max grasped him by the wrist, turned, and flung him over his shoulder. The headwaiter landed on the flat of his back on the floor.
“Table for two?” the headwaiter said painfully, looking up.
Max eyed him narrowly. “That’s the wrong line,” he said. “You’re supposed to demand the Plan.”
“I didn’t know,” the headwaiter apologized. “I thought all I was supposed to do was take you to a table. That’s all I’ve been doing for years.”
“Max,” Peaches said, “he isn’t Noman.”
“Apparently not,” Max said. “But he sure fooled me.” He extended a hand to the headwaiter. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I thought you were a fellow I know.”
“I’m glad I’m not,” the headwaiter said, accepting Max’s hand and pulling himself up. “If I were, and you did that to me, do you know what I’d do?”
Max shook his head. “No, what?”
The headwaiter clipped Max at the back of the neck with a karate chop. Max dropped to the floor.
“That,” the headwaiter smiled.
“And I would have deserved it,” Max said, rising. “But, of course, I would have to respond in kind.”
“In kind?”
“Like this,” Max said.
He pounded a fist into the headwaiter’s midsection. The headwaiter doubled over, then collapsed.
“Now I know what ‘in kind’ means,” the headwaiter smiled from his position on the floor. “It means something like this.”
The headwaiter swung a leg, knocking Max’s legs out from under him. Max joined the waiter on the floor.
“Yes,” Max said, “table for two, please.”
The headwaiter got to his feet. “Right this way, sir.”
“Thank you,” Max replied, rising.
Max and Peaches followed the headwaiter to a table. When they were seated, he bowed, then departed.
“Nice fellow,” Max said. “But he’s wasting his talent as a headwaiter. He could be a first-class assassin.”
Peaches was reading the menu. “Here’s something romantic,” she said. “Hearts of lettuce with vinegar and oil dressing.”
“That’s about as romantic as oatmeal cookies,” Max said.
The waiter came to the table.
“Could we have a candle, please?” Peaches said. “Lunch by candlelight is so romantic, don’t you think?”
“I can take it or leave it,” the waiter replied. “To me, with or without, it’s just a job.”
“The lady would like to have a candle,” Max said sharply to the waiter.
“What watt?”
“What what what?”
“How many watts?”
“Well, let’s see-what what what-that’s three whats.”
“We’re all out of three-watt candles,” the waiter said. “How about a sixty-watt candle?”
“Oh, ‘watt’!”
“I said how about a sixty-watt candle.”
“I know what you said, waiter. And I said, ‘Oh, watt!’ At first, I thought you were saying ‘what?’. Then I realized that you were saying ‘watt’.”
“Okay-what watt?”
“What?”
“Maybe I could get the electrician to turn the lights up a little higher,” the waiter said.
“It wouldn’t be the same,” Peaches replied. “Just bring me any watt candle, please.”
The waiter departed.
“Watt was that all about?” Max asked.
“What?”
“Just like an empty-headed blonde,” Max said. “You don’t know what’s watt.”
Peaches turned her attention back to the menu. “I think I’ll have French fries,” she said. “The French are so romantic.”
“Try the Hungarian goulash, too,” Max said. “It’s probably served by a strolling violinist. In the meantime, if you don’t mind, I’ll work on that code again.”
“But you don’t have the Plan with you.”
“The words are etched in my mind,” Max said. “For instance, ‘Three Bs’. It’s just occurred to me that that may not represent Bach, Beethoven and Brahms, but, on the contrary, The Three Bears.”
“Like in the fairy story?”
“Why not? If you’ll recall, I figured out a while back that ‘Sad Al’ ‘Astor’ ‘Mays’ and ‘Bronco Con’ stand for money. And money is gold-right? So, what do we have? Goldilocks and the Three Bears.”