Get Smart 3 - Get Smart Once Again! by William Johnston

midnight to the tune of ‘Over the Waves.’ ” He shook his head, “dose, but not yet it.”
    “What about ‘Watch’?”
    “That, apparently, is the key word,” Max replied. “But it’s a stumper.”
    “Here’s what I have,” Peaches said. “I have ‘FFFFFF.’ Now, ‘F’ is the sixth letter of the alphabet. So, I have ‘666666’. And, following the Frankmacher method, I turn those 6s upside down, and I get ‘999999.’ in other words, I have a series of 9s. And 9 times 9 equals 81. That is two separate numbers, an 8 and a 1. Now, 8 is H—”
    “How do you arrive at that?” Max asked.
    “ ‘H’ is the eighth letter of the alphabet.”
    “Oh, yes, I see.”
    “So the 8 and the 1 stand for H and A.”
    “HA!”
    Peaches saddened. “I’m afraid so.”
    From the cockpit they heard the sound of laughter again.
    The pilot emerged. “Ho! Ho! Ho!”
    “No, it’s ‘Ha! Ha! Ha!,’ ” Max corrected.
    “You’re right,” the pilot replied, grinning sinisterly. “The laugh is on you!”
    Max stared, stunned. “Noman!”
    “It ain’t Santy Claus,” Noman smirked.
    “Now I know why we’re circling the airport,” Max said. “You never had any intention of flying us to New York.”
    “This is as far as you go,” Noman said. “Hand over the Dooms Day Plan.”
    “Not so fast, Noman. We are not alone,” Max said. He got to his feet and addressed the other passengers. “Fellow air travelers,” he said, “there comes a time in every secret agent’s life when he must go to the people for support. My time has come.”
    “In spades,” Noman commented.
    “The fight waged against the forces of evil by your secret agents is a lonely fight,” Max continued, still addressing the passengers. “Imagine yourself in a lonely hotel room, on a dark and stormy night, in a strange city, with the forces of evil knocking on your door. Sometimes a secret agent wants to cry out ‘Help! Help!’ But he knows that it is his duty to stand alone. However, this is not a hotel room, it is not a dark and stormy night, and we are not in a strange city—so, I think that, for this one time, we can forget about the rules. It would be permissible, I think, considering the circumstance, for me to yell ‘Help! Help!’ ”
    “Yell already,” Noman shrugged. “Yell your head off.”
    “With your permission, I will,” Max replied. He faced the passengers again. “Help! Help!”
    The passengers slept on.
    “They are tuckered out!” Max said, disappointed.
    “They’re dummies,” Noman said.
    Max looked at him disapprovingly. “You’re not going to have this airline very long, referring to your passengers in that way,” he said.
    “When I say dummy, I mean dummy,” Noman replied. He picked up a passenger and tossed it to the floor. “See? Dummy. Filled with rags. It was a trick to lure you onto the plane. I knew you wouldn’t board the plane if it was empty.”
    “As a matter of fact, I would,” Max said. “I like my privacy, too.”
    “Enough of this babble,” Noman said. “Hand over the Dooms Day Plan!”
    “Not quite yet,” Max said. “A Control secret agent is always prepared for emergencies like this.” He reached into a pocket and brought out a cigarette lighter. “I’ll burn the Plan before I’ll turn it over to you, Noman!”
    “You wouldn’t dare!”
    “Just watch me!”
    Max flicked the lighter—and a fully inflated life raft popped out.
    “Right emergency, wrong lighter,” he muttered. “Or, to put it another way—wrong emergency, right lighter.”
    “It amounts to the same thing,” Noman said. “Hand over the Plan.”
    Resigned, Max passed the Plan to Noman. “Little good it will do you,” he said. “When this plane lands it will be immediately surrounded by the National Guard, the city police, and a retired General of the Army, all armed to the teeth.”
    “That’s hard to believe,” Noman said.
    “Would you believe six members of the Seaford, Long Island,