Get Smart 9 - Max Smart and the Ghastly Ghost Affair by William Johnston Page A

number. I’m 86.” He indicated 99. “And this is my wife, 99. You see, we’re secret agents. And, instead of being called by name, we’re called by number. Understand?”
    “All but a couple things,” the old prospector replied. “What’s a secret agent? And how come you got a number instead of a name?”
    “Yes . . . well . . . A secret agent is—in a way—like a private detective—understand?”
    “Sure—like a Pinkerton. Now, why do you have numbers in the place of names?”
    “That, I’m afraid, I can’t answer,” Max replied.
    “Oh. Too big a secret, eh?”
    “Actually, the reason I can’t explain it is because I haven’t the faintest idea why,” Max replied. “All I can tell you is, I don’t make the rules.”
    “That’s enough,” the old prospector said. “I can understand that.” He looked Max and 99 up and down. “Well, I guess you look okay to me,” he said, finally.
    “Thank you,” Max smiled.
    “Not you. I was talking about her,” the prospector said, winking at 99. “You,” he said, facing Max again, “don’t look quite right to me. But, if she’ll vouch for you—”
    “I will,” 99 assured the old prospector. “He’s really very nice. And honest and trustworthy, too.”
    “What puzzles me,” Max said to the old man, “is why you’re so suspicious. You’re a ghost—what harm could any of us do you? It seems to me that you’re as bad off as you’ll ever get”
    “You’re wrong,” the old prospector said. “Suppose somebody else found that lost vein of gold? And mined it? If that happened, it wouldn’t be there for me to look for any more. I’d go loopy just wandering around here in this ghost town with nothing to occupy my talents. If it came to that, I’d be just as well off up there behind them gates with them fellas in the sheets and wings. Only, I couldn’t get in. Without that gold, they’re not even going to let me within smelling distance of the place.”
    “Yes, well—”
    “So, when I saw you strangers pull into town, I disappeared myself,” the old prospector said. “I had to find out if you were after my gold or not. Now that I know you’re not—according to you—I can disappear myself again and go on about my business. And, you can do the same.” He tipped his hat to 99. “So long, ma’am, it’s been—”
    “Hold it a minute,” Max said. “You can’t leave us. It’s true, we’re not after your gold. But I can’t promise the same about those other fellows. If they happened to run across your vein of gold, they’d pack it up and ship it out of here quicker than you could bat an eyelash.”
    “Oh?” the old prospector said. “How come? Aren’t they friends of yours?”
    “Hardly. They’re our worst enemies,” Max replied. “We’re Control and they’re KAOS.”
    “Like cops and robbers?” the old prospector asked.
    “Not exactly,” Max responded. “It’s just not that simple. Nothing is quite that simple any more. You see, we’re all secret agents, both Control and KAOS, but the KAOS secret agents are dedicated to the propagation of evil, while the Control secret agents are dedicated to stamping it out. Although, of course, it’s not always that simple. I mean, every once in a while, we’re forced to fight fire with fire. Or, in other words, sometimes we have to propagate a little evil ourselves in the interests of stamping out the evil that the KAOS secret agents have propagated earlier—if you understand what I mean. Not that I’d blame you if you didn’t. Because nothing is really that simple any more. I mean, looked at from one standpoint, it could be said that in propagating evil to stamp out evil we are tarring ourselves with our own brush, or that we’re trying to put out the fire by dousing it with kerosene, or—”
    “Can you just tell me how I can tell the good guys from the bad guys?” the old prospector broke in. “If I just know who I’m for and who I’m against, I don’t need all