My Get Smart stories are set during the 1970s - after the original series but before the reunions. Max and 99 are married, Thaddeus is still the Chief, the twins are sometimes mentioned but seldom seen. In other words, not much has changed. Special note: As well as being a sequel to 'The King Lives?' and 'To Sire, With Love', some may also recognise this as a riff on the old movie 'So Long At the Fair' - ChrisR.
CARONIA IN MY MIND
Max and 99 pushed their way through the crowded airport terminal.
To the average jet-setter it was typical of such places; barely to be noticed while passing through to destinations in the city beyond. But to the eagle eye of Maxwell Smart, Secret Agent 86 of Control, something was amiss.
"I don't remember Grandsburgh Airport being this big the last time we were here," Max remarked.
"Grandsburgh didn't have an airport the last time we were here," 99 told him.
Max frowned. I didn't think it was that much bigger."
"It's all part of King Charles's Caronian Advancement Plan," 99 explained as they joined the line snaking its way toward the far-off customs desk..
"Well, at least he seems to have put all that American loan money to good use," Max said. "That makes all the trouble we had in Washington protecting the scepter from Rupert of Rathskeller worthwhile."
99 glanced up at a huge portrait of the King which dominated the terminal. "You know, I'm always amazed at how much you look like King Charles."
"He looks like me," Max said in reflex.
99 smiled indulgently. "I suppose that's true now that the King has shaved off his moustache," she allowed. "I wonder what made him do it."
"Probably for Princess Marta," Max replied absently. "I think she preferred me, er, him clean-shaven."
99's eyes darkened at this revelation but when she looked at Max he seemed quite oblivious to the import of his own words.
"Anyway," he continued, "that's probably why they asked me to come in disguise." He scratched his chin. "And this false beard is making my face itch," he complained.
"Yes, there'd be quite a commotion here if people could see that you looked like the King."
"He looks like me," Max insisted.
99 decided to change the subject. "It was nice of them to invite us to the wedding."
"Yes," Max agreed, "and it's about time they got married. They were engaged when we met them and that was five years ago."
"I just wish the Chief had been able to come with us. What did he say he was working on again?"
"Something about an office break-in at the Watergate last spring. OSI asked him to look into it unofficially to see if Kaos was involved." Max shrugged. "I don't think it'll amount to much."
"It's odd that they don't want us to make direct contact with the palace, though. After all, we have been there before."
"Security, 99," Max told her. "We've had stranger orders than that before."
"I guess you're right, Max."
"Besides, having the King and I and you all under one roof again would be just asking for trouble."
99 smiled to herself at Max's show of jealousy. She could never stay mad at him for long.
"It's not all gravy for Charles and Marta, though."
"Why is that, Max?"
"Well, I understand that instead of being able to go away alone together after the ceremony they'll have to turn the trip into a state visit to one of Caronia's key Middle East trading partners."
"You mean . . . ?"
"That's right, 99. They're going on an Abu Dhabi honeymoon."
By this time they had finally arrived at the customs desk. The uniformed official took their papers and studied them before asking, "Do you have anything to declare?"
"Yes," Max replied, "I don't like those mirrored sunglasses. I can't see your eyes."
"I was referring to any proscribed or dutiable items, sir," the official said.
Max squinted at him. "A?" he queried in that way he had when he wasn't quite following.
"He means in our luggage, Max," 99 whispered then, turning to the officer, said, "No, we have nothing to declare."
"Very well, madam," he replied. He stamped their passports and handed them back. "I hope you enjoy your stay in Caronia."
"Thank you," Max replied.
99 had already picked up her suitcase and was walking toward the exit. Max picked up his suitcase and started to follow her but, noticing his reflection in the mirror behind the desk, put his suitcase down again and briefly adjusted his false beard. Satisfied, he turned, took a step and tripped over the suitase. He sprang to his feet, dusted himself off, assured himself that none of the people staring at him had noticed and, adopting a dignified stride, followed 99 out of the terminal.
What he had failed to observe in the mirror was the reflection of a man who had been observing him from a bank of telephones on the opposite wall even before his display of suitcase gymnastics. The man put a coin in the slot of one of the phones and dialled.
"Maxwell Smart has just left the airport," he said. "Proceed according to plan."
Act I
The taxi cab pulled up outside the newly constructed Grandsburgh Hilton hotel. Max and 99 were in the back seat. With modernization, automobiles had become a common sight in the capital, vying for space on the narrow, old world streets.
"But that's ridiculous," Max was saying. "We only came half a mile."
"I just charge what's on the meter, sir," the driver monotoned.
"Yes, well, that's another thing. I'm sure it wasn't set to zero when we got in."
"That's the Initial Charge, sir."
"You mean you start charging before we've even gone anywhere?"
"No, that's the license fee the Caronian Cab Company charges me to put those three Cs on the door."
"Oh. Well, that's different. That's reasonable. What else?"
"The luggage charge," the driver continued.
"It didn't cost this much to buy!" Max protested.
"Just pay the fare, Max," 99 urged.
"Listen to your wife, sir," said the driver.
"You go and register, 99," Max said. "I'll take care of this."
99 sighed. She had been through this before. She got out of the car and went into the hotel.
---
99 looked at her watch. It had been over an hour. That was long time to haggle - even for Max. She picked up the phone.
"Front desk? This is Mrs. Smart in 801," she said "Has my husband come in yet? . . . What do you mean 'What husband?'? . . . No, I'm not looking for volunteers!"
She slammed down the receiver and went out into the hall. Her suitcase was there just outside the door of the room.
She took the elevator down and emerged back in the lobby. She marched over to the front desk and tried again. "Are you the hotel manager?"
"I am."
Something about his haughty manner struck a chord. That was it: He reminded her of one of those snooty hotel managers or head waiters who seemed to populate so many of Max's beloved old black and white movies that she had gotten to know in recent years while watching them with him on television.
"I'm looking for my husband."
"Have you tried the Lost and Found?" the manager asked.
"That's very funny," 99 said dryly, "and yet I'm not laughing."
"I don't know why you are persisting with this charade but I do not have time for such foolishness."
"Look," 99 persevered. "An hour ago I had a husband; now I don't and I want him back," she demanded, concisely if a little incoherently.
"You checked in alone"
99 glowered at him. She knew this was true but that only made her all the more determined to prove her point. An image of her suitcase - just her suitcase? - sitting in the hall upstairs flashed into her mind. Someone had to have brought it into the hotel. "You have a doorman outside," she remembered. "He must have seen us arrive. Ask him."
The manager let go a long suffering sigh. "As you wish." He signalled and a freckle-faced boy appeared. "Go outside and fetch your foreman," the manager ordered him.
"No, no," 99 wailed as the boy did as he was bid. "I said the doorman, not the foreman."
"The hotel doorman is also the employees' foreman," the manager told her as though this should have been obvious.
"He's the doorman and the foreman?"
"He's the doorman, the foreman and a volunteer corpsman."
"Call me Norman," said a voice behind her. 99 wheeled around to be confronted by a genial-looking bear of a man smiling amiably at her. He was wearing an elaborately embroidered uniform with huge epaulets which 99 assumed to be that of a doorman rather than one of his other homonymous occupations. "How may I help you?"
99 smiled back, expecting imminent vindication. "Please tell the manager here how I came to the hotel with my husband. He doesn't seem to believe me."
The doorman looked puzzled. "I saw Madam's taxi pull up. Then you got out and the driver took your suitcase out of the trunk." His smile became apologetic. "There was no one else in the car."
99's face fell. The man was lying through his sparkling teeth - but why? She turned back to the manager whose face now wore a snide smile of its own. Just what was going on here? There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach; the subject of Max's whereabouts had suddenly gone beyond merely scoring debating points. Her agent's instinct kicked in. Where was Max?
"I signed the register as Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell Smart?" she said quietly. "You didn't ask me about it then."
"When a woman comes into the hotel alone we do not ask questions," the manager replied. He eyed her lasciviously. "We are gentlemen," he added in a leering tone which suggested that he was anything but.
Alone. The word sent a chill through her. 99 glanced around. It was only then that she noticed that the hotel seemed to have no women employees and, aside from herself, there were no unaccompanied females in the lobby. Caronia hasn't come all that far, she thought.
She went outside. The taxi was gone. Long gone, she suspected. She looked up and down the street. All the respectable people turned away but some of the more raggedly dressed saw that she was in trouble and offered to help. But the answer was always the same - no one had seen anything.
There was a telephone booth on the corner. There was no telephone book so 99 dialled the operator. A male voice answered.
"I'd like the number for the Caronian Cab Company," she said.
"There is no such company," the voice told her. "Perhaps you mean the Grandsburgh Taxi Service."
But 99 was no longer listening because she knew this could only mean that Max had been . . .
---
"Kidnapped?" echoed the Commander of the Caronian Constabulary. "What makes you say something like that?"
99 faced him across his carved wooden desk; this time feeling as though she was playing a scene with Claude Rains. When she had called the Chief on her cologne phone he had told her that since his best agent was already on the scene he would assign the investigation to her and had every confidence that she would get to the bottom of the mystery. This had seemed like a good idea at the time but getting the cooperation of the Caronian authorities without revealing her identity was proving more difficult than she had expected.
"I've already explained all this to the sergeant, the captain and your sub-commander." Her veneer of calm was beginning to fray.
The commander examined the reports each of his subordinates had submitted up the chain of command. "Yes, I see. They have all stated that there is no evidence to support your claim that your husband was ever in Caronia."
"'Claim'?" 99 repeated indignantly. "Why would I make this up?"
The Commander shrugged. "Perhaps you are lonely or . . . sometimes the mind plays tricks. The fact is, to the contrary, all the evidence suggests that you came here alone."
99 saw a ray of light. "But wouldn't a woman traveling alone have drawn attention?"
The Commander lifted his eyebrows. "When we see a woman traveling alone we do not ask questions. We are gentlemen."
"So I've heard." She looked up at him, her face a study in doe-eyed melancholy. "So you won't help me."
He splayed his hands in front of him. "I cannot help you."
"Then who is your superior?"
"I am the commander. I have no superior in the constabulary."
"Then I demand to see King Charles himself." She knew she was playing her last card. Technically, her orders were not to contact the palace but an appeal to the crown through public channels was a loophole she was desperate enough to try to exploit.
The Commander laughed. "Madam, I am not in a position to call His Majesty."
"I happen to be a personal friend of his," she announced boldly.
"Oh?"
"Not like that."
"Oh." He seemed disappointed. "Well, tell me this, if you are such a friend of the King, why can you not contact him yourself?"
"I can't just walk in the palace gate."
The Commander smiled sardonically. "No, I don't suppose you can."
"I haven't seen him in a long time," 99 explained, backtracking slightly, fearing that she had gone too far already, "and his intermediaries would not believe me - just as you don't." When the Commander remained skeptical, she added, "Let me put it this way: What do you think will happen if I'm telling the truth and the King finds out you refused to help me?"
He thought for a moment and then said, "The best I can do is put you in touch with the King's major domo - Colonel von Klaus."
99 breathed. "That will do nicely," she said.
---
99 waited in the small antechamber into which she had been ushered. Five years earlier, she had been here on a mission with Max and the Chief. Seeing it on her own now, virtually as a private traveler, the palace seemed much more imposing.
After a few moments, the door opened and Colonel von Klaus entered. 99 had not really had much contact with him in the past but today the sight of a familiar face was almost overwhelming. She struggled to maintain the decorum she knew was expected.
"Colonel," she said, extending her hand formally.
Von Klaus shook it warmly. "Mrs. Smart, this is a surprise."
"I'm sorry to break security like this," 99 began, "but-"
"Nonsense," von Klaus interupted. "After what you and Mr. Smart have done for our country you are always welcome. His Majesty will be pleased that you were able to change your plans. He was most disappointed when he heard that you would not be able to attend the wedding."
99 gaped at him. "When you heard . . . when did you hear that?"
"Last week. Is Mr. Smart with you?"
"Not exactly."
"Forgive me for prying. I imagine he must be on an important mission. I'll ask no more about it."
99 tried to make sense of what von Klaus was saying. "He's not on a mission. We always intended to come to the wedding. We arrived in Caronia this morning," she blurted out.
Von Klaus was taken aback by the rush of words. "Then where is he?"
"This is what I asked to see you about," 99 replied. "I'm afraid I'm not making myself clear. Max has disappeared."
"Disappeared? What do you mean?"
Von Klaus listened intently as 99 recounted the day's events. "I'm so sorry," he said when she had finished. "Had we known you were here we would have sent someone to pick you up at the airport. This would not have happened."
99 shook her head. "This was no coincidence. Don't ask me how I know but somebody has put a lot of effort into making things work out just this way."
Von Klaus's puzzlement was evident. "How do you know that?"
99 rolled her eyes. "I told you not to ask me that." She thought a moment. "Wait. You say you heard last week that we would not be coming?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"By telegram."
99 nodded. "We received a telegram, apparently from you, telling us not to make contact with the palace."
"I sent no such telegram," von Klaus said.
"That's what I'm beginning to realize," 99 replied. "But according to the backward tracer we put on it, it was sent from the palace."
"Curious," von Klaus commented. "We also confirmed the source of our telegram."
"How?"
"I personally called Control by telephone and spoke to someone named Larabee. She was very specific."
"She? Colonel von Klaus, Control Agent Larabee is a man."
"Are you sure?"
"Well, his wife says he is and that's as much as I want to know." She paused. "Control's telephone number is highly classified and changed on a regular basis. Where did you get it?"
"It was right on the telegram," von Klaus replied. "Oh. I see what you mean. 'Fruit from the poisonous tree' so to speak."
"Do you still have it?"
"I'm sure the Royal Appointments Secretary will have it filed away." Von Klaus stepped to an intercom and exchanged a few words with someone at the other end. After a few moments there was a knock on the door. Von Klaus opened it revealing a young man dressed as a page holding a piece of paper. Von Klaus took the paper and the page bowed and disappeared down the hall. Von Klaus closed the door. "Here it is."
99 took the telegram and looked it over. "This is a Washington number all right," she announced, "but it's not Control." She looked downcast. "I hope this doesn't mean the place has been taken over by infiltrators."
"What is it? The Pentagon? The State Department?"
"No, it's Nate & Al's Deli."
Catching sight of von Klaus's nonplused expression, 99 felt compelled to explain. "Max goes there all the time."
Von Klaus kept staring at her.
"I like it, too."
Von Klaus said nothing.
"They have these little corned beef sandwiches with -"
"I understand," von Klaus said, cutting her off.
99 collected herself quickly. "It's a pity you didn't ask for some security confirmation," she said. "I don't mean to be rude, Colonel, but from what I've seen here, I'm surprised you were willing to accept the word of a woman at all."
Von Klaus bristled. "You may find our ways backward, Mrs. Smart, but we are not unaware of developments abroad. We have heard of your Helen Reddy." His temper cooled. "When we encounter a woman in a position of authority in a foreign country we don't ask questions."
99 smiled sympathetically. "Because you're gentlemen," she finished for him.
"No, it - " von Klaus did a double take. "No, it's a matter of international diplomacy." He stared at her again. "I wonder, could it have been Mrs.Larabee I spoke to?"
"I doubt it," 99 said.
"Why not?"
"Because she sounds more like a man than he does."
"I see. Well, be that as it may, I'm afraid my hands are tied. I cannot advise His Majesty to overrule the Commander of the Constabulary without evidence that Mr. Smart entered the country or even passed through Customs."
"Of course!" 99 cried out, causing von Klaus to jump. "Customs! The Customs officer will remember us!"
---
"I don't remember you," the official said, barely glancing at her.
"This isn't even the same man," 99 said contemptuously. "They must have changed shifts."
"It doesn't matter," von Klaus replied. "The information is all recorded here in the Entrance Book."
"What does it say?"
"It's not good news, I'm afraid. It confirms that you passed through Customs alone just as they say."
"And the beat goes on," 99 groaned - mainly to herself but turning a matching pair of blank faces in her direction. She didn't bother explaining the reference. "Let me see that."
Von Klaus passed her the heavy journal and 99 studied the laboriously hand-written entries. "This is odd," she said finally. "My listing is at the bottom of this page. It says I was here at 8:17. But the first entry on the next page is for 9:08." She adressed the officer. "Are you saying that no one came through for almost an hour after I did?"
"If that's what the book says, madam."
"But that's not possible. The airport was very busy; there was a long queue in front of us and behind us." She ran a finger experimentally down the center of the book, then put it down on the counter and flattened it, separating the pages. "There!"
Von Klaus could clearly see a sliver of paper between the pages. "A page appears to be have been torn out," he observed.
"Is that enough to start an investigation?" 99 asked
"It certainly is. Tampering with official documents is a very serious offence. And I guarantee: His Majesty will have every available member of the Contabulary searching for your husband as soon as possible."
99 smiled only briefly; her anxiety not diminished.
"Is that not what you want?"
"Yes. No. Thank you, Colonel. It's just that, all this time, I've been hoping that I was wrong - that there was some other explanation - but this proves that something terrible really has happened to Max."
Act II
99 made her way down the steps from the guest wing of the palace where she had spent the night. She had slept only fitfully but she had showered and felt refreshed. She had also made use of the time spent not sleeping in formulating a line of inquiry that she wanted to discuss with the colonel and the king, She walked along the hallway past the throne room toward the adjoining private office; steeling herself for the sight of the man who was the living image of her missing husband.
Colonel von Klaus put down the telephone as 99 reached the open door. "Excellent news, Sire," he said. "Signor Badolotti has agreed to perform at the wedding."
The King looked up. "And who is he, von Klaus?" he asked in the mellifluous voice that 99 remembered from their previous encounters.
"Luigi Badolotti."
"A juggler perhaps?"
Von Klaus appeared crestfallen. "I thought he was Your Majesty's favorite opera singer."
The King shrugged. "I'm afraid you are mistaken, my friend." Then he noticed 99 in the doorway, "Ah, Mrs. Smart. How delightful to see you again!" As 99 stepped into the room he continued, "Colonel von Klaus has told me of the mystery regarding your husband. Is there anything further we can do to assist you?"
"As a matter of fact there is, Your Majesty. I have a theory that Rupert of Rathskeller may be responsible and I - "
"Rotten ruthless Rupert of Rathskeller, eh?" the King interupted.
99 was startled. For the most part she had learned to cope with the King and Max's extraordinary resemblance but sometimes when the King would move a certain way or speak a certain phrase the effect could be downright unnerving. Especially today. "Er, yes," she went on. "Max thwarted his plan in Washington and I think he might be out for revenge."
"An excellent idea, my dear. Von Klaus?"
The Colonel came over to them. "Your Majesty?"
"Von Klaus, I want you to give Mrs. Smart all the assistance she requires to track down Rupert of Rathskeller."
"But, Your Majesty, Rupert is right here in the capital preparing to attend the wedding."
King Charles turned to 99. "Will there be anything alse, my dear?"
99 was amazed. "If you know where Rupert is, why haven't you had him arrested for plotting against you in Washington?"
It was von Klaus who answered. "A few months after we returned to Caronia, Rupert sent emissaries to the King's courtiers and apologized for what he had done and begged His Majesty's forgiveness." He paused. "The King saw fit to pardon him." Although he did not say so, it was clear that von Klaus had not approved.
"But how could the King believe he was sincere?" 99 asked. "When we last saw him, he was determined that Rupert would be punished."
"The King is a most . . . forgiving man," von Klaus answered helplessly. "The sort who never could - "
"Ever would," 99 agreed.
"- take a position and staunchly never budge."
"A most forgiving man," 99 marveled.
"And now that Rupert is heir to the throne . . . "
"How did he become heir to the throne?"
"Well, with Prince Basil dead, the King's only relatives were two distant cousins. Unfortunately, they were killed in a hunting accident last year. According to the Law of Royal Succession, Rupert was next in line."
"But only if he had first had his honor restored with a pardon," 99 mused.
"Correct."
99 glanced at King Charles. His face appeared quite blank, as if the conversation held no interest for him. She realized now that he had also been like this when she had first glimpsed him from the doorway; he had only seemed to become animated after von Klaus had spoken directly to him. "Your Majesty must forgive me. You must have much more important things to do than talk about old news."
"On the contrary, my dear, I find royal affairs fascinating. Indeed, it is I who should apologize to you. I wish we were able to be of more help to you. Sorry about that."
99's eyes widened. Once again the shock of the familiar. "What did you say?"
"I wish we could do more to help you find your husband."
99 fell silent. A crazy idea was beginning to form itself in her mind. Was it possible? With the conversation in a lull, the King's face resumed it's blank expression. 99 motioned for von Klaus to walk with her to the other side of the room. King Charles didn't appear to notice.
"How long has he been like this?"
"Like what?" von Klaus asked.
"Well, he seems . . . " 99 struggled to find words that would not be insulting, "distant and aloof."
"He has always been so," von Klaus replied.
"Yes, but not like this. He seems so withdrawn. Especially after . . . He seemed to loosen up so much after he stayed with us in Washington."
"He did seem more . . . convivial." Von Klaus frowned. "What are you suggesting?"
But 99 was not ready to hear herself make the suggestion aloud just yet. "What about his memory?"
"What about it?"
"People don't usually forget the names of their favorite singers. I'm sorry; I couldn't help overhearing."
"That was my mistake," von Klaus said stiffly.
"I think we both know that that isn't true," said 99 as kindly as possible. "I was wondering . . . is this a long term problem he's been having?"
"Certainly not." Now von Klaus did seem offended. "It was an unimportant matter. The King has more pressing things on his mind: Affairs of state, the strain of wedding preparations - and your husband's disappearance," he added pointedly. He paused, regretting the tone he had taken. "Mrs. Smart," he went on more gently, "you must concern yourself with finding your husband. The King's eccentricities - if any - are my problem."
He went back to rejoin the King on the other side of the room leaving 99 alone. "The trouble is it might be the same problem," she murmured to herself. She sat down in a large armchair with her chin in her hand and watched as King Charles and Colonel von Klaus went back to work.
"Is everything all right?" the King asked with a glance at 99.
"I'm sure it will be, Sire." Von Klaus picked up some papers from the desk. "Now the next item on the agenda . . . What do you wish to do about the Education Bill?"
"The Education Bill?"
"The Bill for the education of the children of Caronia."
"That sounds like a lot of money, von Klaus. Perhaps we should take up a collection."
"It's not that sort of bill, Your Majesty," von Klaus explained with extraordinary patience. "It's a proposal for a law the council passed in their last session. Under the Caronian Consititution, it requires your Royal Assent preceding proclamation."
The King squinted at him. "A?"
"That's it," 99 said evenly. Without further thought, she stood up, moved smoothly across the room and flung her arms around the King.
"Mrs. Smart!" he protested but he was cut short when she planted her mouth on his. He tried to pull free but she hung on and he fell back against a side table, knocking over a ceramic figurine and pulling 99 down on top of him. The sound of shattering statuary brought a guard in from his post in the hall. He appeared confused by the scene and stood motionless with his sword drawn waiting for orders.
"What is the meaning of this?" von Klaus thundered. He tried to pull 99 off the King but she clung on, her strength fueled by the pent-up frustration of the previous twenty-four hours. Slowly, the King's struggles became more feeble. Finally, 99 stood up, panting for breath.
The King sat on the floor, stunned. He blinked once, twice, and looked up at her. "99," he said. The voice. Not the King's voice. His voice.
99 breathed a sigh of relief. "Welcome back, Max," she said.
There followed several long seconds of silence as the three of them digested the new reality. Max stood up and shook his head as if to clear it.
Colonel von Klaus stared at 99 in amazement. Of a number of possible questions, he chose, "How did you know that would snap him out of it?"
"I didn't," 99 admitted. "I just wanted to kiss my husband." With a rush, she realized just how much she loved saying the words 'my husband."
"Besides, it worked for Sleeping Beauty," Max pointed out, his synapses happily back firing - or backfiring - in their usual fashion.
99 beamed appreciatively at Max's insight while von Klaus's face took on a diametrically opposite expression; counterpointing 99's relief with a growing look of concern.
"Where is the King?" he asked.
"Rupert has him," Max answered slowly, his memory his own once again. "You were right about him being behind this, 99. But he has bigger plans than just getting even with me. I remember it all now . . . "
---
"I'm sorry but I'm just not paying this amount," Max said.
The driver produced a dagger.
"Er, not without adding a generous tip for your excellent service."
The doors on either side of Max opened and two grey coated men got into the cab. Max couldn't know it but they were the man who had watched them at the airport - and the Commander of the Caronian Constabulary.
"Who are you?" Max asked reasonably. "What do you want?"
"I am Wilhelm of Wiedenfrutz," the first man said, drawing himself up in a fair approximation of Basil Rathbone-esque malevolence.
Max made a face. "Wilhelm of Wiedenfrutz?" he repeated. "Where do you guys come up with these names?"
Wilhelm seemed a little rattled. "Who we are is not important but what we want is," he said, trying to regain his composure. "We know who you are. We know you have impersonated King Charles in the past and we know that you still have the information in your brain to do it again. What we want is for you to do so on our behalf."
Max regarded them icily. "Since you know so much, you must know there's only one way you could possibly make me do that."
Wilhelm nodded at his associate. "Commander."
The Commander took out a large hypodermic needle.
"That's the way," Max conceded - and promptly passed out.
---
"I should have known the Commander was mixed up in this."
"Rest assured, Mrs. Smart, he will be dealt with severely. Treason is our highest crime."
"Let's just hope it sticks this time."
"If you two don't mind, I'm trying to tell a story here."
"Sorry, Max."
---
When Max awoke, he was surprised to find himself not in an austere cell of some kind but in a luxurious, ornately furnished parlor. Nor was he tied up or restrained in any way. He was seated in a deep leather easy chair. But when he tried to stand he found that he could only move his head.
His jacket was gone and his right shirt sleeve was torn revealing a bright red puncture mark on his arm. They must have injected me with that needle while I was unconcious, he reasoned, though thought itself proved difficult. His brain felt like it was filled with fog - although, admittedly, that was not an unfamiliar sensation.
He became aware of voices in the room. Turning his head, he saw four men conversing in low tones. Two of them were the men who had accosted him in the cab. One he did not recognize. But the fourth was none other that his old adversary - Rupert of Rathskeller himself.
"Why is he unconcious?" Rupert demanded. "The drug isn't supposed to have that effect."
"It wasn't the drug," Wilhelm replied. "He blacked out even before we could inject it."
The Commander had been watching Max; seeing Max's movement he drew it to the attention of the others.
"Ah, Mr. Smart," Rupert said expansively, "how nice of you to join us."
"Rupert of Rathskeller - so you're behind this." Max had to force the words out as his mouth did not seem much interested in working.
Rupert extended his hand then, realizing that Max could not respond, dropped it by his side. "Welcome to my humble abode."
"You call this humble? The Playboy mansion could take lessons from this place."
"It keeps the rain off," Rupert replied modestly. He gestured to include his companions. "We were just discussing your unexpected lapse of conciousness. Perhaps you would be so kind as to enlighten us as to how you did it. Some high-level anti-interrogation technique, I'll wager."
Max would have squirmed if he'd been able to move. Instead he just averted his eyes from Rupert's gaze. "I hate needles," he said reluctantly.
"Come, come, Mr. Smart. There's no need for embarrassment. We all have our foibles. I myself once ran screaming from nothing more threatening than a newborn baby duckling."
"Sharp beak?" Max hazarded.
"Allergic to down," Rupert replied. "Those little feathers are murder on the sinuses."
"Especially in summer," Max agreed. He sniffed in sympathy.
Behind Rupert, Wilhelm coughed and loudly cleared his throat - bringing the atttention of Max and Rupert back to their immediate situation.
"Er, just what have you got going on here, Rupert" Max asked, adding, almost as an afterthought, "and what have you done to me?"
"I believe my confreres have already enlightened you as to the gist of our plans. As for the second: You have been injected with a brand new drug that I've obtained right here in Europe." Like a child with a new toy he babbled on. "Based on the theories of a certain Dr. Laszlo von Havoc."
Max's eyes widened.
"Ah, I see you've heard of him."
"We've met," Max admitted tersely. He nodded at the new man. "Is this your surgeon?"
"Nothing so messy," the man answered for himself. "I am a hypnotist."
"You've gone to an awful lot of trouble to break in a nightclub act," Max said.
"This is no time for jokes," Wilhelm growled. "We are deadly serious." Max noted that he was the only one in the group with a gun rather than a sword - albeit an old-style blunderbuss.
Why do they always think I'm joking? Max wondered silently
"Calm yourself, Wilhelm," Rupert chided. "Mr. Smart is an old friend. He deserves the right to an explanation." He sat on a chair in front of Max's. "Advances have been made since Dr. von Havoc developed his original procedure. The new serum operates directly on the part of the brain which governs your free will. There is no longer need for any surgery."
"Why can't I move?"
"Merely a side effect," Rupert gave a dismissive wave of his hand, "but a fortunate one."
"I'm sure it is," Max answered. "Handcuffs are so expensive these days."
"And chains have gone throught the roof. Where will it all end, eh?"
Again Wilhelm loudly cleared his throat.
Rupert shot him a look and then turned back to Max. "Don't worry, Mr. Smart, the paralytic effect of the drug will wear off shortly but it will leave you highly susceptible to post-hypnotic suggestion. You will not be able to resist. You will believe you are King Charles." He paused for dramatic effect. "Charles is already my . . . guest. When you leave here you will take his place. The instruction that his own people have already given you will do the rest." He grinned like the rapscallion he was. "It's delightfully ironic when you think about it."
"It'll never work," Max said confidently. "My wife is a trained agent. She won't rest until she finds me."
"I've no doubt that's true. In fact, I'm counting on it. In time, she may even convince the whole of Caronia to help her. But they will be looking for you. By the time anyone realizes it's actually the King who is missing it will be too late."
"Too late for what?" Max asked.
Rupert smiled. "I'm a law-abiding man, Mr. Smart."
Except for kidnapping, Max thought to himself.
"Except for kidnapping," Rupert added cheerfully.
Max stared at him but only asked, "Do you have a point, Rupert?"
"The point is that that when I was, shall we say, out of favor - "
"Shall we say 'wanted for treason'?" Max suggested.
"Let's just say that I had plenty of time on my hands to read. I discovered an ancient Caronian law that I'm more that happy to abide by. It states that if the ruling monarch does not marry within five years of his coronation he must forfeit the throne. That deadline is up on Saturday."
"But that's not until after the wedding," Max objected. "Don't you think that someone'll notice if the King doesn't show up for his own wedding? . . . Oh."
"Precisely, Mr. Smart. Then once the deadline passes I will release the King - with a hypnotically induced false memory to account for his time away, of course - and you will be exposed as an impostor. Presto! No marriage. You and your government will receive the blame and I will have the throne of Caronia."
---
"Good heavens!" von Klaus gasped when Max had finished his story. "The wedding is tomorrow! You've got to rescue the King!"
Max grimaced. "Again? Can't you send in a regiment from the contabulary or something?"
"We can't risk the King's safety with an all-out attack," von Kaus answered. "This requires stealth. It can only be accomplished by someone of your peculiar talents." This last was apparently meant to be flattering.
"Don't you have any spies of your own?"
"None with your knowledge of the situation. The King must be returned without delay."
"I don't suppose we could just call Rupert up and ask nicely."
"No."
Max rolled his eyes. "Oh, all right. If Charles needs to be rescued today it may as well be by me - but I hope he's never kidnapped a third time."
"Why not?" von Klaus asked, unsure of what Max was getting at.
Max looked at him in surprise. "You mean you don't?"
"Max is right," 99 broke in, "and the best way to help prevent that is to put Rupert out of commission for good. I think there's a way to get the King back and take care of Rupert at the same time."
Max and von Klaus listened and nodded as she outlined her plan.
---
Max tiptoed along a corridor in Rupert of Rathskeller's opulent Grandsburgh apartment. Getting inside had turned out to be childishly simple; the old 'open up, it's me' trick had worked like a charm. He found a doorway and entered the room. Unfortunately, he also found the edge of a rug, tripped on it and fell head first into a suit of armor on display in a corner; the impact causing a loud ringing sound - both in the room and in his head. As Max regained his senses he heard the door slam shut behind him. He turned around and found himself once again face to face with Rupert of Rathskeller.
"Charles! How did you get out of the dungeon?"
Max smiled. "Guess again, Rupert."
Rupert peered at him. "Smart? Is that you?"
"Yes, Rupert. It's been a long time."
"You were here yesterday," Rupert reminded him.
"I was here yesterday," Max repeated, momentarily befuddled. "Yes, well, that doesn't count. Yesterday you had me so drugged up I didn't know if I was alseep or awake. I don't count it when I see people in my sleep - sometimes I'm only dreaming it."
Rupert regarded him gravely. "That settles it," he said. "Those guards have got to go."
"What guards?"
"The guards you got by to get in here."
"Oh, those guards. Well, I'm sure they did their best,"
"That's the pity of it. This is only the last straw. In the past month alone, they've let in three poll takers, a vacuum cleaner salesman and a pair of Good News evangelists from Gary, Indiana."
"I can see you didn't buy the vacuum cleaner," Max said, looking down at the floor, "and I'm guessing not the Good News either."
Unexpectedly, Rupert smiled as a thought struck him. "Oh well, as King I shall have the Royal Guardsmen."
Max's eyes lit up. "The Royal Guardsmen? They're great. I love their Snoopy songs."
"In the meantime, there is the even more vexing matter of how you overcame the post-hypnotic suggestion. I was told that the serum was foolproof."
"Well, obviously it's not," Max shot back. His eyebrows knitted in thought. "Hey, wait a minute . . . "
"Never mind. Repeat doses of the serum should keep Charles under long enough to corroborate any story I choose to tell." He studied Max's face. "I presume you have spilled the beans on my little plan."
"Would you believe me if I said no?'
"No."
"Would you believe me if I said yes?"
"No."
"Oh. Well, . . . I'm glad we cleared that up."
Rupert appeared unconcerned. "It's of little consequence. The wedding can't take place if neither of you is present. And anything your friends might say will seem fanciful concoction compared to, say, a simple case of cold feet."
"What if the serum finally wears off?" Max asked.
Rupert chuckled. "The dealine is very close, Mr. Smart. And after that, well, fate is not often kind to deposed monarchs."
"I'm sorry, Rupert, but I'm not a big believer in fate. You know that I can't allow that to happen."
"You're here to rescue the King."
Max made a gesture of mock helplessness. "I'm afraid so."
"Just like old times," Rupert commented. "Well, you know I can't allow that to happen."
Max looked around the room. "Where are your men?"
"I'm sure we can settle this between ourselves." Rupert drew his sword. "We never finished our duel back in Washington, Mr. Smart. This will be fun."
"Fun for you," Max grumbled. But he drew the sword he had brought with him from the palace and faced Rupert, unflinching. He swished the sword back and forth, testing its balance. "I suppose we always knew it would come to this eventually."
They took up the en guard position; blade met blade and the battle was joined.
"Tell me, Mr. Smart," Rupert shouted above the clang as he thrust his sword at Max, "why do you do it?"
Max stepped back, parrying. "Do what?"
Rupert lunged at Max. "Why do you involve yourself in matters that are not your concern?"
"You involved me, Rupert," Max counterthrust.
"But there's something more," Rupert probed. ""This is not even your country. When your free will returned you could simply have chosen to walk away."
"'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing'," Max recited. "Edmund Burke." He continued backing up as Rupert advanced, their swords crossing furiously.
"Aha! One of my favorites. Do you know this one? 'Hell is paved with good intentions'. Samuel Johnson."
"'Every man is his own hell'," Max riposted. "H.L. Mencken."
"Touché," Rupert acknowledged.
They came to an abrupt halt as Max backed into a wall. Having nowhere else to go, Max thrust his sword forward and started following after it. "Now you answer one for me."
The swordplay resumed; Rupert now moving backward."Yes?"
"Those two royal cousins. Were their deaths really a hunting 'accident'?"
"Ah, tragic loss." Rupert seemed genuinely grief-stricken - although that didn't slow down his stroke. "They were my cousins also, you see. But sometimes sacrifices must be made for the good of one's country."
"'Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel', Rupert." Max pressed his advantage, preparing to deliver the coup de gràce. "That was also Samuel Johnson!" he declared triumphantly.
Rupert suddenly ceased his retreat ."I tire of the game, Smart." In a single motion, he wrested Max's sword from his hand and sent it clattering to the floor, leaving Rupert's own sword with its point pressed against Max's throat. "You've become a liabilty, Mr. Smart. You've bought me precious time and for that I thank you. But I see no reason to keep you alive any longer."
"You're not married, are you, Rupert?"
Rupert froze in place, confused by Max's sudden change of subject. "What?"
"You see, Rupert," Max went on calmly, "they say that marriage makes two people one. But sometimes it can make one person two."
"What are you talking about, Smart?"
"For example, at the same time that I'm standing here with you, my wife - I don't believe you met her - is in the apartment across the courtyard with a high-powered super-sensitive microphone recording everything you're saying and broadcasting it by radio to the people of Caronia. They'll never accept you as King now, Rupert. You're finished!"
"I don't believe you, Smart," Rupert snarled but he went to the window anyway.
Max followed him. "You've got to learn to be more trusting, Rupert," he remarked pleasantly.
Sure enough, there was 99 at the window of another of the royal dwellings. She and Max waved merrily to each other.
A metalic object glinted in 99's hand and Rupert knew that Max's words were true.
Rupert shook his head. "The old spousal surveilance from the window-sill trick."
"Something like that," Max replied uncertainly. "It's a technique we perfected on a case a couple of years back." A mischievous look appeared on his face. "You might say you've been foiled."
"A pun!" Rupert wanly returned the smile. "I yield to your rapier wit." Rupert placed his sword across his arm and offered it to Max hilt first in a traditional gesture of surrender. Max accepted it gracefully. Rupert slumped against the wall, sliding down it to sit on the floor. "'Of all the sad words of tongue or pen'," qoth he, "the saddest are these: It might have been.' John. Greenleaf. Whittier."
Max sat down next to him. "That's life," he replied. "Frank Sinatra."
Mission accomplished, 99 twisted the end of the tiny tube-shaped device she held, deactivating the microphone, at the same time revealing a lipstick which she then used to freshen her face.
Rupert glanced across at her and turned back to Max. "Perhaps I understand more than you realize."
"The woman who posed as Larabee on the telephone?"
Rupert inclined his head. "An . . . acqaintance of mine from my time in your fair capital."
"Did you give her the serum, too?"
Rupert gazed wistfully into the middle distance. "Not at all."
"Then how did you get her to go along with such a crazy scheme?"
"Mr. Smart. Men such as you and I - men of the world - the ladies oftentimes find us . . . attractive. You understand."
"Of course."
"And when that happens," Rupert went on, "we don't ask questions."
Max nodded in understanding. "Because we're gentlemen," he said.
---
The congregation watched mesmerized as Princess Marta stepped sedately down the aisle to the traditional accompaniment of Wagner's Wedding March; King Charles waited for her at the altar.
Unnoticed in the throng, his disguise firmly back in place, Max and 99 took quiet satisfaction from the part they had played in bringing this moment to pass.
"Isn't this a beautiful cathedral?" 99 whispered.
"Yes," Max replied.
"And doesn't Princess Marta make a beautiful bride?"
"Yes," Max replied. He seemed preoccupied.
99 turned to look at him. "Max," she began tentatively, "Marta confided to me that you asked her to go away with you the last time we were here."
"She did?" He turned to meet her inquiring eyes.
"Yes, Max."
"Well, . . . "
"Well, what, Max?"
"Well, . . . at least I was never engaged to a Kaos agent." There was no need for him to say more. The memory of the Victor Royal debacle clearly still stung.
They stared at each other for a long moment; each thinking how close they had come to not ending up together. Then, together, they reached for one another and hugged tightly.
The End