This story takes place after Get Smart '95 but focuses primarily on characters from the original series. It is also the fourth story in my series featuring Agent 88 so reading them first would be helpful but is not essential. - ChrisR
THE STORY OF Q
88 took another bite from her grilled whiting and smiled.
The atmophere in the 9474 restaurant was congenial, the mood lighting low, the food good. And best of all, the woman seated across from her was laughing at her jokes. Hard as it might be to believe, that didn't always happen.
Beautiful, intelligent and a sense of humor. Even her name was magical. Bethany Stone. It sounded like a precious jewel, an artefact of legend or fable. 88 pictured the two of them as adventurers in a Rider Haggard novel hunting lost treasure and finding romance along the way. What a movie that would make. Kathleen Turner would play her and Angela Basett would be Beth. Steven Spielberg would direct.
88 was trying to think of more witticisms to regale her with when one of her ear studs began to buzz. Softly so that only she could hear it but the timing was most inopportune. She frowned and touched her finger to the device to acknowledge.
Beth looked at her with concern. "What is it?"
"I just remembered that I forgot to set the burglar alarm at the bookstore. I'll just be a few-"
"You've used that one before."
"Which one?"
"The emergency-at-the-bookstore routine."
"Well, you know what they say. When you gotta go, you gotta go. We don't want those Best Sellers to become Best Stealers."
"What is it really? You got a better offer?"
"What? No. Never."
Bethany put her fork down. "I can't do this anymore," she said abruptly.
88's heart fell. "Do what?" she asked, hoping against hope that the answer wouldn't be what she knew it was.
"Be left sitting here while you rush off like Batman answering the Bat-signal."
"Funny you should put it just that way," 88 murmured.
"I can't be your Lois Lane."
"Actually, Lois Lane was Superman's girlfriend. Vicki Vale was Batman's girlfriend. Although I think he was really kind of sweet on Catwoman."
Bethany laughed, but it was a sad laugh. "I like you a lot," she said softly. "You're funny and kind and I think we could make a go of it. But if you can't at least tell me where you're going that's so all-fired important, then we're through."
And there it was. Like the proverbial trainwreck, she had seen it coming but couldn't stop it. 88 liked to say she had two lives - books and spying - and loved them both. But love was a third life which always seemed to elude her. Until now. Or so she'd thought. "I'm very sorry, Beth," was all she said. Then she stood up and walked out of the restaurant without looking back.
xxxxx
Max looked up from his desk to see Agent 88 standing in his office grinning at him.
88 had recently acquired a trilby-style hat which now sat jauntily atop her head, making her hair seem even bigger than usual - if that were possible.
Max had no idea what effect this was supposed to achieve but he had learned not to ask about 88's various affectations because this inevitably resulted in a lengthy stand-up routine of observational bons mots punctuated by borrowed one-liners.
"Here I am back from seven weeks undercover in the former Yogoslavia," she announced.
"Why are you telling me something I already know?"
"No reason. I just thought it was important that we established that I've been away for exactly seven weeks."
"Well, now that we've extablished it, take a seat. I've got a new assignment for you."
"What's up, Doc?" 88 enquired as she settled into her usual chair in front of the desk.
Before Max could answer, he was interrupted by the squawking of the intercom.
"The piano player is here for your nine o'clock," came the voice of Trudy, Max's assistant.
"What piano player?" Max asked, but the intercom had gone dead.
"She means me," 88 told him.
Max sighed. "I know she thinks I'm a talent agent but why does she think you're a piano player?"
"88 keys, remember? She thinks 'Eighty Eight' is my stage name."
Max nodded. "There is a certain sense to it, I suppose."
"You were saying something about a new assignment," 88 prompted.
"Was I? It seems I'm always saying something about a new assignment. It's hard to keep track." He picked up a folder from his desk. "Oh, here it is. A threat to the security of the United States and maybe the stability of the entire globe."
"In other words: Same-old, same-old."
"Exactly."
"Well, in that case, could you get to the point? I'm blasting off in the Space Shuttle at one o'clock."
"Really?"
"No."
Max scratched his head. "On second thought, I'll give that one to Zach and 66. I have something more important for you." He set the first folder aside and picked up another.
"More important than the stability of the globe? Color me intrigued."
"As you know, Hymie and Duane have been bringing all our files over from the old CONTROL building so they can be transferred onto the computer here at our new headquarters." He stopped and looked around.
"What's wrong?" 88 asked.
"I've been wondering if it was such a good idea to have our new headquarters under a car wash. It could be prone to flooding - which could short out all our electronics. On the other hand, we all get five per cent off our car washes. I keep going back and forth on it."
"It's a riddle for the ages, all right."
"We stole the idea from KAOS, you know. 99 and I were captured and held prisoner there."
"Is this a long story? I could send out for popcorn."
"Then they made us think we were in Argentina."
88 grinned. "Do you want us to think we're in Argentina?"
"It is lovely down there this time of year." Max shook his head. "Where was I?"
"In Argentina."
"No, I mean just now."
"The file." 88 pointed to the folder he was still holding.
"Oh, right. Well, the thing is: there is no file." To prove his point, he held the folder open upside down and shook it as if he were performing a conjuror's trick. There was nothing in it.
"Okay, now I'm officially confused."
"Well, since it was Hymie who found it - or, rather, didn't find it - perhaps it would be best if he were the one to explain it." Max pressed the button on the intercom. "Trudy, would you ask Hymie to pop in here for a minute."
After a moment, Hymie the CONTROL Robot entered the office. He took a couple of steps, then stopped and inserted his right index finger into his mouth, slid it against the inside of his cheek, and withdrew it, producing a loud sound like that of a bubble bursting. He then repeated the procedure.
Max rolled his eyes. "Hymie, what are you doing?"
"I'm popping in here for a minute."
"It's just a figure of speech, Hymie. Take a seat."
Hymie picked up one of the chairs. "Where shall I take it?"
"Just sit down, Hymie. In the chair," he added hastily.
"Oh." Hymie replaced the chair on the floor. "You really should be more precise in your instructions, Max," he intoned.
"Yes, you really should," said 88, grinning as though the entire performance had been staged exclusively for her entertainment.
"I've recently had my memory banks augmented with a thesaurus. Perhaps you would find one helpful."
"A thesaurus?" Max repeated. "I think I saw one of those in Jurassic Park."
"It means wordfinder,dictionary, lexcicon," Hymie said. "Hello, Agent 88," he continued as he sat down next to her. "How are you?"
"Fine, Hymie. What about you? You had that squeaking looked at?"
"Yes. Thank you for asking."
"Don't keep me in suspenders. What's all this about?"
"Tell 88 what you told me before," said Max.
"About what?"
"About finding this empty folder between two filing cabinets."
"You found this empty folder between two filing cabinets?" 88 repeated.
"Oh," said Max, "I guess we didn't need Hymie to explain it after all."
"Do we know what file should be in it?"
"Not precisely but the sequence of the missing case number places it toward the end of World War II, when Admiral Hargrade was still in charge."
"Couldn't it have simply been misplaced?" 88 asked. "Like when a book is out of order in the library. I hate it when that happens. The Dewey Decimal System is there for a reason."
Max was not about to be distracted. "Not likely," he replied. "Evidence room documents show that it was signed out by Q himself and never returned."
"Q?" 88 shook her head in puzzlement. "What's MI6's tech guy got to do with this? Or did Q from Star Trek beam down and take it for one of his galactic games?"
"Q was the Chief's designation when he was field agent," Hymie told her.
"The Chief was an agent before they switched to numbers," Max explained.
Even after all this time, there was no doubting who they meant by 'the Chief'.
88 shifted uncomfortably in her seat as it sank in. "And it wouldn't be like the Chief to misplace something like that . . "
". . . but the alternative is . . . "
". . . that he lost it deliberately," 88 finished.
"So you can see how sensitive this is."
"We'll handle it with discretion, caution and circumspection."
"I appreciate that, Hymie."
"Incompetence or malfeasance," 88 mused. "It always come down to one or the other, doesn't it?"
"Except that I can't believe that the Chief could be guilty of either of those things." Max sighed. "Still, now that we know about it, it's our duty to investigate - and let the chips fall where they may."
Hymie stood up. "Let's get started, begin, commence."
"I'll be with you shortly, Hymie," said 88. "There's something else Max and I need to discuss."
"What is it?" Max asked when they were alone.
"It's about . . . the thing I don't know anything about."
"What thing?"
"The thing about you-know-who."
"I know who?"
"You know you do."
"Do you?"
"Nothing new. Is something askew?"
Max considered. "If I knew something new about you-know-who, that you didn't know, too, I couldn't tell you. No, that wouldn't do."
"Unless it was something I already knew."
"That's Rule 32."
"Not even a clue?"
"I couldn't say boo."
"This is hard for you, too," 88 commiserated.
"But if I had heard a word from you-know-who, you know what the message would be to you."
She looked away, remembering. "'I'm doing what I have to do.'"
"That's true."
"Thank you.""
"For what?" Max asked pointedly. "We never even had this conversation."
88 grinned. "Then thanks for nothing."
She stood up and turned to leave but Max's voice stopped her.
"88?"
"Yes?"
"You're welcome."
xxxxx
Five decades earlier . . .
Thaddeus paused, looking at the file in his hands, and allowed himself to ponder the course of events which had brought him to this point.
He had first joined CONTROL after fleeing a youthful appointment with matrimony - an act for which he remained penitent - serving initially at Headquarters where he had learned the administrative side of the organization until the attack on Pearl Harbor had awakened a sense of duty and patriotism which had moved him to request transfer to the Agents Section.
His rise to full agent status had been rapid and he became Agent Q - which also gave him some welcome respite from that first name he'd always hated, he reflected wryly. Lately he had found himself partnered with the already legendary Herbert Gaffer, the illustrious Agent D himself, and sent on a mission which had the potential to change the course of the war raging in Europe. Davenport had been livid when she'd been told that she was being passed over for the plum assignment; and Newfield hadn't been too thrilled about it either. They were both ahead of him in the alphabet which was the basis for the rotational assignment system but Admiral Hargrade must have seen something in him and he'd been determined not to let "the old man" down.
What would the Admiral think of him now if he knew what he was about to do?
xxxxx
88 found Hymie waiting for her outside. "Now, before we can go any further," she said, "we need to know what mission the missing case file is about."
"No," Hymie replied.
"No?"
"That means negative, rebuttal, refusal."
"I know what no means," 88 said tersely.
"The first thing we need to do is establish a chain of command."
88 frowned. "Chain of command?"
"That means line of authority, ranking, who will be in charge."
88 gritted her teeth. "I know what it means. I'm Head of the Agents Section. Does that answer your question?"
"I'm Head of the Robots Section."
"What Robots Section? You're the only robot we have."
"Ergo I'm head robot."
88 scowled in disbelief. "Head Robot?"
"That means primary automaton, principal -."
"Do you know what irritating means?" she interrupted.
"Yes. It means . . . oh."
She grinned. "Okay, Head Robot. What say we make a deal?"
"My progamming does allow for negotiation in the interests of efficiency."
"Then how about this? We do things your way unless I disagree in which case we'll do it my way."
"That would be a needless waste of time," Hymie objected. "Logic dictates that efficiency would best be served if we do it your way first."
"Well, far be it from me to argue against logic."
"That is a wise decision."
"Now, as I was saying, we need to find out exactly what case the missing file refers to."
"That information would be in Admiral Hargrade's original assignment record."
"And where would that be?"
"In the archives in the old CONTROL building."
"Then we'd best skedaddle over there and track that record down."
"Affirmative."
88 waited a beat and then looked at Hymie. "Track? Record? Nothing."
Hymie regarded her dispassionately. "Linguistic analysis indicates that you've made a pun."
"Yes. Thank you."
"Comparison with the work of noted humorists such as Marx and Youngman indicate that it is not a good one."
88 sighed. "Everyone's a critic."
xxxxx
Still spry in his late sixties, Admiral Hargrade had been the Chief of CONTROL since the agency's inception more than a decade earlier. He ran his charge with military precision but with a personal touch which endeared him to his subordinates and engendered a fierce loyalty.
"Herbert . . . Thaddeus," he greeted them now, indicating the two chairs in front of his desk as he himself sat easily in the one behind it.
Thaddeus took his seat while, beside him, Gaffer crashed heavily to the floor.
"I swear that chair was three inches to the right yesterday," he said by way of explanation as he clambered up and hauled himself into the remaining chair.
Gaffer had an odd ungainliness about him - things tended to fall when he was around, including himself. But he got results, so the Admiral let it pass.
"I assume you know why I've called you here," he began.
Gaffer lit a cigarette. "Yes," he replied confidently.
"Good."
"You have an assignment for us."
"I meant I assume you know what the assignment is about."
"Oh. Then, no."
Thaddeus pointed to the map which was spread out on the desk. "The war?"
The Admiral nodded. "This is the current state of play in Europe," he said. "As you can see, the Nazis are on the run; they're being pushed back on all fronts. Moreover, it's been reported that Baron von Krupa himself has withdrawn his financial backing; even he thinks it's a lost cause. We believe it's only a matter of time until they surrender."
Gaffer took a reflective drag on his cigarette. "Something tells me there's a 'but' coming."
"You're right," the Admiral told him. "Which brings me to the point of your assignment. Our operation inside Stalag 13 has learned that, in a last-ditch attempt to obtain an alternate source of funds, a high-ranking Nazi named Hans Hunter is traveling here to meet with Trevor Dunhill, the founder of the United States branch of KAOS."
Gaffer whistled, blowing out a stream of smoke. "KAOS and the Nazis working together. That's our worst nightmare."
"It gets worse," the Admiral replied grimly. "We understand that Dunhill is prepared to offer Hunter millions of dollars in stolen U.S. War Bonds in exchange for certain key government posts in the event of a Nazi victory."
"That's ironic," said Thaddeus. "Using U.S. War Bonds to finance the Nazi war effort."
"Yes," agreed the Admiral. "It's typical of KAOS's fiendish sense of humor. Now we don't know precisely how Hunter plans to sneak into the country but we do know that the meeting is to take place in a nightclub called The Tic-Tac Club. That's a known KAOS front that we've had under observation for some time."
"What's our part in this, Admiral?" Gaffer asked.
"I want you two to spend time at The Tic-Tac Club, ingratiate yourselves with the staff and the regulars there, and find an opportunity to switch the Bonds with forgeries that we'll have printed on Professor Bush's special disintegrating paper. They'll look genuine when Hunter examines them but by the time he tries to cash them in he'll find that he has nothing but a bag of dust."
xxxxx
"We better let Max know what we've found," 88 said.
She put her hand on Hymie's shoulder to balance herself as she reached down to take off her sneaker phone.
Hymie watched her with mechanical curiosity. "Why don't you have a compact phone like Agent 99?" he asked blandly.
"Have you seen this face? It's practically perfect in every way as it is."
"Or a bra phone like Agent 66?"
88 wiggled her eyebrows at him. "When did you see 66's bra phone? Wait. Don't tell me. I don't want to know."
"She left it in the lab for recharging."
"Aw, I told you I didn't want to know. I was making up better stories in my head."
She finished punching the number into the keypad on the sole of the sneaker phone and listened as it rang at the other end.
Max: CONTROL Headquarters. Chief Smart here.
88: Hi, Boss. It's 88. We've located Admiral Hargrade's original assignment record.
Max: Good work, 88. What does it tell us?
88: Well, apparently the Chief and another agent named Gaffer were on a mission to disrupt KAOS financially backing the Nazi war effort.
Max: Gaffer? Herbert Gaffer? Agent 4?
88: Well, he's called Agent D in the file, but yes.
Max: Agent 4 was my idol. 99 and I met him once. He and Davenport and the rest; they were all heroes.
88: I'm saluting right now.
Max: This is a big break for us.
88: In what way?
Max: It's not widely known but Gaffer kept a diary of his time as a CONTROL agent. There's a good chance he wrote down what happened.
88: Where is this diary?
Max: Mmm, I don't know. He turned it over to us after he retired and then the Chief took charge of it and I never saw it again.
88: You don't suppose the Chief . . . ?
Max: No, I'm sure he would never let any harm come to anything as valuable as that. But he would have put it somewhere secure. . . Of course! That's it.
88: What?
Max: A few years after that the Chief took out a safe deposit box at the bank. I'll bet the diary is in that.
88: We'll check it out. Which bank is it?
Max: The Bank of the Potomac. It's in the name of Harold Clark, head of the Potomac Greeting Card Company.
88: Did you ever stop to think of how many things in this town are named Potomac? Bank of the Potomac. Potomac Greeting Card Company. Potomac Park. It's like every time someone starts something they think. "What'll we call it? I know! We'll name it after the river. No one's ever thought of that before."
Max: What river?
88: Bye, Boss.
xxxxx
88 turned her blue Beetle into Carver Avenue and stopped around the corner from the bank.
"This is the fun part," she said to Hymie. "Where we get to make up our cover identities. What do you want to be called?"
"My name is Hymie."
"Yes, I know you're name is Hymie," she replied patiently. "But wouldn't you like to be called something else for a change - just for fun?"
"My father's name was Hymie."
"I had a feeling you were going to say that. All right, leave it to me."
They got out of the car and walked into the bank, making directly for the Information Desk.
"This is Robbie Roberts," 88 said. "And I'm Sally Sweetvalley - Hi!" she added, sketching a wave with her right hand.
The prim-looking young woman behind the desk mimicked the gesture uncertainly. "I'm Hildegard Neff, bank vice-president. How may I help you?"
"We're from the Potomac Greeting Card Company. I called earlier about accessing our safe deposit box."
"Oh, yes, Ms., er, Sweetvalley?
"Hi!" 88 waved her hand again.
Hildegard frowned. "Why does that seem so familiar?"
"Because I called earlier?" 88 suggested.
"Yes, that must be it." Hildegard stood up. "Your box is all ready for you in one of our booths. If you'll just walk this way."
"If I could walk that way, I wouldn't need the talcum powder," 88 replied with a straight face.
Hildegard stopped and turned to look at her. "What?"
88 repeated the hand wave gesture and grinned. "Hi!"
Hildegard led them to a secluded area at the back of the bank. "It's been quite a while since this box was accessed," she said conversationally. "But some of our older employees still remember the day that the head of the greeting card company and his assistant were locked in the vault here. Apparently they caused quite a commotion."
"Yes," 88 replied wistfully. "They were quite memorable."
"Well, I'll leave you to your privacy."
88 and Hymie walked into the booth where they found the box waiting for them on a table.
"How are you going to open it?" Hymie asked. "Did you find the key?"
"Better. I have . . . Insta-key!" She pulled the spray-can out of her briefcase and held it up like a salesman on late-night TV. "Guaranteed to open nine out of ten safe deposit boxes or your money back. Of course, if your money's locked in the tenth box you're out of luck."
She applied the can to the lock on the box and pressed the trigger. White foam issued from the nozzle into the lock where it hardened into a key precisely matching it.
88 turned the key. "Here we go," she said, and opened the box.
Inside were not one but two books: A red-white-and-blue striped volume titled Who's Who at CONTROL and, beneath it, the black-covered object of their search - the diary of Herbert Gaffer.
xxxxx
Agents D and Q walked into The Tic-Tac Club and looked around.
"Order us a couple of beers," said Gaffer. "I'll make contact with Agent H."
"Right."
Gaffer lit a cigarette and strolled toward the jukebox which was positioned against the far wall.
He pretended to examine the available selections and then pressed H-0, a combination which was not on the list, whereupon a panel slid open revealing a man's smiling face.
"H", said Gaffer.
"D," said H.
"Anything to report?" asked Gaffer.
"Put on a platter."
"What?"
"A platter, a record. If you don't play a song, they'll get suspicious."
Gaffer took a drag from his cigarette. "Have you got 'Bluebird of Happiness'?" he asked, his well-known bird-watching hobby also extending to his taste in music.
"Afraid not."
"'When the Red Red Robin'?"
"Nope."
"How about 'A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square'?"
"I've got 'When I See and Elephant Fly'," H offered hopefully.
Gaffer blew out a disappointed puff of smoke. "Just give me your report and get it over with."
"Whatever you say, Herb," H said amiably. "Word is that Hunter has been delayed."
"Why? What's happened?"
"Seems his plane was shot down over France. His pilot was killed but Hunter survived."
"Too bad. That would have saved us a lot of trouble. Where is he now?"
"Last they heard, he'd made it across the border into Spain and was heading for the coast to hitch a ride in a U-Boat."
"A U-Boat," Gaffer repeated thoughtfully.
"Looks like we've got a long wait ahead of us."
"Well, good work, H. I'll be seeing you."
H's face lit up. "Ooh, good choice!"
The panel slid closed. Gaffer slung his jacket over his shoulder and sauntered away to the accompaniment of the dulcet tones of Frank Sinatra and Tommy Dorsey and His Orchestra.
xxxxx
"This seems pretty routine so far," said 88. "Let's skip ahead a little." She riffled a few pages, then looked up at Hymie's blank face. "I think this is it."
xxxxx
Gaffer took a drag from his cigarette and slowly blew out a plume of smoke.
"I warned you not to get too close to that girl, Thaddeus."
"I know."
"You might have compromised the whole mission."
"But I didn't. The switch was completed exactly as planned."
"You've gone so far outside the rules, I don't even know if there's a rule that covers it. But now - taking that, that package from her - you've compromised yourself. And you've put me in a bind as well."
"I'm sorry, Herb. I, I couldn't refuse."
Gaffer took another drag. "I can't falsify my report," he said flatly, then shrugged. "Chances are that'll be the end of it. I don't think anybody actually reads those things anyway."
Thaddeus eyed him speculatively. "It could get mixed up with all those copies we have to make and then destroy."
Gaffer shook his head. "I don't want to hear about that. Look, when I talk to the Admiral, I won't volunteer anything. But if he asks me about it directly, I won't lie. That's the best I can do."
"Thank you, Herb."
Gaffer took a final drag and tossed the cigarette away. "I just hope that this Mary Jack Armstrong was worth it."
"Herb."
"What?"
"You just threw your cigarette into the trash bin."
"So?"
"It's on fire."
xxxxx
"And that's who put the ram in the rama lama ding dong," 88 concluded.
At Max's request, she had come to Max and 99's house to deliver her findings in a less formal setting. Now she waited while Max and 99 exchanged glances in that wordless communcation which is the province of old married couples.
"Mary Jack Armstrong," Max repeated. "I haven't heard that name in years."
"Who is Mary Jack Armstrong?" 88 asked.
"A KAOS agent," Max answered., "and a physical fitness expert. Extremely beautiful and extremely strong."
"I never met her," said 99, "but from what I've heard she was one of the most formidable foes that CONTROL has ever encountered."
"She kidnapped a visiting Arab prince," said Max. "Took him to her private salon to slim him down so that his followers wouldn't pay him his weight in gold - that was how his country financed their budget. We rescued him and arrested her. A couple of years later she escaped and then just disappeared."
88 hesitated. "I hate to be the one to say this, but could the 'package' she gave the Chief have been some sort of payoff?"
Again Max and 99 exchanged glances.
"I don't want to think so," Max said. "But we have to find out the truth. Whatever it is."
"We knew that they had a past together," 99 added, "Some secret that they shared. But we never knew what it was."
"It's like a jigsaw puzzle with a piece missing," 88 remarked.
"And it looks like the only one who might have that piece is Mary Jack. Look her up in the files," Max said to 88. "It's a long shot but if her picture and fingerprints are still there you may be able to trace her."
"Don't worry." 88 grinned. "Long shots are my specialty. They don't call me Robin Hood for nothing." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "They don't call me Robin Hood at all."
"No," Max replied. "But it's a great exit line. So . . . exit."
xxxxx
It proved surprisingly easy.
The fingerprints led nowhere but the new-fangled facial recogniton technology matched her photograph to the Nevada driver's licence of one Amy Marie Jackson, now living in a retirement community outside Carson City. Amy had admitted to being Mary and agreed to tell her story, but insisted that she would tell it only to Maxwell Smart. And so Max found himself there, pressing the doorbell and wondering what can of worms he was about to open.
The door swung aside and there she was. Mary Jack Armstrong. Some grey in the hair, some lines on the face, but the steely blue eyes were as penetrating as ever. Max had no doubt that she could still break him in half if she wanted to.
"Hello, Mary."
"Mr. Smart."
"I think after all this time you can call me Max."
She ushered him into the apartment and they sat facing each other in a pair of matching armchairs.
"How have you been, Mary?" Max asked. "After you escaped you kind of fell off our radar."
"That's how my bosses wanted it," she replied. "They said I'd become too . . . noticeable." There was bitterness in her voice but she dismissed it with a shrug. "I took over Hercules Gym for a while - in a different location, of course - and then . . . well, age catches up with all of us. Fortunately KAOS has a generous retirement plan."
"And free funerals."
She smiled. "When the time comes."
"I always envied that about KAOS," Max said. "I tried to get it for CONTROL when I was Head Negotiator for the G.S.C.A. but the Chief would never agree to it. Well, he did agree to it once but then he took it back because he said I got him to sign the contract under duress." He gave a rueful smile. "Turns out he was right. Too expensive."
"Thaddeus was a good man."
"Yes," Max agreed. "But now his reputation is under a cloud." He leaned forward. "What really happened back then, Mary Jack?"
Mary Jack took a moment to compose herself before she began. "You know about The Tic-Tac Club."
Max nodded.
"When I was starting out with KAOS I was a cocktail waitress there. When the Head Waiter nodded toward one of the customers it was my job to put knock-out drops into their drink. I didn't know who they were or what happened to them afterward. That was none of my business. Anyway, one day Thaddeus came in with his partner. The one who fell down a lot."
"Gaffer."
"Gaffer, yes - although I didn't know their real names at the time. I was pretty good at sizing people up by then and I figured them for G-Men right away. I looked over at Tony but he was busy chatting up some girl."
"So you didn't point them out to him?"
"That wasn't my job. I just followed orders. Thaddeus sat at one of the tables and ordered beer while Gaffer went to talk to the guy in the jukebox."
"You knew about Agent 8, too?"
"He wasn't really that good at hiding. I found out later that they were waiting for some bigshot Nazi but he was taking longer to arrive than they expected. So they would come in every day and Thaddeus and I would get to talking. I could tell Gaffer didn't approve by the way he hung back and then he looked like he was scolding Thaddeus when they would be alone. But Thaddeus and I were both lonely and we found that we had a kind of bond."
"And all this time you never knew that he knew that you were a KAOS agent, and he never knew that you knew that he was a CONTROL agent?"
"That's right."
"That's relief. I thought I might be saying it wrong."
"Then came the one day when everything changed."
xxxxx
Thaddeus was flabbergasted. "You're what?"
"I said I'm pregnant."
"How did this happen?"
Mary just stared at him.
"I mean . . . " Thaddeus faltered, then sobered. "I know how this happens. How long have you known?"
"How it happens, or that I'm pregnant?"
"That you're pregnant."
""For a while," Mary admitted. "But I can't keep it hidden forever. Eventually one of the waiters will notice and then . . . You don't know the kind of people I work for."
Thaddeus considered briefy, then made a decision. "I shouldn't tell you this but I'm a government agent. I know exactly the kind of people who run KAOS."
If she was startled she didn't show it. "Come on. That square jaw? That suit? That hat? I knew you were from CONTROL."
Thaddeus hid his surprise less well. He chuckled. "It looks like neither of us is as clever as we thought we were."
"I prefer to think that we were both cleverer than we seemed to be."
Then it was all serious again.
"Come with me, Mary. We can protect you."
But Mary shook her head. "If you know anything about KAOS you know that's not possible."
"I suppose you're right," he agreed reluctantly. "Then that leaves us with just one choice. Hold them off as long as you can - the fact that they won't know how far along you are will be in your favor - then . . . when the time comes . . . I'll take it. KAOS will never know it even exists."
xxxxx
Max knitted his brow as he tried to put all the pieces together.
"Then what Gaffer called 'the package' that you gave him was a baby?"
"Yes."
"And was the Chief . . . was Thaddeus the baby's father?"
"No, heavens no. He was just a nice man whe saw a girl in trouble and wanted to help. But it was already too late for me; even then we knew that nobody defected from KAOS and lived. But he could save the baby. He arranged for a doctor he knew to attend me at the hospital and he said he knew of a couple who would adopt it. I told my handlers that I miscarried. They didn't care. They were going to make me get rid of it anyway. It was after that that I started to work out and build up my strength, learn how to protect myself against . . . that sort of thing. But of course I knew that I'd never be able to see Phoebe again."
Max sat upright. "The baby's name was Phoebe?"
"Giving her a name was the only thing I would ever be able to do for her. It means bright and shining."
The revelation hit Max like a thunderbolt. Phoebe. Phoebe the Chief's niece. "You're Phoebe's mother." It came in a near-whisper, more a statement than a question. He nodded slowly. "The name suits her."
Mary Jack's eyes widened. "You know her?"
"The Chief told us she was his neice."
Mary Jack smiled and nodded. "How like him."
Suddenly it all made sense. Why the Chief's concern for Phoebe's welfare seemed to go far beyond the merely avuncular. Why it never seemed clear which of her parents he was actually related to. Answers to all the questions about Mary Jack that Max had never asked because he thought it wasn't his place.
"She looks like you," he said. "She has your blonde hair and your . . . fighting spirit."
She leaned forward, uncharacteristically vulnerable. "Mr. Smart . . . Max . . . you must tell me. Has she had a good life? Did I do the right thing?"
"Yes," Max told her. "She's married. She has her own daughter now. She's happy. And Mary Jack . . . " He found her eyes. "We'll keep her safe. You have my word."
Mary Jack sat back. "Thank you, Max. I'll rest easier knowing that." She smiled. "Thaddeus would be proud of you."
"We both owe him a lot," Max said. "Now that I'm Chief I try to live up to his example every day, but I think he must have been an even greater man than either of us realized."
xxxxx
"When did Trudy take up baking," 88 demanded as she breezed into Max's office. "She says I'm getting skinny and she wants to fatten me up with her homemade cupcakes. I'm going to look like that Prince Sully in the old case file if she has her way." She broke off as she recognized a third person in Max's office. Of all people, Bethany Stone. "You!" That was all she could manage, the incongruity of seeing that particular woman in this particular place seemingly robbing her of the power of coherent thought.
"You!" Bethany exclaimed at almost the same moment. "What are you doing here?"
"I work here! What are you doing here?"
"Miss Stone is our new State Department Liaison Officer," said Max. "I had to pull a few strings but I think she'll be a wonderful addition to our family and I didn't want to see any more people separated who shouldn't be."
"Liaison," 88 repeated dumly. Then, as her brain slowly started working again, "Strings . . family ... you mean you knew about . . . about me . . and . . ?"
"Of course," Max replied. "Nothing gets by me but the wind - and for that I take Pepto-Bismol." He waited for 88's rejoinder but none came. Instead she seemed to be locked in some sort of staring contest with Miss Stone. "Er . . . cupcakes, you say?" he muttered and silently left the office.
"There goes a strange man," said Bethany.
"He means well," said 88. "What he said about family just now, he means that."
"And the part about people being separated. Do you know what he meant by that?"
88 smiled. "I think I do." She took a breath. "So you're with the State Department."
"So you're a spy," Bethany returned. "I knew there was no such thing as a bookstore emergency, but I never imagined this."
"The bookstore is real," 88 said quietly. "I mean, it's also my cover, but it's real."
"I know."
"You told me you were an administrative assistant."
"I am. To the Secretary of State."
"Then you have security clearance."
"I do."
"Good." 88 grinned happily as she took Beth's hand. "Let's talk."
xxxxx
At Kaos Tower, in the executive suite on the top floor . . .
"Chairwoman, a moment of your time?"
"What is it, Nikolai?'
"Konstantin approached me earlier today. He asked me if had noticed dat whenever ve send Maxine Smart on an assignment, everyone around her is arrested. I told him I had not."
"Konstantin is very observant. Make sure there is a bonus for him in this week's salary."
"And Miss Smart?"
"Watch her closely."
"And if I discover dat she is betraying us?'
The Chairwoman made a slashing motion across her throat. "Then she's out."