10. Choosing Teams
"Well?" The Skipper prompted anxiously, as the Professor rose out of the submarine hatch.
They had all been standing on the bank waiting for the Professor to make his diagnosis on the damage.
He shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do." A frustrated groan passed through the group. "It's amazing how that bullet went straight through the radio and central navigational processor."
"Oh, Max." 99 groaned.
"What?" He asked indignantly. "It wasn't my fault. How was I supposed to know it was the flashlight gun? It's not like it has a label or anything."
"But it does, Max. Look." She held it out and pointed to the large black print written on the handle, which read: FLASHLIGHT GUN.
"Well, if it's dark enough to need a flashlight you'd expect them to put the label in a brighter place…" He paused, frowning at his own words. "…eh…"
The Skipper glanced Mr. Howell with a raised eyebrow. The millionaire let out a small snort then turned to the spies. "I suppose the only option we have now is to find out where on this island those dastardly fiends are hiding."
Max shook his head. "No. I think we need to find out who and who will tell us where."
"How can who tell us where if we don't know where who is?"
"What?"
"Not 'what', Max. How."
Max frowned. "How won't help us find out who or where."
"Why?" Gilligan asked.
"Now don't you start!" Max grunted in frustration and stabbed a warning finger in his direction.
99 shook her head. "I think Mr. Howell is right. We need to find out where the base is. Once we're there and have a look around we'll find out who and what's there. When we know who's behind it, where they are and what they're using it will automatically tell us how."
Agent Maxwell Smart mulled this over for a moment. "Shouldn't we find out when?"
"Why?"
"Because when will tell us how much time we have to find out who and where and how."
His partner groaned. "The only person who can tell us when now is the Chief and we can't ask him because you shot up the sub's radio and broke your shoephone."
Max sighed. "So I guess we're back to where."
"You know," Said the Professor to no one in particular as they headed back along the trail toward camp. "There is a large network of caves and lava tubes on the south side of the island."
"Yeah!" Said Gilligan, catching on, excitedly. "I'll bet the base is in one of them. Those caves make great hideouts."
"You should know." The Skipper remarked. "You hide over there whenever there's work to be done."
Gilligan frowned slightly but didn't reply.
"You're probably right." Max said turning to the Professor. "Why don't you show us to the area and 99 and I will have a look around."
"We'll help you look." Said the Skipper, slightly confused as to why this hadn't already been suggested. "After all, this involves us too."
"I don't think so." Max shook his head. "It's too dangerous. You guys wouldn't have a chance against these ruthless killers."
"Now just a minute!" The Skipper said indignantly. "What do you think we are, a bunch of softies?" What he really meant, of course, was: 'do you think I'm a softy.'
Max glanced down at the large spare tire that hung around the captain's stomach but didn't say a word.
The sea captain kindly refrained from punching the spy in the nose for the unuttered insult and continued his defense. "Gilligan and I were in the Navy."
"Yeah:" Gilligan piped up. "It's hard work being in the Navy. And I know a lot about spies and secret agents and how bad guys work."
"Really?" Max raised a curious eyebrow at the first mate.
Gilligan nodded vigorously. "Every James Bond movie that's come out I've watched five times."
99 smiled at that. Max however was not amused. This was serious business and movies had nothing to do with reality. He was about to say so when the Professor spoke in his own defense.
"I'm quite knowledgeable on the mechanics of weapons and have done studies on the inner workings of the criminal mind."
The Skipper gave a quick nod of approval. "And Mr. Howell can…uh…" He looked over at the millionaire, trying hard to think of something heroic or useful to say about his rich friend.
Mr. Howell, not one to be outdone straightened proudly and lied. "I am known as the world's fencing champion. Ha!" He ripped an invisible sword from its equally invisible scabbard and began furiously battling some fictional opponent. The spy watched with arms crossed as the rich man danced around him stabbing the air and dodging imaginary counterattacks. With a grandiose flourish Mr. Howell thrust the nonexistent foil at Max's face. There wasn't even the slightest flinch.
The spy simply raised an eyebrow and said: "Well if we come across any troublesome fences I'll let you know."
99 shook her head and smiled. Sometimes she had a hard time deciding if Max was being sarcastic or genuinely stupid.
"Oh, Thurston." His wife said, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. "You're so brave."
"Well, alright. But if any of you get brutally murdered don't come crying to me."
" 'Brutally murdered'?" The millionaire took an uneasy step back. "On the other hand someone must stay behind to protect the women." He said, as if he was volunteering for some amazingly heroic task.
"Wait a minute!" Ginger shoved her fists indignantly on her hips. "What makes you thing were gong to stay home and let you men have all the fun?"
"Yeah." Maryann nodded in agreement while inside she was kicking herself for getting involved.
"But your girls." Was Max's only reply.
"She's a girl." Ginger gestured to 99.
Oh, yeah, he thought as he glanced over at his partner. I forgot. Aloud he said: "Eh…yes. Well, she doesn't count."
Thanks a lot, Max. 99 thought with a sad sigh.
"Why?" The redhead demanded, her green eyes blazing at the injustice.
"She's a spy. And 99 knows how to defend herself."
"I played a spy in a movie once. And I took some self defense classes when I was in Hollywood."
"Why?" 99 asked, taken aback that anyone would want to harm such a glamorous movie star.
Ginger smiled slyly. "An actress needs more than a lawyer to defend herself against some directors." Continuing her argument she turned to Maryann. "And she used to live on a farm. That kind of work makes you tough, or so I am told."
Maryann nodded shyly. "I..I'm pretty good with a rifle too." She said this in a quiet sheepish voice, almost as if embarrassed by the claim.
All the castaways turned and stared. Their sweet, kind, meek little Maryann packing a weapon was an inconceivable thought.
The Skipper's face was the picture of surprise. "You can use a rifle?"
She nodded. "When I was back on the farm coyotes were always getting into the chicken pen. So my dad taught me. Oh, I would never actually hit one. Just scare them off. After all, they're just trying to make a living like everyone else. But I could hit within inches of them every time."
"Alright." Max sighed, finally giving in. "Since there's nine of us we'll split up into three groups of three. That way all the numbers will be even. It's simpler that way."
Gilligan frowned in confusion. "Uh…aren't three and nine odd numbers?"
The Skipper rolled his eyes and swatted his first mate in the shoulder. "You dumbbell. He meant that the numbers of the groups would be even. Each group will have three people in it."
Gilligan shook his head. He wasn't backing down on this. "But three is an odd number!"
"He didn't mean even numbers like 'even and odd numbers'. He meant even as in 'all the same'." The Skipper turned to Max. "Right, Mr. Smart?"
Max stared blankly at the captain for a moment, trying to decide if that was indeed what he had meant. "Eh…right." I guess, He added silently. After an awkward silence he slapped his hands together briskly. "Okay. Let's figure out whom goes with who."
99 leaned over and whispered in his ear. "That's whom."
"What's whom?"
"Who."
"What?"
She voiced a loud sigh of frustration. "Never mind!"
Max shrugged, and continued. "I think each group should have someone who knows the island well as well as someone able to protect the rest of the group. Me, 99 and the Captain, here, will each head off a group." He tossed a pistol to the Skipper, who saluted and stuffed it in his belt. "Now, who knows the island best."
"Gilligan." Said nearly everyone at once. He was always exploring, scouting out places to hide when someone was after him to do some particularly disagreeable chore. He knew nearly every inch of the island.
"Alright, kid." Max beaconed the first mate over and gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. "You're with me."
"Really? Wow!"
The Skipper rolled his eyes at the goofy grin on the boy's. He would never admit it but he was a little jealous. It was to his Captain that Gilligan always looked up to. Of course he acted annoyed at his attentions but in truth it was good on the old ego. Than again he couldn't really blame him. After all the man was an honest-to-goodness spy.
"Who else?"
"Well, the Professor has been working on mapping the island." Said the captain.
The genius nodded. "I've just recently finished an altitude chart."
"…and Maryann's always scouting around for something new to add to dinner."
She nodded modestly. "I do know my way around pretty well."
Max nodded in approval. "Alright—"
"I think Maryann and Ginger should go with me." Said 99 before Max had a chance to continue.
"Why?" He protested with a frown.
"Yeah, why?" Ginger knew exactly why. She was making 99 jealous, and enjoying it.
"Uh…b-because—"
"Because us girls should stick together." Maryann finished for her. 99 looked down at her in surprise, which she returned with a big smile. She wanted the spy to know she was on her side and wasn't trying to take her partner or boyfriend or whatever he was to her. He had to be something special or she wouldn't be so nervous about her and Ginger being with him without 99's supervision. "Besides," she added. "She can tell us what it's like to be a female spy."
"I could tell you that." Max insisted.
"You've been a female spy?"
"No. But I could tell you what it's like." After a moment of awkward silence he gave in. "Alright. Ginger and Maryann go with 99. That completes one team. Skipper, you take the Professor and Mrs. Howell. And Mr. Howell, you come with me and the kid, here." He clapped his hands and rubbed them together briskly, eager to get started. "Great, now each group has a leader and a guide and a…eh…other guy."
"Hold on, there." Mr. Howell raised a hand and addressed Max. "Let me get this straight. Now, what are you?"
"Agent 86 of CONTROL, the organization of goodness and nic—"
"No! No! You broken record." The millionaire stamped his feet angrily at being misunderstood. "The team. The team, my boy. What are you in the team?"
"I'm the team leader."
"And him?" He motioned to Gilligan.
"He's the guide."
"Well than." The rich man stood up tall and puffed out his chest indignantly "I refuse to accept the title 'other guy'."
"How bout financial manager?"
"Yes that's the perfect title for you Thurston."
"I suppose that's acceptable."
"Good." Said Max. "Can we continue or would you like to take a few days for a proper christening?"
"That's very kind of you but I think I'll pass. After all we're on a mission, you know."
Max glared. "I know."
"But that was so sweet of you to offer. Thank you, dear." Mrs. Howell reached over and patted the spy on the cheek.
"Eh, your welcome."