AND LOVING IT!
by l.satori AKA Laurie S.
Behind the Formica counter, the attractive young brunette retrieved
the size 9E bowling shoes. A slim, white-haired customer admired the
hour-glass figure of the attendant, making a point of noting the nametag on
her blouse. After thanking 'Nikki', the man ambled over to the Bowlerama
management office. When he knocked, there was no answer. The thin man,
dressed in beige slacks and a bright green golf shirt, opened the door
tentatively. After a quick glance around the small, neatly kept office, he
stepped over to the desktop computer and pushed the on button. Then he
extracted the Zip desk from inside of the multi-colored bowling shoe and
inserted it into the Zip security obsessed agent, long accustomed to
keeping face-to-face secrets in CONTROL's Drive. The Cone of Silence,
keyed in a simple encryption logarithm. In a few moments, the casually
dressed senior citizen had accessed the secret-file.
"Good morning," said the Chief of CONTROL. The clarity of the
computer's full motion video image was really quite good, although the
glare from the Chief's shining bald head merged some of the colors.
"Good morning Chief," replied Agent 86, Maxwell Smart, forgetting that
this Zip disk information was not like an interactive telephone
conversation.
"Agent 99 has been working undercover in the south of France at a
private laboratory, which is owned and operated by KAOS. This lab is at
the forefront of genetic research into gene therapy and human cloning. 99,
a linguist fluent in French, worked in Provence as a lab technician. Just
before she was discovered and captured, 99 was able to report that KAOS had
found a way to clone human beings. What is very disturbing is that KAOS is
ready to replicate humans on a massive scale. More importantly, through
their gene therapy research, 99 believes KAOS is prepared to cause
worldwide sterility of the human species. The sterility drug would be
introduced through the drinking water. To supplement that line of attack,
KAOS will even seed rain clouds as a means of distributing this powerful
drug. Once this is accomplished and everyone is sterile, KAOS will sell
its cloning services to the people at an enormous price, making KAOS the
world's dominant evil empire, even ahead of Microsoft. Your mission is to
stop KAOS and save the world."
A photo of a handsome, dark-haired, middle-aged man flashed up on the
computer screen.
"This distinguished looking gentleman is Dr. Marcel Devereau, an
expert on genetic engineering. KAOS was able to exploit this scientist's
need for money. Dr. Devereau was deep in debt, unable to continue his
life's work after the French government cut off all of his research
funding. When the grants dried up, KAOS offered to pay off all his debts
and provide a free ride for all of his research projects. Dr. Devereau
jumped at the opportunity. Now, we must gain control of Dr. Devereau's
discoveries. In order to do that, we intend to exploit two of
Dr. Devereau's weaknesses. First, he is addicted to gambling and secondly,
he regards himself as God's gift to all the beautiful women of planet
Earth."
Photos of Dr. Devereau cavorting with sexy, beautiful women on the
beaches of the French Riviera flashed up on the monitor.
"If you are wondering why KAOS doesn't just sell the antidote to
counteract the effects of the sterility drug, Agent 99 believes that the
chemical analysis of even a small sample of the antidote would quickly be
replicated at generic drug prices. So, KAOS offers cloning as the only
solution to the sterility plague. Rather than face certain extinction,
KAOS believes mankind will pay dearly for KAOS to 'send in the clones' to
replace natural childbirth."
Max needed some time to absorb this.
"Is there anything that you need to have clarified, Max?"
"Just one thing Chief. What did you say after 'Agent 99 has been
working undercover'?"
The computer image of the Chief seemed to skip for a moment. Then the
message from the Chief was replayed in its entirety.
After Max had seen the message for a fourth time, the stern face of
the worried Chief continued.
"Since your usual working partner, Agent 99, has likely been captured,
I have taken the liberty of assigning you to work with Special Agent 69,
Charlie Watkins Jr."
"Wait a second Chief, you mean to say Charlie Watkins had a son?"
As if anticipating Max's reaction, the Chief continued. "I know you
will remember Charlie Watkins, because he performed an unforgettable
striptease at your bachelor party, before you married 99. Well, Charlie
Watkins, in spite of the fact he was a gorgeous female impersonator, was
married. He fathered a child. Charlie Watkins Jr."
"I remember beautiful Charlie Watkins had the hottest chassis this
side of the Ferrari Plant in Maranello, Italy. How am I to contact Charlie
Watkins Jr., Chief?"
The Chief appeared to have anticipated Max's question. "I want you to
go over to lane 12. There you will contact Agent Larabee. Now, one last
thing before you go. Recently, we have lost a large number of our field
operatives. So be careful out there."
Then the Chief appeared to mutter something under his breath. A lip
reader would have interpreted it as "I hope KAOS has a cure for
Alzheimer's."
The Chief's digital message was replayed again for the increasingly
forgetful Max.
A few minutes later, Agent 86 left the manager's office and walked
over to lane 12 of the almost inactive bowling alley. Not very many people
were there at 10 a.m. on a Tuesday. In fact, only lanes 1 and 2 were being
used by some group that were dressed in purple Cineplex Odeon uniforms.
Looking around, Maxwell Smart was unable to spot Agent Larabee
"Psst, Max. Over here."
Max searched once again, unsure of where the voice had come from.
Finally, Agent 86 looked over at the face of Agent Larabee, sticking out of
the bowling ball return chute.
"Oh, Larabee, there you are," replied Max.
"Not so loud, Max. We've lost a lot of our very good agents lately
. . . Pretend that you're bowling. It will look less suspicious."
"All right Larabee, although not too many people bowl by themselves
. . . You keep talking Larabee," said Max as he picked up a red, white and
blue bowling ball.
"The Chief wants you to pick up the airplane tickets. Go over to the
Cunningham Travel Agency, which is located next door to this Bowlerama."
Max took two steps, swung his arm back, then another step as his arm
swung swiftly forward, releasing the heavy ball with a loud thud as it hit
the polished hardwood floor. A few moments later, the ball slid to the
right and wobbled along the right gutter.
"Max, you are to pick up your airplane tickets and fly to Nice, France
this afternoon. Once there, you will catch a train to nearby Monte Carlo,
a mere half-hour away. After checking into the Monte Carlo Grand Hotel,
you are to contact Agent Charlie Watkins Jr. at the Baccarat tables in the
Le Casino de Monte Carlo at 9 p.m. Monaco time."
There was a loud thud, and Larabee's head shuddered for a moment, then
slipped from view. A red, white and blue bowling ball came to rest where
Larabee's head had been.
"Sorry about that Larabee . . . I'll see you later," said Max, wincing
in sympathy for what would be a large painful bump on the back of Larabee's
head.
Max headed over to the shoe rental counter to return his shoes of many
colors to the delightful Nikki, his first contact. At the same time, the
group from the Cineplex Odeon was returning their shoes, which, Max noted,
seemed to coordinate well with their purple outfits.
One tall, athletic-looking fellow was holding a bowling ball. When he
spotted Max, he suddenly whirled into action. He went into the typical
bowler's wind-up, and purposely whipped the ball towards Max. The other
Cineplex workers scattered as if anticipating an explosion.
Max skipped over the fast moving ball, ran to his left and leapt over
a row of padded seats.
BOOM! A bright flash and the thunderous explosion ripped apart the
bowling alley.
With such a high intensity blast, Max wondered if Agent Larabee was
all right.
Quickly bouncing back up and brushing off some ceiling tile debris,
Max ran toward the exit, pulling the laces of his special bowling shoes as
he ran. He tossed the bowling shoes in the direction of the Cineplex
workers and charged out of the front exit.
KABOOM! Another massive explosion blew the roof off the bowling
alley.
Max, dazed by the blast, got to his feet much slower this time and
dusted himself off once again. Holding his thumb and forefinger about a
half-inch apart, he observed, "Missed by that much!"
Turning back to the site of the former bowling alley, he cracked, "The
old bomb-in- the-bowling-shoe trick works again! I never did like
Cineplexes. Their screens are too small and the popcorn is too expensive
. . . They must be a KAOS front. As for the bowling alley, I hope Agent
Larabee got out safely. Larabee? Oh Larabee? Where are you Larabee?"
It was a good half-hour of searching before Maxwell Smart found an
unconscious Agent Larabee. His condition was not good. It looked like he
would need to be in intensive care fore a few days. Two months in the
hospital, and Larabee would be as good as new.
After another half-hour of searching, Smart found the airplane tickets
to Nice among the remnants of the totally obliterated Cunningham Travel
Agency.
CHAPTER TWO
In the fading twilight, the taxi wound its way up the steep roads of
beautiful Monte Carlo. The white stone buildings clung to their narrow
perches on the sides of a once treacherous cliff, now tamed by terracing.
Off to the west, the Royal Palace, sitting majestically on a high
promontory, guarded the entrance to the magnificent harbor on the Cote
d'Azur. Maxwell Smart looked off to the lights of the yachts tied up in
the harbor, wistfully wondering why everyone in the world couldn't be lucky
enough to visit this fabulous playground of the rich and dangerous.
This was his second time in Monte Carlo. The first time had been on
his honeymoon with Agent 99, some 30 years earlier. He dearly missed 99
and prayed that she was safe and unharmed.
Max wondered how much things had changed since his last visit. Now
semi-retired, Max had been pulled out of his life of leisure by the lure of
danger. 'And loving it,' he thought to himself. Occasionally, when
stretched to the limit by outbreaks of evil and violence and chaos all over
the world, CONTROL activated some of its stellar retired agents. Max, last
on the list for recall, was reluctantly pressed into service by the Chief.
To improve the chances of success, Agent 86 was to be teamed, on this
important mission, with CONTROL's top operative, Agent 69, Charlie Watkins
Jr. Watkins would focus on Dr. Devereau while Maxwell Smart might create a
diversion to distract KAOS from the real threat.
At the entrance to the stately Le Casino de Monte Carlo, Smart tipped
the cab driver, and slammed the door shut. Unfortunately, Smart, being
Smart, forgot to extricate his fingers from harm's way, and he yelped in
pain when the shutting door crushed his little pinky finger.
As the cab started up, pulling Smart along with it, Max quickly opened
the door, shaking loose his aching pinky, but he was unable to close the
cab door. As the car pulled out into traffic, the free-swinging door
whipped about. Suddenly, it was smashed off its hinge by a white stretch
limousine speeding in the opposite direction.
The Japanese criminal organization, the Yakuza, cut off part of the
pinky finger of newly pledged members, as a rite of passage into the evil
empire. Smart, perhaps, would have preferred to cut off his finger rather
than suffer this terrible, crushing throbbing pain.
Smart held up his little left pinky to his face as if raising a
teacup, and then sucked on it.
Smart quickly bounded up the broad stone steps, and scurried past the
uniformed doorman, into the foyer of the casino, his throbbing finger
ballooning up to double its normal size. His left hand looked like it had
two thumbs.
Immediately, Smart headed to the washroom. At a sink, Smart stuck his
throbbing finger under some cold running water, until he noticed in the
mirror, astonished and angry looking faces of a handful of well-dressed
females. Smart was in the ladies washroom! As nonchalantly as possible,
he sauntered past the upset women as he remarked, "Sorry about that,
ladies. My mistake."
One belligerent beauty, swathed in a long, flowing, sequined evening
gown, clubbed him with her handbag. She must have been carrying a gold bar
in her handbag. That hurt!
Still smarting from the clubbing and the finger mangling, Agent 86