Max tackled him, brought him down, then, rising, grasped him by the left arm, wrenched him to his feet, then, using another jujitsu hold, flattened him again on the floor. The man lay silent.
Max stepped up to the reception desk.
“Yes sir?” said the receptionist. “Something I can do for you?”
“I’d like to see the head man,” Max said crisply.
“Yes sir… if you’d like to wait. There are two ahead of you.”
“Oh no you don’t!” Max said. “I had that trick pulled on me in the summer of ’61. I called for an interview at the office of a FLAG agent who was smuggling orange ping-pong balls. His girl kept me waiting in the outer office for three hours-telling me the other guys were ahead of me. As it turned out, the other guys were store window manikins. And the orange ping-pong ball smuggler slipped out the rear exit.”
“I am sorry,” the girl said, “but the Ambassador is in conference.”
“Grilling Fred, eh?”
“Pardon?”
“Never mind announcing me,” Max said. “I’ll just break in.”
He went to the door marked Private, gave it a hefty kick, and it splintered open. There was a large, bearded man seated inside at a huge, ornate desk. He was munching a sandwich.
Max stiffened. “Oh, no!”
“Who are you!” the man bellowed.
“Just one thing,” Max said. “Is that, by any chance, a liverwurst sandwich?”
“Of course!” the man growled. “Liverwurst is my favorite!”
Max sighed. “It’s also Fang’s favorite,” he said. He smiled weakly. “Sorry,” he said to the Ambassador. “Wrong scent!”
Max backed out, turned, and, stepping over a body, left the office. In the corridor, he reported to Blossom. “A minor error,” he said. “It wasn’t Fred that Fang was sniffing, it was liverwurst.” He shrugged. “A natural mistake… it could happen to anybody.” He looked around. “Where is the noble beast?”
“I think ‘noble beast’ means a horse,” Blossom said.
“That’s right. When I catch him, I’m going to make horsemeat out of him.”
They went searching for Fang, and found him down the corridor, cowering in a broom closet.
As Max was castigating him, Blossom suddenly put a hand on his arm and said, “Shhhh! Listen!”
“What? What?”
“Listen!”
Max cupped a hand to his ear. Dimly, he heard, “Peep-a-doooo.. ”
“It’s Fred!” Blossom said.
“Quick-look for a lavatory!” Max said.
“For heaven’s sake, why?”
“It sounds to me like Fred is brushing his teeth!”
“No, no, he sounds as if he’s strangling!”
Again, distantly, they heard, “Peep-a-dooooo…”
“Do something!” Blossom wailed. “Fang-find Fred!”
Fang put his nose to the ground.
“Your ears, you idiot!” Max snapped. “Peep-a-dotta is a sound, it isn’t a scent!”
So Fang put an ear to the ground.
“Peep-a-doooo…”
Fang went bounding down the corridor. Max and Blossom dashed after him. He pulled up, skidding, at a door marked FREDONIA.
“I told you!” Blossom said.
“Pure coincidence,” Max said peevishly. “The odds are a thousand-to-one against it. It wouldn’t happen again in a hundred years.”
“Well, do something!”
Max drew back and threw himself against the door. It splintered and fell in-and Max followed it, ending up flat on his face inside the office.
The office was vacant except for the receptionist at the desk. The girl looked remarkably like Noel, the girl guide who had escorted them to the door in the basement marked DANGER!
“Haven’t we met somewhere before?” Max said, peering up from his prone position on the floor.
“Perhaps Paree?” the girl smiled.
“Of course! The summer of ’61. Paree, Illinois. How could I ever forget?”
“Where is Fred!” Blossom demanded.
“Fred who?” Noel said innocently. “All who is here is the Ambassador from Fredonia.”
From behind the door marked Private came, “Peep-a…”
“He’s growing weaker,” Max said, jumping up. “No time to waste!”
He threw himself against the second door-and bounced off it, hitting the far wall. Then, coming back strong, he approached the door again, turned the knob, and flung the door open. Next, entering, he tripped on the sill and fell flat on his face.
Looking up, Max found himself at the feet of Fred, who looked more like the Tin Man than Rock Hudson. There was the pointed tin hat, tin torso, tin arms, tin legs, tin feet. And, as Blossom had said, a lever at his side.
Blossom came bursting in. “Fred!” She threw her arms around him. “Are you all right!”
“Peep-a…” He seemed to be strangling, as Blossom had feared.
Max leaped to his feet. “He’s been gagged,” he said.
“But I don’t see any-”
“Ah, here it is!” Max said. He removed a coin from Fred’s slot. “Somebody forced a slug into his mechanism,” Max explained.
Fred made a sound that could have passed for a sigh of relief. Then-clank, clank, clank-his arm raised. He dropped his nickel into the slot. Clink, clank, rattle, the nickel dropped back into his pocket-actually, a compartment in his hand. Next, he depressed his lever. “Peep-a-dotta, poop-a-dotta, dippa-dotta-boop!” His eyes rolled. Three lemons came up. Then he spoke-in a hollow, far-away voice.
“Thanks,” he said.
“That’s a heck of a lot of buildup for one word,” Max said.
“It isn’t what he says, it’s how he says it,” Blossom said. “There was a lot of feeling in it. He really appreciates your help.”
“Great-that makes my job all the easier,” Max said. Then, addressing Fred, he said, “Fella… if you don’t mind my calling you that… my mission is to bring you back. With, your brains, you’re invaluable to the nation that controls- Let me put it another way. It just so happens that-as matters stand-we are the Good Guys, and everybody else is the Bad Guys… or is that ‘are’ the Bad Guys? Anyway, we’re the Good Guys, and whether it’s ‘is’ or ‘are’ is their problem; let them worry about it. Or should that be ‘are’ their problem?”
“Rorff!”
Max sneered. “Anybody who spells the way you do is in no position to give advice on grammar. Stay out of this!” He turned back to Fred. “Fella… this is how it stands. Being the Good Guys, we’re willing to give you a choice. Self-determination it’s called. You can join up with us-that’s choice number one. Or we’ll take you apart, transistor by transistor, and ram you down your own slot. That’s choice number two.” He glanced at his watch. “You have three months to decide.”
“Three months?” Blossom said incredulously.
“Belay that!” Max said. “I meant three seconds. This is a calendar watch, and I always get the seconds and the months mixed up. Minutes, I confuse with weeks. I remember in the summer of ’61 I spent the whole month of May trying to boil a four-minute egg.” To Fred, he said, “I’m counting, fella…”
Fred’s arm ascended. The nickel clink-clanked through his anatomy. Down went the lever. His eyes revolved, accompanied by “peep-a-dotta, poop-a-dotta, dippa-dotta-boop!” Three lemons appeared. He spoke:
“Man who sits on firecracker should watch out behind!”
Max stared for a second, then turned in bafflement to Blossom. “Man who sits on firecracker should watch
