Max smiled. “Is it by any chance called, ‘Go along with the pretense until I get a chance to plant the you- know-what, and I’ll contact you at the first opportunity’?” he asked.
99 nodded that she had understood.
“No. That’s close,” Dr. Yeh! replied. “But it’s shorter.”
Max shrugged. “It was only a guess.”
The attendant and 99 departed. When they had gone, Dr. Yeh! said to Max, “Now, let’s get that advice bit over with. I want to see what’s in the bag.”
“Do you mind if we take a little stroll about the premises?” Max said. “I advise better when I’m walking.”
“Mmmmm, think on your feet, eh? All right.” Dr. Yeh! got up from the throne and, taking the lead, started the stroll. “You might want to suggest that we put up some factories,” he said. “That’s the first step toward modernization, isn’t it?”
“Excellent idea,” Max replied, following, carrying the black bag, and looking for a place to plant the explosive. “But there’s one hitch.” He stopped at a huge, waist-high, earthenware jug. “To manufacture, you need raw materials. Out here in the desert, there’s an acute shortage of almost everything.” He looked into the jug and saw that it was empty.
“I’ve thought of that,” Dr. Yeh! said, pausing. “My idea is to manufacture sand piles. We have the raw material right here at hand.”
“Sand piles?” Max reached into the satchel for a pellet. “Yes, I can see the possibilities. Although, frankly, lately the market has been a little slow for sand piles.” He dropped the pellet into the jug.
“Ah, yes, but today it’s the packaging that counts,” Dr. Yeh! replied. “What I have in mind is shipping the sand piles in jugs like this,” he said, putting a hand on the jug that Max had just dropped a pellet into. “People would buy the sand piles just to get the jugs. These jugs are-” He had glanced down while talking. “Somebody dropped a pea in my jug,” he said, surprised. He reached into the jug, picked out the pellet, and flicked it away. “The help you get today,” he said morosely. “Last week, I found dust on a camel. The servant problem is atrocious.”
Max ambled idly in the direction in which the pea had rolled. “I wonder if I could have that pea for a souvenir?” he said. “When I left, the Secretary asked me to bring something back. In fact, whenever I go to a foreign country, he asks me to bring something back. He usually wants a mutual defense treaty. But, in this case, I think he’ll settle for a pea.”
“Take it,” Dr. Yeh! said. “I got a pea patch full of ’em.”
Max found the pellet and retrieved it. “How would you like a little advice on weeding a pea patch?” he asked.
“Then can we open the bag?”
“Not that quickly,” Max replied, as the two continued the stroll. “You see, at the State Department our main job is to give advice. The money part of it is just incidental. If I traveled all this distance and did nothing but give you a wad of money, I’d feel I was doing a sloppy job. You wouldn’t want me to have that on my conscience, would you?”
Dr. Yeh! groaned. “I asked them to send me a money order. And what do I get? A blabbermouth!”
“Why don’t you show me your science lab?” Max suggested. “I have a lot of dandy advice on operating science labs.”
“Why not?” Dr. Yeh! replied. He turned down a corridor. “Bring the bag,” he said.
At the end of the corridor, they reached a blank wall. Nearby, on a pedestal, was a sculpture of a ballet dancer. Dr. Yeh! lowered one of the dancer’s legs, and the wall rose automatically into the ceiling, revealing an opening. They proceeded, moving along another corridor, until finally they emerged from the building and entered a lush garden.
“Magnificent camouflage!” Max said. “It doesn’t look one bit like a science lab.”
Dr. Yeh! frowned. “It isn’t a science lab,” he said. “We used the wrong blank wall.”
Dr. Yeh! led the way back. When they reached the spot from which they had started, he turned in a different direction. A moment later, they reached a second blank wall. But, tacked onto the wall was a small hand-lettered sign. It said: Temporarily Out of Order.
“Too bad,” Dr. Yeh! said. “We’ll have to try again tomorrow.”
“I had my heart set on it,” Max pouted.
“I’ll show you to your room,” Dr. Yeh! said. “I think you’ll find it very interesting. It has a built-in tape recorder. If you don’t mind a suggestion, why don’t you put your advice on tape? I could listen to it at my leisure, some time when I don’t have anything else to do. That way, we wouldn’t have to delay the business with the black bag, eh?”
“I’ll think about it,” Max replied. He had spotted a tall, round, waist-high vase, and he angled toward it. “Say… there’s an interesting piece of pottery,” he said.
“Woolworth,” Dr. Yeh! replied.
Max stopped at the vase and circled it, inspecting it admiringly. “Beautiful handwork,” he said. He palmed the pellet, then, gripping the edge of the vase, dropped it into it.
The pellet hit the bottom of the vase and clinked.
Dr. Yeh! looked inside. “You dropped your souvenir,” he said.
“Thank you for bringing it to my attention,” Max replied dryly. He put his arm into the vase and retrieved the explosive.
Dr. Yeh! smiled broadly. “What are friends for? Now, it’s your turn to do me a favor.”
“Anything,” Max said grimly. “Anything within reason, that is.”
“Just show me the money,” Dr. Yeh! said. “Hold on to it for another couple hours or so, if you want to, but at least show it to me.”
Max thought for a second. Then, “Just a quick glance,” he said.
“That’s all I ask.”
Max held up the satchel, then quickly opened it and closed it. “What color did you see?” he asked.
“Green!” Dr. Yeh! beamed.
“Now, may I go to my room?” Max said.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Dr. Yeh! replied, still grinning. As they moved on down the corridor, Dr. Yeh! said, “I like it. I like the new style.”
“The new style?”
“The new round-style money,” Dr. Yeh! said. “You know what it reminds me of?”
“Peas, perhaps?”
“Right.”
“Everybody comments on that,” Max said.
3
Alone, finally, in his room, Max hurriedly scribbled a note to 99. It said: Will meet you at the ballet dancer place.
Then, opening his door, he peeked out and looked up and down the corridor. At the far end he saw a guard.
“Hsssst!” Max hissed.
The guard, an Arab, looked at him speculatively for a second, then, hefting his rifle, approached.
“You speak English, fella?” Max asked.
“Like a native,” the guard smiled. “How about you?”
“Yes, I handle it fairly well,” Max replied. “Although, I have trouble with some of the southern and western dialects. For instance, in southern New York State there is a place the natives refer to as Lawn Guylin. I’ve never been able to find that on a map.”
“That’s Brooklynese for Albany,” the guard explained.
