CHAPTER ONE: 99 LUFT BALLOONS
Maxwell Smart, dressed in a light blue, cotton terrycloth bathrobe, read
the Sunday Arts Section of the Washington Post while propped up in his
comfortable armchair. The phone rang, disturbing his idyllic morning.
The slight, gray-haired secret agent got up and walked over to a table, a
few steps closer to the entrance of his two-story loft apartment.
"Hello," began Smart in his distinctive, high-pitched, whiny voice. "Oh,
hi Chief."
At that moment, 99, his wife, opened the door to the apartment. Tall,
trim, fashionably dressed, and still very beautiful in her fifties, she
closed the heavy, steel door and began resetting the multiple locks.
"Chief, 99 just walked in . . . Wait a second, let me get a pen and pad. I
want to write that down," said Smart. He reached over by the table lamp,
accidentally bumping the light standard. The bulbous base of the lamp
wobbled, then fell over in spite of Max's attempt to right it.
"Aieeeee!" yelled 99, as a large, rope net scooped her up, lifting her 7
feet above the floor level. An exasperated 99 was suspended
unceremoniously like a jungle animal in a snare.
Max's bobble had activated one of the apartment's many booby traps that had
been installed as protection for two of CONTROL's most accomplished agents.
Max covered the telephone's mouthpiece. "Sorry about that 99! I'll be
with you in a moment."
Max scribbled down the address the Chief dictated to him.
"Chief, 99 can't come to the phone right now . . . I know I said she just
walked in. But it looks like she might have to hang around here for a
little while yet. I accidentally set off one of our security traps and 99
is literally hanging around. It'll take me a few minutes to cut her down.
I'll need to get a ladder first, so could we reschedule the rendezvous
time, please?"
Suddenly, the rope holding up 99 gave way. She came hurtling to the
ground.
"Max!!!"
Thud! 99 lay in a tangle of rope on the hardwood floor. Formerly, the
rope snare had been part of a throw rug at the entranceway.
99 held both her legs, screaming out in agony as she reached down to
appease the searing pain of her likely broken ankles, fractured fibulas and
tibias.
"I won't have to cut her down after all Chief, but I don't think we can
make that rendezvous. Judging by the red balloons where 99's feet and
ankles used to be, you'll have to get another agent for this assignment.
I'm going to take her to the hospital as soon as I can."
There was a pause as Max listened to the instructions.
"Okay Chief, I'll see you in two hours at CONTROL headquarters. Goodbye."
Max, deeply distressed by the whole incident, calmly walked over to his
distraught wife and helped untangle her from the smothering clutches of the
rope web.
CHAPTER TWO: I WISH YOU WOULDN'T KISS ME LIKE THAT!
The breeze blew through Max's hair, as he pulled up to the secret location
of the new CONTROL Headquarters at 2600 Virginia Avenue NW in Washington,
D.C. Max pulled up the black vinyl top of his red Mazda Miata, then
secured the latches. He popped some coins into the parking meter. Then he
walked straight over to the open-air plaza in front of the sprawling
edifice. A reflecting pool with twin water fountains dominated the
landscaped grounds. A few people sat on the edges of the upraised
reflecting pool, basking in the warmth of the midday sun.
Max entered a telephone booth. Closing the glass privacy doors, he
inserted a calling card and dialed the secret code number. Immediately, a
huge wall of water shot up from the water fountain as he folded his arms in
front of him. Obscured from view, he suddenly dropped one level to the
main floor of headquarters. Stepping out of the phone/elevator, he
approached the bank vault style steel doors of the entrance. He walked up
to the high tech security system, placed his hand on a finger print reader
and placed his eye up to the retina scanner. There was a buzz, then the
heavy steel doors opened automatically and Smart marched through.
"Hi Max," said the portly, short figure of a male CONTROL agent.
"Hi there, Larabee," replied Max.
"The Chief wants to see you pronto. He's in his office."
Max walked straight ahead until he came to the Chief's oak, brass-trimmed
door and knocked.
"Come in Max," replied a voice over an intercom speaker.
Max proceeded forward. "Hi Chief," said Max.
A forced smile came over the worried expression of the Chief of CONTROL.
"Hi Max."
"So Chief, how come there's a pail on top of your desk?" asked 86 as he
glanced up at a rust-colored stain on the stipple ceiling.
"Oh, there's a drip from the floor above. The old Watergate building has
sprung a few leaks. Bad plumbing . . . So how is 99?"
Max glanced at his wristwatch. "She should be coming out of the X-rays
right about now," replied Max.
"Well, danger is a fact of life for a secret agent."
"You know Chief, speaking of bad plumbing, 99 and I have been thinking of
moving out of that old rat trap apartment."
"Why is that Max?"
"I'm getting complaints from the new landlord about the gun battles in the
hall, and the bombs in the lobby, and the knife fights in the elevator."
"The landlord should know that when you rent an apartment to secret agents,
you've got to expect those things."
"But he doesn't know we're secret agents."
"Well, how do you explain people attacking you and people shooting at you?
"Well, I've talked to him a few times . . . and I told him we work for the
Internal Revenue Service."
"I see . . . It's a shame that the accident occurred at such an inopportune
time. We've had to scramble to find another agent on very short notice. I
know you and 99 make such a wonderful team, her brains, beauty and
intelligence and your . . . " Words eluded the Chief.
"You know Chief, 99 and I have been married for almost 30 years. Why I've
known 99 since she was 24. Yes, we are a well-matched pair. So Chief, who
am I going to be working with?"
"Well, I tried to find somebody you had worked with before."
"I hope you're not going to pair me with Larabee, Chief. You know how
annoying Larabee can be."
"No Max. I tried to find somebody who was willing to work with you. It
was a short list. Actually, I think you'll be quite pleased to work with
an agent who is probably our most successful performer recently. Besides
that, this operative was voted most beautiful in a secret year end poll of
all CONTROL agents."
Intrigued by the introduction, Max asked, "Who would that be Chief?"
"Come in please," said the Chief into the intercom.
A moment later, a tall, curvaceous goddess dressed in a black Donna Karan
business suit glided in. Long, wavy golden tresses framed a radiant,
supermodel visage. Her high cheekbones, thin aquiline nose, alluring clear
blue eyes, long eyelashes, thin arching eyebrows, and sexy pouting lips
were set on a flawless porcelain complexion. She was the stuff adult wet
dreams were made of.
"Hi Chief, hi Max," cooed Special Agent 69, Charli Watkins Jr. "I was
delighted to hear that I would be working with you again."
Charli placed her soft, delicate hand around Max's arm, then gave him a
friendly buss on the cheek.
"The feeling is mutual my dear," replied Max. "But I wish you wouldn't
kiss me like that."
Then Charli clamped her arms around Max's head and neck, and French-kissed
him passionately, insinuating her tongue deeply into Smart's mouth. Max
melted in her loving embrace.
Ten seconds later, Max and Charli parted reluctantly. "Was that better
Max?"
"Yes," replied a stunned Max. "Ah, no. But, that's not what I meant
Charli . . . After all, I'm married and 99 wouldn't appreciate me kissing a
young drop-dead gorgeous lady in that manner. I mean a drop-dead gorgeous
guy . . . Oh, you know what I mean."
"Max and Charli, you'll have to learn to work together without any friction
between the two of you. This top secret mission is extremely important for
the future of the world." As both agents nodded in agreement, the Chief
continued. "Since Max and 99 were unable to make the appointed rendezvous
with our undercover contact, I will have to brief you on the classified top
secret information."
"Wait a second Chief. Classified top secret information requires the use
of the Cone of Silence."
"Oh Max, you know it doesn't work very well," complained the Chief.
"Nevertheless, it is required under CONTROL regulations. There could be
listening devices planted in this office."
"All right."
The Chief pressed a button on the bookshelf behind his desk. From the
ceiling descended two transparent plastic cones, connected by a four foot
long half-tube. Max and Charli huddled together under one cone. The Chief
stood under the other cone. The bubble-like cones reached down to waist
level. An invisible noise-dampening field, in theory, would prevent any of
the conversation from being heard in the rest of the office.
Charli and Max stood face-to-face, forced together under the tight confines
of the cone. Max could feel Charli's soft, pillowy breasts up against his
chest. Charli felt something hard spring up against the joining of her
legs. At such close quarters, Max breathed in the scent of Charli's
passion.
"CONTROL and many of the world's greatest security agencies will be
competing in an auction against the greatest criminal organizations of this
world," began the Chief.
"What? What did you say Chief? I can't hear a word you're saying!" yelled
Max.
Max and the Chief could see each other's lips moving. Frantic gestures and
muffled, distorted sounds caused the Chief to slip out from under his cone
and join the two agents under their dome. Squeezed together tighter than
fans at the front row of a Marilyn Manson concert, the three tried to carry
on the briefing as best they could.
Being under the dome, squeezed so tightly together, conjured up visions of
a deodorant commercial.
"This is ridiculous!" bellowed the Chief, as he slipped out from under the
cones, touched the button on the shelf, and raised the transparent
coverings to their ceiling hiding place.
"Three hundred thousand dollars wasted on technology that never worked from
day one!" thundered the Chief. The head of CONTROL sat down abruptly and
buried his face in his hands.
"Chief, are you developing one of those headaches again?" asked Max.
"Oh Chief, let's calm down," advised Agent 69 in her soothing, soft voice.
"Relax. Let the stress dissipate."
"Chief, just call her Charli 'Deepak Chopra' Watkins."
"Deep what?" asked Charli.
"You know, the author of Everyday Immorality and The Path to Love. He's
been on all the TV talk shows," replied Max.
"This Deep Oprah guy sort of sounds like a Watergate informant on Viagra,"
said Agent 69.
"Charli, the name is Deepak Chopra. He has no connection to the Deep
Throat codename," said the Chief. "Max, are you sure that book title isn't
Everyday Immortality?"
"Right Chief. Deepak Chopra writes about self-discovery, self-healing and
living in harmony. He's one of those born again feel good gurus . . . I
wonder, if Oprah Winfrey married Deepak Chopra, would she be Oprah Chopra?"
Opined Charli, "That sounds like a match made in talk show heaven."
"Or video hell," countered Max. "Imagine the possibilities. Given
Deepak's belief in everyday immortality, if the rhyming couple got married
on Groundhog Day, would they be doomed to repeat their wedding day over and
over again?"
"I don't think their connection is that close. After all, none of Deepak
Chopra's writings have ever been selected by Oprah's Book Club," noted the
Chief.
"Well you might be onto something there Chief. Oprah and Chopra could be
just like Mark and Shania."
"How's that Max?"
"Never the Twain shall meet!"
The Chief rolled his eyes. "Are you finished? Can we get back on track,
please?" The head of CONTROL collected his thoughts, took several deep
breaths, then continued. "A renowned, very successful scientist, has
created an astounding gene cell therapy that will do wonders for millions
of heretofore unlucky people around the world. Using placental cells from
mothers' amniotic sacs, these amazing undifferentiated cells can be
genetically programmed to reform, replace and heal tissue in any part of
the human body. This will revolutionize medical procedures in the
treatment of burn victims. It will completely change cosmetic surgery and
may in fact lead to rejuvenation of the human body. For spy agencies and
criminal organizations around the world, however, there is a sinister
implication. This process will allow a doctor to make a person look like
anyone he or she wants to be."
"I can see it now Chief. Elvis Presley will be spotted at every store
where the National Enquirer is sold throughout this country," cracked Max.
"But take that a step further Max," explained Charli. "Think what it would
mean for spy agencies and criminal organizations around the world. KAOS
could make up a double to replace a police chief, the President of the
United States or the Secretary General of the United Nations."
Suddenly, Max punched the Chief of CONTROL in the jaw. The Chief crumpled
to the ground. Max jumped on top of the Chief, holding him to the ground.
"What are you doing?" screamed Charli.
"You said KAOS could replace the Chief," said Max.
"I just was giving examples Max. I don't for a moment believe that this
isn't the real Chief."
"All right buster, what is the Chief's first name?" demanded Smart.
The dazed Chief appeared reluctant to answer.
"See Charli, if this was the real Chief, don't you think he'd know his own
name?" insisted Max.
"Well Chief, what is it?" asked an astonished Charli, looking suspiciously
at the familiar bald head with the gray fringe.
"Oh Max, you know I don't tell anyone my first name. People always laugh
when I tell them."
"Don't worry Chief. You're among friends here."
The Chief whispered his name.
"What's that? You'll have to say it louder."
"Thaddeus."
Charli snickered, unable to contain herself.
"See," said the Chief.
"Oh, I'm so sorry Chief," said Charli as she bent over, showing her ample
bosoms, and kissed the Chief on the cheek. "I'll try to make it up you, I
promise," she said as she helped Thaddeus to his feet.
The Chief stepped over to his large, mahogany desk and opened up a drawer.
He pulled out two large manila envelopes. "Here are the case dossiers.
Read them over, learn their contents, then destroy them."
The two agents picked up the packets.
"Well, that's it Chief. I'm off."
"All right Max."
"Oh, one more thing, Chief."
"What?"
"Where am I off to?"
"Tomorrow morning, at 9:00 o'clock, you are to board The Princess George, a
cruise liner, at Pier 12, New York City. Be prepared for a three day
voyage to Bermuda. And good luck!"
CHAPTER THREE: WE'RE NOT WORTHY
The luxuriously appointed meeting room of the Princess George contained the
most amazing representatives of security agencies and criminal empires from
all over the globe.
Max and Charli thought back to the dossiers given to them by the Chief.
Seated around a very large solid oak table were the cream of the crop. Max
and Charli tried to identify all the players. On one side of the table sat
the evil organizations' worst dastardly operatives: Dr. Evil, Minime, and
Ivanna Humpalot; Ludwig Von Siegfried and S. Roy of KAOS; Robert Dehiro and
Wanda Jumpya of the Mafia; the Yakuza's Toshiro Mifuyu and Tamasaburo
Kabuki; Pussy Galore II and B.J. Bloefeld of Smersh; J. Chan and B. Lee of
the Hong Kong triads; and finally the Medellin's Jorge and Jesus Cruz. On
the other side sat: James Bond and Austin Powers of the British Secret
Service; Felix Leiter and Felicity Shagwell of the CIA; Napoleon Solo and
April Dancer of UNCLE; Tiger Tanaka and Yuki Suzuki of the Japanese Secret
Service; and Charli and Max of CONTROL. Sitting at the end of the table,
between the forces of good and evil, were Nikita and Michael Unknown of
Section plus John Hart and Celibate Sole of Greenpeace.
"Max, this is a rather intimidating group. I don't know if we are worthy,"
commented Charli.
"Keep the faith Charli. It's just that the others get more media
attention. The CIA is in the newspapers all the time, and the FBI has its
own television show called the X Files. Her Majesty's Secret Service has
hit movies and royal family scandals. We're the only secret organization in
the world nobody ever heard of," observed Max with a touch of envy. "But,
we're every bit as good as any of them," boasted Max unconvincingly.
A small entourage of well dressed ladies and gentlemen walked in and took
their position at the head of the table. Immediately a large screen
descended from the ceiling. A middle-aged gentleman stepped forward to the
computer and projector on the table.
"Good morning distinguished guests," he began in a deep, clear voice, as he
looked around at all of the attentive faces. "My name is Dr. Chameleon,
Karma Chameleon. I've called you here to give you a demonstration of the
most amazing medical breakthrough in the history of mankind. This will be
bigger than the discovery of germs or vaccines or anti-biotics! Using the
placental cells from the amniotic sac of a mother, we have discovered a
method to use these vital undifferentiated cells to replace or supplement
or rejuvenate any cells within the human body. An amputated leg can be
regenerated. A cancerous lung can be replaced. Burned skin will re-grow
and be as smooth as a baby's bottom. Conventional cosmetic surgery will
cease to exist. An old fart can be become a young colt again. You will be
able to become the person you always wanted to be."
On switched the laptop computer and projector. The lights dimmed. "Do I
note a touch of skepticism on your faces?" asked Dr. Chameleon as his Power
Point presentation came to life. "See this person before you. Darren
Chambers was the victim of a fiery car crash. He received third degree
burns to 90 percent of his body. He is very lucky to be alive today. This
photo shows his condition before the activated placental cell therapy and
after the therapy as he is today." The smooth, unblemished smiling face of
young Darren beamed from ear to ear. There were no scars evident anywhere.
A buzz started up among the assembled guests
Dr. Chameleon continued with the presentation to show more before and after
shots of amazing transformations.
"Are you sure you haven't got the pictures in reverse order?" piped up
Dr. Evil, a bald headed man dressed in an unusual metallic-gray casual
suit.
A door opened and in walked the magnificent seven specimens displayed in
the incredible makeover show.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Dr. Chameleon's amazing transformations!"
said the doctor with a flourish of his right hand.
Instead of applause, the audience sat dumbfounded.
"Any questions?" asked the doctor.
"Why should any of us believe this far-fetched tale?" asked one.
"How do we know this isn't a scam?" asked another.
"I don't believe any of it!"
"Stop!" commanded Dr. Chameleon with a disdainful wave. "I can see you
still must be convinced. "Here, Dave and Jane, step forward please."
Two of Dr. Chameleon's entourage stepped in front of everyone else.
"These two have volunteered to be human guinea pigs. They will undergo the
procedure later today, and before we arrive in Georgetown, Bermuda three
days from now, you will see the results for yourselves. So that there will
be no doubt as to your amazing transformations, please step over to the
fingerprint and retina scanners. These will be recorded now. All of you in
the audience will be provided with these scan records right now. And in
three days, you will see the results of this revolutionary medical
procedure for yourself . . . And if any of you in the audience want to
experience this for yourself, we can arrange that too . . . Anybody want a
facelift? Or perhaps one of you ladies would like to look like a
supermodel?"
The murmurs started up all over again.
"Finally," said Dr. Chameleon as he waited for silence, "at the end of this
voyage, I will hold an auction. Already, there is a reserve bid of one
billion dollars. The patents and rights to this breakthrough procedure
will go to the highest bidder. So, contact your banks and be prepared to
loosen the purse strings . . . By the way, if any of you decide that you
want to kill me to prevent this advancement from falling into the wrong
hands, let me offer you the following warning. All of you have been
disarmed. Explosive security bracelets have been attached to all of you.
I have a security staff second to none. If anything should happen to me,
the ship will be detonated, destroying everyone and everything on board.
So, if you wish to live, you had better make sure nothing bad happens to me
. . . We'll meet altogether again for the open auction in three days time.
Enjoy the voyage! Thank you."
CHAPTER FOUR: JUST LIKE A WOMAN
Charli placed the large, black Samsonite suitcase on the floor, undid the
latches, and looked at the jumbled contents. "I am quite sure they
searched through everything thoroughly," she said. With relief, she was
thankful that she had not included too many of the sex changing
accoutrements in her luggage. But, the heavily padded push up bras, thong
gaffs, and blond wig were not too far out of the ordinary for a lady of
fashion. A quick check of her garment bag showed that her lavish gowns
were still in immaculate condition.
Maxwell Smart resigned himself to the fact that he would have to share his
bed with this unusual beauty for the next two nights. Normally, he thought
it would be impossible to not have thoughts of lust with a ravishing,
gorgeous woman, but he kept reminding himself that Charli Watkins Jr. was
really a man. His brain told him one thing, his gonads another.
"Charli, why didn't you dress as a guy for this mission?" asked Max.
"Oh Max, I seem to get a much better response when I'm dressed as a lady.
I dress as a man when I want to go unnoticed. Besides you have only seen
me as a female. I didn't want to shock you with a dramatic change of
appearance. Also, being a master of disguise could be an advantage on this
voyage. I might make myself look like James Bond or . . . I might use my
seductive feminine charms to get closer to Dr. Chameleon. Besides, it's
too late to establish the male Charlie Watkins Jr. identity for this
mission."
"It's just that the seductive Charli Watkins makes me feel awkward."
"Why? Are you homophobic? I can assure you I will not try to steal you
away from 99. Actually, I'd be happy to have a wife as beautiful as 99.
You're a very lucky man Max."
"I'm not homophobic and I do love 99, but come over to the mirror and see
for yourself," said Max as he guided Charli over to the bureau mirror.
"Behold a vision of heavenly beauty . . . See what I mean. Maybe at night,
you can cover your face with some kind of replenishing masque, so that I
can keep my hands to myself."
"Oh, Max, you're so sweet," cooed Charli as she kissed him on the cheek and
hugged him warmly.
"Now cut that out 99, I mean 69."
"You know my daddy told me a story about the two of you and 99 working
together many years ago. You were trying to infiltrate the deadly KAOS
operation at the Pussy Cat Club. Daddy worked undercover as a Pussy Cat.
Dad said you couldn't keep your eyes off his bosoms in that revealing low
cut outfit. And you kept staring at his fishnet tights. When you bought
cigarettes from him, you were so distracted, you lit the filter end of your
cigarette."
"That's true. You know 99 and I weren't married at that time. Charlie had
great legs and voluptuous breasts. 99 said, 'It's not polite to stare at a
lady.' When I repeated the old punch line, 'That was no lady, that was my
wife,' I think 99 actually believed it for a moment. I mean it was easy to
forget that Charlie wasn't a real lady."
"Thanks for sharing that with me, Max."
"So what's your father doing now in retirement?"
"Actually, he's taken on another job. My father is working for Harrison
Ford."
"Wow! Does he do the actor's makeup?"
"No, my dad sells Fords and Lincolns at a car dealership . . . although he
still dresses in drag. The sports cars seem to sell better with a blond in
the front seat."
"Anyway, we have to get down to business. That amazing Dr. Chameleon and
his discovery are something else," said Max, trying to change the topic.
"Yes, I was absolutely floored by his presentation. What a wonderful
medical breakthrough! Just think of all the benefits."
"Unfortunately, KAOS and other similar organizations could easily use it
for sinister purposes. We cannot let it fall into the hands of KAOS or
their like. I guarantee you the other side is developing a plan right now
to kidnap Dr. Chameleon or steal his secrets."
"But Max, they can't go anywhere, not with these explosive devices attached
to everyone's wrists. And if something happens to the good doctor, the
whole ship blows up."
"If CONTROL wants to win the auction, perhaps we could supplement the offer
with an iron-clad promise of life-long protection, or 5 years, whichever
comes sooner."
"But, if he could look like anyone, why would he need protection? In fact,
how do we even know that was the real Dr. Chameleon? None of us ever saw
him before. He was a complete unknown to the general public. Actually, he
looks more like a soap opera doctor. He looks too handsome to be real."
"Karma Chameleon . . . somehow it sounds vaguely familiar . . . By George,
I think you're right 69. We need to find out more about the good doctor
and his procedure and I have just the way to do it. I will volunteer to
undergo the transformation to give me a more youthful appearance. I
wouldn't mind having smooth, healthy skin again. I wonder if the procedure
will eliminate my bald spot and darken my hair?"
"Oh Max. You're willing to undergo an unproven experimental medical
procedure for the sake of world security. Something could go drastically
wrong. Not only that, here we are on a ship, surrounded by assassins and
agents of mayhem. We're wearing explosive bracelets. The ship is
booby-trapped. Maxwell Smart, you live on the razor's edge of danger!"
"My dear, in the Maxwell Smart lexicon, danger is just another word for
living."
A phone rang! Max and Charli looked about the cramped cabin but could not
spot a phone. Charli checked the cell phone in her purse. It was set for
the vibrating mode.
At the second ring, Max took off his right shoe. He must have accidentally
triggered the ringing mode switch. 86 adjusted the shoe phone back to
itchy mode.
"Oh hi Chief." Max paused. "How is 99? . . . That's good news . . . Yes,
Chief. I have some good news and some bad news . . . No, this isn't a joke
Chief. The good news is that Dr. Chameleon has discovered the most
amazing, beneficial discovery in the history of mankind. The bad news is
that it could fall into the wrong hands at an auction in three days time.
There's a reserve bid of one billion dollars. In view of CONTROL's recent
austerity program, we don't have a chance."
Charli indicated she wanted to speak to the Chief. "Hi Chief, I think
CONTROL cannot afford to pass this up. Borrow whatever you need. This
discovery will pay for itself. Why this could replace Viagra, Propecia,
Rogaine, transplants, breast implants, all plastic surgery, it might even
extend human life. Think how much money CONTROL could make. Why CONTROL
could surpass Microsoft . . . on second thought, maybe not. We're not as
cutthroat as Bill Gates."
The Chief took a minute to go over CONTROL's revenue and expenditure
situation, but promised he would try his best to raise the money. Maybe he
would go into the venture capital markets. There were usually a lot of
willing suckers to be found there. The Chief threw it back to Charli,
asking if there was anything else he could do for them.
Charli asked for extra clothes and special prosthetic makeup from her
apartment.
Just like a woman to ask for extra clothes and makeup thought Max.
The Chief promised a special delivery that night. They set a rendezvous
time and deck location. Agent Larabee would also be joining the cast.
Max grabbed the phone from Charli. "By the way Chief, if CONTROL wants to
save on long distance phone costs in Canada, just dial 101 5566." Then,
Smart hung up, and put on the shoe phone. He made a mental note to pick up
some Odor Eaters next time he had a chance.
CHAPTER FIVE: GUTS AND GORY
Dr. Chameleon had invited Charli and Max to sit at his table during lunch.
The other organizations would have their opportunity later on as
Dr. Chameleon planned to rotate his dinner guests.
"Welcome, I am Dr. Karma Chameleon," he said warmly as he shook hands with
Charli and Max.
"I am Smart, Maxwell Smart."
"My name is Charlene Watkins, although my close friends call me Charli, you
know, like the perfume."
"And it is a lovely essence," said the doctor as he pulled out a chair for
Charli.
"Thank you."
"My dear, I selected you to be my first dinner companion because I was so
intrigued by your beauty."
"Oh, what a wonderful thing to say," replied Charli showing her pearly
whites, as she patted the good doctor's upper thigh playfully. Charli
thought the doctor was a real hunk.
When Max sat down, he immediately asked the good doctor a question or two
about the medical procedure. Satisfied with the medical explanations, he
volunteered to be one of the human guinea pigs. Smart pulled out a photo
from his wallet. It was a marriage photo of 86 and 99 from 30 years ago.
Smart said he wanted to look young again. The accommodating doctor set up
a time for the appointment.
There was a commotion as the large double doors of the dining room opened.
Dr. Chameleon's security staff wheeled in a large transparent holding
cell. A distraught Jorge Cruz of the Medellin Drug Cartel was the cube's
sole occupant.
Dr. Chameleon stepped in front of this transparent plastic cell. The
defiant prisoner pounded on the thick, tough Lexan acrylic walls to no
avail. Before the hushed assemblage, Dr. Chameleon reached into his pocket
and extracted a remote control device.
"Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please. No doubt some of you have
been dying to test Dr. Chameleon, to see if he is as ruthless and cruel as
any of you. For example, the explosive bracelets attached to your wrists.
Do they really work? Well Jorge Cruz volunteered to do this demonstration
for you. He and his brother Jesus tried to kill me about a half-hour ago.
Jesus is now in the afterworld, dispatched by my efficient security staff.
As for Jorge? Well, let me punch his code into the remote control and
. . . "
A look of terror engulfed Jorge's swarthy face.
KABOOM!
A blast of light, sound and human gore shook the impenetrable transparent
cube! A splattering of blood, bone and tissue now covered the cell's
sides! It wasn't a pretty sight!
"See. It works . . . Please enjoy the luncheon."
Then, the pleased Dr. Chameleon resumed his position at the dinner table.
The security staff wheeled away the gory-gooey cell. And the suitably
impressed guests continued on with their normal lunchtime conversation.
The seafood dinner arrived.
Thereafter, Max faded into the background, lost in deep thought about the
meaning of life.
Meanwhile, Charli and Dr. Chameleon fanned the flames of budding romance.
Charli and Karma never took their eyes off each other. Karma was
mesmerized by Charli's seductive spell. Tentative touches turned to cozy
cuddling. By the end of lunch, it appeared that Karma was eating out of
her hand.
They arranged to rendezvous at Karma's posh, private cabin for an
entertaining afternoon.
THE NEXT SCENE COULD BE CLASSIFIED AS R-RATED. YOU MIGHT PREFER TO SKIP
THIS SCENE. IT HAS GRATUITOUS SEX AND IS NOT ESSENTIAL TO THE STORY AND
WOULD NEVER BE SHOWN IN A REAL GET SMART SHOW. IT IS, HOWEVER, TRUE TO THE
CHARACTER OF CHARLI WATKINS JR. IF YOU WISH, YOU CAN PICK UP THE TALE AT
THE BEGINNING OF THE NEXT CHAPTER.
When Charli emerged from the bathroom, Karma's eyes almost jumped out their
sockets. At the doorway, she posed languidly, leaning on the doorframe
like a bored, over-worked hooker trying half-heartedly to entice a
sex-starved sailor into her den of sin. The dominatrix held a long leather
cat-o'-nine-tails whip in her hand and flicked it gently. Her long
exquisite legs were encased in long shiny black-vinyl boots that stretched
all the way from her stiletto heels to a few inches short of her leather
covered V. A leather bustier emphasized her flared hips, scrumptious buns
and impossibly tiny waist. Her balloon like bosoms strained to burst out
of the bustier's top. A studded leather collar encased her long
aristocratic neck. Charli's shimmering, golden blond tresses cascaded over
her shoulders, reaching to the middle of her back. Her pouting glossy lips
yearned to be kissed. On one wrist was a menacing studded leather band; on
the other the stainless steel explosive bracelet attached by Karma's
security crew.
Karma, attired in a long, flowing royal blue satin bathrobe, stood
transfixed by this surreal vision. Karma's brown eyes fixated on
Charlis spellbinding deep blue pools.
She flicked the whip gently and approached at a leisurely pace, giving
Karma a few moments to appreciate this wild, wicked love goddess.
Charli reached up to the opening of the bathrobe and slid the satiny
material back over Karma's well muscled, broad shoulders. The robe dropped
to the floor. With delight, Charli noted the chiseled physique. Hercules
would have been proud. Tight black jockey shorts hid the family jewels.
Agent 69 lifted the whip and gently jabbed Karma in the chest, pushing him
back, back onto the black satin sheets of the king-size bed which dominated
the airy, luxuriously decorated chamber.
"Lie down! Spread your arms and legs, my Kinky Karma Chameleon!" Charli
commanded, cracking the whip for emphasis.
Charli pounced on Karma, her knees spread on each side of his taut torso,
her soft buns resting on his lower abdomen. She extracted four long
leather straps from the top of her long shiny vinyl boots. Quickly, she
grabbed Karma's left wrist and tied a strap tightly to his wrist and the
corner of the bed frame.
"Charli, what are you doing?" asked Karma as Charli attempted to tie up his
right wrist as well.
"You are my sex slave! You will do as I command!"
69 rewarded Karma with a gentle kiss. Then she reversed her position and
slid down to sit astride Karma's now stimulated organ. A rigid pole
strained to separate her soft rear cheeks. She tied a strap tightly around
his left ankle and attached it to another corner of the bed frame, then
repeated the tethering on the other side.
"You are mine. All mine!"
Again, she French kissed Karma, with more passion this time, leaving a
detectable smear of pink gloss on his lips.
"One moment my dear Karma. I have a little surprise for you to eat."
Charli hopped off the bed and ran to the bathroom to retrieve her bag.
"What are you doing?" called out the worried Dr. Karma Chameleon.
"Be patient. I'm just getting something for you my darling," explained
Charli as she returned to Karma's bed.
Withdrawing a can of Dream Whip from the bag and a small container, Charli
shook up the cylindrical can. She depressed the button. Out sprayed a
steady flow of whipped cream, onto the impressive pectorals of the good
doctor. She topped the creamy mounds with red cherries drawn from a
plastic container. Next, she stuck a cherry in her mouth and kissed Karma
gently, feeding him a tasty surprise.
Then, she seductively teased the good doctor. Charli sat astride the good
doctor's head. Her forbidden snatch suspended inches above his face. She
leaned over his chest. Her tongue flicked out to lick the whipped cream.
She tantalized Karma with deft touches of her delicate tongue on his rock
solid chest muscles. As she bit the cherry off his stimulated teat, she
dug her teeth into his flesh, causing him to jump in reaction to the pain.
It left indentations on his nipple. She resumed her sensuous licking and
she could see Karma's caber strain against his confining shorts. She
reached for the black material and slid down the underwear, unleashing a
massive gift from the gods of love.
"Oh my! This one should have a nickname . . . Big Ben!"
"I'm glad you didn't say Wee Willie."
"It's more like the size of Free Willie."
Karma flicked out his tongue, trying to reach Charli's forbidden snatch,
which lay just beyond his reach.
Charli continued to lick, lapping up the sweet cream. She tried to
establish a suggestive rhythm with her loving tongue, and she rocked her
leather-covered bush back and forth above Karma's face. She took her
leather whip and gently placed it around Karma's love instrument. She
caressed the sensitive flesh with the long leather tether.
Karma grunted and Old Faithful erupted!
A geyser of cream shot upwards from the flesh fountain! Wave after wave
skyrocketed upward! It was an impressive sight!
"You are a stud! A dominant stallion!"
"Oh Charli," gasped Karma.
69 massaged the doctor's massive gift. Spasms erupted again.
When Karma was fully spent, Charli went to the bathroom. A few moments
later she returned with a sudsy washcloth and cleaned up the sperm spill as
best she could.
"Please Charli," begged Karma. "One more time."
Charli reached into her back of tricks once more. Briefly, she considered
the inflatable doll with the life-like female organ. Then, thinking better
of it, she strapped on a belt around her hips. A long wide black dildo was
attached.
"Do you like making love to girls or boys?"
With wide-eyed amazement, Karma replied, "Girls."
"Today, you will have a taste of forbidden delights."
Charli squatted above Karma's head. The long, specially equipped love tool
dangled above Karma's mouth. Charli sprayed some of the whipped cream onto
the dildo, then inserted it into the doctor's mouth. Karma sucked the
sweet tasty cream, licking away all traces of white from the black surface.
"Now, close your eyes, here's your surprise!"
A jet of the liqueur Drambuie jetted out of the end of the small-nippled
dildo. Charli's specially adapted baby-bottle-in-the-love-cylinder trick
caught most partners by surprise.
"Tasty! I love it!"
Karma continued to suck while Charli tousled his dark ringlets playfully
and caressed his cheeks with her delicate, soft hands.
Unstrapping the dildo, Charli went over to her bag, reached in and fumbled
around until she found a condom. She tore off the plastic cover to the
lubricated condom and returned to the good doctor, who continued to drain
the Drambuie liqueur from the dildo.
"Karma, look what I have here."
His eyes brightened. Karma's love totem stirred as Charli unrolled some
slack to accommodate the huge dimensions.
"Cover it we must," whispered Charlie in Yoda-like fashion, as she worked
the protective latex covering onto Karma's Buckaroo Bonsai tree. The
shield stretched to the size of a colostomy bag.
Charli moved her knees back over top of Karma's muscular abs. She leaned
forward, fondled Karma's face gently, and placed a blindfold over Karma's
eyes. She kissed him eagerly, then returned her attention back to his
enormous gift.
Using her fake fingernail enhanced hands, 69 stroked 'Big Ben'
rhythmically. Her dexterous manipulations, in a regular cadence, coaxed
him closer and closer to the blissful pinnacle. Charli gently squeezed
Karma's mega-size balls. Karma grunted, louder and louder, then exploded.
The shooting climax, unlike the previous spasmodic orgasm, was
condom-contained, thankfully saving 69 another messy cleanup. Then, Charli
continued to pleasure Karma with kisses, cuddles and caresses.
"69 is divine. 69 is divine," she chanted.
A few minutes later, an exhausted Karma was asleep. The sleeping potion and
hallucinogenic drug contained in the Drambuie would normally wear off in
four hours. Hopefully, Dr. Chameleon would think that his lovemaking
included far more than Charli could provide for him.
After changing into a black diaphanous negligee, Charli undid the leather
straps around Dr. Chameleon's extremities. She cleaned up as best she
could, then tucked the prone form under the satin covers. She went over to
the chest of drawers where she had left her purse. She opened it up and
checked the miniature hidden digital camera. Since she had time, she
replayed the whole seduction scene on the tiny screen. Perfect! The wide-
angle lens captured it all. She carefully wiped out the part where
Dr. Chameleon fell asleep after the drug had taken effect.
Then she crawled under the covers and closed her eyes. She found it
helpful to take some time during a busy day to meditate and refocus. After
one hour, fully recharged, she gave Dr. Chameleon an orally administered
potion. It stimulated the doctor's body from its slumber and also helped
to purge the hallucinogenic drug. Then she snuggled up next to him and
placed a loving arm over his body, her hand suggestively near his crotch.
She pretended to be asleep when he stirred. Dr. Chameleon was happy to
wake up in her arms, but was a little puzzled. What could he remember of
the encounter with his love vixen? He gently moved out from her warm
embrace to visit the bathroom. He checked his watch. Two and a half hours
had passed. He could recall a wild beginning, two sexciting orgasms, being
blindfolded, but what happened next? He couldn't remember.
When Karma emerged from the bathroom, he changed quickly, not wishing to
disturb his sexually gifted guest. He needed to check up on a few of his
patients. He leaned over and gave Charli a soft kiss goodbye.
CHAPTER SIX: WE ARE WHAT WE ARE
When Charli returned to her cabin in the late afternoon, she found Max
reading the paperback Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus and Aliens
from Mexico, Cuba and Canada.
"Well my lovely, how did your date go with Dr. Chameleon?"
"Oh, he's a fascinating man. But . . . after all, he is just a man."
"So did you get down and dirty and do the nasty with our good friend?"
"A lady never tells."
"You my dear are no lady, and I mean that in a nice way."
"Oh Max, you don't want a blow by blow description do you?"
"Well, draw me a picture then."
"Remember a song from the1970s, the Starland Vocal Band's Afternoon
Delight?"
"Yes."
"Well rubbing sticks and stones together sure worked up an appetite."
"And . . ."
"Skyrockets in flight, Afternoon delight!"
"So, mission accomplished?"
"Well, remember another song from that era featured on the Jesus Christ
Superstar album?"
"Which song?"
"I Don't Know How to Love Him, how to change, how to move him, he's just a
man, just a man, and I've had so many men before, in very many ways, he's
just one more."
Agent 69 had a melodic singing voice!
"I never thought it would come to this. What happened? Put it in terms I
can understand. If sex was a ballgame, did you hit a home run?"
"Well, not quite. Perhaps a stand up double . . . Remember the President
and Monica?"
"Uh huh."
"It was sort of like that. When I first stepped into his cabin, before we
even started anything, he said he didn't want romantic entanglements to
cloud his judgement . . . I must be losing my touch."
"You speak in riddles and metaphors. You've spent 5 minutes reciting song
lyrics, and I still don't know what you're trying to tell me. You should
be either in politics or the Hallmark Greeting Card business."
"Maybe the next time I see Karma, I will wear a black beret to remind him
of what we did together . . . He's such a gifted stud . . . and I was
tempted to reveal my secret to him. But, given what happened to the
unfortunate Jorge Cruz, I didn't want him to blow up at me because I wasn't
a real woman."
"When you play with fire, you might get burned."
"Just call me a fire eater . . . Oh Max, I hope you don't think any less of
me for doing this. But, I thought just in case the good doctor was
susceptible to blackmail, I have the whole thing recorded on digital."
Charli opened her special imitation Dior purse and showed Max the tiny
hidden digital camera and minidisk. Max also noted some protective condoms
mixed in with her makeup items.
"Whew! I asked you to draw me a picture; you drew me a picture."
"But, I have mixed feelings about it."
"That might be the most cunning, deceitful, sleazy and treacherous act ever
perpetrated by a CONTROL agent."
"Well, after all, I have been in three beauty contests."
"My dear, there's more to you than meets the eye. You are manipulative and
ruthless. You'll go far in this world."
"Sometimes I wonder if we're any better than KAOS or the other evil
organizations."
"What are you talking about 69? We have to shoot and kill and destroy and
blackmail. We represent everything that's wholesome and good in the
world."
"There are moments when I wonder whether I've made the right career choice.
Perhaps I could have been a businessman or something other than a secret
agent."
"Well, we are what we are. I'm a secret agent, trained to be cold, vicious
and savage. Not enough to be a businessman."
CHAPTER SEVEN: A LEITER SHADE OF PALE
The ship's entertainment for the evening was to be a formal dance. It
would allow the guests an opportunity to mingle freely and establish new
ties.
In the crowded cabin, Maxwell Smart watched in fascination as Charli
transformed himself/herself. Stepping out of the bathroom after showering,
Charli wore a fluffy white towel wrapped around her head and a flowing pink
cotton bathrobe over a thin, delicate frame. Even without makeup, Charli's
face still looked clear complexioned, with no visible facial hair after a
close shave. Smart could detect no hint of an Adam's apple on her thin
neck.
There was very little difference that Max could see between 99's makeup
routine and 69's. Perhaps a thicker foundation? But lots of women 99's
age did that. However, when Charli cut off long wide strips of flesh
colored tape, it caught Max's curiosity. What was that for? Charli went
into the bathroom for a minute, did his business, and when he emerged,
Charli slipped off his robe and turned to the dresser. From the corner of
his eye, in the mirror, Max could see Charli did indeed have a flat, boy's
chest and a young boy's thin waist. Immediately, Charli took a strip of
the pre-cut tape and reached down to his family jewels and adroitly covered
his privates. Max didn't look. A thong gaff made any hint of male origins
undetectable. But, how to create cleavage was a secret Charly didn't seem
to mind sharing. He took a 9 inch strip of tape, began under one armpit,
bent over, pushed up the lose chest flesh, and worked the tape to the
middle, holding the flesh in the uplifted position. He repeated the
procedure for the other side. Then, he used a small triangular sponge to
spread some dark makeup in between the mounds, creating more depth. He
heightened the contrast with light powder on the uplifted mounds. A
well-padded Wonder Bra completed the illusion.
When Charli removed the towel around his head, Max was a little surprised
to see her/his fair hair was as short as Max's.
Charli picked up her blond mane, fluffed it up with a vigorous shake, and
combed it with a wig brush. She bent over, attached the wig into place,
shook the dangling real human hair strands, and with a flick of her head,
she stood up straight. The goddess Max knew and admired stood before him.
"Amazing," murmured Smart yearningly.
Charli took the opportunity to put on her most glamorous, sumptuous,
seductive evening gown. It was low cut, with thin straps that barely held
up the black chiffon material over Charli's impressive cleavage.
Incredibly narrow at the waist and slit down the sides, the dress showed
just enough of Charli's exquisitely formed legs to stimulate the eye of the
beholder. To better match her partner's height, Charli wore flats that
also allowed her to be comfortable no matter how much she danced. And she
intended to wear out her partner tonight.
Max wore a black tuxedo with tails. It featured a unique double peak
lapel. A deep, burgundy velvet vest and matching bow tie on a white shirt
with an upraised collar completed his elegant, classy ensemble. Max
recalled he had purchased the outfit while on assignment in Nashville from
a formal wear store called Tennessee Tuxedo. He found it to be money well
spent as he had worn the penguin suit on many occasions.
The two CONTROL agents made a most attractive couple, that is, allowing for
the disparity in their ages.
When this stylish couple arrived, the dance floor was in full swing.
The foppish Austin Powers dominated the dance floor, tripping the light
fantastic with the sexy Felicity Shagwell. To the recorded sounds of Burt
Bacharach and Elvis Costello's version of I'll Never Fall in Love Again,
the two great dancers put on quite a show.
"Groovy baby! Baby! Oops, one too many babies."
Max walked over to the DJ and made a request. The next song was a Tango.
Max grabbed Charli's hand, and spun her onto the dance floor. Max and
Charli marched cheek to cheek across the floor, dramatically pivoted and
high stepped back. Charli kept in sync with Max's every move, like they
had been matched together by Kismet. Austin and Felicity responded with
their own unique variations. It was like a ballroom dance competition.
Napoleon Solo and April Dancer, Michael and Nikita, Toshiro Mifuyu and
Tamasaburo Kabuki, Pussy Galore II and James Bond VII, Dr. Evil and Ivanna
Humpalot, and many of Dr. Chameleon's staff joined in.
The joyous spirit and buoyant mood of the dancers did not reflect the life
and death struggle that seethed beneath the surface.
Waltzes, foxtrots, polkas, bugaloos, disco jives, big band jives, twists,
and house hops. They pulled out all the stops.
Charli had a full dance card. She must have danced with every spy and
blackguard on the ship. She never sat down except for a washroom break.
She was the most sought after woman on board.
Taking a breather while Charli was in the ladies room, Max wandered over to
the bar to get a drink. There, a man he recognized as the CIA's Felix
Leiter was leaning up against the bar, with a freshly ordered tall glass of
beer in his hand.
"You're that agent from CONTROL, aren't you?"
"Yes, Maxwell Smart."
"My name is Leiter, Felix Leiter."
They shook hands.
"Quite a beautiful lady, your dance partner!"
"Yes, or so it would appear . . . That gorgeous blond vixen dancing with
Austin Powers, isn't that Felicity Shagwell?"
"Yes, she and Powers are an amazing dance team," replied Felix as he
gestured toward the fop and the tart bopping and hopping to the bubblegum
music of the Archies.
"So, Felix, any new developments?"
"Keep your ears and eyes open Smart," said Felix, as he took a sip from his
beer. "I've been hearing . . . "
Felix Leiter suddenly grabbed his throat, coughed and choked, then slipped
down to one knee. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
With a desperate look up into Max's eyes, he started to gesture with his
hands. Max clued in right away.
"Charades?" It was a game he enjoyed.
A small crowd quickly gathered around the fallen Felix Leiter.
Leiter nodded yes and held up two fingers.
"Two words . . . Second word."
Felix started pounding his fists on Max.
"Punch . . . attack. That's it. Attack!"
Leiter held up one finger and then 4 fingers.
"First word . . . four syllables."
Leiter, using both hands, imitated somebody taking a photograph."
"Picture . . .camera. That's it. The first syllable is cam."
Felix, already on one knee, slumped over to the floor.
Max, in a last desperate attempt, to get the message, bent down and placed
his ear up to Leiter's mouth. Leiter tried to say something, then
shuddered, and his head turned to the side. Lifeless. He was gone.
"What did he say Max?" asked Felicity Shagwell, Leiter's co-worker.
Max stood up. "He said, 'I can't breathe. Please get your knee off my
chest.'"
Quickly, the bartenders and busboys scrambled to remove the CIA agent's
body. It was bad for business to leave carcasses lying around.
"The forces of good have lost a good man," said a distraught Felicity
Shagwell.
"Unfortunately, my dear, evil never takes a holiday," commented Max.
Within a few minutes, amazingly, the dance continued on, almost as if
nothing disturbing had happened.
A spotlight reflected off a revolving mirrored disco ball, creating a
cheesy Saturday Night Fever ambience. Flashing strobes and cooling clouds
of dry ice added to the atmosphere. ABBA's Dancing Queen and The Trammps
Disco Inferno picked up the tempo. It was the 1970s once more.
And Tampax was there.
During the next hour or so, while he danced, Max tried to put together the
clues from Felix Leiter's unfinished message. Something attack. The first
word had four syllables and started with cam.
Although the others danced the night away, somehow Smart's heart wasn't in
it. He sat out many of the dances. But, Charli had little trouble in
finding willing partners, among them, James Bond and Dr. Chameleon.
Finally, as the dance wound down, Celine Dion's My Heart Must Go On wailed
over the speakers. Dr. Chameleon swept up Charli and danced rough cheek to
smooth cheek with her. Perhaps Charli would be able to entice him to a
greater commitment after all.
At two o'clock in the morning, the crew on duty at the bridge of the
Princess George tried to peer through dense fog. This majestic, refitted
vessel was unable to operate at its top speed during bad weather
conditions, and this certainly was not a good night weather wise. The
officers checked the radar screens constantly. The ship was in
international waters, off the Carolinas, nowhere near where the Titanic had
gone down. But it was approaching the dreaded Bermuda triangle.
Maxwell Smart stood on the top deck of the Princess George and waited.
Checking his Timex Glowlight watch, it said 2:01. The chopper was late.
All of a sudden, the breeze seemed to kick up. Max looked up into the
foggy darkness and could faintly hear the sound of whirling blades above.
A rope ladder swung from the cockpit of the CONTROL Stealth Helicopter 1,
as Agent Larabee bravely climbed down the wildly swinging rope ladder.
At the first pass, the chopper pilot missed the mark. Agent Larabee
descended straight down the smokestack funnel of the majestic ship.
Sputtering from the toxic fumes, Larabee was lifted out moments later. As
the chopper dipped down again, Larabee, with a loud clang, bounced off the
side of the large smokestack funnel.
"Whoa!" screamed Larabee as he let go of the wildly swinging ladder.
Max closed his eyes.
Splash!
Fortunately for Larabee, he landed in the ship's swimming pool, mildly
clipping his rear end on the hard plastic coated edge of the rectangular,
over-sized bathtub.
Max held up his thumb and forefinger close together. "Missed by that
much."
Larabee hopped out of the pool quickly, rubbing his sore coccyx. Max
helped retrieve Larabee's gear and the supplies that Charli had requested.
Then they scurried out of sight.
CHAPTER EIGHT: WHO'S THE FAIREST?
The next morning, Maxwell Smart went forward to a location three decks
below the ship's bridge. Greeted at the door of the clinic by a female
nurse, he was instructed to disrobe and to put on a hospital gown. He was
then told to lie down on a movable stretcher/cart, and he was prepped for
the medical procedure.
He was given the anaesthetic that he requested, chicken that he was. A
series of different numbered needless would be pinpointed exactly into
precise locations on his head and all over his body. Max had never tried
acupuncture, but Far Eastern medicine had never had the amazing
capabilities of this placental cell therapy.
Lying on the operating table, Max could see the eyes of Dr. Chameleon above
his surgical mask. Max's last thought before slipping into unconsciousness
was that he hoped Charli hadn't wore out the good doctor last night.
A few hours later, a groggy Max stirred back to life. The smiling face of
the nurse that had helped Agent 86 before greeted him. Max glanced at her
nametag and tried to speak the name Gloria.
She tried to comfort Max, warning that there might be a little residual
pain from the insertion of hundreds of needles. She placed a glass of
water and painkillers on the table beside his hospital bed. Then she held
up a hand mirror.
Max stared in astonishment at his face. It was swathed in bandages. He
looked like an Egyptian mummy.
He tried to cry out, but could only manage a weak whimper. He sank back on
the bed and descended to the depths of blissful oblivion.
When Max next awoke, it was because of the pain of the needles and the
dissipating effects of the sedation. Max's eyes slowly came into focus as
they adjusted to the light. But 86 jumped at what he saw crawling on top
of his light blue hospital gown. A huge, hairy tarantula crawled up his
leg onto his lower torso. Was he dreaming?
There was a knock on the cabin door. Max could see Charli's cheerful
expression.
"Hi there Max! I just thought I'd drop by . . . to see how you were doing.
Max!"
Charli pointed excitedly at Smart's lower abdomen.
"Don't tell me there's a tarantula crawling on my stomach!"
"Max, there's a deadly poisonous tarantula crawling on your stomach!"
"I asked you not to tell me that Charli."
"This isn't part of the part of the therapy is it?"
"Have you and Larabee switched brains. Of course not!"
Max reached for the table beside the bed, feeling around for the hand
mirror, never for a second taking his eyes off the menacing tarantula. He
knocked over the glass of water. He groped around for the mirror. It was
gone.
"Quick Charli, open up your purse."
"Sure Max. What do you want?"
"Do you have a mirror?"
"My, aren't men vain?"
"No, it's not for me. Show it to the tarantula!"
"She looks like she could use a shave."
Charli pulled out her compact and flipped up the clamshell.
"Now slowly slide the mirror over to my crotch," hissed Max as he spread
his legs apart. "Place the mirror on the bed between my legs. Show the
tarantula its own reflection. Hopefully, it will be drawn to its own
reflection."
"It's working Max. A little further . . . further . . . "
The tarantula disappeared from Max's view, down between his widely spread
legs.
SNAP! The plastic compact clamshell crushed the eight-legged fiend. Hair
and juice splattered over Charli's fingers.
"Eeek!"
"Good work Charli! That was great! You saved my life! You showed a lot
of courage!"
"You don't know how much courage! Max, I suffer from arachnophobia! I
think I'm going to throw up!"
Charli scrambled over to a nearby sink.
And Smart thought, 'Seven years bad luck too!' as Charli coughed up her
lunch.
CHAPTER NINE: TWIN TEATS
Wearing a teeny weenie polka dot bikini, Agent 69 lay on a red and white
plastic cot beside the Princess George's small swimming pool, sun tanning
herself in the warm summer sun.
Charli poked her head up and looked around. 'Oh gross!' she thought as she
spotted the heavy patch of body hair on Austin Powers' otherwise
unremarkable body. 'I don't see what the ladies find sexy about him. I
know he's a good dancer . . . He must have a remarkable sense of humor.
He'd have too with that hairy carcass.'
Beside Austin was the comely form of Ivanna Humpalot. She was using a Sony
DVD player, watching what looked to be the Robin Williams-John Lithgow
film, The World According to Garp. Ivanna looked a lot like the actress on
the TV show Third Rock from the Sun. The one who played the male alien
trapped in a female human body.
She noted a few of the bad guys were hanging too, or was that hanging ten?
Was the stud's name Toshiro Mifuyu? The brawny Samurai looked like he had
stuffed a banana down his swim shorts.
Charli looked down at her beautiful breasts. She was thankful that Larabee
had dropped off her special makeup supplies last night. The realistic
latex appliances that were now attached would easily pass close scrutiny.
Beneath the fake breasts were some hidden surprises. The boobs even felt
real, although they wouldn't tan. That could easily be simulated with
makeup.
Charli turned face down and undid the strap to her bikini top. She
presented an inviting target to passersby.
A tall male figure sat down beside her. Charli did not stir. He could not
resist temptation. He picked up an empty cup, and padded over to the
swimming pool. He filled the cup and then sat back at his chair. Then, he
splashed the cold water onto Charli's bare back. Charli sprang up, yelping
in surprise, exposing her boobs to the ocean breezes.
"Oh you misogynistic Neanderthal James Bond!" screamed 69 angrily.
Bond laughed heartily, wrapping a large multicolored bath towel around the
both of them. Bond could feel the electricity between them. His hard,
well-muscled body warmly embraced Charli's soft contours. She calmly
reached down into 007's bathing shorts, fondling his large testicles. Bond
let out a groan of pleasure, then a subdued shriek of pain.
"Don't you ever do that again, you oversexed male chauvinist pig!"
"Whoa there, not so tight! That hurts!"
"It's meant to . . . now beat it before I crush your balls to grape jelly!"
hissed Charli as she released her Bond and covered up her top.
Bond walked away awkwardly, his tail between his legs.
Filled with satisfaction, Charli resumed her position on the cot.
Five minutes later, Toshiro Mifuyu got up the courage to speak to Charli.
"Pretty lady, you are burning in the sun."
Charli looked up, clutching her bikini top to her breasts.
"Would you like some suntan lotion? I could put this on for you,"
volunteered the sweet Yakuza darling.
"Oh, that would be absolutely wonderful."
Toshiro squeezed the lotion onto Charli's bare back, and gently spread the
brown liquid over her smooth, delicate, glowing skin. Charli grunted
occasionally as he pressed down on her lower back with his large, powerful
hands. Then he switched down to her legs, his sensual touch stirring
Charli's libido. She hoped she could control herself. While taped up, an
erection could be very painful. Those urges subsided a little when the
smoking Samurai shifted up to the backs of Charli's arms. After which,
Charli thanked him profusely.
A half-hour later, Toshiro invited Charli into the swimming pool with him.
How could she refuse?
Charli reattached her top before arising, then sashayed over to the pool,
plunging into Toshiro's waiting arms. Nobody else was around in the late
afternoon, as it was close to suppertime. Toshiro smiled like the cat that
swallowed the canary. He put both arms around Charli, took a deep breath,
and pulled her under the water.
Immediately Charli realized she was in trouble. The more powerful pseudo
Samurai intended to drown her. Desperately Charli struggled to free
herself from this powerful hold. Charli thrust up her knee into his
crotch. A direct hit loosened his hold. She surfaced momentarily free of
his brawny arms. Then, she ripped off her bikini top. Toshiro looked down
at her bosoms in stunned amazement. Charli thrust out her right breast. A
dart popped out of her teat. A dumbstruck Ninja staggered backward. The
curare poison did its work as Charli held the paralyzed head under the
water. Moments later, he stopped his useless thrashing. Soon he was dead.
Charli removed the poison dart, reattached her bikini top and then hopped
out of the pool. She hurried back to her cabin, hoping that nobody had
witnessed what had just transpired.
Unlocking the door to her cabin, she saw Max's bandaged form lying prone on
the bed. Max tilted his head toward the sounds at the entranceway.
"Oh Max, am I ever glad to see you. You wouldn't believe what just
happened."
As Max sat up, the two embraced.
Max's bear hug around Charli tightened.
"Let go of me!" she shrieked, fully aware that this wasn't Max. She shot a
hard blow to the mummy's throat, but the bandages absorbed some of the
impact. She ripped off her bikini top. The mummy looked down in amazement
at her bare bosoms. She thrust her left bosom forward. Phffttt! A dart
fired out from her left teat, but it did not penetrate through the
bandages. Charli grabbed the end of the dart, lifted some of the bandages
around the throat with her other hand and jabbed the dart home. Within
seconds, the mummy's hold weakened. He crumpled to the floor. Another
narrow escape! Thank goodness she had this extra equipment. She made a
mental note to thank the Chief and Larabee for saving her life twice.
As Max would say, 'It was the old poison dart launcher in the false boob
trick.'
Charli unraveled the seemingly endless bandage wrapped around the prone
figure's head. A minute later, she recognized the features of the Mafia's
Robert Dehiro. 'No hero to me' she thought.
Now, if I could find Larabee, maybe he could help me get rid of the bodies.
I wonder if this one will fit through the porthole.
CHAPTER TEN: SOUNDS SURREAL
Later that evening, Charli sat at the Baccarat table of the ship's busy
casino. Four denizens of darkness surrounded her, representing KAOS, the
Medellin, Smersh and Greenpeace. Not liking her chances, she had almost
decided to leave, when a tall, handsome, stylish gentleman, attired in a
tuxedo, sat down beside her.
"The name is Bond."
"James Bond," chorused all the other voices at the table.
A scantily clad waitress immediately approached the newest arrival and
asked, "Can I get you something from the bar."
"A vodka martini please."
"Shaken not stirred," chimed the peanut gallery.
"Oh Charli, could I speak to you in private for a moment?" asked James
earnestly.
Had this been a film, a Carly Simon song would have started up. "Nobody
does it better, better than all the rest, nobody does it quite like you,
why'd you have to be the best."
Charli nodded her agreement. The two of them got up and walked about to a
quiet, unopened area of the casino.
James Bond embraced Charli, giving her soft, brief kisses on both cheeks.
"No hard feelings between us? I apologize for any embarrassment I might
have caused you this afternoon. A gentleman should never treat a lady that
way."
"Apology accepted, although something hard does seem to have sprung up
between us. James, you are incorrigible."
Card shark Charli had been looking forward to a Baccarat showdown with
James Bond. Instead, she thought back to the handful she had held earlier
in the day, and decided that she'd give that a try instead. She wondered
how James would respond when he saw her/his privates. Charli knew James
was loyal to Queen and country. But, would he like a queen in his bedroom?
Charli decided to risk it, knowing that James would never want any hint of
this mano a mano affair to be leaked out.
"Charli, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"No, I'm thinking what I'm thinking . . . What are you thinking?"
"What would you say if I suggested we skip the card games tonight. I'd
like to get to know a ravishing beauty like you on a more intimate basis."
"Exactly what I was thinking James. I mean, not a ravishing beauty
. . . Oh, you know what I mean . . . But I think you are in for a big
surprise."
"Not as big as mine."
"Oh, you might be shocked."
"Sounds intriguing, Charli."
"But, there are just two conditions, James. No roughness and you promise
not to breathe a word of this to anyone. Agreed?"
James Bond appraised Charli's voluptuous figure encased in a body-hugging
gold-lame evening gown. It matched her lovely, long blond wavy tresses.
Her deep limpid blue eyes mesmerized him. "Agreed."
"Goldfinger, he's a man!" sang Shirley Bassey.
The two lovebirds left the casino hastily, lasciviously, hungrily,
joyfully.
At the same time, back in Max's cabin, Agent 86 was preparing for bed. The
heavy bandages restricted Max's movements and he felt reluctant to wander
about the ship even though the evening was still young.
There was a sudden knock on the porthole. The water-sloshed face of Agent
Larabee peered into Max's chamber.
Max quickly opened the latched window.
"Larabee, what are you doing out there?"
"Pull me in Max. Pull me in."
Max tugged with all his strength. For a moment, portly Larabee was stuck
in the porthole. They struggled, but eventually they managed to pull
through. Considering that the body of Robert Dehiro had been dumped out
the window earlier, this porthole was taking as many hits as the Prodigy
internet portal.
"What's up Larabee?"
"I was just eavesdropping next door. I heard that Kabuki lady talking on
her cell phone. The Yakuza are planning a kamikaze attack on the ship.
They want to sink the ship. If they can't have this breakthrough medical
discovery, nobody can. I think you'll have to contact Dr. Chameleon right
away and warn him. I've already contacted the Chief. He said CONTROL
would be sending a helicopter as soon as possible, but who knows if it will
get here in time."
"Good work Larabee! Of course! That's what Felix Leiter was trying to
tell me! Kamikaze attack! Maybe we should contact Charli. She would want
to know about this."
Smart reached down to his shoe phone. It still needed those Odor Eaters.
He dialed Charli's cell number.
At the threshold to the cabin, James Bond held Charli in a passionate, deep
wet kiss that lasted three minutes. She wrapped her legs around Bond's.
She wanted to be one with James. Although she had once earned money as a
dominatrix, she wanted to explore the depths of human bondage with this man
above all others. But a stirring in her purse demanded a response, in
addition to the stirring in her/his loins.
"Sorry James, but duty calls."
She reached into her purse for the vibrating cell phone, knowing that she
might have squandered a once in a life time opportunity.
Upon hearing Max's message, Charli immediately notified Dr. Chameleon of
the impending danger.
Within minutes, James Bond, Charli, Max and Dr. Chameleon stood on the
ship's bridge, scanning the horizon with their night vision binoculars for
any sign of an approaching ship. The sweep of the radar detected an
approaching ship at a range of twenty miles.
Dr. Chameleon called for his security crew to break out the machine guns.
They lowered a launch over the side, and the speedy vessel jumped to the
attack.
The drop dead gorgeous Tamasaburo Kabuki looked out from the top deck,
straining her eyes for any sign of the Yakuza vessel. Suddenly, she was
surrounded by uniformed security officers, and taken into custody. Wait
'til they found out what was hidden under 'her' pantsuit.
As the bomb laden, heavily armed Yakuza vessel approached, the Princess
George's speedy launch fired its machine guns from long range. The bullets
fell well short of the target. However, the heavier weapons of the
Yakuza's craft turned their attention on this under-equipped foe. A salvo
from its larger guns flashed once in the darkness. An explosion erupted in
the distance. On the radar screen, Max saw the smaller blip of the launch
disappear from view.
The Yakuza ship was in kamikaze attack phase, closing the gap in spite of
the change in course by the Princess George. Max checked the radar screen,
hoping for any sign of the CONTROL helicopter.
The attacking vessel was in binocular range. A minute later,
Dr. Chameleon's crew had fired up a flare into the night sky. The pink
glow from its rainbow path turned darkness into light, illuminating the
approaching yacht.
Machine guns barked vociferously, but still the Yakuza vessel charged
forward.
Then, out of the night sky came a Stealth attack helicopter. Max thought
he heard the music from the Apocalypse Now theme, Ride of the Valkyries,
blare from the normally whisper silent Stealth helicopter. Max checked the
eerie green sweep of the radar screen again. There was no echo apparent
from the Stealth ghost.
Guns ablaze, the chopper fired repeatedly. Suddenly, a huge, blinding
explosion! Max closed his eyes as he used his hands to shield out the
fierce light. Seconds later, the roar of the explosion shook the ship from
stem to stern. Max grabbed hold of a railing as the ship rocked to and
fro. The burning hulk of the kamikaze yacht burned furiously for a few
glorious minutes, in the throes of death, then sank beneath the waves. An
oil slick and shattered debris marked the spot on the ocean's crest. The
Princess George adjusted course, turned into the wind, and sailed on
without fear.
"Captain, signal the helicopter. 'Thank you CONTROL!'" ordered
Dr. Chameleon.
The good doctor put a bear hug on Agent 69, and kissed her on the cheek.
"You are a lifesaver, my dear Charli."
Charli accepted the false credit without guilt. After all, she had given
up James Bond. Now, that was a sacrifice! He would have been the big
trophy on her list of conquests.
As the heavily bandaged Max watched Charli and Dr. Chameleon embrace, he
had a brainstorm. A plan began to form in his mind. It would require some
preparation, but . . . it just might work.
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PATENT BENDING
In the spacious, well appointed meeting room, the secret agents and
villains gathered, anxiously awaiting Dr. Chameleon's call to order.
"Ladies and gentlemen," began Dr. Chameleon as the room quieted down, "You
will recall the astounding proof I offered 3 days ago. Still, many of you
were skeptical, so I offered some more convincing proof. Would our
volunteers please step forward?"
The two volunteers, Dave and Jane, swathed in mummy-like bandages, stepped
up to be revealed as convincing proof of the effectiveness of
Dr. Chameleon's amazing placental cell procedure.
The good doctor's medical support staff quickly unraveled the wrappings and
showed the astounding results to the assemblage.
The projection screen descended from the ceiling. The laptop computer and
projector were switched on. The lights dimmed. Up flashed Dave's 'before'
photograph, contrasting violently with the body on display. Arnold
Schwarzeneggar's clone stood in all his radiant glory, flexing the muscles
on his magnificent torso. Even Dave's somewhat wimpy 'before' face now had
a stronger, chiseled, more ruggedly handsome appearance.
Jane was no longer on the same plane as the homely and lonely. A potential
Miss Universe, she now possessed a charismatic presence. Her curvaceous,
voluptuous body turned on all the men, and some of the women, in the
gathering. She had an ethereal beauty that almost transcended the gap
between heaven and earth.
Finally, Maxwell Smart stepped forward. His coverings were unwrapped,
revealing the much younger, unwrinkled look of a thirty-year old man,
exactly matching the youthful tone of his wedding photograph. His hair was
now dark and full. A youthful muscle tone had replaced his former scrawny,
withered appearance.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the fingerprints and retina scans do not lie. You
have the 'before' and 'after' proof. What say you now skeptics?" taunted
Dr. Chameleon.
The handsome doctor stepped forward to the head of the table.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let's get down to business!" bellowed Dr. Chameleon.
"I believe the reserve bid was one billion dollars."
"Not so fast, doctor," piped up Maxwell Smart. "I may be living proof that
your procedure works, but I think there are some more facts that the
bidders should be aware of before we begin the auction."
Immediately, the hushed multitude wondered about possible side effects of
the procedure.
"Go ahead Mr. Smart. I wouldn't want to stifle you from revealing anything
else that will help me establish the legitimacy of my claims."
"There is just one important fact for the world to know. Dr. Chameleon
does not hold the patents and rights to these procedures. CONTROL owns all
rights. These procedures were developed by our research scientists two
years ago. In fact, our processes are even more advanced than the doctor's
current program."
"Hah! Prove it Mr. Smart . . . if you can."
"On the screen," said Max as he turned on the computer and projector, "you
see the photograph of the gorgeous Charlene Watkins, or Charli as she
prefers to be called. All of you have seen her up close for the past three
days, and no doubt, you believe she is beautiful through and through. What
would you say if I could turn this beautiful woman into a handsome man?
Conventional female-to-male sex change operations have largely been
unsatisfying. The so-called ah . . . ah . . . addadichtomy has been a
total blowout, er wipeout from the point of view of the patients who are
more appropriately called victims rather than men. Charlie, I 'd like you
to step forward, along with Dr. Larabee, the CONTROL scientist who
performed the transformation."
A virile man wearing a light blue hospital gown stepped forward from the
doorway, accompanied by 'Dr. Larabee', dressed in a white lab coat. The
young stud bore a striking facial resemblance to the ravishing woman known
as Charlene Watkins. Of that, there was no doubt. His bold, John Wayne
style swagger created a murmur in the crowd as he rambled to the head of
the table between Max and Dr. Chameleon.
Dr. Chameleon's look of astonishment told the whole story.
"Wait! This is a trick! Unveil the proof!" ordered the doctor.
The light blue hospital gown fell away. Charlie Watkins Jr. was revealed
in all his glory. His upper body looked powerful and muscular, the result
of attaching a latex body suit to enhance Charlie's slim frame. Max noted
the odor of the softening agent blended into the latex, the most telling
hint of the deception.
"Do you want to touch and feel the proof Dr. Chameleon?" asked Charlie in a
deep baritone. "But I warn you, this one is fully functional. It is
capable of erection and ejaculation. If you like, you can even take a
sperm sample and test it. By the way, the male Charlie is a virgin. If
there are any females in the audience . . . "
Jaws dropped around the room at the growing proof. They looked at Charli's
old picture of a beautiful sexy goddess and at the muscular stud standing
buck naked before them.
Max quickly moved in for the kill.
"Dr. Chameleon's procedure will be helpful the whole world over
. . . Maybe, maybe not. But, it has no commercial value because CONTROL
had it first and we will fight the battle in court should Dr. Chameleon try
to sell the procedure here today."
Top secret discoveries had their own set of patent rules. Also, Max knew
CONTROL could change patent files. As an intergovernmental agency, it had
a priority that would override any non-government body, criminal
organization or individual, except maybe Bill Gates. CONTROL could make
its bogus claim stick.
Charlie whispered into the doctor's ear something about photos of their
carnal encounter that first afternoon. Did he want that to be shown next?
James Bond sat stupefied in his chair.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I declare this auction null and void," stated Max as
he pounded a gavel onto the meeting table, accidentally smashing the laptop
computer.
A disappointed, noisy and angry audience stood up en masse and headed
toward the exits. As they passed by, the confused agents and criminals
looked closely at both a revitalized Maxwell Smart and a transformed
Charlie Watkins. Meanwhile, the poor, distraught Dr. Chameleon sat down
and buried his head in his hands.
"Cheer up," said Max. "Don't get too despondent Doctor. We at CONTROL
know the cost of lengthy litigation. Also, getting FDA approval can be
costly too. Perhaps we can work out a deal with you."
Dr. Karma Chameleon looked up, with an expression of hope and surprise.
"You want to cut a deal?"
Smart withdrew an envelope from his jacket pocket. "Here is a contract.
You give CONTROL all patents and rights to your activated placental cell
procedure and we will pay you $1.1 billion . . . How does that sound?"
"Wonderful! Absolutely great! A lot better than nothing!"
The doctor quickly signed his life away. But, with a cashier's check for
$1.1 billion, he would not have to worry about financial independence.
Maxwell Smart and Dr. Karma Chameleon shook hands and the doctor departed a
happy man.
Then Max turned to face his young co-conspirator, Charlie Watkins Jr.
"Well Studly, we did it."
"Max, you've got some balls."
"You too."
"An addadichtomy? Would you believe the correct term is phalloplasty?"
"Would you believe I didn't know and . . . "
As their voices faded in the distance, Max and Charlie walked off together,
happy that they were indeed worthy.
THE END
