Secret agent Maxwell Smart must prevent a rocket scientist from handing over American defense secrets to KAOS at the British Open Dance Championship. Smart's sexy dance partner is Agent 69, Charlie Watkins, a master of female disguise. Can Smart keep his mind on the mission and resist Charlie's charms? Part 1 of 2.
by: Laurie S.
The auburn haired goddess stood on the edge of the dance floor. Attired in a red-sequined dress with a bare back, spaghetti straps that strained to hold in her tantalizing bosom and tassels that barely covered her delectable derriere, she surveyed the scene impatiently.
An admiring Chinese-American gentleman regarded this vision of loveliness.
Ho Lee Chau, an accomplished ballroom dancer, was a leg man. He could not take his eyes of the long-limbed gorgeous goddess with the fantastic figure and the to-die-for facial features. She reminded him a little bit of Nicole Kidman's sexy Satine character in the film Moulin Rouge.
Chau's dance partner, mesmerizing Michelle Kwai Chang, had taken a break. She had gone to the powder room to touch up her makeup.
The beautiful babe glanced at him and smiled.
Chau wanted to go over and introduce himself. But he dithered. What would his dance partner think if she saw him with another woman?
The tall, leggy auburn beauty gave him another inviting look. There could be no mistaking this signal.
But before he could react, another man approached to ask the lady for a dance. Ho Lee Chau felt disappointed that he had missed the opportunity. But, she shook her head. A moment or two later, discouraged, the man left.
Ho Lee Chau felt relieved, but then wondered if she would turn him down too if he approached her.
She glanced at him again with an enticing smile.
Chau made up his mind. Letting his reproductive organs do the thinking, he strode up to the object of his attention.
With a friendly smile, he said, "I couldn't help but notice such a beautiful lady standing all by herself."
The lady nodded.
"You seemed to be waiting for someone, but I guess you weren't waiting for that other guy."
"No," she said with a grin.
"Are we perhaps doing a scene from Waiting for Godot?"
"No," she replied with a puzzled look. "Isn't that a play?"
"Yes. In the play, the main character waited for Godot, but Godot never showed up. Although I am waiting for a goddess and I think I might have found her." Ho hoped for at least an encouraging smile.
"I'm flattered."
"Actually some people might think I'm close to god because my name is Ho Lee Chau."
"Holy cow?" she asked above the din of the music.
"Not cow. Chau as in ciao chow chau," he said with a Cha-Cha-Cha step for emphasis. For a moment Ho Lee visualized an old Purina Cat Chow TV commercial.
"Perhaps we could find someplace a little quieter," she said.
"Certainly," he replied as he extended his arm.
Chau led the beautiful lady past the crowded bar, down a narrow corridor, past the washroom area, and through a doorway to an outdoor patio. Although there were many other club patrons, mostly smokers, sitting at the tables enjoying the cool night breeze and the moonlit sky, Chau and the auburn-haired lady were able to find a table overlooking the parking lot. This was, after all, Los Angeles.
As Chau pulled out a padded patio chair for the lady, he asked, "By the way, you have me at a disadvantage. I don't know your name."
"My name is Charisma."
"Charisma. What a lovely name!" Chau said as he pulled up a chair beside the alluring lady and sneaked a look at her captivating cleavage.
"Thank you."
"I must admit that I noticed you out there earlier on the dance floor. You are quite an accomplished dancer," Chau said as he sat down beside her.
"I appreciate that coming from a dancer as skilled as you . . . In fact, I'd say that you and your partner look good enough to compete in dance competitions."
"Actually, my partner and I often do enter dance competitions in the Latin category."
"Well, that does not surprise me, Dr. Chau, because I know who you really are."
For the first time, Ho Lee noticed a tough demeanor beneath the gorgeous peaches and cream exterior.
A look of worry crept into Chau's expression. "How do you know I am a doctor?"
"I know everything about you Dr. Chau. I know you are a rocket scientist. You work for MD Technology. Right now you are working on a top-secret project. I know that, as the Top Gun of your research team, you have developed an interceptor missile system for the American Defense Department. And I know that you are regarded as a high security risk due to your strong family ties to China."
Dr. Chau stood up. "I'm afraid that I must get back to my regular dance partner. Michelle might be wondering where I might have disappeared to."
The lovely Charisma reached up and grasped Ho Lee Chau by the arm. "Dr. Chau, please listen to what I have to say. It will only take a minute. I have a business proposition for you."
Dr. Chau wavered for a moment. Charisma stood up and put an enticing arm around his waist.
"Dr. Chau, I represent an organization you might have heard of. It is called KAOS."
Chau froze. Then he turned to face Charisma with concern and worry etched in his expression. "You have my full undivided attention my dear, but I don't think we should talk here."
Charisma caressed Ho Lee Chau on the cheek as she drew him closer to her and whispered into his ear. "KAOS command has authorized me to offer you $100 million to be placed in a numbered Swiss bank account. All we would expect in return is the plans for the anti-missile guidance system that your team of scientists has developed. We just need a copy of the plans. No one needs to know about this transaction but you and KAOS."
Dr. Chau stepped back from the KAOS agent named Charisma. "That's one hell of an offer! Very flattering . . . but I'll need some time to think it over. It is a generous proposal that might be difficult to refuse."
"We'd like to know your answer as soon as possible."
"Where can I contact you?"
"You will see me any time you want to go dancing," Charisma replied as she slipped her business card into Dr. Chau's shirt pocket. Then she kissed him on the cheek.
Quickly Charisma, the KAOS agent, slipped away into the mayhem of the dance club.
Chapter 2
"For he's a jolly good fellow,
For he's a jolly good fellow,
For he's a jolly good fellow,
That nobody can deny.
That nobody can deny.
That nobody can deny.
For he's a jolly good felllow,
For he's a jolly good fellow,
For he's a jolly good fellow,
That nobody can deny!"
The hearty rendition of For He's A Jolly Good Fellow by a chorus of CONTROL agents brought tears of joy to the Chief. The cheers and applause were heart-warming!
This was a retirement and birthday party he wouldn't soon forget!
A gigantic birthday cake was wheeled out in front of the Chief, Thaddeus Harold Clark. The bald, worried looking gentleman changed his expression to a big beaming smile. "My! I've never seen a cake so large in my whole life, except in movies."
"Well, we needed a gigantic cake to hold the seventy-five candles!" Larabee exclaimed with a hearty laugh.
The rest of the assembled agents joined in with Larabee's laughter.
The Admiral, one of the chief's dearest old friends pleaded, "Please blow out the candles, Chief. It's a fire hazard and it's using up all the oxygen in the room."
There was more good-natured laughter at this remark.
The Chief said, "Well, I'll huff and I'll puff, but I won't guarantee I'll blow all the candles down."
As he blew and inadvertently sprayed, a handful of the flames were extinguished immediately and then one by one as the Chief tried furiously to blow the rest out as fast as he could. The Chief did his best, but he needed to take another breath, and another breath, and another before he could blow out all of the candles.
Cheers erupted as the last flame expired! Followed by appreciative applause!
"Thank you," the Chief said through the swirls of candle smoke, "for the hand. And thank you for this magnificent birthday cake!"
"Congratulations Chief!" the Admiral added as he patted the Chief on the back.
"By the way, Chief, this is a very special cake, as you will soon find out!" Maxwell Smart said with a conspiratorial grin.
Suddenly, the song Pop Goes the Weasel blared over the speaker system of the festively decorated meeting room!
"Round and round the mulberry bush,
The monkey chased the weasel.
The monkey thought 'twas all in fun.
Pop goes the weasel."
Right on cue, a beautiful blonde bombshell popped out of the cake!
Max went to the assistance of the dancer, helping her step out over the cake onto a nearby table, then onto a chair and finally down to floor level.
All eyes focused on the gorgeous dancer clad in a gold sequined, low cut evening gown. She had an hourglass figure, bountiful breasts, heavenly hips, lust-inducing legs, a cascade of blond curls and the face of an angel!
Max pulled up a chair and nudged the Chief into it.
As Pop Goes the Weasel ended, on came the classic song The Stripper.
The sexy dancer proceeded to bump and grind to the cymbal, drum and horn sounds of the music as she approached the Chief. And then she turned around and strutted, on her gold stiletto heels, back into the crowd.
She raised one hand up to her mouth, and with her teeth tugged at her white opera length glove. She squeezed the tip of the middle finger between her teeth and tugged at it until it loosened slightly. Then she reached up with her other hand and tugged at the other fingers, slowly and seductively freeing up the other fingers. As she pulled the long glove off, she approached the Chief and wrapped the long soft glove suggestively around the Chief's neck. The Chief squirmed a little, uncomfortable at being the center of attention. Next, she let the long glove fall onto the Chief's crotch. She playfully picked up the glove with her teeth! The Chief almost had a heart attack!
The audacity of the girl!
Then the beautiful dancer played to the crowd again, strutting forward, wiggling her hips and pulling off the other glove smartly; waving it around playfully as a kid might snap a towel at another playmate at the beach.
As she approached the Chief once more, she reached up to the straps of her gown and slid one thin tether off her shoulder, and then the other. She turned her back to the Chief, looked back over her shoulder and whispered a request under the blast of the music.
The Chief reached up and, with trepidation, unzipped the back of her golden gown.
She mouthed a 'Thank you!' to the Chief and then wiggled her derriere into his face. The gown effortlessly slid lower and lower as she shimmied sensuously in front of the Chief.
She casually stepped out of her gown and tossed it nonchalantly into Maxwell Smart's arms, catching him by surprise.
Now she was down to her shimmering gold bikini top and bottom.
The dancer turned to face the Chief. She gave him a knowing wink. She shook her breasts tantalizingly, right in front of the Chief's nose.
With a sudden thrust, the bikini top popped open.
The crowd gasped as her boobs bounced and the golden cups fell into the Chief's lap.
Suddenly a pair of magnificent 38s were staring the Chief in the face!
Then the dancer turned and wiggled her derriere at the Chief's face, shaking her rear end in time to the last few bars of The Stripper as she reached down to her bikini bottom. One final dramatic move--she snatched off her golden thong!
The G-string beneath remained on in the name of good taste.
Then she stood fully erect and waved the bikini bottom to the cheering, mostly male, crowd.
Then the sexy dancer leaned over to the Chief and planted an open mouth kiss on the lips of an astonished Chief! She pressed her tongue in between the Chief's teeth, surprising the hell out of him!
The dancer stood up, flung her bikini bottom into a group of excited gentlemen in the crowd and then made her way toward the back exit, to the cheers and applause of the entire gathering.
What was remarkable about the whole performance was that the dancer was one of CONTROL's own--Charlie Watkins.
Chapter 3
The thin, forty-something gentleman placed his hand on the high tech fingerprint sensor. He removed his glasses and put his right eye up to the retina scanner.
A flat, computer-generated voice spoke. "Please identify yourself."
"Maxwell Smart, Agent 86 of CONTROL."
The steel-reinforced oak veneer door to the Chief's office clicked open.
"Please enter," the voice said.
As Max stepped into the spacious wood paneled office, he immediately recognized the two other occupants. One was agent Charlie Watkins, Agent 69. Smart had worked on several cases before with Watkins. The other person was the newly appointed Chief–formerly Agent 99. The Chief also happened to be Maxwell Smart's beautiful wife.
"Hi Max," Charlie Watkins said, as he stood up from his seat behind the computer terminal. Watkins stepped forward to shake hands.
"Nice to see you again, Watkins," Max replied. He paused, as he looked Watkins over from head to toe. Dressed in casual khaki pants and an off-white linen sport shirt, Charlie's blond helmet of hair and circular wire-framed glasses gave him a look of choirboy innocence. "I hardly know which Watkins I'm going to meet next. It's a pleasant change to see you as your real self."
"For these early morning meetings, I just didn't have time to throw on anything special for you . . . But, if you like, I could hum you a few bars of Man I Feel Like a Woman,'" Watkins joked.
'And Watkins could do a pretty good impersonation of Shania Twain,' Smart thought to himself.
"Good morning, Max," the Chief said in her pleasant contralto.
"Good morning 99--I mean Chief," Smart said awkwardly. He was having trouble making the mental adjustment, since the new Chief had only been on active duty for two weeks. "By the way, Chief, why do I have to go through the fingerprint, eye and voice scans? You woke up with me this morning. We came to work together. You entered the office a minute before me. Why did I have to go through that rigmarole?"
"It's the new updated biometrics security procedures, Max," the Chief replied. "As you know, we've lost some of our agents recently. I've had to tighten security within headquarters. After all, how do you know that the lady you slept with last night was the real Chief?"
Immediately, Smart sprang into action. He pulled his Smith and Wesson .38 out of his armpit holster and pointed it directly at the Chief.
"All right Mister. I don't like being played for a sucker. What have you done with my wife--the new Chief?" Max demanded in a reasonable facsimile of the distinctive Inspector Gadget voice.
"Max! Have you lost your mind? Don't I look like your wife?"
Smart examined the long slender brunette whose youthful figure and smooth complexion belied her thirty-seven years of existence. "Yes," Smart said, "you do look like her, but that's not enough. For instance, Watkins here is a master of disguise."
Watkins looked incredulously at Agent 86. "But Max, surely you could identify your own wife?"
"All right," Smart said firmly to the Chief. "If you are my wife, what is the nickname I have for my mother-in-law?"
"Max! You know I don't like that nickname . . . Please don't make me say it in front of Watkins."
"Ahem . . . Okay, then what nickname do you have for my mother?"
"Mom," the Chief replied immediately.
"That's no fair. Anybody could have guessed that," Smart said petulantly.
"Then give me another question."
"What is your nickname for our dog?"
"Our dog's name was Fang, and that's what I used to call him before he passed away."
"Hmmm, that wasn't so tough either . . . Okay, I've got a real toughie. What do I keep hidden under our bed?"
A look of worry crept across the Chief's face. "I don't know. What do you keep hidden under the bed?"
"That's a relief. Okay, I believe you are my wife. The real Chief," Max said, as he put the revolver back in his armpit holster, beneath his smartly tailored jacket.
The Chief looked at Max with a touch of surprise evident in her expression. "Now Max, what do you keep hidden under the bed?"
"TFMTKAFYTFO," Smart said.
"What's that Max?" Watkins asked. "A secret code?"
Smart hesitated for a second and looked at the Chief.
"Yes," the Chief said with a touch of embarrassment. " 'That's for me to know and for you to find out.' "
"My dear Chief, now I am absolutely certain that you are my wife," Smart added.
"Let's move on to the business at hand." Briefly the Chief looked up to the ceiling as if appealing to the heavens for help. "The reason we're here this morning concerns the new U.S. Missile Defense program." She turned toward Watkins. "What do you have to report Watkins?"
"Well, let me show you up on the projector screen," Watkins said. "I'll get into PowerPoint and show you whom we suspect is leaking top secret information."
There was a quiet hum of an electric motor as a screen descended from the false ceiling. The lights dimmed and a projector came to life as Watkins typed and 'moused' his way through the program.
Soon a photo of a thirty-something, scholarly Asian gentleman flashed onto the bare white screen.
"This is Ho Lee Chau . . . "
"A wonderful name for a Chinese Restaurant," Smart suggested.
"If you're wondering, he is an American," Watkins said. "Ho Lee is a brilliant rocket scientist working for MD Technology."
Another photo flashed onto the projection screen. It was a cut-away diagram of a missile.
Charlie Watkins continued in his naturally melodious voice, "Dr. Ho Lee Chau has created a revolutionary internal guidance system for an anti-missile missile based on the Chaos Theory."
"KAOS?" Smart interrupted.
"Yes, the Chaos Theory allows prediction of random chances--with a relatively high incidence. Incoming enemy rockets will take evasive action to avoid attempts to shoot them down. But, their actions can be predicted within a limited range of possible outcomes." After seeing the look on Smart's face, Watkins wondered if the explanation was being understood.
"You sound like that genius professor on that CBS television Numbers show--the one who is always helping his FBI agent brother find some fugitive by using various mathematical search formulas."
Watkins continued. "Unlike the earlier Patriot Missiles or the missiles utilized in the Aegis Weapons System, which had unsatisfactory success rates of well under 50 percent, this new Ho Lee Chau system has a kill rate of over 95 percent in computer simulations," Watkins said as he looked at the bar graphs demonstrating the results.
"Ninety-five percent, huh?"
"Well, you must consider that the incoming rocket's speed and trajectory and its response capability make it a difficult target to hit. It's like trying to hit a bullet with a bullet." Watkins continued as he clicked onto photos of the ABM systems. "The older technology relied on the use of radar and heat-seeking sensors, but hostile missiles had radar jamming and chaff and engine cutoff-freezing countermeasures." Watkins clicked through some slides of the defensive maneuvers. "The newer missiles may have multiple warheads. The interceptor missile's kill vehicle has a sensor that must detect which of the warheads are real and which are dummies. Also, there may be other countermeasures designed to fool the interceptor kill vehicle's sensors."
"Watkins, I'm not sure I followed all of that," Smart said.
Rather than try another lengthy assault on the intellect of Maxwell Smart, Watkins tried to simplify things. "All you need to know is that Dr. Ho Lee Chau's ABM system is a giant leap forward."
"So let me get this straight," Smart said. "Ho Lee Chau's new ABM system has a 95 percent success rate?"
"That's right," Watkins said.
"But if even one nuclear missile gets through the Missile Defense System, doesn't that mean the loss of several million Americans?"
"Possibly, but nothing's perfect. Also, Dr. Chau heads another research team working on another interceptor weapons system. The concept is based on overloading the electronic impulses of the incoming nuclear warhead's triggering mechanism. In effect, the warhead is rendered impotent. Even if the warhead strikes a target, the nuclear blast will not occur."
"The blackout concept sounds . . . electrifying," Smart remarked.
"But EOS, the electronic overload system, is at a very early stage of development. It hasn't even been tested."
"So what you're saying, Watkins, is that these interceptor missiles work some of the time, but not all of the time."
"Yes."
"And the man who is the creative genius behind the missile guidance system is Dr. Chau."
"Yes."
"Well, as Shania Twain once said to a man who lacked the touch, 'So you're a rocket scientist. That don't impress me much.' "
The Chief smiled and then seized the opportunity. "The success or lack of success of the Missile Defense System is not the reason I called this meeting gentlemen. In spite of your concerns, there is a great deal of foreign interest in this new technology. We already know that the Chinese would pay dearly for a chance to look at this new technology. And so would the Russians, the Cubans, the North Koreans, the French, the British . . . "
"The British?" asked an incredulous Maxwell Smart. "Aren't they America's ally? Are they not in NATO with America?"
"Yes," the Chief replied. "But, the American Defense budget is huge. Think what it would mean for the British Defense Industry. After all, in this day and age of globalization, no country is an island, Max."
Now Smart was confused. "I thought Britain was . . . "
"I think what the Chief meant," Watkins said, "was that it would be a real shot in the arm for the British aerospace industry if they could land a major American Defense contract."
"Ah, I see," Max said. "It's like the old adage, 'Keep your enemies close and your friends closer.' Thank you, Watkins, for the clarification."
The Chief let the botched maxim go without comment.
"Now Watkins, I think we should get into the details of the mission," the Chief said in a whispered voice. "Dr. Ho Lee Chau is not your typical dedicated scientist. He believes that all work and no play makes Chau a dull boy. So, when Chau parties, he has a real blast. No pun intended. He has a very active social life. He loves ballroom dancing. In fact, he is a terrific dancer. Ho Lee Chau is so good that he competes in international dance competitions."
"Why is that of any importance to us, Chief?" Smart asked.
"It helps to know your enemy, but his hobby is more than that. We suspect that Chau's competitive dancing may also be an avenue by which he passes information to buyers in other countries. For example, the British Open Dance Competition takes place in Blackpool, England next month. It is the most prestigious crown of the dance world. We believe that Dr. Chau will take advantage of that opportunity outside of the United States to sell the top secret interceptor missile guidance system technology to the highest bidder."
"So Chief, you want me to follow Dr. Chau to Blackpool?"
"Yes."
"Thank you for this opportunity. Maxwell Smart will not fail!"
"Wonderful Max!" The Chief looked from Smart to Watkins, then back to Smart. "I want you to go to Blackpool undercover as Watkins' partner."
"Chief, what do you mean by 'undercover as his partner?' "
"Yes, at the British Open Dance Championships, I want you and Watkins to go as dance competitors. As dance partners."
"Ninety-nine, I mean Chief, I hardly think Watkins and I would make an ideal couple. After all, I'm in my forties and Watkins is in his twenties. Besides, I haven't danced in years and I don't know how good a dancer Watkins is. I mean, I've seen his shake and bake striptease act, but ballroom is a completely different matter . . . Oh, and, in case you haven't noticed, Watkins is male and so am I."
"Oh Max, you know Watkins is a master of disguise. Besides, you two worked well together on your previous cases. And the reason I've decided to match you two together is because of your excellent social dance skills. No other agents in the entire CONTROL organization are as good at dancing as you two. As to your concern about the difference in age, I believe we have a solution to that problem too. But, more about that later."
"But Chief, why can't you be my dance partner?" Max pleaded.
"Normally we might have worked together Max. Unfortunately, since I was promoted to Chief, I have responsibilities here that prevent me from leaving Washington for more than 24 hours at a time."
Maxwell Smart turned and looked directly at Charlie Watkins. "All right Watkins, let's get one thing straight," Smart declared. "I wear the pants. I lead, you follow."
"That's three things Max."
"All right, let me rephrase it. You wear the dress because, frankly my dear, you've got great gams!"
Chapter 4
The gray-haired doctor moved the stethoscope over Maxwell Smart's flabby chest and listened carefully to the rhythm of the heartbeat. It ranged somewhere between weak and feeble but was fairly steady at 70-80 beats per minute.
"I am having trouble hearing your heartbeat," the elderly Dr. Zorba said.
Max grabbed the end of the stethoscope and blew hard into it. "How about now?"
The doctor quickly yanked off the stethoscope, his face grimacing in pain. "Why did you do that?"
"There's nothing wrong with my ticker," Max stated. "There's something wrong with the stethoscope or your hearing."
Dr. Zorba took a deep breath to help him calm down. For a moment he considered exacting revenge on the feisty agent, but with the wisdom gained from experience, he shrugged off the pain in the eardrum. "Well, Mr. Smart, have you been getting much exercise lately?"
"Unfortunately no, doctor. I've been on assignment recently and I haven't been able to maintain a regular routine."
"At your age, it is important to maintain a healthy exercise regimen or you'll end up with the dreaded middle-age spread."
"I'll get back into it as soon as I can. I promise."
"Well, I see that your chart says you don't smoke, don't do drugs, you don't drink and don't . . . "
"I do have some vices, Doctor Zorba. Those Viagra pills you prescribed really are quite amazing."
"Ah, that's nothing. Wait 'til you see what I will be giving you today! You won't need Viagra or any other supplement."
"What do you have in mind doctor?"
Before speaking, the doctor paused to put his stethoscope down on the nearby counter. "It is called IGF-1. It is a remarkable new hormone. Experiments in a lab have shown that rats given injections of IGF-1 live up to five times as long as normal rats and have the strength and vigor of young healthy rats. And for humans, that translates to incredible improvements such as optimal brain function, ability to carry out athletic tasks in the Olympic Games class, and porn star caliber sexual performance."
Max was astonished. Could he have his youth back?
"That sounds wonderful doctor, but what about my appearance? Will I still look like I'm old enough to be Watkins' sugar daddy?"
"There are some amazing things possible, although medical science cannot make a middle-aged man look like a teenager . . . Still, we can turn back the clock enough to knock ten years off your chronological age." Dr. Zorba reached for a pen in his shirt pocket beneath his white lab coat.
"That's amazing, doctor. I'd gladly settle for that."
"We'll get you started on IGF-1 today," Dr. Zorba said as he jotted down notations on Smart's medical record.
"Dr. Zorba, what is IGF-1?"
"IGF-1 stands for Insulin-like Growth Factor 1, also known as somatomedin C. It is one of the more important growth factors of the Human Growth Hormone. It can regenerate bone, soft tissue such as important organs, muscles, and even the brain. It works at the cellular level by capping the telomeres of chromosomes that affect the aging process. Over time, telomeres shorten and the cell ages. IGF-1 helps prevent the deterioration."
"Uh huh, I see."
"Do you have any questions so far?"
"Yes, just one. What did you say after 'IGF-1 stands for?' "
An exasperated, frustrated Dr. Zorba continued. "The IGF-1, Insulin-like Growth Factor-1 will be very helpful in restoring muscle tone and reducing wrinkles, but we can help improve the situation further with a little liposuction. This will give us some fat cells that we can use to inject into facial wrinkles. To re-grow your hair in that slightly receding hairline, we'll give you a new and improved version of Propecia. And using stem cells derived from your hair follicles, we can restore the youthful appearance of your skin. Perhaps we could do laser vision surgery so you won't need the glasses anymore . . . Everyone responds differently to all of these procedures. Perhaps, with luck, you'll look the way you did when you were thirty."
"That's great news doctor because I didn't look thirty even when I was thirty. Nor has my brain ever been optimally functional, my athletic ability Olympian and my sexual performance Hefneresque."
Chapter 5
As Maxwell Smart entered the dance studio, he felt a little uneasy about practicing the ballroom dances with agent Charlie Watkins.
Although Max had worked successfully with Charlie before, he had always felt very uncomfortable. It wasn't because Charlie wore disguises. It was because Charlie often wore female disguises and he looked so damned beautiful as a girl that Max often had to remind himself that the gorgeous girl he was attracted to was really a man. Sometimes Max would get aroused by the sight of Charlie. Max squirmed at this thought with dread.
"Ah, Mr. Smart, I presume." A young handsome man with a warm smile greeted the CONTROL agent.
"Yes." Max looked at the tall, muscular twenty-something with boyish good looks. 'Was there some hot Latin blood in this fellow with the matinee idol features?'
"I am Pedro Chayanne Arturo. I will be your dance instructor . . . and choreographer."
"Pleased to meet you," Max said as they shook hands.
"Your wife is already here," Pedro said.
This puzzled Max. His partner was not supposed to be his wife, the new Chief.
He looked past the instructor into the spacious airy room, noting a mirrored wall, a stretching bar along the floor to ceiling windows on the opposite side, the hardwood floors and what he presumed were dressing rooms at the far end of the studio.
A door opened at the far end.
A tall thin beautiful brunette, clad in a dancer's leotard, emerged from the change room.
She looked like the spitting image of 99 as she looked when Max had first met the young CONTROL agent many years ago.
Max took a few tentative steps toward this vision of loveliness.
As she approached, there was a broad smile on her face as she waved to Max.
"Hi darling!" she called.
"Hi," Max replied noncommittally, wondering who this 99 clone was.
As the young lady approached closer and closer, Max realized that it was 99. Only that wasn't possible. He had just left her at CONTROL Headquarters. Also, this lady was younger and . . .
Now the young lady was coming closer and then she gave a startled Max a great big hug, wrapping her soft, inviting arms around him, squeezing him up against her warm and comforting body.
"Hi Max," whispered the beautiful babe into Smart's ear.
"Don't tell me you're Charlie Watkins," an incredulous Maxwell Smart said.
"Yes Max, it's me--Charlie. How do you like my disguise?" The voice was soft and had a slight nasal quality to it--exactly like 99's voice.
Max was absolutely stunned! "Agent 69, I told you not to tell me that." Max thought to himself, 'because I may have just fallen for 99 all over again.'
"Oh Max, I hope you like what you see."
As the two stood back from each other, Max looked carefully at the long thin shapely legs, the flaring womanly hips, the thin and trim waist, the bewitching bosom and a fashion model's flawless face with mesmerizing doe-like eyes that Max had found irresistible. Then Charlie Watkins did a little spin for Max.
"I don't believe it. If I hadn't seen you with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it was possible. You look so much like 99, you could have fooled even me--at least until we got down to our birthday suits."
"Well Max, our little meeting in the Chief's office gave me the idea. And, so as not to totally discombobulate you, I adopted the look of a younger version of you know who," 99/Charlie said softly in a perfect replica of the CONTROL Chief's voice.
'Ninety-nine had not worn the pageboy hairstyle for many years,' Max thought wistfully. 'But Charlie wasn't the only one who could play this impersonation game.' Smart was known for his very good Humphrey Bogart imitation.
Max twitched his lips a few times, bared his teeth in a lopsided open-mouth grin, and said in a deep voice, "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine . . . Here's looking at you, kid."
"Casablanca, 1942," the lovely lady began. "It starred Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, Claude Rains, Paul Henreid, and Dooley 'Sam' Wilson. The director was Michael Curtiz."
"You're a classic film fan as well?"
"My father was a film buff. I guess it rubbed off on me."
"Well, I'm sure you could have played Ilsa Lund Laszlo impeccably."
Pedro had put a CD into the portable boom box at the far end of the dance floor. It was Ricky Martin's She Bangs. As the music started up, Charlie and Max were brought back to the real world of the dance studio by the pulsating rhythm.
"Mr. Smart and Mrs. Smart," Pedro called out. "What would you like to begin with? You know, for the sake of competition, you'll need to Cha-Cha, Samba, Rumba, Paso Doble and Jive. Do you want to begin with the Cha-Cha?"
"That would be fine with us," Smart yelled above the din of the music.
"Would you prefer Guantanamera by Celia Cruz or Tea for Two by the Mambo All-Stars? Or perhaps you'd like I Will Survive by Ballroom Blitz?"
"I Will Survive, please," Smart replied.
"Good choice," Charlie said in her 99 voice. "We should begin with the basics. The Cha-Cha will give us a chance to develop a feel for each other."
'Developing a feel for Watkins could be a problem,' thought Smart, 'because she looks so much like my wife. Would it be considered adultery if . . . ' "Shall we?" Smart suggested as he stood tall with his feet shoulder width apart, left arm extended up and his right arm curled outward.
Charlie gracefully mirrored Max's positions.
They joined together and moved in unison to the music. They stepped smartly in time to the music. 'One two cha-cha-cha,' counted Smart to himself.
Charlie Watkins put some hip action into the dance step. His/her subtle arm movements added a dash of panache.
Max looked directly into Charlie's eyes as they moved back and forth and from side to side. This was followed in quick succession by a spot turn, side steps, hand to hand movements, an underarm term, time steps, a fan movement, alemana, a switch turn, dancing shoulder to shoulder, a New Yorker and there seemed to be no end to the variations. Max and Charlie belonged together like Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey. Like Fred and Ginger. Or Siegfried and Roy. Then, as I Will Survive was concluding, Max spun Charlie around. Charlie tossed her head back with a dramatic flourish as they dipped.
Max looked at Charlie. There was fire in her eyes. Max felt a stirring in his soul. Carried by the emotion of the moment, Max kissed 99 passionately.
Pedro Chayanne Arturo applauded wildly! "That's perfect! You two move beautifully! So gracefully! You two are naturals!"
Chapter 6
Charlie Watkins turned the Ford Mustang convertible into the driveway of a large condominium apartment building. Taking the electronic security fob from her Gucci purse, Charlie rolled down the driver's side window and held up the fob to the electronic scanner. The scanner light switched from red to green. Then the black wrought iron gate slid to the side, granting access. The silver Mustang drove forward, past the security cameras.
A short distance ahead, a similar process was repeated at the entrance to the underground garage.
And when Charlie walked from her parking spot, the fob had to be used again to open the door to the bank of elevators.
There was another security camera watching her as she waited for the elevator. A short time later, she entered the mirrored cubicle, pressed 10 for her floor. She glanced up to see another camera in the top corner of the elevator as the doors closed.
Charlie wondered what the security guards were thinking as they had watched her arrival. Would they realize that the many men and women they had seen arrive in the same Ford Mustang were all the same person?
Charlie's apartment unit was only a few steps from the elevator. After turning the key to her domicile, Charlie opened and closed the oak-paneled front door quickly, and then punched in a five-digit code on the alarm panel, and pressed 'Command' to enter the combination. A steady green light replaced the flashing red one.
The CONTROL agent took a moment to survey her apartment. It was just as Charlie had left it. She took a few steps past the open plan kitchen and into her spacious living/dining room. She went over to the floor to ceiling windows and opened the blinds to let in some sunlight. It was a pretty view that brought a smile to her face. The Potomac River and the lush greenery of parkland dominated the vista below. Charlie was mortgaged up to her pretty eyeballs, but the apartment was worth every penny.
Although the unit had been sold as a three-bedroom apartment, one of the bedrooms served as a den/guest bedroom and another was her bedroom--the place where she actually slept in her king size brass bed. But the third room at the far end of the apartment had been renovated extensively. In fact, there wasn't even a door to the room. All that was visible was a floor to ceiling mirror at the end of a corridor. Charlie checked out her reflection in the mirror. A young and beautiful Agent 99 looked back at her. 'She had been a real head-turner in her heyday.' In order to access the hidden room, Charlie held up her security fob above her head in the exact middle part of the mirror. Suddenly the panel slid to the right, retracting into the wall. Charlie stepped into her dark secret sanctum.
The lights came on a second later, triggered by the opening of the mirror panel.
The original floor plan of the apartment had this area designated as the master bedroom. There was a full bathroom, complete with Jacuzzi, still in place. But the walk in closet had been extended. It was jammed with enough outfits to stock a clothing boutique. Also, there was a special makeup table, featuring a theatrical style mirror lit by ten individual full spectrum lights.
On one wall of shelves, there must have been 70 to 80 wigs in various colors and styles. Her favorites were displayed on long wig stands. Charlie was the Imelda Marcos of wigs.
Then there was Charlie's footwear collection, which included many different styles and colors for all occasions!
Also, the room had an enclosure of mirrors that would allow a person to see front, side and back views.
Another accessory was a sewing machine and beside it were many rolls of fabric neatly placed in a large storage bin.
Sound, video and computer systems were in place too.
For decoration and for air circulation, there was an old-fashioned ceiling fan.
On the walls hung large, colorful movie posters of some of Charlie's favorite films. There was a Casablanca, The Man Who Would Be King, Some Like It Hot and Goodbye Charlie.
On the far wall of windows, oyster colored vertical blinds kept prying eyes at bay.
She strolled over to the stereo system and turned it on. Charlie inserted a CD entitled ABBA Gold and pressed play. It was one of her favorites. The first song on the CD was Dancing Queen. And it always put Charlie in the mood to sing and dance.
Within the special mirror enclosure, Charlie took one long last look at 99's reflection. She felt great satisfaction in the accuracy of her impersonation. The look on Maxwell Smart's face when he first saw Charlie as 99 was priceless! And later on, when they danced, Charlie had made every effort to ooze sex appeal from every pore. There was electricity in every touch. But who would have suspected that Smart would be such a gifted dancer? And at the end of the Cha-Cha when Max had kissed her madly, she felt fulfilled as a sexy woman! Or a sexy impersonator! Charlie was sure that Max had simply been caught up in the spirit of the moment. He had forgotten who Charlie really was. Now Charlie was very happy that she had invested the time and effort into making herself over into the spitting image of a young Agent 99.
There was great power in being a sexy beautiful woman. And great power in being a master of disguise!
Charlie removed her navy blue pinstriped jacket and skirt and placed the items on a hanger. They would not need to be dry-cleaned just yet. Then she unbuttoned her white lace blouse and placed it in a laundry hamper. She stood before the mirror and admired her reflection. Perhaps she wasn't quite as thin as 99 had been, but she had a sexy figure that would be the envy of most women. Both her arms and legs were slightly more muscular than 99's. Normally, Charlie would have preferred to wear a larger sized bra, but 99 wore only a B cup.
By wearing a corset when she went to sleep at night and through a careful diet and exercise program, Charlie had achieved a 23 inch-waist. At 5' 9" and 130 pounds, with 35-23-36 dimensions, Charlie was proud of her great figure! And her long curvaceous legs may have been her best asset!
Charlie undid the front clasp of her padded Wonder Bra and placed it in the hamper. Next came the panties and then the nylon pantyhose. But, unlike other 'women,' she had one more item to remove--her gaff. It was very much like a flesh-colored string bikini bottom. And when Charlie wore it, even under the dance leotard, no one could see a telltale male bulge. The only drawback was the ache that Charlie had to endure from the tight fit.
Agent 69 stood completely naked and checked over her reflection. She had shaved off the pubic hair completely. Charlie didn't have much natural body hair. Waxing had removed the leg fuzz and now Charlie had smooth flawless skin all over. Later she would take a soothing moisturizing bath to help maintain that perfect complexion.
When Charlie moved to the chair in front of the makeup table, she paused to look at 99's image in the mirror. From a large corkboard photo collage beside the makeup mirror, Charlie detached a photo of a young 99 and one recent picture. Charlie held up a large photo and looked at her reflection in the mirror, comparing her face with the side-by-side picture of the young 99. It was dead-on accurate!
Charlie smiled. Most of 'the look' had been achieved through the use of cosmetics. Contour shading accomplished most of the face alterations necessary, although Charlie didn't have quite the same high cheekbones of 99.
Then the skilled agent placed the photo down and reached into the top drawer on the right for a jar of cold cream and a plastic container of spirit gum remover. Charlie flipped up the lid cap of the spirit gum remover. She spread the olive colored liquid onto her fingers and then dabbed it onto her cheekbones, just below the eyes. Taking a tissue from a box on top of the counter, she dried her fingers and then threw the tissue into a wastebasket. Next she reached up and fiddled with the four hidden hair-clips under her wig, at the front, the back and the sides, and lifted the brunette pageboy wig up. The shorter blond hair of Charlie Watkins was revealed.
After placing the wig on a stand beside the blond curls he had worn at the Chief's retirement party, Charlie went back to the makeup table. He reached up to his brown eyes and delicately removed the false eyelashes. He placed the lashes in their plastic case in the top left drawer. A minute later, Charlie had removed the brown contact lenses and placed them in the disinfecting compact. Then he tested to see if the spirit gum remover had soaked into the small prosthetic pads on his cheekbones. He carefully used a long manicured fingernail to catch the edge of the pad, then peeled it away. No problem. He did the same with the other pad. Next came a smothering layer of cold cream over every nook and cranny of the face and on the neck too.
A few minutes later, the cold cream was removed. Another layer of cold cream was reapplied.
The Abba CD ended, having met its Waterloo, and the stereo shut off automatically.
A few minutes later, Charlie would soak his tired limbs in the soothing foam of a warm luxuriant bubble bath. However, the pleasure would be momentary. Charlie had a full-contact karate class scheduled for later in the day. Then, in the evening, he had tickets to witness a battle for last place between the Baltimore Orioles and the Toronto Blue Jays.
Chapter 7
Ho Lee Chau admired his reflection in the washroom mirror. His tall, slim body, tamed by casual office wear, was as fit as it could be from hours and hours of dance practice. His smooth youngish-looking facial features and his rocket scientist intellect, as well as a hefty salary made him a babe magnet. At least from his point of view.
He was looking forward to competing in the British Open Dance Championships. Just thinking of the Blackpool Festival got Ho Lee's feet moving. Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow. Then he did a series of quick pivot turns as he imagined his partner, Michelle, responding to his lead. Man turn, lady turn. Next, the 'hi sweetheart' move!
Just then, the washroom door opened. Chau, momentarily embarrassed that he'd been caught in a flight of fancy, tried to turn his upraised arm into a natural 'Hi' motion for his co-worker's benefit, but it seemed stilted and forced. Still in the recovery mindset, he tried to nonchalantly step up to the sink, and wash his hands.
But, setting aside his propensity for dancing in front of a mirror, Dr. Chau thought about how KAOS was going to make him a wealthy man.
When Dr. Chau returned to his office, he sat down in front his computer and quickly called up guidance system plans on his Mac computer's 24-inch screen. The schematics were pretty straightforward. He figured a competent physicist or electrical engineer could easily figure out how to build this system from the plans.
The key element to the interceptor missile concept was the 55-inch long kill vehicle. About 8 minutes from its target, it would separate from its booster rocket. Then the kill vehicle's own propulsion, communications and guidance system would take over. The radar, infrared seeker and radiation detector would direct it to the nuclear warhead or multiple warheads of the ICBM. The hit-to-kill approach was employed. With kill vehicles only 55 inches long, it was possible that an interceptor missile could carry many kill vehicles.
However, what the diagram did not reveal was the software enhancements that went into the guidance system's computer chip. The chip architecture would have to be copied as well.
Using a USB flash drive, Dr. Chau copied the program contents. Ho Lee Chau did so without any feelings of guilt. His company, MD Technology, based in Los Angeles California, had not provided what he believed to be fair financial remuneration for services rendered. The $100 million KAOS offer had certainly got his attention. Considering that the KAOS payoff would be about 200 times larger than his yearly salary, Dr. Chau saw no reason to feel loyalty to Uncle Sam. In fact, when he weighed loyalty against hard cash, Dr. Chau laughed.
Moreover, he rationalized that the world's balance of power might be thrown out of whack if the US had a weapon that gave it a quantum jump advantage over all the other countries of the world.
It was as if the US wanted the rest of the world to kowtow to its military might. To hell with the 1972 ABM Treaty!
KAOS, on the other hand, would restore balance to the world order. KAOS would sell plans to any country that came up with a cash offer large enough. However, considering that there were not many countries in the nuclear club, it was unlikely that any particular country would gain a major advantage. Undoubtedly all of the members of the small nuclear weapons club could afford the 'dues.'
Chau recalled a tenet of highly respected military strategist, Sun Tzu, from the Military Treatise on the Art of War. Sun Tzu might have been describing KAOS when he said, "It is only one who is thoroughly acquainted with the evils of war that can thoroughly understand the profitable way of carrying it on."
Also, Dr. Chau had doubts that the guidance sensors would ever work perfectly. Perhaps KAOS would not be getting a functioning system for its $100 million payment. To paraphrase Winston Churchill, 'Never in the field of human conflict would so much have been paid by so few for so little."
It's not that Ho Lee and his research team were incompetent. On the contrary. It's just that for every creative solution his team could dream up, it could also create effective countermeasures.
There was even another team of idiots, so-called rocket scientists, working on what Chau called 'the worst case scenario alternative.' This approach depended on setting off a large explosion in the flight-path of the incoming enemy ICBM. The explosion would hopefully destroy the nuclear warhead. But the fallout from this catastrophe would give new meaning to the term collateral damage. Chau even had a nickname for it--collateral Chernobyl.
Ho Lee Chau could see the writing on the wall. After the next election, a new President would make sweeping changes and the extremely costly but ineffective anti-missile program would be scrapped. Wasn't that what happened to the Strategic Defense Initiative? Star Wars was, after all, only a science fiction movie.
The "Brilliant Pebbles" program, trumpeted by President George Bush, was killed by President Clinton.
'Might as well make hay while the sun shines,' thought Chau.
As it was already past normal working hours, Dr. Chau simply put the USB memory key into a hidden compartment in his briefcase.
The security guards never bothered to thoroughly check over the contents of his briefcase anymore. Besides, they knew Dr. Chau was the Latin dance king. An iPod or CD was merely in keeping with his usual paraphernalia.
Ho Lee glanced at his watch. He'd have just enough time to go home, shower, change and then make it to the dance studio. The British Open Dance Competition in Blackpool was less than two weeks away. The rehearsals had intensified. He was so looking forward to this event so much!
Unfortunately, Ho Lee Chau was concerned about his dance partner, Michelle Kwai Chang. Although she could dance with the best of them, Chau did not feel she looked beautiful enough to win the votes of the judges. It wasn't her figure, although she was always struggling to keep the weight off. Part of it was her body proportions. Michelle's legs, while not short or stubby, weren't in the class of a great dancer. Also, her facial features, while not unattractive, could benefit from a few sessions of cosmetic surgery.
Moreover, this partnership was not in the stars. Ho Lee Chau had a belief in the Chinese 'astrology.' He had been born in the year of the Dragon. Michelle Kwai Chang had been born in the year of the Tiger. Asian ladies born in the year of the Tiger had a reputation for being aggressive and often had difficulty in finding a marriage partner.
But the constant search for a better situation had always been characteristic of Ho Lee Chau. This dragon had a wandering eye. And he knew it. Whenever he had competed in the past, Ho Lee Chau had always thought the other female dancers looked more beautiful and more skilful than his partner did.
In fact, Michelle Kwai Chang had been preceded by Jennifer Yu, who had come after Selina Rodriguez. And before that was Jade Pei Pei.
Jennifer had been the best up to that point. At the British Open, the previous year, Jennifer and Ho Lee had reached the finals.
But now, could the top prize go to Chang and Chau--Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon?
Chapter 8
Dr. Zorba pinched some body fat on Maxwell Smart's back and measured it with calipers. Then he repeated the procedure on Smart's miniscule 'love handles.'
"This is incredible," said Dr. Zorba. "The IGF-1 hormone has worked! You are down to about 10 percent body fat."
"I feel terrific, Dr. Zorba," Maxwell Smart said. "I've been dancing about 4 hours every day and my young dance partner, Agent 69, has trouble keeping up with me."
"It's a good thing we did the limited liposuction procedure a few weeks ago. The fat cells transferred to fill in the facial wrinkles have given you a youthful appearance."
"Yes, quite remarkable."
"The stem cells used for gene therapy have rejuvenated your skin. Blemishes and age spots have disappeared," Dr. Zorba said as he scratched his chin.
"My face is as clear and smooth as a baby's bottom."
"How about your vision?" Dr. Zorba asked as he removed his glasses for a moment to rub his bloodshot eyes.
"The laser vision surgery has worked wonders. I don't need glasses anymore."
"And your hair has come back completely."
"Yes, I must say the Propecia really does work. There is a cure for receding hairlines."
"Hmm. Mr. Smart, have you noticed any side effects from the various medications you have been on?"
"Well doctor, I expected that the IGF-1 might have restored my sex drive to its youthful vigor, but that hasn't happened."
The doctor thought for a moment as he scratched himself to relieve a jock itch. "That could be a side effect of the Propecia. It works by suppressing a male hormone that creates male pattern baldness. Perhaps we could take you off the Propecia or, at least, reduce it. Normally, I would have expected the IGF-1 would have increased your sexual libido to that of a stud horse in heat."
A look of disappointment came over Smart's face. "Perhaps it is just as well. Sometimes when I rehearse with Agent 69, the close presence of a beautiful sexy dancer turns me on. But, I suppose I should be thankful that raging hormones do not get the better of me."
"Well there's always Viagra for you to fall back on. But it is difficult to predict the effects of these new medications," Dr. Zorba cautioned. "Have you noticed any other side effects?"
"Yes, when I walk down the street, young ladies give me admiring glances . . . I had forgotten what that was like."
"Hmm. Very interesting. Perhaps I should try this leading edge experimental drug regimen myself."
"Hasn't the IGF-1 been tested?" Smart asked with a sudden look of worry.
"It's undergone extensive testing," the doctor said, "on pigs. It's scheduled for clinical trials on humans in the near future."
"You mean to say . . . " Smart almost fainted.
"I was kidding. Now, remember when you blew into my stethoscope . . . "
Chapter 9
In the Chief's office at CONTROL headquarters, the Chief/99 nervously paced back and forth, anxiously awaiting the arrival of Maxwell Smart and Charlie Watkins.
There was a buzz on the intercom. The Chief looked up at the video screen to see who was at the entranceway. It looked like her husband and a lady who looked remarkably like a younger version of her.
When the 'lady' identified herself as Charlie Watkins, the Chief relaxed. 'That is strange,' the Chief thought. 'Why would Charlie disguise himself as me?'
As Max opened the door for Charlie/99, he cheerfully greeted the Chief with a hearty, "Hello darling." And a kiss on the cheek. Yet he sensed a chill in the Chief's response.
"What's going on here?" the Chief asked. "Charlie, why are you disguised as me?"
"Oh, didn't Max mention this to you earlier?" Charlie asked in an exact reproduction of the Chief's vocal tone and inflection.
Side by side the two looked remarkably similar. Although Charlie wore black slacks and a casual pink cotton top and the Chief wore a charcoal colored power suit, there was a strong facial resemblance. Charlie looked exactly as 99 might have looked when she was in her twenties. Although the Chief looked remarkably good for her age, she was, after all, thirty-seven years old.
The rejuvenated Maxwell Smart, on the other hand, looked like a thirty-year-old.
"Oh, I think Charlie figured that since I had danced with you so often, that I'd feel more relaxed if she looked like you Chief," Max said.
The Chief looked at Charlie.
"Yes, that's right. After all, if I looked like the male Charlie Watkins Jr., I think Max would have had a tough time getting around his deeply ingrained heterosexual preferences."
"I see," the Chief said. "I guess it makes sense. I just wish somebody had bothered to tell me." There was a touch of anger directed at Max in that last statement.
"Sorry about that Chief. I take responsibility for that oversight. But, no harm done. As far as we're concerned, I have been faithfully dancing with my wife all this time. And, might I remind you, this dance partnership between Charlie and me was your idea in the first place."
The Chief nodded. Then she looked at Charlie and smiled. "By the way, I love your hair."
"Why thank you Chief. And that outfit looks fabulous on you. I'll have to find out who your designer is."
"We'll have to have do lunch later."
'Women!' thought Smart. 'Always talking about hair, fashion, makeup and other ways to beautify themselves . . . Thank goodness.'
"Well, let's get down to business, shall we?" With an extended hand gesture, the Chief invited the two agents to sit down in front of her desk. Then she opened up the dossier on Dr. Chau.
"The British Open Dance Competition is on this upcoming weekend," Smart began smartly. "We'll be flying British Air into Manchester England. Then we'll catch British Rail to Blackpool. All the travel arrangements have been set into motion. We've got two rooms reserved for one week at the Philbeach Hotel in Blackpool . . . Uh, or was that one room for two weeks?"
"Why Max, all these years we've been together and I've never known you to be so efficient in making travel arrangements," the Chief said with enthusiasm.
"Well, I don't feel that smart," Smart said. "After all, we're not staying at a Holiday Inn Express."
The Chief groaned. Then she asked, "Did you register for the competition?"
"We did a little search of the competitors," Charlie said. "There is a couple from Canada that we can be made up to resemble. Their names are Henri Doucette and Gisele Renault. They're from Montreal. They're new to the dance competition scene."
"Yes," Smart added. "We were able to persuade them, with a large infusion of CONTROL cash, that we should be allowed to take their place."
"You said 'we can be made up to resemble' this Canadian couple," the Chief said.
"Yes," Charlie replied in the exact same voice. "Max will have to wear a different hairstyle and a moustache. Perhaps he'll need a dental prosthesis. And I think I can make myself look like this Gisele Renault. Facially, we have a similar bone structure. The rest of the differences in appearance can be managed without too much difficulty. However, the good thing is that they are not known in international dance competitions, so I doubt that we'll need to do exact impersonations of them."
"That sounds good, but will you be able to be convincing in your roles as dance competitors?" the Chief asked.
"We think so," Max and Charlie replied in unison.
"You two seem to be on the same wavelength."
"We've been rehearsing together for four hours every day for the past nineteen days," Max said.
"Although it seems longer," Charlie observed.
"What about contacting Dr. Chau? Have you got a plan?"
"From what we've been able to gather, Dr. Chau is very approachable," Charlie said earnestly. "In fact, according to what we've heard, any attractive girl who leads him on will get plenty of attention from him . . . He's a pushover. He considers himself a lady's man. Chau is a social butterfly. He likes to sip the nectar of many beautiful flowers. He loves women!" Then Charlie sighed. "And I was so looking forward to a challenge."
"What about KAOS and the countries that want the anti-missile missile guidance system plans?" the Chief asked as she adjusted her position on her plush armchair.
"Apparently Chau has a deal already arranged. We believe it is with KAOS. However, Chau might get greedy and try to sell the plans to several buyers."
"How is he carrying the information?" the Chief asked.
"Agent Larabee has been working at the Los Angeles facility," Charlie began, as she crossed her gorgeous legs. "Although Chau has not taken any laptop computers out of the research offices, he apparently has a fondness for carrying around music CDs and and an iPod. Larabee thinks it likely that the information was transferred onto a CD, DVD, iPod or USB memory key and taken out of the lab in that manner, even though all employees are searched when they enter or leave the company facilities. It is unlikely that it was sent out via email or by fax or phone. All communication into and out of MD Technology is carefully monitored by an independent security firm."
"What makes you think the exchange will take place in Blackpool?"
"This is the only time Dr. Chau will be outside of the USA in the next year," Charlie stated. "It is his best opportunity to sell the military secrets to the highest bidder. Furthermore, US agencies, including CONTROL, have no jurisdiction there. We cannot arrest him."
"Perhaps we should request some assistance from the Defense Department, since this is a military matter," Smart suggested.
"Blackpool is a seaside resort," Charlie added. "If a navy submarine was in the area, we might be able to spirit a person out of the country before jurisdictional concerns became a problem."
"I'd have to contact the Defense Department, but it is worth considering. Up to now, a very efficient report, agents 69 and 86. But, the big question is, 'How do you intend to catch Dr. Chau selling the top secret information?' "
Both Max and Charlie looked at each other at the same time. Then they both shrugged their shoulders at the same time.
The Chief was not amused.
Then Smart piped up, "We will have to rely on guile."
'We're in big trouble,' thought the Chief.
The look of doubt on the Chief's face spurred another Smart remark. "My dear Chief, in the constant struggle between good and evil, between KAOS and CONTROL, good will prevail. Ultimately good will find a way. It always does."
Still, there was no response from the Chief.
"Well then, would you believe we'll muddle through it the best we can?"
Slowly the Chief opened up the dossier on Dr. Chau. "Agents Smart and Watkins, if you had taken the time to do a little research on Dr. Chau, you would have realized that he admires the brilliant military mind of the legendary Sun Tzu. In The Art of War, Sun Tzu recommends that you get to know your enemy. I am paraphrasing here, but it is sage advice nevertheless. So, I suggest you get to know all you can about Dr. Chau, his dance partners, present and past, his colleagues, his known associates, all the KAOS agents that we have records of. And the espionage agents for foreign governments of Britain, North Korea, South Korea, China, Iran, India, Pakistan, France, Israel and any other country that might have nuclear weapons!"
"Chief, where did you find the information about the countries that have nuclear weapons?" Smart asked.
"Amnesty International."
"And where might we find information about espionage agents, KAOS agents and top secret information?"
"There is only one organization that keeps records of all communications such as emails, faxes, credit card transactions, phone conversations and Internet files and keeps information on every single individual and top secret spy organization in the civilized world," the Chief said.
"And what organization is that Chief?" Smart asked.
"Microsoft."
END OF PART 1
*********************************************
© 2001 and 2008 by Laurie S. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.
