“99, we have to try every possibility. Only by leaving no stone unturned—”
They had entered a small clearing. Hassan stopped, breathing heavily. “We will rest here,” he said.
“Good idea,” Max agreed. “Let me help you get that pack off your back.”
“You’re a nice secret agent,” Hassan smiled.
Max placed the pack on a large rock. “Now then,” he said. “Brassica Oleracia—212°. If we transpose the letters, substituting—”
He was interrupted by a ringing sound.
“There’s the doorbell again,” Hassan said.
“My telephone,” Max corrected, removing his shoe.
Max: Yes, Chief. What is it?
Voice: Yes, Chief, what? Is Hazel there?
Max: Is that you again? You’ve made the same mistake. You’ve dialed a wrong number.
Voice: Who is this? The dummy?
Max: No, the dummy telephone is back at Headquarters. At the moment, I’m talking on my shoe.
Voice: That’s what I thought—I got the dummy again. Look, dummy, when Hazel comes in, will you have her call Fred?
Max: You don’t—
(the line went dead)
Max put his shoe back on his foot. “The next time he calls,” he grumbled, “I’m not even going to answer.”
“Max!” 99 suddenly shrieked. “Our supplies! The pack! Look! It’s gone!”
Max stared at the rock. The pack, indeed, had disappeared.
“Whitestone!” he said.
“White?” Hassan said. “That rock isn’t white. It’s more like an off-gray.”
“Hassan, there’s something I’d better tell you,” Max said grimly. “We have an enemy—a secret agent who works for the Bad Guys. His name is Whitestone. And, apparently, he has followed us into the jungle. He has the ability to make things look like they’re really not. That rock, for instance, is obviously not a rock.”
Hassan bent forward, looking closely at the rock. Then he looked back at Max. “Sure,” he grinned. “I see it now. It’s not a rock, it’s a roast duck—right?”
“No, it isn’t a roast duck,” Max replied. “I know, it’s hard to believe that that rock is anything but a rock, but take my word for it—Whitestone is somewhere nearby, and, by magic, he’s making us think that whatever it is that’s sitting there is a rock. In fact, however— Look, I’ll prove it to you.” He took a capsule from his pocket. Reading the label on the capsule, he said, “We won’t need this. It’s a duplicate of the football stadium at the University of Oklahoma—in miniaturized form, of course.” He placed the capsule on the rock. Slowly, it disappeared. “There you are,” he said to Hassan. “Are you convinced?”
Hassan blinked, astounded. “Son of a gun!”
“Max, what is that rock, really?” 99 said.
“Elementary, my dear 99,” Max replied. “Actually, that rock is a patch of quicksand.”
“Amazing!” 99 said.
“More than that. Terrible,” Hassan said. “Our supplies are gone. We have no food. We have no water. We’re doomed.”
“Not quite,” Max smiled. “I imagine that R & D has anticipated an emergency such as this.” He got a handful of capsules from his pocket. “Let’s see what we have here.” He began reading the labels. “A fully-armed Coast Guard cutter. A squadron of World War I fighter planes—with pilots. A landing strip for a squadron of World War I fighter planes. Twenty-nine years’ back issues of the Sunday New York Times. A— Ah, here’s what we want. A complete field kitchen and a year’s supply of food and water. This ought to take care of our problem. I’ll just—”
He was interrupted by a ringing sound.
“Somebody get the doorbell,” Hassan said.
“Excuse me,” Max said, placing the capsules on the rock. “That was my phone.”
He took off his shoe and put it to his ear.
Max: Chief? Is that you?
Voice: Chief who? This is Hazel. Any messages for me?
Max: You’re to call Fred.
Voice: Got it.
Max hung up. “Now then, I’ll just—”
“Max, you put the capsules on the rock,” 99 said woefully. “They disappeared.”
“I don’t care for your tone, 99,” Max said woundedly. “It’s a mistake anybody could have made.”
“Sorry, Max.”
“We’re sunk!” Hassan groaned.
“Not at all,” Max said. “True, without food and water our mission is going to be more of a challenge, but we are definitely not sunk. Eventually, we’ll reach a native village. When we do, we can stock up on food and water again. Our duty now, as I see it, is to push on. Hassan—which way do we go from here?”
“That way looks like a good way,” Hassan replied, pointing. “But then, on the other hand, that other way looks like a good way, too. I guess it’s a toss-up.”
“Some guide,” 99 said. “You’re supposed to know the way.”
He shrugged. “That’s what you get when you get a cheap guide.”
“Never mind,” Max said. “I’ll just climb up here on this rock and see if I can spot a trail.”
“Max!” 99 screamed.
But the warning was too late. Max was sinking slowly beneath the surface.
“99!” he called. “Give me a hand!”
Frantically, 99 reached out and got hold of his hand.
“Pull, 99!”
She pulled. But Max remained stuck in the quicksand.
“Max, you’ll have to help!” 99 cried.
“All right—I’ll pull.”
He pulled. And 99 joined him in the quicksand.
“I don’t think that was a very good idea, 99,” Max said, as they both sank deeper and deeper into the mire.
“Max! Don’t criticize! Do something!”
“Hassan!” Max commanded. “Get a pole! Quick!”
“I know just the place,” Hassan said. “A little shop that specializes in poles. I know the owner. He’ll give me a good deal.”
“Hurry!” Max cried.
Hassan dashed off into the jungle.
“Where are you going!” Max called.
“To the shop.”
“Where is it?”
“Back in Pahzayk!” Hassan called back, disappearing into the underbrush.
“A lot of good that’ll do,” Max grumbled. “But, at least, his heart’s in the right place. He’s trying to save us money.”
“Max, what good will money do us? We’re sinking. We’ll be gone by the time Hassan gets back.”
“You’re right, 99. Maybe we better leave a message for him. I wouldn’t want him to think we ran out on him.”
“Forget about Hassan, Max! Think about us!”
“99, for every problem, there’s a solution. That’s elementary logic.”
“We’re almost up to our chins, Max. What’s the solution to that?”
“Let’s stand on tippy-toes.”
“Oh, Max . . . Max . . . we’re going fast, Max,” 99 wept. “Good-bye, Max.”
“Hold on, 99! The capsules! I still have a number of them in my pocket. Maybe one of them will provide a means for getting us out of this.”
“Can you get them, Max?”
“Yes . . . I think . . .” He pulled his arm up out of the quicksand. His hand was clutching a half-dozen capsules. “I have them!”
“What are they, Max?”
“Let me see. I’ll scrape the quicksand off this label, and . . . do we have any use for a snow plow, 99?”
She peered up toward the sky. “It doesn’t look much like snow, Max. Try another capsule.”
Max read another label. “A yoke of oxen?”
“I don’t think there’d be room in here for all of us,” 99 said. “Keep trying.”
“A dinner service for twelve?” Max said, reading again.
“Oh, Max, it’s no use. Hassan was right—we’re sunk!”
“No, 99, we’re saved! Here’s the capsule that contains twelve thousand gallons of liquid pl
astic. I’ll just press this button, and—”
Max sprayed the surface of the quicksand with plastic. Instantly, it hardened.
“Max! We are! We’re saved!” 99 cried happily.
With a hard surface to use as leverage, Max and 99 pulled themselves from the quicksand, then walked across the plastic to dry ground.
“Good old R & D,” Max said. “They think of everything—eventually.”
At that moment, Hassan came rushing back. He was gasping for breath. “I was half-way there,” he panted.
“You don’t have the pole,” Max pointed out. “What happened?”
“I had to come back,” Hassan said. “You didn’t tell me what size pole. A short pole? A long pole? You didn’t say. If I’d got a short pole, it might not have reached. And if I’d got a long pole, it might have been too long. We’d have had a length of pole that we couldn’t use. And this pole shop won’t accept returns. It’s cash and carry. You’re stuck with all the pole you buy, whether you need it or not. You can see the problem I had?”
Max turned to 99. “See? I told you he was trustworthy. How many guides do you find these days who think about expenses?”
“He’s a jewel,” 99 said dryly.
“Well, I see you’re safe,” Hassan smiled. “Shall we push on now?”
“Yes, and quickly,” Max said. “Every moment that we delay we’re losing ground. Dr. Livingstrom already has several days head start on us. Hassan, is there a native village anywhere nearby? We’re still in need of food and water.”
“There should be one around here somewhere,” Hassan replied. “Why don’t you climb up on that rock and look around.”
“Good idea. I’ll— No, on second thought, that isn’t such a good idea, Hassan. You’re forgetting something. That rock is really a patch of quicksand.”
“Slipped my mind,” Hassan said apologetically.
“Just watch it,” Max warned. “If you were responsible for getting me caught in that quicksand again, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to overlook it—in spite of your excellent record, to date, on keeping expenses down.”
“I understand,” Hassan replied, looking sheepish. “And, in the future, I will do as you say—I will watch it. In my country, we have a saying: The bird that flies down the chimney will never be served breakfast in bed.”
“Yes . . . well, that’s a nice little saying,” Max nodded. “What exactly does it mean?”
“What it says,” Hassan replied.
Max nodded again. “I see. And, come to think of it, it makes a lot of sense. Any bird who flew down a chimney probably would be in no condition to eat even if it were served breakfast in bed.” He turned to 99. “We’re very fortunate, 99,” he said. “Not only do we have a guide who watches the pennies, but, in Hassan, we also have a sage, a wise man and an all ’round good Joe.”
“He’s a jewel,” 99 said sourly.
4.
HASSAN WIELDED the machete once more, and, slowly but surely, the three penetrated deeper and deeper into the jungle. As time wore on, however, the difficulty of proceeding increased. Without water, and plagued by the steamy heat of the jungle, Max and 99 grew weak. Hassan, though, did not appear to be suffering.
“Hassan, aren’t we about to that native village?” Max said.
“I think we must have missed it,” Hassan replied. “We probably should have made a left turn back there at that giraffe.”
“Why don’t they post signs in this jungle!” Max said irritably.
“They do,” Hassan replied. “But they drop off when the giraffes lower their necks.”
“Hassan,” 99 said suspiciously, “how is it that this heat and the lack of water isn’t affecting you?”
“I was fortunate in my choice of ancestors,” Hassan replied. “My great-great-great-great-grandmother was a camel. I am able to travel for weeks without water.”
99 looked at him doubtfully. “Your great-great-great-great-grandmother was a camel? That’s hard to believe.”
“No, there’s nothing unusual about that,” Max said to her. “I have a grandfather, myself, who’s an Elk. And another who’s a Moose. And my father, as a matter of fact, is a member of the Lions Club.”
99 halted. “Max, I can’t go another step,” she groaned. “I need water.”
Max and Hassan stopped, too.
“As I recall from my Boy Scout training, it’s sometimes possible to squeeze water from plants,” Max said. “It won’t hurt to try, anyway. Even if we got only a few drops, that would be a help.”
Max snapped off a plant at the stem and squeezed it in his fist, holding his other hand under it. A drop of liquid fell into his palm, then another, and another.
“It’s coming, 99!” Max said triumphantly.
The drips began to fall faster. Max cupped his hand. The liquid flowed from the plant, gushing into his hand. Max’s cup ranneth over. Water poured into the jungle.
“Man the lifeboats!” Max shouted.
“Max, for heaven’s sake,” 99 said, “don’t you see what’s happening?”
Oddly, 99 and Hassan seemed unaffected by the flood.
“Secret agents first!” Max cried in panic as the water rose.
A four-masted schooner skimmed by.
“Send help!” Max called after it.
“Max, no!” 99 said. “Keep your head!”
The water rose higher. Max began dogpaddling.
An ark, stocked with animals, floated by.
“Noah! Wait for Max!” Max bellowed. “You’ll need me. My grandfather was an Elk. My other grandfather was a Moose. My father is a Lion.”
“Max, it’s an illusion!” 99 said. “It’s a trick!”
He looked at her blankly for an instant, then, pained, said, “Oh.”
The water vanished.
“99, I wish you hadn’t done that,” Max said crankily. “Why did you have to tell me right then that the water was an illusion?”
“There wasn’t any water, Max,” 99 insisted. “Whitestone was playing a trick on you.”
“I know that, 99. But you could at least have waited until we’d all had a drink.”
“I’m sorry, Max. I guess I just wasn’t thinking.”
“Well, anyway, some good came of it,” Max said. “Now we have a trail to follow.” He pointed. “Right over there. That ark plowed a big hole right through the underbrush. Good old Noah!”
Hassan took the lead again, and once more the three began hacking and clawing their way through the jungle. From overhead came the chattering of monkeys and the hissing of snakes. And from the surrounding undergrowth came the cries of other animals, lions, tigers, elephants and hyenas.
“Why are the animals making all that racket?” Max asked Hassan.
“They’re telling the animals up ahead that we’re on our way,” Hassan replied.
“Really? What for?”
“Just a matter of interest,” he replied. “Most of these animals have never seen a secret agent before.”
“Oh.” Max turned to 99. “It’s a good thing the animals don’t keep zoos,” he said. “We might be in trouble.”
Hassan suddenly halted, peering through the underbrush.
“What is it?” Max said.
“Up ahead—a veldt,” Hassan replied.
Max faced back to 99 again. “There’s a veldt up ahead,” he said. “Be very quiet. We may be able to slip past it.”
“Max . . . what is a veldt?”
“I’m not sure. Just a minute, I’ll ask Hassan.” He tapped the guide on the shoulder. “Hassan . . . what exactly is a veldt?”
“It’s what you Americans would call a prairie—an open stretch of field,” Hassan replied.
Max turned back to 99 once more. “You can forget about being quiet, 99,” he said. “A veldt isn’t dangerous.”
“I’m not sure about this one,” Hassan said, moving forward again. “It could be very dangerous.”
A moment later they reached the edge of a wide open sp
ace. It was crawling with tiny ants. And they were emitting a high-pitched squeaking sound.
“Just what I was afraid of,” Hassan said. “We’re stopped. We’ll have to turn back.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Max said. “Those are only ants.”
“Ants with a difference,” Hassan said. “These are man-eating ants. Hear that sound they’re making? They’re talking about us.”
Max cocked an ear. “As a matter of fact, I think I did hear my name mentioned.”
“They’re arguing over who’ll get the drumsticks,” Hassan said.
Max shuddered. “I think you’re right—we better turn back.”
“Max, we can’t!” 99 said. “Our mission comes first. We must go on—even if it costs us our lives.”
“You’re right, 99.”
“If we try to cross this veldt, we’ll be eaten alive,” Hassan said. “We must turn back.”
“You’re right, Hassan,” Max said.
“But, Max, the Chief is depending on us,” 99 said. “We must go on!”
“99, you’re right.”
“It would be suicide,” Hassan said. “We must turn back.”
“Hassan, you’re entirely right.”
“Max, will you make up your mind?” 99 said. “We can’t do both—go forward and go back, too. Which will it be?”
“Couldn’t we just stay right here?” Max suggested.
“Max, no. You must make a decision. Forward or back.”
Scowling, Max studied the man-eating ants. “Forward,” he decided. “Hassan, I think you’re wrong about those ants. I don’t think they’ve spotted us. If they had, why haven’t they attacked?”
“You may be right,” Hassan replied. “But if we try to cross the veldt, they’ll see us for sure.”
“Not if my plan works out,” Max said. “I propose that we very carefully step between them. They’re so busy, they probably won’t even notice us.”
Hassan shrugged, accepting the decision. “It’s your drumstick,” he said.
This time, Max led the way. Paying particular attention to where he stepped, he started across the veldt. 99 followed. And Hassan brought up the rear.
“It’s working,” Max said. “They don’t even know we’re here.”
“Careful, Max!” 99 warned.
Get Smart 5 - Missed It By That Much! Page 4
