“What exactly is the assignment?” Max said.
“You’ll make a delivery to the Government Building,” Fitz-Hugh replied.
“Well, that seems simple enough. What will I deliver?”
“A bomb.” Fitz-Hugh turned to his follower. “Bring in the bomb,” he said.
The follower left, and returned a few seconds later with a basket of fruit. There was a bomb in the center of it.
“Isn’t that a little obvious?” Max said. “Won’t the guards at the Government Building get a little suspicious when they see that bomb in the middle of the basket of fruit?”
“Naturally,” Fitz-Hugh replied. “That’s what we want. You see, it’s not the bomb that’s really a bomb. The bomb is only a decoy.”
“Oh.”
“When you enter the Government Building, of course, a guard will see the bomb in the middle of the basket of fruit,” Fitz-Hugh went on. “He’ll stop you and say, ‘Excuse me, sir, but isn’t that a bomb you have there in the middle of that basket of fruit?’ And you’ll reply, ‘Well, bless me, so it is. I wonder how that got in there?’ Then the guard will say, ‘I’m sorry, sir, but there’s a rule against carrying bombs into the Government Building.’ At which point, you will take the bomb from the basket and hand it to the guard and say, ‘Well, I certainly don’t want to break a rule, so will you hold this for me until I come out?’ The guard, of course—”
“Don’t tell me,” Max interrupted. “The guard will accept the bomb, and I’ll rush out of the building, and a moment later the bomb will explode—right?”
Fitz-Hugh shook his head. “All wrong. You haven’t been listening. I told you—the bomb isn’t a bomb. It’s a decoy. You see, when the guard takes the bomb from you, he’ll think it’s safe to let you enter the building—little knowing that it is really the banana that is the bomb.”
“Excuse me, sir,” Fitz-Hugh’s follower said. “It’s the apple that’s the bomb.”
Fitz-Hugh glared at him. “It’s the banana—or maybe the orange. But not the apple.”
“I’m positive, sir, it’s the—”
“Who’s Generalissimo around here!” Fitz-Hugh raged.
The follower cringed. “I’m sorry, sir. You’re absolutely right—it’s the banana.” Then, lowering his voice, he said to Max, “But I wouldn’t try to peel that apple, if I were you.”
“Never mind the details right now,” Max said to Fitz-Hugh. “Just give me the general plot. What happens after I get by the guard?”
“You enter the building,” Fitz-Hugh said, “and you, quick-like, pull the stem out of the banana. That detonates the bomb.”
“Generalissimo,” 99 said, “a banana doesn’t have the kind of stem you can pull out.”
“Then try the orange,” Fitz-Hugh said. He shot a quick, antagonistic look at his follower. “But not the apple,” he said to Max. “Let’s not have any question about who’s Generalissimo around here.”
“Right. I pull the stem from the orange. Then I put it down somewhere. And while the delayed-action timer ticks away, I make a hasty escape.”
“What delayed-action timer?” Fitz-Hugh said. “The bomb goes off instantly. When you’re running a revolution, there’s no time to waste, every minute counts.”
“Uh . . . then how do I get out?” Max said.
“Through the roof.”
“Do you mean to say that there’s actually no chance of me getting out of there alive?”
“Welllll . . . that depends. How good a runner are you?”
“Not that fast,” Max replied. “I’m afraid, Generalissimo, I’m beginning not to care much for this assignment.”
“It’s a great opportunity for you,” Fitz-Hugh said. “You’ll meet a lot of highly-placed people on your way up through the roof. I’d give a year of one of my follower’s salary to have the chance that you’re getting. But . . . my trick knee, you know.”
“Maybe you’d like to go along for the ride,” Max said. “I could make room for you.”
Fitz-Hugh shook his head. “It’s your honor. I wouldn’t dream of butting in.”
“Me, neither,” Hassan said. “My trick knee, you know.”
“No, you’re the one who has the bad back,” Max said. He reached into the basket and picked up the orange. “Let me get this straight, now,” he said. “I walk up to the guard—”
“No, no,” Fitz-Hugh said, “you let the guard stop you. Don’t walk up to him. That would make him suspicious.”
“Okay. I let the guard stop me, then I hand him this orange. As soon as—”
“Max, no,” 99 said. “You don’t hand him the orange. You let him see the bomb.”
“That’s almost what I said, 99. The orange is the bomb.”
“No, I think the banana is the bomb,” Hassan said.
“Just a minute!” Fitz-Hugh shouted. “You don’t let him see the orange—or the banana, as the case may be—that’s really a bomb. You let him see the bomb that isn’t a bomb.”
“Oh, yes, I remember now,” Max said. “I let him see the bomb that isn’t a bomb, and he says to me, ‘I’m sorry, sir, but it’s against the rule to carry a banana into the Government Building.’ So, I hand him—”
“No, Max,” 99 said, shaking her head.
“I carry the guard into the Government Building?”
“Uh-uh, Max.”
“The guard carries me into the Government Building?”
Fitz-Hugh clasped his head in his hands, groaning. “Why does anybody want to be a Generalissimo? The followers you got to put up with these days, it’s nothing but a headache!”
“I’m sorry,” Max said. “But I’m trying my best. Let me start at the beginning. I approach the Government Building—right?”
“So far, perfect,” Fitz-Hugh replied.
“No, unfortunately, it isn’t,” Max said, looking disappointed in himself. “I forgot to take the basket of fruit. I left it back here on the—”
Fitz-Hugh grabbed up the basket and shoved it into Max’s hands. “Okay! You got the fruit! Start again!” he raged.
Max put the orange back into the basket. “It wouldn’t do to accidentally leave this behind,” he explained. “When I got to the—”
“Start already!”
“Right. Okay, now, I approach the Government Building, basket in hand, and I make sure that the guard spots me. How am I doing?”
“You’re a jewel,” Fitz-Hugh smiled blissfully.
“As soon as the guard spots the bomb, of course, he’ll stop me,” Max went on. “And, being a conscientious civil servant, he’ll explain to me in a kindly and understanding manner that it’s against the rule to carry a bomb into the Government Building. Have I left anything out?”
“Only the mistakes,” Fitz-Hugh beamed. “Go on.”
“Doing his duty as he sees it, the guard will then relieve me of the bomb—the bomb that is not a bomb,” Max continued. “And, being a conscientious revolutionary, I will then— Oh-oh—we’re in trouble.”
“What trouble!” Fitz-Hugh asked through gritted teeth.
“Look,” Max said, “if I know my conscientious civil servants, that guy isn’t going to let me go until he gets a piece of fruit. Suppose he wants an orange? Or a banana?”
“Idiot!” Fitz-Hugh screamed. “Guards don’t eat on duty!”
“He could save it for later. There’s nothing better than a banana right after dinner.”
“Take my word for it!” Fitz-Hugh stormed. “He won’t ask for a piece of fruit! Now, go on!”
“I sort of lost my place,” Max said. “I think I better start at the beginning again.”
“Stupidido!” Fitz-Hugh shrieked. He grabbed the basket of fruit from Max’s hands. “I’ll show you! Step by step, I’ll show you what to do! Now, watch! And remember!”
Max squinted his eyes. “I’m watching.”
Fitz-Hugh stomped up to his follower. “This is the guard,” he said. “He asks me about the bomb in the basket. I tell him t
he bomb is a surprise to me. He asks me for it. I give it to him.” He handed the bomb to the follower. “Have you got it?” he said to Max.
“No, you gave it to him.”
“I mean, do you understand, so far, what you’re supposed to do?”
“Oh, yes, that . . . yes.”
Fitz-Hugh stomped to the door of the hut. “This is the entrance to the Government Building,” he said. “Now, I enter the Government Building.” He stepped out through the doorway into the clearing. “Did you see that?” he called back.
“Got it!” Max replied.
“Now—are you listening?”
“You’re coming in loud and clear.”
“I’m in the Government Building,” Fitz-Hugh said. “I take the orange out of the basket, and—just like this—I pull the stem from the orange. Okay? Clear?”
“It isn’t going to work,” Max said.
“Why not?”
“Did you pull the stem from the orange?”
“Yes. I told you I did.”
“If that orange were a bomb, it would have exploded when you pulled the stem,” Max pointed out.
“Say . . . you know, you’re right.”
“Try the banana,” Max suggested.
“You’re right, maybe it’s the banana. I’ll just— No, that didn’t do it, either.”
“How about the apple?” Max called out.
“Never!”
“Ah, come on,” Max urged. “Even a Generalissimo can be wrong once in a while. The thing is to be a big enough man to admit it.”
“Well . . .”
“Give it a little pull,” Max said. “What harm could that do?”
“Okay. But only to prove that it isn’t the apple. If a Generalissimo is wrong, he isn’t really a Gen—”
The area was suddenly rocked by a tremendous explosion. Max, 99, and Hassan went flying up through the roof of the hut.
“Max, you tricked him,” 99 said proudly.
“Yes, I did,” Max admitted. “Though, frankly, it was as big a surprise to me as it was to him. All along, I thought it was the banana, not the apple.”
“Luckily, I knew it was the apple all the time,” Hassan said. “What would you two do without me?”
“Hassan is right, 99,” Max said. “We’re very fortunate to have him along.”
“I’m not so sure about that, Max.”
“You will be in a moment.”
“How is that, Max?”
“Because that explosion blew us pret-ty high, and in just a few moments we’re going to hit the ground.”
“I know, Max. But why are we fortunate to have Hassan along?”
“Because, if you will look closely, you will see that Hassan is flying a few feet below us. And when we land he’s going to break our fall.”
99 looked down. “That’s very considerate of you, Hassan,” she said. “I take back all the unkind things I’ve been thinking about you.”
“I’ll make you a deal,” Hassan said. “You come down here and let me get up there and you can think anything you want to about me.”
“I couldn’t,” 99 said. “I’m a girl.”
“Then how about this?” Hassan said. “Send Max down. Not only will I give you permission to think anything you want about me, but also I’ll throw in a chain-driven saxophone—the only one of its kind.”
“Well . . .”
But the offer was made too late.
8.
MAX AND 99 landed, picked themselves up, then picked Hassan up. He was somewhat flatter, but otherwise he wasn’t much changed. Since they had landed clear of the revolutionists’ camp, they immediately set out on the trail again, wanting to avoid being recaptured. Many minutes later they decided it was finally safe to stop and rest.
“Well, Hassan,” Max said, “you did it again. Those cutthroats are far behind us by now.”
Hassan nodded. “Not bad for a flat guide, even if I do say so myself,” he said.
“It’s fine, except for one thing,” 99 said. “We’re lost.”
“Lost?” Max said. “We’re not lost, 99. We know exactly where we are.”
“Where are we, then, Max?”
“We’re right here.”
“I know that, Max. But where is here? I mean, where is here in relation to everywhere else?”
“99, I never claimed that everywhere else isn’t lost.”
“There is no problem,” Hassan said. “All we have to do is follow the signs.”
Max and 99 looked at him skeptically.
“Over there,” Hassan pointed.
Max and 99 looked, and, a few yards away, saw a low trailside sign that pointed into the jungle. Followed by Hassan, they walked to the sign and read it. It said:
TO DR. LIVINGSTROM
“Max, that sign isn’t really there,” 99 said. “It’s an illusion. It’s another of Whitestone’s tricks.”
“I know that, 99. It’s pretty obvious that it’s a Whitestone trick.” He touched a finger to the sign, then held it up. “See? The paint is still wet.”
“Then the thing for us to do is to go the other way,” 99 said.
“I disagree, 99. If we continue in this direction, I think we’ll find more signs. Whitestone is undoubtedly trying to lead us into a trap.”
“That’s why we ought to go in the other direction, Max. We don’t want to get caught in Whitestone’s trap.”
“But we do, 99. There’s an old saying: Where there’s a trap, there’s also a trapper. When we find that trap, we’ll find Whitestone. And, once we find him, I have every confidence that we can outwit him and take him prisoner. When we do that, it will be much simpler for us to complete our mission. We won’t have these illusions to contend with.”
“But, Max,” 99 argued, “if Whitestone has gone off in that direction, we can avoid him and his illusions simply by going in the opposite direction. And there wouldn’t be any danger of falling into a trap.”
Max sighed. “You explain it to her, Hassan,” he said.
“In my country,” Hassan said to 99, “there is an expression that, I think, will answer your questions. It goes: ‘When the voice of the turtle is heard in the land, it’s time to have your ears examined.’ ”
“That doesn’t help much,” 99 said.
“Let me explain it another way, 99,” Max said. “If we go in the other direction, in the direction you want to go, we’ll be going away from Dr. Livingstrom—right? And the object of our mission, remember, is to find Dr. Livingstrom.”
“Max, how do you know we’ll be going away from him?”
“Because he’s in this direction.”
“How can you be so sure of that, Max?”
“99, it’s obvious. Just look at the sign.”
99 drooped. “All right, Max,” she said, resigned. “We’ll do it your way.”
With Max now in the lead they set out in the direction indicated by the sign. Soon they came to a second sign, which said:
Don’t you
“That’s interesting,” Max said. “I wonder what it means?”
“It’s a teaser, Max,” 99 explained. “It’s intended to lure you on to the next sign to see what it says.”
“That is interesting,” Max said. “Let’s go.”
“But, Max, now we know it’s a trap. Whitestone is doing this deliberately to lead us on.”
“I know, I know, 99. Hurry.”
After a while, they reached a third sign, which said:
think it’s
“Fascinating,” Max said. “Onward.”
And, moments later, they reached a fourth sign, which read:
silly to spread this message out over four signs when we could have put it on one and saved the cost of three signs, which, according to our bookkeeper, would have amounted to $12.68; a sum that, if put in the bank, and kept there for twenty-five years, earning five per cent interest, wouldn’t do us any good, anyway, because, by then, we would probably be too old to enjoy it.
“
The tag line is a little disappointing,” Max said. “But I think the idea has a lot of merit. They probably could have got the whole message on one sign.”
“The reasoning is off, though,” Hassan said. “Nobody is ever too old to enjoy $12.68. For instance, $12.68 would make a down-payment on a chain-driven saxophone. What’s nicer for old folks than making music?”
“Max, what I don’t understand,” 99 said, “is why we’re not in a trap.”
“The trap is a few yards on, 99,” Max said. “See? Right over there,” he added, pointing.
99 looked and saw a spectacular sight. Rising out of a filmy cloud bank were the majestic white spires of a cluster of medieval castles. And then, listening, she heard the sounds of laughter and singing.
“Max! It’s Paradise!” 99 gasped.
“At least, that’s what Whitestone wants us to think,” Max said.
“Of course! It’s an illusion. It has to be an illusion. Paradise wouldn’t be stuck away out here in the middle of the jungle, would it?”
“Naturally not,” Max replied. “It would be somewhere on a main highway. Nobody wants to live in a place that’s more than an hour’s drive from town. But, this Paradise, illusion though it clearly is, does have one advantage. Somewhere within those walls, I think we’ll find Whitestone. And once we do that, and take him prisoner, completing our mission will be much easier.”
“I’m with you, Max,” 99 said.
“I’ll wait here,” Hassan said.
“No, you better come with us,” Max said to him. “We may need you to pull off another miracle.”
“They won’t let me in,” Hassan said. “I’m too flat.”
“Nonsense. There is no discrimination in Paradise, Hassan.”
The three followed the high wall that surrounded the illusion, and finally came to a gate. A tall, white-haired, distinguished old man, dressed in a flowing white robe, greeted them with outstretched arms and a gentle smile on his face.
“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” the old man said. “I am your host. Come in, come in.”
Get Smart 5 - Missed It By That Much! Page 9
