Get Smart 5 - Missed It By That Much! (10 page)

“Is that still so important to you, Max?”

“I’m afraid it is, 99. I don’t really mind dying so much. But puzzling over who that phone call was from is going to make it very difficult for me to Rest in Peace.”

“Sorry, Max . . .”

They had reached the falls. And over they went, all together, and plunged downward—a distance of about thirteen inches.

“Somehow, I don’t think this falls is ever going to be much of a rival to Niagara,” Max said.

“Max! We’re saved!” 99 shouted gleefully. “It’s hardly a falls at all!”

“Well, another day, another miracle,” Hassan grinned. “Don’t bother to ask me how I did it. It’s a trade secret.”

The whole group got to its feet.

“I guess this knocks your little project into kind of a cocked hat,” Max said to the leader of the Peace Corpsmen. “There won’t be much interest in the falls.”

“No, I see no reason to change our plans,” the leader replied. “We’ll rebuild the bridge.”

“Over a thirteen-inch waterfall?”

“Who’ll know? A bunch of dumb tourists?”

Max smiled at him proudly. “That’s the spirit that made America what it is today!” he said.

The party waded to shore. Then Max, 99 and Hassan said a last good-bye to the Peace Corpsmen. As they headed off into the jungle, they heard the leader address his companions.

“Okay, fellas,” he said, “this time, let’s show these savages that we can really build a bridge that will last.”

A cheer went up.

“Rah-Rah-Rah! Sis-Boom-Bah! Yeah!”

They heard the leader speak again, this time addressing the river. “Open wide,” he commanded. “This won’t hurt a bit.”

M
AX
, 99 and Hassan pushed on into the jungle. But after a few minutes, Max called for a rest period. And when they stopped, he sat down on a small mound and removed his telephone shoe.

“What now, Max?” 99 asked.

“There’s something I have to find out,” Max replied, dialing.

Chief:
Control, here. Chief, speaking.

Max:
Chief, did you call me a while back? My shoe was ringing, but I was tied up and couldn’t answer it.

Chief:
Who had you tied up, Max? Are you free now?

Max:
I don’t mean that I was actually tied up, Chief. I mean I was busy.

Chief:
Max, how could you be too busy to answer your shoe? It only takes one hand.

Max:
Before this goes any further, Chief, would you just answer my question? Did you phone me a few minutes ago?

Operator:
He refuses to answer that question on the grounds that you are unfair to Arnold.

Max:
Operator, how could I be unfair to Arnold? I don’t even know Arnold. I only met Arnold once with his mother.

Operator:
Have you got yourself trampled by an elephant yet?

Max:
Well . . . frankly, no.

Operator:
I ask you—is that unfair or is that unfair? How can Arnold take your place if you’re still around? He just wouldn’t feel right about it. You’d be hanging around, watching everything he did, trying to catch him in a mistake. Max, this boy wants to make good, but you just won’t let him. Is that fair?

Chief:
Operator, I think you’re being a bit premature. Your brother-in-law hasn’t even appeared to fill out an application yet.

Operator:
You must be wrong, Chief. Have you looked under your desk? Arnold is sometimes a little shy.

Chief:
He’s not under my desk. He’s not anywhere around.

Operator:
He’s there. Max saw him enter the building—didn’t you, Max?

Max:
She’s right about that, Chief—I did.

Chief:
Then where is he? It’s no more than a hundred feet or so from the entrance of the building to my office.

Operator:
It’s only been three days—give him a chance.

Max:
Frankly, Operator, I think it’s Arnold’s mother who wants him to be a secret agent, not Arnold. And you. You and his mother are pushing him into this.

Operator:
Pooh! If he doesn’t want to be a secret agent, what does he want to be?

Max:
Missing. And I think he’s achieved his goal.

Operator:
Sorry, sir, your time is up. Deposit another seven thousand dollars, consisting of the following combination of coins: twelve French francs, seventeen Czechoslovakian halerus, eleven Turkish kurus, nine Russian—

Max:
Operator, stop it! In the first place, this isn’t a pay shoe. And in the second place, you’re just looking for an excuse to cut me off because of what I said about you and Arnold’s mother. The truth is, Operator, the truth hurts!

Operator:
Seven thousand dollars in unissued foreign coins, Max! Put up or shut up!

Max:
I protest! Let me talk to your Supervisor!

Operator:
No can do, Max. All protests have to be submitted in writing. Where’s that seven thou?

Max:
Operator, would you settle for my Diners’ Club Card?

Operator:
Cash on the barrelhead, Max. Sorry about that.

The line went dead.

Max sighed sadly, then put his shoe back on his foot.

“Bad news, Max?” 99 said sympathetically.

“No. Not if no news is good news,” Max replied. “But I still don’t know who it was who called me when we were floating down the river on that plastic raft . . .”

“Max, I told you, if it was important, whoever it was will call you back.”

Max turned to Hassan. “Hassan, it wasn’t you, by any chance, who called me, was it?”

“I was there on the raft with you,” Hassan replied.

“I know. But I don’t want to leave any possibilities unturned.”

“Max . . .” 99 said, lowering her voice and glancing around the perimeter of the clearing.

“99, fess up, now, was it you who called me?”

“Max,” 99 replied, still speaking softly, “number one, I was on the raft with you, too. And, number two, I didn’t have a phone. But, Max—”

“I have two shoes, you know,” Max said. “You could have been using the extension.”

“Max, it wasn’t me who called you. Will you forget about that call? Max, I think we’re in jeopardy.”

“Nonsense, 99. I’m sure we’re still in New Ghirzy. If we’d crossed over into Jeopardy, I’m positive we’d have seen some border guards.”

“Max, I mean we’re in danger. We’re surrounded by a band of evil-looking cutthroats. They’re hiding in the underbrush. I just caught a glimpse of several of them.”

Coolly, Max glanced about. “Yes, I see them,” he said, speaking softly. “And I think you’re right, 99. They
do
look like Jeopardyians.”

“Max, jeopardy means danger.”

“I don’t care if they did get their independence and change the name of their country, 99, they’re still Jeopardyians to me.”

“Well, Hassan,” Max said. “Time for another miracle.”

“You got yourself into this,” Hassan replied. “Get yourself out.”

“Hassan, in the name of—”

A wild cry suddenly issued from the underbrush. A band of about a half-dozen evil-looking cutthroats, brandishing pistols, leaped from hiding places and surrounded Max, 99 and Hassan.

“If you’re the welcoming committee from the Chamber of Commerce, I’ll tell you right now, your technique could use some polishing,” Max said.

“Silence!” the head cutthroat commanded.

“It’s a very small person who can’t take criticism,” Max pouted. “You know, we grow in both efficiency and proficiency by having our mistakes pointed out to us.”

“Siiiiiilence!” the head cutthroat shrieked.

“Otherwise, we become soreheads,” Max muttered.

“Bind them and blindfold them,” the head cutthroat ordered his cohorts.

Working efficiently and proficiently, the men tied Max’s, 99’s and Hassan’s hands behind their backs, then placed blindfolds over their eyes.

“I’ll tell you another thing, if you’re trying to encourage the tourist trade, this is no way to do it,” Max said.

One of the cutthroats stuffed a gag into Max’s mouth.

“Mrbmfph!” Max protested.

The cutthroats led Max, 99 and Hassan stumbling through the jungle. After about a half-hour’s travel they halted, and removed the blindfolds—and the gag from Max’s mouth. The three found themselves standing at the doorway to a crude grass hut. Then they were rudely shoved inside.

An African, seated behind a rough wooden table, and wearing a bushy black beard, and dressed in khaki, greeted them with a snarling accusation. “Spies!”

“Is that what those fellows are?” Max said. “When they tied us up and put blindfolds on us, I guessed they were up to no good. But I couldn’t quite figure out what it was.”

“Not them, you spy!” the man thundered. “Those men are my loyal followers. I am Freddy Fitz-Hugh, III, Generalissimo of the Grand Revolution!
You
are the spies!”

Max peered at him closely. “Freddy Fitz-Hugh, III?”

“It’s not my real name,” Fitz-Hugh admitted. “I was born Lester Mdunboto—which, in my tongue, means ‘lightning that sometimes strikes twice in the same place.’ But Freddy Fitz-Hugh, III, has more of a revolutionary sound to it, don’t you think?”

Max shook his head. “No.”

Fitz-Hugh glared at him, then called one of his followers into the hut. “This spy just disagreed with me,” he said. “Make a note of that. It’s evidence.”

The follower got out a notepad and pencil and sat down at the table and scribbled a notation.

“Who is paying you to spy on us?” Fitz-Hugh demanded of Max.

“Spy? We’re not spies.”

Fitz-Hugh turned to his follower. “He’s lying. Make a note of that. It’s evidence.” Then, again, he faced Max. “If you’re not spies, what are you?”

“It so happens that we’re secret agents, assigned to Control, and here on a secret mission,” Max replied.

Hassan stepped forward. “Not me. I’m just an innocent bystander. I’ve never seen these two spies before in my life. You see, I was making the rounds of my customers—I’m a dealer in chain-driven saxophones—when suddenly these two spies appeared out of nowhere and asked directions. Well—”

“When I want a confession, I’ll torture you for it!” Fitz-Hugh interrupted. He turned to his follower once more. “Giving directions to spies,” he said. “That’s treason. It’s also evidence, so make a note of it.”

“I object!” Max said. “You’re twisting everything we say!”

“Where else are we going to get evidence when we don’t have any facts?” Fitz-Hugh replied. “This is a court of law. You wouldn’t suggest that we make a judgment without having any evidence, would you? I thought you Americans were supposed to be so hot for justice.”

“He’s got you there,” Hassan said to Max.

Fitz-Hugh pounded a fist on the table. “Having considered the evidence, this court finds the defendants guilty-as-charged,” he said. “Now, if you three will just make a confession, we can execute you, and get on to more important things—the Grand Revolution.”

“Is a confession really necessary?” Max asked.

“It makes it neater.”

“I know, but is there any other choice?”

“Well, you can either confess straight-out, or we can torture you for a while, until you confess, and
then
execute you. But we prefer the straight-out confession. It saves time. And when you’re running a Grand Revolution, every minute counts.”

“About that torture,” Max said. “What’s the usual procedure?”

“Toothpicks under the fingernails,” Fitz-Hugh replied. “Except that, at the moment, we’re fresh out of toothpicks.”

“Doesn’t that smack of sloppy organization?” Max said.

“It’s one of the drawbacks when you’re running a Grand Revolution and there’s a price on your head,” Fitz-Hugh explained. “It’s hard to get into town to shop.” He smiled. “But, we make-do. Instead of toothpicks, we use match sticks, whittled to a sharp point.”

“Speaking for myself,” Max decided, “I think I’ll skip the torture and go right on to the confession. Where do I sign?”

Fitz-Hugh smiled slyly. “Of course . . . there is one other alternative . . .”

“We’ll take it,” Max said.

“Max . . . shouldn’t we hear what it is first?” 99 said.

“99, the other choices are match sticks under the fingernails and execution. Could it possibly be any worse?”

“I guess you’re right, Max.”

“The other alternative is, you can join the Revolution,” Fitz-Hugh said.

“Well, normally, I’m not a joiner,” Max said. “But, if you’ve got a cause that I can believe in, I see no reason why I shouldn’t make an exception in this case. What
is
your cause?”

“ ’Cause we want to overthrow the present government,” Fitz-Hugh replied.

“For any particular reason? Or do you just have a lot of leisure time on your hands?”

“For the best reason in the world,” Fitz-Hugh replied. “It’s time for a change. The present government has been in office for going on three weeks now. It’s shot through with graft and corruption. The officials are getting rich.”

“I see. So, now you figure it’s your turn.”

“Right. Let them hole up out here in the jungle for a while and see how
they
like it, not being able to go into town and shop.”

“Well, compared to match sticks under the fingernails, that certainly is a worthy cause,” Max said. “I, for one, am with you.”

“Me, too, I guess,” 99 said. “If Max thinks it’s right.”

“I’ve always been loyal to the cause,” Hassan said. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for the Grand Revolution—unless, of course, it involved physical exertion. You see,” he said, putting his hands on his waist and wincing, “I have this bad back.”

“I know what you mean,” Fitz-Hugh said. “Myself, I have a trick knee. That’s why I don’t go out on dangerous assignments.” He turned to Max. “And, speaking of dangerous assignments,” he said, “At this very moment, I happen to be in need of a volunteer for a dangerous assignment.”

“Too bad,” Max said. “It so happens that I happen to have a physical problem myself. I suffer from sticky eyelids.”

“Coward!” Hassan sneered.

“Slacker!” Fitz-Hugh sneered.

“Chicken!” 99 sneered.

“99!”

“Sorry, Max.”