Get Smart 5 - Missed It By That Much! (6 page)

A moment later they reached the edge of a wide open space. 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.

“Don’t worry about me, 99. I have the lightest step of any agent in Control. When I was in basic training I was known as twinkle-toes. I remember—”

There was a sudden piercing screech!

“Max! You stepped on an ant!”

“That’s impossible. I—”

Max was suddenly tossed high in the air. Looking down, he saw that the veldt was now crawling with enormous African elephants.

“Max!” 99 shrieked. “It was a trick!”

Max landed with a thud.

“The ants were an illusion, Max!” 99 said. “They’re really elephants!”

“Yes,” Max said, rising. “The old ants-disguised-as-elephants trick.”

“I think we better run,” Hassan said nervously. “The elephants are going to charge.”

The three began running across the veldt. The elephants gave chase, trumpeting wildly.

“Head for the jungle!” Max called from his position in the lead.

“Max, it’s too far! We’ll never make it!” 99 cried.

“The elephants are gaining!” Hassan shouted.

“This calls for strategy,” Max said. “Does anyone have a peanut we could throw them?”

“Not me, Max.”

“Wouldn’t you know it?” Hassan said woefully. “A half-dozen chain-driven saxophones—each one the only one of its kind—but not a single peanut.”

“In that case, we’ll have to switch strategies,” Max said. “This calls, I think, for breaking the record for the long distance run.”

“Max . . . the elephants are gaining!”

“They’re just trying to help us break that record, 99.”

There was a ringing sound.

“Somebody get the doorbell,” Hassan said.

“No, I suspect that’s another wrong number,” Max said.

Hopping on one foot, Max removed his shoe, then continued running, while putting the shoe to his ear.

Max:
Smart, here. And if you’re calling for Hazel, I already gave her your message.

Chief:
Max, what the devil are you talking about?

Max:
Oh . . . sorry, Chief. I thought you were Fred. Chief, could you call back a little later? I’m in a bit of a spot right now. 99 and I and our guide, Hassan, are being pursued across a veldt by a herd of ants.

Operator:
You wouldn’t catch Arnold running from an ant.

Max:
Ants twelve feet tall? Ants with tranks and tusks?

Chief:
Max, you’re describing elephants.

Operator:
What did I tell you, Chief! Max just can’t cut the mustard any more. He doesn’t know an ant from an elephant. You wouldn’t catch Arnold making a mistake like that. Give him that question on the examination, Chief. Ask him the difference between an ant and an elephant. He gets that question every time.

Chief:
Operator, your brother-in-law, Arnold, hasn’t even showed up yet.

Max:
Chief . . . Operator . . . do you mind? I’m being chased by a herd of elephants. Can’t we discuss this later?

Operator:
Why do you hate Arnold, Max?

Max:
I don’t hate Arnold, Operator. I just happen to have something more important to do right now.

Operator:
If you don’t hate him, why do you get nudgy every time I mention his name?

Max:
Believe me, Operator, I do not hate Arnold.

Operator:
Then will you do him a little favor?

Max:
Yes, yes, what is it?

Operator:
Let the elephants trample you, Max.

Max hung up. Hopping on one foot again, he put his shoe back on.

“Max . . .” 99 panted. “I can’t go on . . . I’m too weak . . .”

“99, just keep going for another few minutes. Look—there at the edge of the jungle! A native! He’s motioning to us. If we can just reach that native we’ll be safe!”

“Max . . . I . . .”

99 stumbled and fell to the ground.

Quickly, Max helped her to her feet. They raced on. But the elephants were only a few yards behind them now, and gaining.

“Max . . . do something . . .”

“I don’t have a weapon, 99. What can I do?”

“I don’t know . . . but . . . oh, Max, I can’t run another step!”

“Hold on, 99! I’ll try this capsule of plastic spray.”

“Max . . . I’m falling!”

Max scooped 99 up into his arms, and, carrying her, ran on.

The elephants were only a few feet behind them, trumpeting triumphantly.

“Max! The spray!”

“I can’t, 99! I have my hands full!”

“Then give me the capsule!”

“I can’t, 99. It’s in my hand, and my hand is full of you. If I open my hand to give you the capsule, I’ll drop you. And, anyway, 99, it’s too late.”

“What do you mean, Max?”

“My legs won’t run any more, 99. I’m fallllllling!”

Max and 99 hit the ground together. They landed on top of the capsule. The capsule shot a spray of plastic behind them. The plastic spread out over the ground, and instantly hardened, stopping the elephants in their tracks, fixing them solid. Then, abruptly, the elephants vanished.

“Max! It was an illusion!” 99 groaned. “There weren’t any elephants!”

“And a good thing, too,” Max said, rising. “We’d have had a devil of a time prying those elephants loose from that plastic.”

“Why would we want to do a thing like that, Max?”

“99, we couldn’t have left them there like that. That would be a terrible thing to do. They’d never forgive us. Elephants have long memories, you know.”

Hassan tugged at Max’s sleeve. “That native,” he said, pointing. “He is approaching. Perhaps we had better start running again.”

Max peered at the native, who was dressed in a costume of brightly-colored feathers.

“He looks friendly enough to me,” Max said.

“We better not take a chance,” Hassan said. “This is cannibal territory.”

“Nonsense,” Max said. “He’s smiling.”

“Smiling? I think he is licking his lips,” Hassan murmured.

The native reached them, and stood grinning at them.

Max raised a hand as a sign of friendship. “Me bwana Max Smart, Agent 86,” he said. He indicated 99 and Hassan. “And this is bwana Agent 99 and bwana Hassan Pfeiffer. We travel many suns through jungle. We no catchum food, no catchum water. You show us place catchum food, catchum water, we pay you plenty big wampum—chain-driven saxophone, only one of kind.”

“Crazy, dad,” the native replied, grinning even more broadly. “You’re just in time for the cooky break. Come on back to the castle with me, man—you and your chick and your sideman—and we’ll put on the feedbag.”

Max turned to 99 and Hassan. “It’s just no use,” he said. “We can’t communicate.”

“No, Max, I think I understood him,” 99 said. “He says it’s time for lunch. And he’s inviting us to his home, or his village, or someplace, to eat with him.”

“Amazing!” Max said. “I didn’t know you spoke Native, 99.”

“I don’t, Max. He’s speaking a kind of English.”

“Yeh, dad,” the native said to Max. “I matriculated in the States.”

“There he goes again,” Max said. “Pure gibberish.”

“He means he went to school in the United States, Max,” 99 translated.

“Oh, really?” Max said, facing the native again. “I don’t recognize the jargon. Where in the States did you go to school?”

“Boston, dad. Funny you don’t catchum the accent.”

“Please,” 99 said to the native, “could you take us to your whatever-it-is, now? I’m starved.”

“Fall in, chick,” the native replied. “We’ll double-time it.”

“Now that you mention it, there
is
an accent there,” Max said.

The native led the way, and, trotting, the four of them followed a trail that took them quickly through the jungle. A few minutes later they came to a native village, a clearing that was surrounded by a circle of grass huts. The native escorted them into the center of the clearing. Immediately, other natives poured from the huts and gathered around them, cheering happily and shouting greetings.

“I guess they’ve never seen a secret agent before,” Max said.

“No, that’s not it,” their friend told them. “That cheering is for me, not you.”

“Is that a fact?” Max said. “What have you done?”

“I’ve returned successfully,” their friend replied.

“Oh. Out on a mission, were you?”

“Yes. I was out shopping for lunch.”

“Really? Well, what did you bring back?”

“You,” their friend grinned. “You’re lunch.”

“Max! They’re cannibals!” 99 shrieked.

Max smiled smugly. “Nothing to worry about, 99.”

“But, Max! Didn’t you hear what he said? They’re going to have us for lunch!”

“99, this is simply another illusion. There are no natives here. There is no village. None of this exists. Whitestone is trying to play another trick on us. He thinks we’ll panic and bolt and hightail it back to Pahzayk. Just keep your wits about you, 99. This will all be over in a moment.”

“I hope you’re right, Max.”

“99, have I ever been—”

At that moment, their friend signalled to a foursome of native men and they jumped Max and 99 and Hassan and dragged them off toward a hut.

“Max! Is it still an illusion?” 99 cried.

“99, everybody makes mistakes,” Max replied. “Nobody’s perfect, you know.”

The natives wrestled them into the hut, shoved them to the floor, then bound them hand and foot. After the natives had gone, their friend entered the hut.

“You’re making a big mistake!” Max told him. “This young lady and I are American citizens. Wait’ll the American Ambassador hears about this!”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll get a message from him, dad,” their friend smiled. “He always sends us a thank-you note.”

“A thank-you note?” Max said incredulously.

“Yeh, man. Why not? We always send
him
a drumstick.”

Max sighed. “Well, if we have to go,” he said to 99 and Hassan, “I guess this is the way to do it. At least, we’ll know we died for a good cause.”

“What cause, Max, for heaven’s sake?” 99 said.

“To feed the hungry.”

Just then, another native entered the hut. He, too, was dressed in colorful feathers. But he was also wearing a high, white chef’s hat.

“This is Pierre,” their friend said to Max, 99 and Hassan. “He’s in charge of the pot.”

“Hi, victims,” Pierre grinned. “What’s cookin’?”

“I suppose you matriculated in Boston, too,” Max said.

“In Paris, dad,” Pierre replied. “Funny you didn’t catchum the accent.” He bent down and pinched Max on the arm. “Tender,” he enthused. “A little gristle around the muscle—but it’ll boil down.” Next, he pinched 99’s arm. “Ooooo-la-la!” he said, “five minutes over the fire, and this one’ll just melt in your mouth.”

“Why, thank you,” 99 blushed.

“99, don’t let them brainwash you,” Max warned. “Think tough.”

Pierre pinched Hassan, and made a disagreeable face. “This one goes out with the garbage,” he said. “One bite out of him and a man wouldn’t have a tooth left in his head.”

Their friend untied Hassan and shoved him rudely out the door.

“You just made your first mistake,” Max said. “It so happens that that fellow you just let go is a four-star general in the New Ghirzy Army. And in about five minutes he will be back here with a troop of New Ghirzy Marines. So, if you know what’s good for yourselves, you’ll untie us, too, then light out for the hills.”

Their friend laughed. “A general? That little dishrag? He wouldn’t have brains enough to come in out of a bombardment.”

Max eyed him narrowly. “Would you believe, then, that he’s a captain in the Pahzayk police force, and that in five minutes he’ll be back here with a squad of foot patrolmen?”

Their friend shook his head. “Believability-wise, dad, it’s nowhere,” he said.

“Then would you believe that he’s the doorman at the Pahzayk Hilton and that in five minutes he’ll be back with a gaggle of chambermaids?”

“I can only say I hope so,” their friend replied. “As it stands, man, we got nothing for dessert. Chambermaid à la mode would hit the spot.”

“It’s no use, Max,” 99 wept. “Our goose is cooked.”

“That may be so, 99,” Max replied. “But I think there must be some better way of putting it.”