“We got him!” Max cried, leaping up.
They sprang from the underbrush and rushed to the edge of the pit and peered in. And there they saw their captive. Not the tall, white-haired, distinguished-looking Whitestone, however. But the short, squat, dark Hassan Pfeiffer.
Hassan grinned up at them. “I saw your spotlight,” he said. “I couldn’t resist it. It reminded me of my days on the stage. I was only six years old—a child prodigy! I recited a poem that I learned at my mother’s knee. Like to hear it? It goes:
By the shores of Lake Ontaria,
Where the night is dark and scaria . . .
Quickly, Max and 99 began piling vines and branches over the opening.
6.
AFTER HASSAN had been discouraged from continuing the recitation of the poem, Max and 99 hauled him up out of the pit. He explained where he had been.
“After that chef tossed me out, I rushed back to Pahzayk to get the police and a fork,” he said.
“Police, I understand. You wanted the police to rescue us,” Max said. “But—a fork?”
“I figured we might be too late to save you,” Hassan replied. “But why let the food go to waste?”
“Oh . . . yes, I see.”
“But I couldn’t get the police to come,” Hassan went on. “There’s talk in Pahzayk about a band of rebels who are going to try to overthrow the government. The police are busy guarding the Government Building.”
“Fortunately, we didn’t need them,” Max said. “When that terrible odor pervaded the village, we were able to escape. Since then, we’ve been setting traps for Whitestone. But, apparently, he isn’t going to cooperate.”
Hassan frowned thoughtfully. “I have been thinking about this Whitestone matter,” he said. “I have decided that there is no reason to worry about him. I think he does not exist.”
“I’m afraid that doesn’t make much sense, Hassan,” Max replied.
“It is my opinion that Whitestone is an illusion,” Hassan insisted.
“But what about those ants that looked like elephants—and then vanished?”
“They were an illusion.”
“Exactly. And it takes an illusionist to create an illusion—right?”
“Ah . . . but what is an illusion?” Hassan smiled. “It is something that does not exist—correct? And since the illusions did not exist, then obviously we did not see them. And, if we did not see them, how can you base your contention that the illusionist exists on the fact that we saw the illusions?”
Max turned to 99. “Well, that problem’s solved,” he said. “We don’t have to worry about Whitestone any more. He doesn’t exist.”
“Max,” she replied, “what do you believe? Hassan’s theory? Or what you saw with your own eyes?”
Max turned back to Hassan. “What do you have to say to that?”
“Can you see your own eyes?” Hassan smiled.
Max tried to look at his own eyes, but found it impossible. “No, as a matter of fact, I can’t,” he answered.
“Then, clearly, they do not exist. They are an illusion,” Hassan told him.
“Max, are we going to stand around listening to this nonsense or are we going to track down Dr. Livingstrom?” 99 said sharply.
“Nonsense? 99, when I started out on this mission, I had two very competent, very blue eyes. But somewhere between Pahzayk and here I lost them. To you that may be nonsense, but to me it’s very serious business.”
“Max, I’m going! You can come with me or stay here!”
“I’m coming, 99. But you’ll have to take my hand. I can’t see a thing.”
“Oh . . . Max!”
“Hassan, you lead the way,” Max said. “You can be my seeing-eye guide.”
“Max,” 99 said angrily. “I won’t go one step until you—”
A sudden snorting sound was heard. The three whipped around. A huge hippo was standing in the middle of the trail. It snorted again—an angry sound.
“99, I see it!” Max cried happily. “My eyes are back!”
“Are you sure it is not an illusion?” Hassan smiled.
At that moment, the hippo lowered its head and charged.
“No, I’m not sure,” Max replied. “But, in this case, I think Rule 17 applies. Rule 17 is: Run first, think later.”
Max, 99 and Hassan dashed up the trail. The hippo pounded after them, snorting furiously.
“Hassan, you’re an experienced jungle guide,” Max said. “What do you do about a mad hippopotamus?”
“Tell him a joke!” Hassan replied.
“A joke? I don’t exactly understand how that would help.”
“How could he stay mad while he’s laughing?” Hassan replied.
“I don’t think that—”
“Max! Up ahead! There’s a river!” 99 cried.
“Saved!” Max shouted.
“But, Max! On the river! Look! Crocodiles!”
“Scratch that ‘saved,’ ” Max said gloomily.
The snorting and the pounding of the hippo was getting closer.
“Oh, Max!” 99 wailed. “A mad hippo behind us, and a river of crocodiles ahead of us! What can we do?”
“Don’t worry, 99,” Max said. “We have our trustworthy, dependable, highly-experienced jungle guide to protect us. Hassan, what are we going to do?”
“Well, as I see it,” Hassan said, “we have three choices. We can stop at the river’s edge and be eaten by the hippo. Or we can jump into the river and be eaten by the crocodiles. Or—”
“Yes?” Max said anxiously.
“Or, we can split up,” Hassan said. “You and 99 can jump into the river and be eaten by the crocodiles, and I can stop at the river’s edge and be eaten by the hippopotamus.”
“I suppose that’s better than nothing,” Max said.
“Max! Think of something!” 99 wept.
“I have it!” Max said. “Now, listen carefully. When we reach the edge of the river, we’ll stop—suddenly—and side-step the hippo. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Max,” 99 said. “That’s a wonderful plan. The hippo will charge right on past us. He’ll plunge into the river, then we can turn and run the other way.”
“Right, so far, 99,” Max said. “But there’s more to it. We want to cross that river—right? But it’s crawling with ferocious, man-eating crocodiles—right? So, how do we get across the river?”
“Take the ferry?” Hassan guessed.
“I don’t think we can count on that, Hassan. No, here’s what we’ll do. We’ll side-step the hippo, then, as he charges by us, we’ll leap on his back. He’ll plunge into the river, taking us with him. And, he’ll ferry us to the other side.”
“That’s what I said—take the ferry. See? You can always depend on your trustworthy, dependable, experienced jungle guide.”
“See, 99?” Max said. “I told you Hassan would save us.”
“Attention!” Hassan said. “We’re only a few steps from the river. Remember, now—do exactly as I told you!”
A second later, the three reached the bank of the river. As one, they braked themselves, coming to a sudden halt. Then, when the hippo reached them, they jumped onto its back. And the hippo, carried forward by its own momentum, plunged into the river. High and dry aboard the hippo, they skimmed through the water toward the opposite shore.
“Congratulations, Hassan,” Max said. “That was a crackerjack plan!”
“It was nothing,” Hassan smiled modestly. “Only magnificent.”
“Those crocodiles!” 99 shuddered. “I’m glad they can’t get at us.”
“Don’t worry, 99. Those crocodiles wouldn’t dare attack this hippo. We’re as safe here as we would be on the deck of a battleship. Hassan has thought of everything.”
“I’m efficient,” Hassan agreed.
Without warning, the three suddenly found themselves floundering around in the water. The hippo was no longer beneath them.
“Max! It submerged!” 99 cried.
&nb
sp; “I’m not surprised!” Hassan said. “It was a crazy plan in the first place—doomed to failure. Only a secret agent would think of a lousy plan like that.”
“I’m sorry,” Max said. “But it seemed logical at the time.”
“Max! The crocodiles are closing in!” 99 wailed.
“Rule 17!” Max shouted. “Run first, think later!”
“Max, we’re in the middle of a river! We can’t run!”
“99, don’t be picky. Nobody likes a picky secret agent.”
“Max—the plastic spray! Use the spray, Max! Spray us a raft!”
“Excellent idea, 99!”
“You’re lucky you’ve got a trustworthy, dependable, experienced jungle guide along to think of it,” Hassan said.
“Don’t think I’m not thanking my lucky stars,” Max replied.
He sprayed a film of plastic on the surface of the water. It hardened instantly, becoming a makeshift raft. And, quickly, Max, 99 and Hassan climbed aboard, just in time to escape the crocodiles.
“Whew!” Hassan breathed. “That was close—but I did it again.”
“Brilliant,” Max said. “We’re as safe here as we would be on the deck of a battleship.”
“Max, that’s what you said before—just before the battleship turned into a submarine,” 99 pointed out.
“That was different, 99. This plastic can’t possibly sink. In just a very few moments we’ll reach the other side of the river.”
“I doubt it, Max.”
“Don’t be a doubting secret agent, 99. Nobody—”
“But, Max, look. The current is carrying the raft downstream. We’ll never get to the other side.”
“And the river runs into the sea,” Hassan said morosely. “We’ll be swept into the ocean. We’ll drown. That’s what we get for putting our lives in the hands of a crazy secret agent.”
“Let’s not lose hope,” Max said stoutly. “I’ve always found it to be the case that, in situations like this, when all seems lost, something always happens to alter the course of events.”
“Max . . . listen . . . do you hear that?” 99 said. “A roaring sound.”
“You’re right, 99. I wonder what it could be?”
Hassan clapped a hand to his brow in agony. “A waterfall!”
“Oh, Max! The raft will go over the falls! We’ll be crushed!”
“Didn’t I tell you, 99? See? Something always happens to change the course of events. And you were worried about being swept out to sea!”
“Max, this is worse! There’s no escape!”
“99, you’re misinterpreting what I said. I only said that something always happens to change the course of events—I didn’t say that the course of events always changes for the better. Sometimes it’s for the worse.”
“Oh, Max, what does that matter now? We’re going to die!”
“Not necessarily, 99. I’ve always found it to be the case that, in situations like this, when all seems lost—”
“What, Max?” 99 screamed. “Don’t preach to me! Tell me! What, Max?”
“Well, for instance—see that bridge up there.”
99 turned and looked downstream. “Max! You’re right! A bridge!”
“Yiii! I was losing faith in myself,” Hassan said. “But I guess I pulled the old chestnuts out of the fire again.”
“As I was saying,” Max went on, “that bridge is low enough that, when the raft reaches it, we can jump up and grab hold of the span and pull ourselves to safety.”
“It looks sort of rickety, Max,” 99 said. “Will it hold us?”
“We’ll soon know, 99. Get ready to jump.”
The three crouched, preparing to leap into the air.
“When I say ‘three!’ ” Max said.
At that moment there was a ringing sound.
“Somebody get the door,” Hassan said.
“No, Hassan, that’s my—”
“Forget it, Max!” 99 said. “We’re almost to the bridge.”
“You’re right. Okay? Get set! One! Two!”
Again, the ringing sound was heard.
“99, I can’t just ignore it. There’s something about a ringing telephone that—”
“Three, Max!”
At the signal, they leaped—and caught hold of the lower span of the bridge.
“99, why did you do that!” Max complained. “Listen . . . the ringing has stopped. I may have missed a very important call.”
“Max, if I hadn’t yelled ‘three,’ you’d be dead now.”
“Maybe so. But I wouldn’t be wondering who was calling. That’s a terrible thing to carry through life with you, 99—wondering who was calling.”
“Max, if it was important, whoever it was will call back.”
“I hope so. And soon, too, I hope. I won’t be able to think about anything else until I find out who it was.”
Max, 99 and Hassan pulled themselves up onto the bridge. It swayed precariously under their weight.
“The raft is gone—over the falls,” 99 said, looking over the railing.
“Forget about the raft, 99. Try to think of who might have been telephoning me.”
“Max, I haven’t the faintest— Max—look! Coming across the bridge.”
Max looked in the direction that 99 was pointing and saw a half-dozen tall, fair-skinned, blond young men approaching.
“Oh-oh! Hostile natives!” Max said.
“But, Max, they’re blond and fair-skinned and smiling.”
“99, that’s only an illusion. It’s the old dark-skinned, ferocious-Africans-disguised-as-fair-skinned, smiling-Americans trick.”
“Max . . . I don’t think so . . .”
The leader of the young men raised a hand in greeting. “Hi-ho, everybody!” he grinned.
“See, Max?” 99 said.
Max shrugged. “It was a natural mistake.”
“Well, two bright-eyed, intelligent Americans and one underprivileged person,” the young man said. “Glad to see you—the two of you, anyway. We’re bright-eyed, intelligent Americans, too.”
“Out here in the middle of the jungle?” Max said dubiously. “That’s a little hard to believe.”
“We’re with the Peace Corps,” the leader explained.
The other young men broke into a cheer.
“Rah-Rah-Rah! Sis-Boom-Bah! Peace Corps! Yeah!”
“We just finished building this bridge,” the leader said to Max. “We were hoping someone would come along to test it. We didn’t dare. It looks a little rickety, doesn’t it? We thought one of the natives would happen along and try it out. We’re sorry that you bright-eyed, intelligent Americans had to risk your lives on it. But . . . all’s well that ends well, eh?”
Max looked around. “You’re building a bridge out here in the middle of the jungle? Do you mind if I ask a question?”
“No, go ahead.”
“You didn’t by any chance make a telephone call to me a few minutes ago, did you?” Max asked.
The leader shook his head.
“Darn!” Max muttered.
“Max—ask him about the bridge,” 99 said.
“Oh . . . yes.” Max addressed the leader of the Peace Corpsmen again. “Why are you building a bridge out here in the middle of the jungle?”
“Because of the falls,” he replied.
“There you are, 99,” Max said. “Does that answer your question?”
“No, Max.”
“Let me explain,” the Peace Corpsman said. “You’ve heard about Niagara Falls, I suppose. And you know that it has a bridge over it. But do you know that thousands and thousands of tourists go to Niagara Falls every year just to stand on that bridge? And do you know that those tourists spend thousands and thousands of dollars?”
“Oh, now I understand,” 99 said. “You want to make a tourist attraction out of this falls. The tourists will come here and spend money and the economy will boom.”
“Right. These people here are practically savages,” the Peace Corpsman sa
id. “But, with a little money . . .”
“That’s wonderful,” 99 enthused. “You could change their whole way of living. You could civilize them.”
“No, no, we’ll keep them the way they are,” the Peace Corpsman replied. “Savages are a great tourist attraction.”
“But . . . but the falls . . . the bridge . . .” 99 said.
“Who would come all the way to Africa to see a waterfall?” the Peace Corpsman replied. “You can see the same thing at Niagara Falls. And the bridge is safer.”
“You’re doing a great job,” Max said. “We’re all proud of you. Now—”
“Max,” 99 interrupted, looking perplexed, “I still don’t understand why they’re building the bridge.”
“For heaven’s sake, 99! Because they want to do their bit for mankind, and get it out of the way, so they can go back home and start making money.”
“Oh.”
Max saluted the Peace Corpsmen. “As I say, we’re proud of you,” he said. “And thanks loads for building that bridge. You got it up just in the nick of time. I shudder to think where we’d be now if we’d gone over the falls.”
“Any time . . .” the leader smiled graciously.
“We have to be going now, though,” Max said. “We’re on the trail of a scientist who has developed a gas or something that could be a blessing or a curse to civilization, as we know it, depending on whether or not it falls into the hands of the Good Guys or the Bad Guys.”
“Say . . . that sounds like Dr. Livingstrom,” the leader said.
Max’s eyes opened wide. “You know him?”
“He passed through here a few days ago,” the leader replied. “He was looking for the Dog Flower plant, a rare specimen that grows only in New Ghirzy.”
“I know, I know,” Max said, delighted. “Which way did he go?”
The Peace Corpsman pointed to the other side of the river. “That-a-way.”
Max eyed him suspiciously. “But, before, you told us that you had just finished the bridge a short time before we happened along. How did Dr. Livingstrom cross the river?”
“You wouldn’t believe it,” the Peace Corpsman replied.
“Try me.”
“No. I know—you just wouldn’t believe it.”
Get Smart 5 - Missed It By That Much! Page 7