William Johnston - Missed It By That Much!

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.”

“My greatest desire is to volunteer for this assignment,” Fitz-Hugh said. “But there’s my trick knee.”

“All my life I’ve been grooming myself for this dangerous assignment,” Hassan said. “But, with my bad back, I’d muff it. For the Glory of the Grand Revolution, I’ll have to volunteer not to volunteer.”

“99, how about you?” Max said. ‘You don’t have a bad back. Or a trick knee.”

“Max, I’m a girl.”

“That’s even worse than having a bad back,” Hassan said. “With a bad back, you can at least put on a mustard plaster. But if you’re a girl, nothing will help.”

“Be on somebody else’s side,” 99 said testily.

Max shrugged. “All right, I guess I’m elected. Not that I really mind. It just so happens that danger is my bread and butter.”

“Fattening, eh?” Fitz-Hugh said. “Well, you won’t have to worry about that this time. There’s very little chance that you’ll come out of this assignment alive. So, big deal if you put on a few pounds.”

“What exactly is the assignment?” Max said.