William Johnston - Missed It By That Much!

Max removed his shoe and put it to his ear.

Max: Yes, Chief?

Chief: Max, I was getting a little worried. I haven’t heard from you.

Max: We’re A-OK, Chief. Nothing to worry about. We’ve found out that Dr. Livingstrom has gone into the jungle, and we’ve hired ourselves a native guide and we’re about to set out to find him.

Operator: That’s not how Arnold would do it. Arnold would form a safari.

Max: Sure. And get himself tied up in a lot of paperwork. I don’t doubt it. Incidentally, Chief. . have you rejected Arnold yet?

Chief: I haven’t even seen him, Max.

Operator: That’s impossible. He started out for Headquarters two days ago.

Chief: Maybe he got lost.

Operator: No. His mother was with him.

Max: She’s right, Chief. 99 and I met Arnold and his mother outside headquarters two days ago. The last time I saw him, he was entering the building. But, frankly, judging from what I saw of him, if he hasn’t turned up, it’s no great loss.

Operator: Chief, look around-he must be there somewhere.

Chief: I’ll send out a search party. Max-are you still there? Have you seen that KAOS agent yet?

Max: Not exactly, Chief. But we have made contact. He lured us into a hamburger joint that wasn’t there and for a second we were in danger of drowning.

Operator: Arnold would never drown in a hamburger joint.

Chief: Keep your eyes open, Max. And don’t believe anything you see. It may be an illusion.

Max: I’ll remember that, Chief.

Chief: Good luck, Max.

Operator: Never mind about him, Chief. Go look for Arnold.

Max hung up and slipped his shoe back onto his foot.

“Well, are we ready?” he said to 99 and Hassan.

“You haven’t finished checking the supplies, Max,” 99 said.

“There’s no more time for that,” Max replied. “Besides, I trust Hassan. It’s very important, 99, to trust your guide. After all, when you go into the jungle, you’re putting your life in your guide’s hands. If you don’t trust him, you shouldn’t be going into the jungle with him in the first place. Right?”

“That makes sense, Max.”

“All right, then, as the natives say-‘Mush!’ ”

Hassan loaded the pack containing the supplies on his back, and led the way into the undergrowth. Max and 99 followed close at his heels. The going soon became extremely difficult. Jungle vines criss-crossed the trail, forming an almost impenetrable barrier. Hassan had to hack the path through the vines with a machete.

“It is very tough going,” Hassan panted.

“It’s a wonder they haven’t built a highway through here,” Max said.

“The highway is about a mile to the east of here,” Hassan replied.

Max halted. “There’s a highway? Then why aren’t we using it?”

“The traffic is terrible,” Hassan explained. “This way is faster.”

“I guess I know what you mean,” Max said. “We have the same trouble in Washington at rush hour.”

“Max. .” 99 said uneasily, “I know we’re supposed to trust Hassan, but. . Well, if Dr. Livingstrom came this way, didn’t he clear a path? And, if he cleared a path, why is it that we have to clear a path again?”

Max put a finger to his lips and shook his head.

“But, Max-”

“99, please,” Max said, speaking softly, “you’ll offend Hassan. You’re as much as intimating that he’s not telling us the truth.”

“But, Max,” 99 whispered, “I don’t understand. Why do we have to clear a path where a path has already been cleared?”

“It’s obvious,” Max replied. “This isn’t the way Dr. Livingstrom went. He probably took the highway. But, don’t forget, he’s days ahead of us. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“That’s why we’re hacking our way through the jungle?”

“Right. You heard what Hassan said about the highway. This is the shortcut.”

“Oh.”

“Instead of wasting your time questioning Hassan’s truthfulness, think about that notation that was found in Dr. Livingstrom’s laboratory,” Max said. “If we can figure out that formula, we won’t need Dr. Livingstrom.”

“All right, Max. Let’s see,” she mused, “Brassica Oleracia-212°. What could that be?”

“Let’s try it syllable by syllable,” Max said. “Now, the first syllable is ‘brass’. Brass is a metal. Iron is also a metal. Maybe Dr. Livingstrom created the odor by leaving the iron on and scorching a shirt. That makes a terrible smell.”

“I don’t think that’s it, Max.”

“99, we have to try every possibility. Only by leaving no stone unturned-”

They had entered a small clearing. Hassan stopped, breathing heavily. “We will rest here,” he said.

“Good idea,” Max agreed. “Let me help you get that pack off your back.”

“You’re a nice secret agent,” Hassan smiled.

Max placed the pack on a large rock. “Now then,” he said. “Brassica Oleracia-212°. If we transpose the letters, substituting-”

He was interrupted by a ringing sound.

“There’s the doorbell again,” Hassan said.

“My telephone,” Max corrected, removing his shoe.

Max: Yes, Chief. What is it?

Voice: Yes, Chief, what? Is Hazel there?

Max: Is that you again? You’ve made the same mistake. You’ve dialed a wrong number.

Voice: Who is this? The dummy?

Max: No, the dummy telephone is back at Headquarters. At the moment, I’m talking on my shoe.

Voice: That’s what I thought-I got the dummy again. Look, dummy, when Hazel comes in, will you have her call Fred?

Max: You don’t-

(the line went dead)

Max put his shoe back on his foot. “The next time he calls,” he grumbled, “I’m not even going to answer.”

“Max!” 99 suddenly shrieked. “Our supplies! The pack! Look! It’s gone!”

Max stared at the rock. The pack, indeed, had disappeared.

“Whitestone!” he said.

“White?” Hassan said. “That rock isn’t white. It’s more like an off-gray.”

“Hassan, there’s something I’d better tell you,” Max said grimly. “We have an enemy-a secret agent who works for the Bad Guys. His name is Whitestone. And, apparently, he has followed us into the jungle. He has the ability to make things look like they’re really not. That rock, for instance, is obviously not a rock.”

Hassan bent forward, looking closely at the rock. Then he looked back at Max. “Sure,” he grinned. “I see it now. It’s not a rock, it’s a roast duck-right?”

“No, it isn’t a roast duck,” Max replied. “I know, it’s hard to believe that that rock is anything but a rock, but take my word for it-Whitestone is somewhere nearby, and, by magic, he’s making us think that whatever it is that’s sitting there is a rock. In fact, however- Look, I’ll prove it to you.” He took a capsule from his pocket. Reading the label on the capsule, he said, “We won’t need this. It’s a duplicate of the football stadium at the University of Oklahoma-in miniaturized form, of course.” He placed the capsule on the rock. Slowly, it disappeared. “There you are,” he said to Hassan. “Are you convinced?”

Hassan blinked, astounded. “Son of a gun!”

“Max, what is that rock, really?” 99 said.

“Elementary, my dear 99,” Max replied. “Actually, that rock is a patch of quicksand.”

“Amazing!” 99 said.

“More than that. Terrible,” Hassan said. “Our supplies are gone. We have no food. We have no water. We’re doomed.”

“Not quite,” Max smiled. “I imagine that R amp; D has anticipated an emergency such as this.” He got a handful of capsules from his pocket. “Let’s see what we have here.” He began reading the labels. “A fully-armed Coast Guard cutter. A squadron of World War I fighter planes-with pilots. A landing strip for a squadron of World War I fighter planes. Twenty-nine years’ back issues of the Sunday New York Times. A- Ah, here’s what we want. A complete field kitchen and a year’s supply of food and water. This ought to take care of our problem. I’ll just-”