Free Get Smart 5 - Missed It By That Much! by William Johnston

Chief.”
    “Max, wait—don’t phone yet. The giraffe is coming my way. When it reaches me, I’ll drop to its neck, then slide down to the ground.”
    “Forget it, 99. I’ll call the Chief. What if he does send Arnold to rescue us. My ego has survived harsher blows than that.”
    “Max, please wait!”
    “Well . . .”
    The giraffe reached the tree from which 99 was dangling. As it did, she dropped to its neck. But her weight was too much for the giraffe’s neck to bear. It tilted downward, dropping 99 into the pit.
    “Sorry about that, Max,” 99 said sheepishly.
    Max shrugged. “This just isn’t our day, 99.”
    The giraffe continued on its way. And Max bent down to get his shoe-phone.
    “Max, there must be some other way,” 99 said.
    “There isn’t, 99! Now, let me phone!”
    “No, Max. I won’t have you humiliated!”
    99 grabbed the shoe from Max and held it behind her back.
    “99, you’re being childish!”
    Max reached for the shoe. But, in desperation, 99 threw it out of the pit.
    Max sighed deeply. “Now, you did it.”
    “I’m awfully sorry, Max,” 99 said contritely. “I got carried away.”
    “Well, I’ll just have to get that phone,” Max said. “Make a sling out of your hands, 99, and boost me up.”
    “Yes, Max.”
    99 locked her fingers together, and Max put his shoeless foot in her hands, then, summoning all her strength again, she boosted him up and out of the pit.
    “Did you find your shoe, Max?” 99 called.
    “Yes, I have it. Now, watch out below, 99. I’m coming down.”
    “Max . . . may I ask a question?”
    “Yes, 99,” Max replied irritably, “what is it?”
    “Why are you coming back down here, Max?”
    “Why? For heaven’s sake, 99, so I can telephone the Chief and ask him to send someone to rescue us from this . . . oh, yes, I see what you mean. I’m not in the pit any longer, am I?”
    “No, Max.”
    “Reach, 99. I’ll help you out.”
    “Thank you, Max.”
    When they were both clear of the pit, they covered it again with vines and branches. Then, once more, they went into hiding.
    “Maybe we should give up, Max,” 99 said sorrowfully. “You said yourself that that trap is too obvious.”
    “99, we can’t continue until it gets light, anyway,” Max said. “So we might as well sit here and be failures.”
    “Your traps aren’t complete failures, Max. One caught me. And one caught you—twice.”
    “Don’t be nasty, 99. Nobody likes a nasty secret agent.”
    “I’m really sorry, Max. If there’s—”
    “99—shhhh!”
    “What is it, Max?”
    “I heard something. Someone is coming!”
    “It’s probably another animal.”
    “I suppose it is. But— No, look, 99! On the trail. A human figure!”
    99 squinted into the dimness. “It is, Max! You’re right!”
    “Whitestone! Or my number isn’t 86!” Max said.
    “We’ll get him this time, Max.”
    “Down, 99! Duck out of sight! We can’t take a chance on him spotting us!”
    “Right, Max!”
    They lowered their heads, crouching down in the undergrowth.
    Soon they heard a crackling sound—the sound of twigs snapping. A moment later they heard a crash and a shriek.
    “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.
    A FTER H ASSAN 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