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
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