Grk Undercover (11 page)

Hundreds of people were milling around the square, taking photos, buying souvenirs, eating picnics, feeding pigeons, reading guidebooks and staring at the church. Tim scanned the crowd for broad-shouldered men in black suits with gun-shaped bulges under their jackets. He could see some policemen, some traffic wardens, lots of tourists and a few ordinary-looking businessmen in dark suits and sensible ties, but no one who looked like a bodyguard or a soldier. If he was lucky, they would still be following the boat. Perhaps they hadn’t yet realized that he had jumped overboard. He whistled to Grk and said, “Come on, this way. Let’s find Max and Natascha.”

Grk wagged his tail.

Together, Tim and Grk jogged across the square and headed toward Notre Dame.

Tourists and worshippers were lining up to go inside Notre Dame. None of them took much notice of a boy and a girl who were lingering beside the entrance, watching the crowd.

The boy and the girl didn’t take much notice of the tourists either. They were scanning the crowd, looking for a boy and a dog.

Max had been the first to arrive. He hadn’t been waiting for more than a couple of minutes when he saw Natascha. They embraced and congratulated one another on their good fortune. Both of them had eluded Colonel Zinfandel, escaped from the Eiffel Tower and found their way to Notre Dame.

But where was Tim? And what had happened to Grk?

They stood side by side at the cathedral’s entrance, watching the faces of everyone in the crowd, hoping they would soon see Tim—and hoping they wouldn’t see Colonel Zinfandel or his men.

Max nudged Natascha and pointed across the square. “Look! Over there! Do you see?”

Natascha looked up. As soon as she saw what he was pointing at, she jumped to her feet and started running.

Max sprinted after her.

The four of them met in the middle of the square, surrounded by tourists and pigeons. Tim grinned. Grk wagged his tail and sneezed.

Natascha said, “You’re wet!”

For a moment, Tim thought she had been talking to him, but all her attention was focused on Grk. She knelt on the ground, stroked his fur and said, “What happened? How did you get so wet?”

“I’m wet too,” said Tim. “Feel my clothes—they’re soaking!”

Natascha seemed to notice him for the first time. “What have you done to Grk?”

“I haven’t done anything to him,” said Tim. “He fell in the river.”

“Fell in the river? Why? How? What happened?”

“I’ll tell you the whole story,” said Tim. “But first let’s get out of here. Colonel Zinfandel can’t be far away.”

“Where is he?” said Max.

“When did you see him?” said Natascha.

Tim quickly explained how he had escaped from the Eiffel Tower and where he had last seen Colonel Zinfandel.

“We’re on an island,” said Max. “If they’ve got any sense, they’ll have put a guard on every bridge. They’ll have the whole place surrounded.”

“How we can get past them?” said Natascha.

“We don’t have to,” said Tim. “We can go under them.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the remaining eight Métro tickets. They were damp but still usable. “Let’s catch the train.”

As they walked across the square, Natascha reached into her backpack and pulled out the remnants of bananas and the chocolates. She divided them equally into three portions and handed them out.

“Sorry,” she said, looking down at Grk. “There’s nothing for you. But we’ll find you some food later, I promise.”

Grk stared at her with mournful eyes.

“You don’t like bananas,” said Natascha. “And chocolate is bad for you. So don’t bother looking at me like that.”

Her words had no effect. Grk watched them with a gloomy expression as they finished off every scrap of banana and every chunk of chocolate too. Then he turned his attention to the pavement, hoping to see a discarded croissant or an old sandwich, dropped by a tourist who had stopped for lunch.

In the corner of the square, they found a map of Paris, showing the locations of the Métro stations. A red circle pinpointed their position.

“We’re here,” said Tim, pointing at the red circle. “And the Métro is there.” He pointed at a capital “M.”

The nearest Métro station was called Cité. They could reach it without crossing any bridges or leaving the island.

They hurried through the streets, watching the crowds carefully. People sat outside cafés, drinking coffee and eating croissants. Tourists mingled with smart businessmen in slick suits. Buskers stood on street corners playing guitars.

And there was the Métro.

Ornate green railings surrounded the entrance. Above the stairs, one sign read METROPOLITAIN and another announced the name of the station: CITE.

“Let’s go,” said Tim. “It’s only seven stops from here to the Gare du Nord. And from there, we’re only two hours from London. We’ll get home before Mum and Dad realize we’ve gone.”

They jogged down the stairs to the ticket barriers, where they came face to face with three of Colonel Zindandel’s bodyguards.

The three men were wearing black suits and white shirts. They were standing by the ticket barriers, watching everyone who came and
went, searching for any sign of the people who had tried to assassinate their leader. They recognized the children immediately.

“Run!” shouted Max.

He turned and sprinted up the stairs.

Natascha, Tim and Grk charged after him.

The three bodyguards were just a few paces behind.

They ran up the stairs and emerged in the streets. There wasn’t time to discuss what to do or where to go. Max ran to the left. Tim and Grk ran to the right. But Natascha didn’t run anywhere. Before she could move, a bodyguard grabbed her arm and twisted hard.

Natascha screamed. She couldn’t help herself. It hurt so much.

Alerted by the noise, Max stopped and turned back.

So did Tim and Grk.

They saw the three bodyguards surrounding Natascha.

“Run!” she shouted to them. “Leave me here! Save yourselves! Run!”

Max paused for a moment, deciding what to do. Then he walked slowly back to his sister.

Tim and Grk did the same.

They could have saved themselves. But they would have had to leave Natascha behind. And none of them wanted to do that.

One of the bodyguards patted down the three children, searching for weapons. The second opened his jacket, showing the pistol in the holster under his arm, warning the children what would happen if they tried to escape. The third made a call on his mobile, telling Colonel Zinfandel that the assassins had been captured.

The three bodyguards marched Max, Tim, Natascha and Grk through the streets.

They had been walking for four or five minutes when they came to a row of stairs leading down to the river.

“Go on,” said one of the bodyguards. “Down there.”

Max went first and the others followed.

They walked down the stairs and found themselves on a narrow concrete dock running alongside the river. They could see a couple of boats, a group of tourists and Colonel Zinfandel.

He was waiting for them on the dock with thirty of his soldiers.

As soon as Max saw Colonel Zinfandel, he darted forward with his fists raised, hoping to strike a blow against the man that he hated more than anyone else in the entire world.

Before he had taken more than a couple of paces, two bodyguards jumped forward and intercepted him. One grabbed his right arm and the other grabbed his left. Max struggled desperately, trying to escape, but the bodyguards were stronger than him. They held him back, stopping him from getting anywhere near their leader.

Until Colonel Zinfandel barked an order.

“Let him go,” he said.

Both bodyguards thought they must have misheard. But Colonel Zinfandel said the words again. “Let him go.”

The bodyguards did as they were told. They released Max. He staggered forward and stood opposite Colonel Zinfandel.

Every soldier was carrying a gun. Every one of them could have drawn their pistol and shot Max dead. But none of them moved. They waited to see what their leader was planning to do.

Max didn’t wait for anyone. He stared defiantly at Colonel Zinfandel and said, “Are you scared of me?”

“Scared?” Colonel Zinfandel laughed. “Why would I be scared of you?”

“I don’t know,” said Max. “But if you’re not scared, why do you need so many guards? Why can’t you face me like a man?”

“I can,” said Colonel Zinfandel. “And I will.”

“Good. Then send your guards away. Let’s fight like men. One against one. You against me.”

Colonel Zinfandel smiled. His white teeth gleamed. “I admire your courage,” he said. “And, for that reason, I will fight you. It will be a fair fight. With fists and nothing else. If you win, you can go. You will be
free to walk away. You and your sister and your friend and your dog. But if you lose, you will be my prisoners. Does that sound like a good bargain?”

“Yes,” said Max.

“Then let’s fight,” said Colonel Zinfandel.

The bodyguards stood in a circle.

Tim, Natascha and Grk joined the circle too.

Max and Colonel Zinfandel paced around the center of the circle. Their fists were raised. Their eyes never moved from one another’s faces. They were ready to fight.

Max was tense, but he didn’t show any sign of fear. All his attention was focused on Colonel Zinfandel. He had been waiting for this moment for a long time. He had made a promise to the memory of his parents. He had dreamed about revenge. And this was perfect: fighting Colonel Zinfandel hand to hand was much better than sneaking up on him with a knife. He could hardly wait to start fighting.

Opposite him, Colonel Zinfandel smiled. He felt calm and confident. He knew he was a good fighter, and he was sure he wouldn’t have any trouble beating Max.

The others watched in silence.

Colonel Zinfandel’s bodyguards could have drawn their guns and ended the fight in a moment. But they didn’t move. They understood that their leader wanted to settle this particular battle without any help.

Tim and Natascha would have liked to run into the circle to help Max, but they knew he didn’t want their assistance. This was his fight. He was determined to win it alone. And if he lost, then he would lose it alone too.

Grk stood at their feet with his ears flat against his skull. The bristles stood up on the back of his neck. He recognized Colonel Zinfandel. He knew his smell. He remembered where they had met before. His lips curled back, showing the shape of his strong white teeth, and a loud growl came from the depths of his throat.

“Sshh,” whispered Natascha. She leaned down, grabbed Grk and swept him off the ground. She knew what would happen if he attacked anyone now. He would be kicked or punched or even worse. Much better to save his strength and attack Colonel Zinfandel when they actually had a chance of winning. She wrapped Grk in her arms and whispered softly in his ear, telling him to keep calm and be quiet.

Max and Colonel Zinfandel paced around the circle with their fists raised. They watched one another. Round and round they went, each of them waiting for the other to make the first move.

Colonel Zinfandel swung his fist.

Max jumped backward.

Colonel Zinfandel punched again.

And again Max was quicker. He dodged out of the way. This time, he lunged forward with his arm swinging and tried to take a punch himself.

Colonel Zinfandel didn’t duck or jump. He knocked Max’s fist aside with one arm, then punched him with the other.

Colonel Zinfandel’s fist connected with Max’s nose. Max staggered backward. A thin line of blood ran down his face.

Grk snarled. Natascha gasped and put her hands over her face, covering her eyes. The bodyguards grinned, enjoying the fight.

Max and Colonel Zinfandel circled again, watching one another, waiting to see who would risk the next blow.

Colonel Zinfandel swung his right arm and punched again.

This time, Max tried to dodge out of the way, but he wasn’t quick enough. Colonel Zinfandel’s fist smacked into the middle of his face.

Max stumbled backward. Blood was trickling down his forehead. He was breathing heavily and trying to get his balance.

There was an expression of shock on his face. He had been hurt, but he didn’t care about the pain. He cared about losing. He wanted to avenge the murders of his parents with his own bare hands, but he didn’t
seem to be able to do it. His opponent was stronger than him. Colonel Zinfandel had landed two heavy punches and Max hadn’t managed a single blow in response.

There was a simple reason for this.

Max was a lean, strong, young man. He played tennis almost every day. But he knew hardly anything about fighting.

His opponent was very different.

Colonel Zinfandel didn’t play tennis. He couldn’t run very fast. But he loved fighting. He loved kicking, smacking and punching other people. Nothing gave him more pleasure than causing pain to someone else.

Every morning, Colonel Zinfandel boxed against the youngest and fittest soldiers in the Stanislavian army. He won almost every fight, leaving his opponents sprawled on the floor with a bloody nose.

Colonel Zinfandel stepped forward. He knew he was winning this fight. He could see the pain in Max’s face. Now he wanted to land the final blow. He fought fast and furiously. His fists flew through the air. Left. Then right. Then left again.
Wham! Bam! Crash!
He pounded Max’s face and body, using all his strength to batter his opponent into submission.

There was no way that Max could resist. He simply wasn’t strong or skillful enough to fight back. He put up his hands, trying to protect himself, but the blows came too fast. He couldn’t resist. He took a step backward, then another and another, fading under the barrage of blows.

Natascha put her hands over her face, unable to watch, just hoping it would be over quickly.

Tim felt sick. He didn’t want to watch, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He had to see what happened.

Grk quivered, his whole body shaking with emotion.