Grk Undercover (13 page)

She turned away from him, her lower lip quivering, and threw herself on the bed. She didn’t want Max or Tim to see that she was crying.

Max walked to the window and stared out. He looked at the view and the long drop to the ground, twenty-three stories down. He knew he had been horrible to his sister, but he didn’t care. He was furious with her—and he wanted her to know it.

Tim didn’t want to get involved in their argument. He lay on the floor, stared at the ceiling and kept quiet. He felt cold, hungry, tired and depressed. He didn’t understand why Max was so angry with Natascha. He wished they weren’t arguing. It made him feel uncomfortable. He didn’t know what to do or say. He just tried to keep quiet and wait for them to stop. He lay on the floor, stared at the ceiling and hoped they would be nicer to one another soon.

Grk sat on the floor in the middle of the room and turned his head from side to side, looking from Tim to Max to Natascha and back to Tim again.

Like all dogs, Grk was very sensitive to the moods of humans. He knew when they were happy and when they were sad. Right now, he could tell that Tim, Max and Natascha were miserable. He didn’t know
why. Nor did he know how to help them. So he simply stared at them with worried eyes, waiting for things to get better.

The room was quiet. No one moved. No one made a sound.

They stayed like that for a long time.

Mr. Malt came home early. He opened the front door, walked into the hallway and called out, “Hello! I’m home!”

There was no answer.

Mr. Malt closed the front door and took off his coat. He wasn’t worried about the silence. The children often didn’t bother answering when he called out to them.

During the school holidays, Mr. and Mrs. Malt took turns to come home early. There was no real need for them to do so. They trusted Max. He was old enough to stay at home with Natascha and Tim and make sure nothing went wrong. But the Malts didn’t like leaving the three children without an adult for the whole day, so they took turns to come back home from work in the early afternoon.

Mr. Malt hung his coat on a hook in the hallway and wondered what the children were doing. The house was quiet, but that wasn’t unusual. The house was often quiet in the afternoons. Tim was probably playing a game on his computer. Natascha would be upstairs in her bedroom, reading a book or writing in her journal. And Max would be outside in the backyard, doing exercises, jogging on the spot or practicing his tennis strokes.

But where was Grk?

Even when Tim, Max and Natascha were absorbed in their games and their books, Grk usually charged into the hallway as soon as he heard the sound of the front door. He always wanted to see who had arrived and to check that the house wasn’t being burgled.

Today he was nowhere to be seen.

Mr. Malt went into the sitting room. He looked around. There was no sign of Grk or the others. He peered into the yard, but they weren’t there either. He shouted up the stairs. “Hello! Tim? Max? Natascha? Are you there? Anyone home!”

There was no answer.

They must have gone for a walk, decided Mr. Malt. That was the only explanation. All three children must have gone to the park with Grk.

He went down to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. He filled the kettle at the tap and switched it on. While he was waiting for the kettle to boil, he paced across the kitchen, thinking about the work that he had been doing all day.

He had walked back and forth and back and forth and back again when his eyes happened to fall on a piece of paper that had been placed
precisely in the middle of the kitchen table. Someone appeared to have written a note. Mr. Malt wondered who would have done that—and why. He picked it up and started reading.

Mr. Malt read the note once more from beginning to end, then picked up his phone and rang his wife.

She answered immediately. “Melanie Malt speaking.”

“It’s me,” said Mr. Malt.

“Hello, Terence. Are you at home?”

“I am,” said Mr. Malt. “And you’re not going to believe what’s happened.”

“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Malt. “Not the boiler.”

“No, not the boiler.”

“Not the water tank? Oh, no! Has it leaked again?”

“No,” said Mr. Malt. “It’s not the water tank either.”

“Then what is it? Stop being so mysterious, Terence, and tell me what’s happened!”

“It’s Tim,” said Mr. Malt. “He’s done it again.”

“Oh, no,” sighed Mrs. Malt. “Where’s he gone this time?”

“I don’t know. When I came home from work, I found an empty house and a note from him on the kitchen table.”

“What about the others?”

“They’ve gone too. The house is completely empty.”

“What does the note say?”

“If you give me a chance, I’ll tell you.”

Mr. Malt read the note aloud.

Mrs. Malt listened in silence, then let out a long sigh. “I’d better come home,” she said. “I’ll get there as quickly as I can. Will you ring the police?”

“Of course I will,” said Mr. Malt.

He said goodbye to his wife, then put the phone down and read the note once more. He suddenly wondered whether Tim might have been
teasing him. It was worth checking. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself.

He searched every room from the attic to the basement, checking that his son wasn’t hidden in a cupboard or lying under a bed. When he was sure that he was the only person in the house, he had a sudden thought. He went into the sitting room, opened the filing cabinet and took out the file marked TRAVEL.

Inside the file, there was an envelope marked PASSPORTS. Mr. Malt opened the envelope. There should have been six passports inside, but there were only two. One for him and one for his wife. The other four had gone.

That was when Mr. Malt knew Tim was telling the truth. He really had left the country. There was no point wasting any more time. Mr. Malt grabbed his phone again and rang the police.

“I would like to report three missing children,” said Mr. Malt.

“Three?” said the policeman on the other end of the line.

“That’s right,” said Mr. Malt. “And a dog.”

The key rattled in the lock. The door opened. One of the guards looked inside and checked what the three children were doing, then went out and returned a moment later with a wooden tray. He placed it on the floor and walked out again without saying a word. The key rattled in the lock again and then there was silence.

“I suppose that’s supper,” said Natascha.

They stared at the contents of the tray. They had been given three glasses of water and a plate of sliced bread. Nothing more.

Grk lifted his head and looked at the others. He was starving. If they didn’t want to eat the bread or drink the water, then he would be happy to do so instead. But he wasn’t going to take it until they gave him permission.

Tim was the first to move. “It’s better than nothing,” he said, swinging himself out of the chair and crouching on the floor by the tray. “Come on, let’s eat. We’ll need our strength later.”

“Why?” said Max.

“Because we might have a chance to escape. And we’ll need all our strength if we do.”

“It’s not very likely,” said Max. “We’re twenty-three floors up and completely surrounded by armed guards.”

“It’s still a chance,” said Tim. “And a small chance is better than no chance at all. Come on, sit down. Let’s eat.”

Tim divided the food into four portions and shared them around. Grk scarfed his bread in one gulp, then lapped water from a glass held by Natascha. The others ate more slowly, savoring every mouthful. They knew that they might not eat again for a long time.

A few minutes later, the guard returned. He took the empty tray away, then told Tim, Max and Natascha that they could take turns to go to the loo. The guard escorted them one by one, taking them through the flat to the loo, leaving the others locked inside the room.

Grk didn’t get a chance to pee. He just had to hold it in.

When they had eaten and peed, the guard shut the door again and turned the key in the lock.

Everything was quiet.

Natascha blurted out suddenly, “What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to hope,” said Tim. “That’s all we can do.”

“Hope for what?”

“For a chance,” said Tim. “For some luck. For something to happen that helps us get out of here. We’ll hope for all those things. And maybe we’ll be lucky. Now we should sleep.”

“Why?” said Max.

“Because we’ll need our strength later. When we try to escape.”

“We’re never going to escape,” said Max. “We’re going to be in prison for the rest of our lives.”

“You don’t know that,” said Tim. “We might get a chance to escape. And, if that happens, we have to be strong enough to take it. Come on, let’s go to sleep.”

Max sighed. He couldn’t see any reason to sleep, because he couldn’t believe that they would ever get a chance to escape. But he couldn’t be bothered to argue with Tim. He lay on the floor and closed his eyes.

Natascha lay on the bed. She knew her brother was right. When they had been in prison before, Tim had rescued them. He had arrived in a helicopter, smashed the prison’s walls and liberated every prisoner. He wouldn’t be able to do it again. Miracles don’t happen twice. This time, Natascha was sure, she and her brother were going to spend the rest of
their lives in a small, damp, dark cell. But she didn’t bother arguing with Tim. A few moments later, she was fast asleep.

Grk slept too. He didn’t know whether things were hopeful or hopeless. He just liked sleeping.

Tim was the only one who didn’t sleep immediately. He dipped his hands into his pockets and pulled out everything that he found.

He had eighty-six euros and a few tickets for the Métro.

He lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling, and tried to imagine how they could get out of here.

They had a used matchstick, an empty envelope, eighty-six euros and some train tickets.

What could they do with all that?

How could they save themselves from Colonel Zinfandel and all his soldiers?

Hours passed.

The only sound was the distant noise of a television, booming through the walls from another flat.

Max, Natascha and Tim slept soundly.

Grk slept too, but he lifted his head every few moments, looking around, checking to see that nothing had changed. He was a good guard dog, always ready to protect his owners against trouble. But there wasn’t any trouble to be seen, so he dropped his head again and went back to sleep.

In the middle of the night, the key rattled in the lock, the door opened and a guard came into the room. Grk sat up and opened his eyes, staring intently at the guard, but none of the others moved. The noise wasn’t loud enough to disturb their sleep. The guard watched them for a moment, saying nothing, then lifted his arms and clapped his hands together.

Now they woke up. Max spun round, his arms raised, ready to fight. Tim rubbed his eyes, groaned and rolled over, wanting to go straight back to sleep. Natascha blinked and looked around with a confused expression as if she couldn’t remember where she was.

“Come on,” said the guard. “Get up. On your feet.” He clapped his hands again. “Up!”

Tim sat up and said, “Why do we have to get up? Where are we going?”

“You will find out,” said the guard. “Come on! Hurry!”

Max and Natascha asked more questions, speaking Stanislavian rather than English, but the guard refused to answer. He wasn’t interested in talking to them. He just told the children to gather their possessions and get ready to leave.

They did as they were told. Natascha packed her backpack. Tim fixed the leash to Grk’s collar.

The other guards were waiting for them outside the room. Their faces were stern and expressionless.

The guards took them out of the flat. They went back down in the lift to the underground car park and got into one of the Land Cruisers. Doors slammed. Engines started. No one spoke.

Three big black Toyota Land Cruisers drove out of the underground garage and headed into the streets of Paris.

It was dark and cold, but the streets weren’t empty. People were lingering at bus stops or walking quickly, their shoulders hunched,
heading to work. No one took any notice of three big black cars, driving in convoy. No one glanced at the darkened windows or wondered who might be sitting inside.

They drove for ten or fifteen minutes, then stopped on a main road. Cars and buses rushed past. The streetlamps cast a yellowish glow. The sky was still dark. The sun wouldn’t rise for another two or three hours.

A soldier stepped out, opened one of the back doors and pointed at Tim. “Get out,” he said. No one moved. He spoke again, louder. “Come on. I told you to get out. And bring the dog.”

Tim looked at Max and Natascha, then turned back to the soldier and said, “What about them.”

“They stay. They are not British. They are citizens of Stanislavia. No one cares about them.”

“I’m not leaving them,” said Tim.

“Yes, you are,” said the soldier. “Come on, get out.” He let his jacket fall open, showing the leather holster that he was wearing.

Tim could see the gun in the holster.

You don’t argue with a gun. Not unless you want your head blown off.

Tim turned and looked at Max and Natascha. He didn’t know what to do or say. Of course he wanted to get out of the car and escape from the soldiers. But he didn’t want to leave his friends behind. He didn’t know what was going to happen to them, but he couldn’t imagine it was going to be anything good.

“Go,” said Max.

Tim said, “But what will you do?”

“We’ll be fine,” said Max. “We can look after ourselves.”