Grk Undercover (19 page)

Arthur threw the blanket aside, jumped up from the sofa, hurried down the corridor and charged into the small, cozy kitchen. And then he stopped, his eyes blinking in astonishment, scarcely able to believe what they were seeing.

A small white dog was squatting in the middle of the kitchen table. His front paws rested on a leg of lamb. His teeth had just torn out a tasty chunk.

“That’s our lunch!” cried Arthur.

All week he’d been looking forward to his Sunday lunch. It was his favorite meal. No contest. Succulent roast lamb with crunchy roast potatoes, a handful of boiled carrots and some tasty redcurrant jelly. What could be nicer than that?

Now it had been torn to pieces!

And swallowed into the belly of a small dog with a stupid name!

Without pausing to think, Arthur reached for the nearest implement. His fingers clasped around the handle of a potato peeler. “Come here, you little mutt!” He raised the peeler into the air and rushed forward.

Grk whirled round.

Arthur lunged.

PRAAAANNG!!!!!

The potato peeler plunged into the tabletop. If Grk hadn’t jumped out of the way, he would have been skewered.

Arthur grabbed the peeler with both hands, pulled it out of the tabletop and hurled himself after the little dog.

Grk was already rushing out of the door. He found himself in the hallway. To his left, he saw the front door. It was closed. Some dogs can open doors, turning the handles with their paws, but Grk wasn’t one of them. To his right, he saw two more closed doors and a flight of stairs. Behind him, he heard heavy footsteps and a roar of rage. Grk galloped up the staircase to the first floor.

“Come back here, you miserable mongrel!” yelled Arthur, pounding up the stairs in pursuit. “I’ll show you what happens to dogs who steal other people’s lunches!”

At the top of the stairs, Grk didn’t even hesitate. He just raced into the nearest bedroom. And realized, immediately, that he had made a terrible mistake. There was no way out.

And now Arthur Cuddle was standing in the doorway, blocking the only exit. Grk was trapped.

With an evil grin on his face, Arthur took two steps forward and made a mad swing with the potato peeler.

Grk dodged out of the way.

Arthur swung again.

This time, the peeler missed Grk by a millimeter. Any closer and he’d have lost an ear.

Arthur swung once more.

Grk could see that there was only one option open to him. It was dangerous. It might even be deadly. But he had no choice. If he was going to survive, he had to do it. He sprang into the middle of the bed, bounced on the mattress and launched himself out of the open window.

His paws scrabbled in the empty air, searching for something to hold. His head turned desperately from side to side. His ears flapped. His tail waggled. And he landed with a loud THUMP on the grass. He rolled over, picked himself up and started running.

Back in the house, Arthur Cuddle leaned out of the window, shaking his fist and yelling at the top of his voice. Grk couldn’t hear what he was saying and he didn’t care either. He just wanted to get away from Cuddles Kennel. Without knowing
where he was going, let alone what he might do when he got there, he ran across the grass.

He dodged round trees and scrambled through bushes and darted across a main road. Cars hooted and a motorbike swerved desperately to avoid him, but Grk took no notice. He just kept running.

For a minute or two, he ran along the side of a tall fence, and then he arrived at a hole, which must have been made by a fox or a rabbit. Grk wriggled through this bunny-sized gap, emerged on the other side of the fence and carried on running.

The grass beneath his feet turned to tarmac. He passed long hangars and parked trucks and several enormous aircraft. And then he stopped.

What was that smell?

Sniff, sniff, sniff.

Mmmmmmmmm.

Sausages!

Grk was a sensible dog. He didn’t want to be guillotined by a potato peeler. Nor did he wish to spend the rest of his days locked inside a small, dark cell. He knew he had to run and run and run and run and run and run and keep running till there was no chance that the Cuddles could catch him.

But he did love sausages. Lamb or pork, beef or chicken, plain or spicy, he didn’t mind. He loved them all. And right now, he could smell the most deliciously sausagey scent that had ever wafted past his nostrils.

All thought of the Cuddles vanished from his mind. In fact, his head was empty of anything except sausages. For the past couple of days he had been too depressed to eat. He had hardly even touched the hard biscuits that passed for food in the kennel. But he was feeling much more cheerful now—and much hungrier too.

He lifted his nose into the air. His little black nostrils quivered.

There! That was them! The sausages were buried in that pile of suitcases.

Grk didn’t pause to wonder who owned the suitcases or why they were stacked on the back of a truck. He just trotted across the tarmac, sprang aboard the truck and delved into the suitcases, searching for the one that contained those majestic sausages. The scent grew stronger. He was getting closer. He urged himself onward.

When the truck suddenly shuddered forward and drove across the tarmac, Grk didn’t even notice. Nor did he care when the truck stopped and two men in luminous jackets started loading the cases into the bowels of an aircraft. Grk simply followed the source of the smell, leaping out of the truck and into the luggage compartment of a Boeing 747. He was followed by a barrage of suitcases building a wall behind him. When every piece of baggage had been loaded aboard, the door closed with a loud clunk.

Grk raised his head and looked around.

He couldn’t see anything. His whole world had been plunged into darkness.

Oh, well. He didn’t need his eyes. His nose would do. Guided by the unmistakable scent of those sausages, he continued his search.

Grk burrowed into the suitcases until he found the one he wanted. It was a large blue bag secured with a silver zipper.

Suddenly the whole world roared and shook.

Grk took no notice. The rest of the world could look after itself. He just wanted to get his jaws around those sausages. Gripping the suitcase with his front paws, he gnawed at the zipper.

The engines roared again.

The plane shuddered slowly forward.

The zip unzipped with a satisfying rip and Grk thrust his head into the suitcase.

Socks rolled one way. Shirts flopped another. Books fell out and flapped open. Grk dug through T-shirts, tights, skirts
and blouses till he found a bulky bag at the bottom of the suitcase. He punctured the plastic with his sharp little teeth.

As the plane eased into the air, Grk chomped happily through half a kilo of the best British sausages.

The flight from Rome was delayed for an hour and fifteen minutes. When they finally landed, the Malts had to wait forty minutes for their luggage. Collecting the car took another half hour. By the time they were finally driving out of the airport and heading for Cuddles Kennel, Tim was horrified to realize that they were almost two hours late. He said, “Can’t you drive any faster?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Mr. Malt. “Unless you want me to crash.”

“I don’t mind.”

“If we crashed, we’d have to wait for the police. And probably the ambulance too. Then we wouldn’t get to see Grk for hours.”

“Fine,” said Tim. “Don’t crash. But can you just get there as fast as possible?”

“Of course I can,” said Mr. Malt. He signaled left, turned off the main road and drove down a narrow lane shaded by tall
trees. A large wooden sign said WELCOME TO CUDDLES KENNEL. Mr. Malt pressed the bell and announced his name. When the tall steel gates opened, he drove into the yard and parked the car.

Trevor Cuddle was waiting for them. “Good afternoon,” he said. “How was your flight?”

Mr. Malt smiled. “Very nice, thank you.”

“Did you have a good holiday?”

“It was lovely,” said Mrs. Malt. “Thank you.”

Tim said, “Where’s Grk?”

“Aha,” said Trevor Cuddle. “That’s how you pronounce his name. I had wondered.”

“Where is he?” asked Tim.

“Where is who?” said Trevor Cuddle.

“Grk,” said Tim.

“Oh, yes,” said Trevor Cuddle. “Grk. Your dog. You probably want to see him, don’t you? Well, the thing is …” And then he paused.

“Yes?” said Tim. “What’s the thing?”

“The thing is …” Trevor Cuddle rubbed his hands together and searched for the right words to say. “Now, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I have to inform you that there has been an incident.”

“An incident?” said Tim. “What sort of incident?”

“This would be much easier if we all kept calm,” said Trevor Cuddle. “There’s no need to overreact. We’re all friends here. Why don’t you come inside and have a nice cup of tea?”

Tim wasn’t interested in tea. “What’s happened? Is Grk safe? What have you done to him?”

“How about a biscuit?” said Trevor Cuddle. “Or some toast with jam? You must be starving after your flight. We’ve got some lovely biscuits. Come inside and have a nice cuppa.”

“I don’t want tea,” insisted Tim. “I don’t want toast or biscuits either. I just want to know what’s happened to Grk. What have you done to him?”

“I haven’t done anything,” said Trevor Cuddle. “He did it himself.”

“Did what himself.”

“I have been running this kennel for fifteen years and we’ve never lost a single animal. But your dog … your Grk … he’s the first.”

“You’ve lost him?”

“Oh, no. We haven’t lost him. You can’t pin the blame on us, my young friend. As I just said, your dog did it to himself.”

“Are you saying he escaped?”

“He did indeed.”

“But how?”

“He broke out of his cage. Then he jumped out a window. And we haven’t seen him since.”

“Haven’t you been looking for him?”

“Of course we have. Nonstop. Myself and my family have searched the entire vicinity. We’ve alerted the police, the neighbors and every relevant organization for miles around. You don’t have to worry, my young friend. We’ll find him. As you
must be aware, Grk is not a large dog. And he has very short legs. He can’t have got far.”

Thirty thousand feet above the ocean, the Boeing 747 cruised through the air, carrying four hundred and sixteen passengers halfway around the world. They left London at ten o’clock in the morning. Twenty-one hours later, they would finally touch down at their destination. During that time, four hundred and sixteen passengers ate and slept, watched movies and read books. Four hundred and sixteen passengers peered out the window, watching the clouds and the sky. Four hundred and sixteen passengers wriggled in their seats, trying to get comfortable, or roamed along the aisles, exercising their weary muscles. Four hundred and sixteen passengers signaled to the stewards, asking for another blanket or a glass of orange juice. Four hundred and sixteen passengers pressed the buttons on their seats, adjusting the lights or the heating, or tipping their chair backward, making themselves more comfortable.

The four hundred and seventeenth passenger didn’t have lights or heating, books or movies, food or drink. He felt even
more cramped and restless than any of the four hundred and sixteen people in the cabin above him, but he couldn’t lean backward or adjust his chair to make himself more comfortable. In fact, he didn’t even have a chair. He was squatting in darkness in the luggage compartment, wondering when someone would come and rescue him.

Grk was cold, hungry and thirsty.

He had finished the sausages long ago, and now his stomach was beginning to wonder when the next meal would arrive. He was desperate for a drink, but he couldn’t find any water. And, worst of all, he was cold.

Very cold.

Colder than he had ever been in his entire life.

When the plane climbed above the clouds, the temperature dropped. At first, Grk had hardly noticed. All his attention was focused on the sausages. He chomped them and chewed them and gulped them down, never pausing to wonder if he should keep some for later.

When he finished them, he sat back and licked his lips.

That was when he noticed the temperature.

Thirty thousand feet above the earth, the air is extremely chilly.

Grk snuggled into the depths of the suitcase, burying himself among someone’s clothes, wrapping his body in a pile of T-shirts, but he still couldn’t get warm. After a few minutes, he started shivering. He whined and moaned, but no one came to help him. So he threw back his head and howled at the top of his voice, hoping he would be heard by Tim or Natascha or Max or someone, anyone, who would come and rescue him.

W​H​H​H​O​O​O​O​O​A​A​A​A​H​H​H​!

His howls echoed through the darkness.

W​H​H​H​O​O​O​O​O​O​O​O​O​O​O​O​O​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​H​H​H​!

Four hundred and sixteen passengers were sitting just above Grk, separated from him by a ceiling and a floor and a few metal struts. All four hundred and sixteen of them were enjoying hot food and cool drinks and the latest movies. Not one
of them heard the mournful cries of a desperate little dog, down in the luggage compartment, begging for help.

Minute by minute, Grk’s cries grew fainter, but he refused to give up.

He was sure someone would help him. They always did.

Right now, Tim would be hunting for him. Natascha would be knocking on doors, asking if anyone had seen a runaway dog. Max would be running through the streets and calling his name.

Inspired by the thought of his owners, Grk opened his mouth and tried to bark for help, but he was so chilly and exhausted that he could only manage a pathetic little yelp.

Whooah!

When they reached Singapore, Grk was lying at the bottom of the suitcase, silent and scared and very, very cold. Some time later, the whole world rumbled and lurched again. Grk sunk farther into the pile of clothes and shivered.

They searched until nightfall. Arthur Cuddle led the Malts to the patch of grass where Grk had landed when he jumped out the window. There, they split up and went in different directions.