Grk Undercover (32 page)

Then he tripped on a branch.

His ankle gave way. A bolt of pain shot up his leg. He fell forward and landed in a heap on the ground.

The truck was almost on him.

He couldn’t move. He didn’t have a chance.

He closed his eyes.

Grk stared at the huge, gleaming, metallic monster that was bearing down on him, gushing black fumes.

He didn’t know what it was or where it had come from.

But he knew he had to stop it.

In a second, the monster was going to trample over Tim and squash him flat.

Grk couldn’t let that happen.

He whirled round, placed himself between Tim and the front of the truck, and started barking furiously, telling the monster to go away and leave them alone.

Red Jelly hardly even had time to think.

Below him, the boy was sprawled in the dust, an easy target, just asking to be flattened by the big fat wheels of this heavy ute.

But Bingo was standing right in front of the boy. He was staring up at the truck. His ears were standing upright. His eyes were bright and black and full of life.

Squash one and you’d squash them both.

Red Jelly stared through the windscreen at Bingo.

His best friend.

His only friend.

Hardly even knowing what he was doing, Red Jelly hauled the steering wheel downward, forcing the truck to the right.

Wheels skidded, metal groaned, hinges buckled, and the heavy vehicle shuddered through an excruciating turn.

It was too much.

The ute toppled over and crashed into the ground. Red Jelly was thrown forward. His enormous bulk smashed into the windscreen. His head cracked against the glass. And he was knocked unconscious.

Tim didn’t know where he was or what was happening to him, but he did know one thing for sure: he’d never heard such a loud noise in his entire life. The earth was screaming. His limbs were shaking. His ears were about to explode. He rolled over and sat up and wiped the dust out of his eyes, trying to see what was making all that racket.

A helicopter was landing right beside him. He could see Shane sitting at the controls, waving and yelling. It was impossible to hear what Shane was actually saying, but Tim could guess.

He pulled himself to his feet. Ignoring the pain in his ankle, he ran at the helicopter and threw himself through the open door. Then he turned round and gestured to the little white dog squatting unhappily in the dirt.

“Grk,” he yelled. “Grk! Come here!”

Grk couldn’t hear him. The rotors drowned out his voice.

A bullet fizzed through the air.

Then another.

Red Jelly’s gang were coming.

Tim screamed even louder.

“Come on, Grk! Come here! Jump in!”

Grk only had a split second to make a decision, but that was enough. Given a choice between a stomach-wrenching ride through the empty air and a barrage of bullets, he knew which he preferred. He galloped through the swirling dust, hurled himself through the air and jumped into the helicopter.

He was just in time. As soon as he’d scrambled aboard, the door slid shut and the helicopter rose into the air.

A bullet pinged off the undercarriage. Another punctured the windscreen, leaving a small hole.

Shane wrestled with the controls, yanking the helicopter from side to side, trying to avoid the gunfire.

The chopper swept over trees and bushes, pursued by bullets.

Some of Red Jelly’s gang kept firing at the chopper and the rest went to help their boss.

They could see his huge form inside the ute. His face was slumped against the steering wheel and his bald skull was speckled with blood. Was he dead?

They opened the door of the truck and hauled him out, pulling him by his boots and dragging him into the dust.

The bump woke him. Red Jelly sat up, clutching his head. He had been bashed and bruised and thrown around, but he was still alive. Just about. He looked at his gang and said in a deep voice, “Where’s Bingo?”

“Who’s Bingo, boss?”

“The dog, you idiot. Where’s my dog?”

“Over there!”

Red Jelly turned to look. He could see a distant dark speck hanging in the sky like a mosquito. With every second, the helicopter shrank as it flew farther away.

He turned back to his men. “What are you waiting for? Pull me up!”

Ten men sprang forward, grabbed Red Jelly’s arms and helped him to his feet.

His head ached. His body was covered in bruises. But he wasn’t going to lie down or go to sleep. Not till he’d rescued Bingo, anyway. He wobbled unsteadily, then put one foot ahead of the other and ran toward Dead Dog Creek. His men ran with him.

Red Jelly didn’t go into the town itself. Instead, he headed for the other three helicopters.

Red Jelly threw himself aboard the nearest one. A pilot jumped in after him. Other men took the backseats.

“Go!” screamed Red Jelly. “Go! Go! Go!”

The pilot prepared for takeoff. He clicked switches and yanked levers. Then he started the engine.

Nothing happened.

He tried again.

Still nothing happened.

“Take off!” screamed Red Jelly. “Why aren’t you taking off?”

“I can’t,” said the pilot.

“Why not? What’s wrong with you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me, mate. It’s the chopper.”

When Tim and Shane reached the nearest town, they landed their helicopter and called the police.

“Hello,” said Shane. “My name’s Shane. I’ve caught Red Jelly. Do you want to know where he is?”

“You’ve caught him, have you?” The police operator sounded a bit tired. That day, she had talked to at least twenty people who claimed to know the whereabouts of the Red Jelly Gang. “Where is he, then?”

“Dead Dog Creek,” said Shane.

“Oh, yes? Where’s that?”

“Look on a map,” said Shane. “But do it quickly, will you? Someone should get over there and arrest him.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how do you know it’s him?”

“Three reasons,” said Shane. “First, I’d recognize him anywhere. Second, he’s got his whole gang with him. And third, right now, I’m flying one of the choppers he got from you guys.”

The police operator still wasn’t sure whether to believe him, but she asked a few more questions and gradually realized that he was probably telling the truth.

Shane explained that Red Jelly and his men were stuck in Dead Dog Creek. They had no way to get out of there.

While Tim was rescuing Grk, Shane had gone from helicopter to helicopter, disabling their engines.

The Red Jelly Gang were a hundred kilometers from the nearest town, and there was only one way to get there: they would have to walk through some of the driest, hottest landscape on the planet. In other words: they weren’t going anywhere.

Later that day, Chief Inspector Somerville arrived at Dead Dog Creek with three hundred heavily armed police. They were ready for a fight. They surrounded the town, their weapons drawn.

Chief Inspector Somerville was holding a megaphone. He lifted it to his lips.

“This is the police.”

His voice boomed through the air.

“You are surrounded. Come out now with your arms in the air.”

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then there was a movement between two of the old houses.

The police lifted their weapons and curled their fingers around the triggers.

Chief Inspector Somerville peered through the haze.

An enormous red figure lumbered into view. He lifted his right arm into the air and gave a cheery wave. “Hello, mate! How are you?”

“Stop right there!” shouted Chief Inspector Somerville. “Put your hands in the air!”

“No worries,” called out Red Jelly. He lifted both his hands into the air. “How are you doing, Sam?”

“Pretty good, thanks,” called back Chief Inspector Somerville. “How about yourself?”

“Not bad, thanks. Not bad at all. I suppose you want to put me back in prison?”

“Indeed I do,” said the chief inspector.

“Fair dinkum.” Red Jelly held out his hands, ready to be cuffed. “Come on, then. I’m ready for you.”

A few minutes later, Red Jelly and his men had been handcuffed and taken into custody. They didn’t put up any resistance. They knew there was no point. They couldn’t possibly win a battle against the entire Australian Police Force. So they simply laid down their weapons and allowed themselves to be arrested.

Tim and Mrs. Malt said goodbye to Shane at the hospital.

He was lying in bed, his leg covered in tape and bandages. The doctors wanted him to stay in the hospital for a week, but he was planning to leave tomorrow. He wanted to go out and splash some cash.

He had just been given a check for a million dollars.

The Bank of Australia, the mayor’s office, the Corrigan Media Group and the Anglo-Australian Committee for International Business Cooperation had decided that Tim and Shane deserved the reward for providing information leading to the capture of Sidney O’Sullivan, better known as Red Jelly, and his gang.

Shane offered half the money to Tim, but Tim said no. Getting Grk back was good enough for him.

Mrs. Malt said, “Have you decided how to spend it?”

“I’ve given a good chunk to Botany Bay Air Taxis,” said Shane. “They want a new plane to replace the one that we smashed up.”

“But what are you going to do with the rest?”

Shane smiled. “You know, I always thought I knew exactly what I’d do if I got my hands on some serious money. I’d buy a house on the beach and waste a few years swimming and surfing. But I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to go into business instead.”

“What kind of business?” asked Tim.

“I’m going to be a private detective. Me and Tony Pecorino, we’re going to set up our own agency. You know he got fired from the police for misusing the tracker?”

“That’s so unfair!” said Tim. “Without him, we’d never have found Red Jelly.”

“I know, mate. At least they’re not prosecuting him. Anyway, we’re going to start a little business of our own in Sydney. But first, I’m going to spend some of the money on a
party for all my mates. My Sydney mates and my Wagga mates and all my other mates too. There’ll be free beer and a barbecue and we’ll dance till dawn. You’re invited, Tim. And you too, Melanie.”

“That’s very nice of you,” said Mrs. Malt with a polite smile. She didn’t like Shane very much. She blamed him for kidnapping her son from the hotel and risking his life by flying him into the outback. “Sadly, we’re going to have to say no. We have to go back to Europe.”

“Why don’t you stay here for a few days? How about it, Tim? Fancy a barbecue with all my mates?”

“I wish I could,” said Tim.

“Then why don’t you? You like Aus, don’t you?”

“I love it,” said Tim. “But I’ve got to go to Stanislavia.”

“No worries,” said Shane. “Come back soon, all right? You’re always welcome here.” He stuck out his right hand. “It’s been great to see you, mate.”

“You too.”

They shook hands.

Six hours later, Tim, Grk and Mrs. Malt were sitting in a Cathay Pacific aircraft, heading for Hong Kong.

The Australian government had arranged for them to travel first class again. Tim and Mrs. Malt had wide seats with big armrests and very comfortable pillows.

So did Grk. He was curled up on a seat of his own, eating delicate little pieces of smoked salmon and cream cheese, licking his lips after every mouthful. He didn’t want to miss a morsel.

When they arrived in Hong Kong, they changed planes and took a flight to Milan. From there, they got another plane to Vilnetto, the capital of Stanislavia.

When their plane finally landed, they had been in the air for more than twenty-four hours. Their limbs ached and their lungs craved fresh air.

They walked out of the plane, through passport control and into the arrivals lounge, where a boy and a girl were leaning on the barrier.

“Hey!” Tim waved his arms in the air, “Over here!”

Max turned to look at them.

Natascha flung herself over the barrier and ran across the shiny white floor.

“Grk,” she cried. “Grk!”

Grk turned his head from side to side, wondering who was shouting at him. Then he saw Natascha.

Over the past few days, Grk had traveled twenty thousand miles. He had gone all the way around the planet. Now, finally, he was back with his favorite girl in the whole wide world. And he was happy.

Grk lay down on the floor, rolled onto his back and waited for Natascha to tickle his belly.

When he isn’t traveling the world writing about Grk, Joshua Doder is a reporter for the
Guardian
. He lives in London.