Grk Undercover (5 page)

“We want to go to the Eiffel Tower,” said Natascha. “How do we get there?”

“That is absolutely your choice,” said the blond woman, continuing to file her nails as she spoke. “You may take a taxi. Or you may take a bus. Or you may take the Métro. Alternatively, if you so wish, you may use your own two feet and take a walk. As I said to you already, the choice is absolutely yours.”

Natascha said, “Which is the best way to get there?”

“That depends,” said the blond woman, putting the nail file on her desk. She picked up a tiny bottle of nail polish and unscrewed the lid. “If you wish to exercise your legs, then it is advised to walk. But this might be tiring, because from here to the Eiffel Tower is a long way for walking. If you wish to be comfortable, then the taxi is the best. But this might be expensive. If you wish to save money, then you should take the bus.”

“We just want to get there as fast as possible,” said Tim.

“Then you must take the Métro,” said the blond woman. “The Métro is the quickest of the methods. And it is also not too expensive.”

“Where’s the Métro?” said Tim. “Which way should we go?”

The blond woman sighed as if she had never heard such a stupid question. She carefully replaced the lid on her nail polish, opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out a folded map. “Here, I will show you exactly what you must do.” She unfolded the map, picked up her nail file and pointed to the Gare du Nord. “You are here,” she said. “And you want to go here. Do you see? So this is how you can get from one to the other.”

Two minutes later, Tim, Grk and Natascha were hurrying across the station, carrying the map. The woman in the tourist office had supplied them with strict instructions, explaining where to find the Métro, how to buy tickets and which trains to take. Now they just had to get from the Gare du Nord to the Eiffel Tower before Max tried to kill Colonel Zinfandel.

The woman in the tourist office had explained how to buy tickets. You got the best deal, she had said, if you bought a book of ten tickets rather than just one at a time.

Tim fed a twenty-euro note into a ticket machine and pressed a button. Ten tickets spat out, followed by some change. He gave one ticket to Natascha, kept another in his hand and tucked the remaining eight into his pocket.

Natascha said, “Do you think dogs need tickets?”

“They don’t in London,” said Tim. “So they probably don’t here either.”

Grk wagged his tail. Although he didn’t know what they were saying, he could tell that they were talking about him.

The three of them passed through the ticket barriers and hurried down the echoing corridors.

The woman in the tourist office had explained that there were two types of trains on the Métro, the ordinary lines and the RER.

RER stands for
Réseau Express Régional
, which means “Regional Express Network.” RER trains are faster than ordinary Métro trains. If
Tim and Natascha wanted to get from the Gare du Nord to the Eiffel Tower as quickly as possible, the woman had told them, they should definitely take the RER.

Following her instructions, they took an RER train heading south, changed at St. Michel and went three more stops heading west.

Tim and Natascha sat side by side. Grk lay on the floor at their feet.

Natascha unfolded the leaflet that they had been given by the woman in the tourist office and relayed interesting facts to Tim. “The Eiffel Tower was built in 1889,” she said. “It is named after its designer, Gustav Eiffel. When it was built, it was the tallest building in the world, but it isn’t anymore.”

“What is?” said Tim.

Natascha skimmed through the rest of the leaflet. “I don’t know,” she said. “It doesn’t say.”

“I’ll have to look it up when we get home,” said Tim. “Does it say anything about the Jules Verne restaurant?”

“Not much. It’s on the second floor, apparently. And it’s one of the best restaurants in Paris. Hey, this is interesting. Two hundred million people have visited the Eiffel Tower since it was built. Six million
people go there every year. Which makes it the most visited monument on the planet.”

“After today, it will be two hundred million and two,” said Tim. “Plus one dog.”

The train was easing into a station. Tim pointed at a sign on the wall that read TOUR EIFFEL. He said, “This is where we get off.”

Natascha glanced at her watch. “It’s half past twelve,” she said, folding the leaflet and tucking it into her pocket. “I hope we’re not too late.”

Tim didn’t answer. There was nothing to say. He knew what she meant. If they were too late, Max would be dead. When they got to the Tower, they would simply see his body lying on the floor, surrounded by the police and Colonel Zinfandel’s bodyguards.

They just had to hope that they were in time to save him.

The doors slid open. Passengers poured out of the train and hurried along the platform. Natascha sprinted ahead of the crowd, determined not to waste another second. Tim and Grk hurried behind, trying to keep up with her. Tim knew that if he lost her among all these people, he would never be able to find her again.

They clambered up a flight of stairs and emerged into the street. There were trees on one side and a low wall on the other, separating the road from the river.

Tim looked around, but he couldn’t see the Eiffel Tower. He felt confused. This was the right station. Even he could work out that
Tour Eiffel
was French for “Eiffel Tower.” So where was the tower?

Natascha didn’t bother looking or worrying. She just went straight to the nearest person who happened to be walking past, a tall, slim businessman in a smart dark suit. He was carrying a leather briefcase in one hand and a fresh baguette in the other. Natascha said,
“Excusez-moi, monsieur. Où est la Tour Eiffel?”

The businessman smiled, charmed by the little girl who asked directions so politely in such well-accented French. He turned round, raised his baguette and pointed.
“Voilà!”

At the end of the outstretched baguette, there was the familiar shape of the Eiffel Tower.

When the businessman turned back again, his face dropped. The little girl had vanished. She might have spoken French with a good accent, but she hadn’t bothered saying
“merci.”
He looked up and down the street, wondering where she had gone.

There! There she was! Running away from him so fast that he wondered whether she might have stolen something. He checked his pockets, making sure that he still had his wallet and his keys.

Racing after her were a small boy and an even smaller dog. They were heading at full speed toward the Eiffel Tower.

The businessman stared after them, wondering who they were and what they were doing.

Natascha wasn’t an athlete. She didn’t like sports. Given the choice between football, tennis, hockey and reading, she would always choose to stay at home with a good book. But today she ran so fast that she would have been guaranteed a place on the school athletics team.

She sped down the pavement, darted across the road and sprinted toward the Eiffel Tower. Cars swerved to avoid her. Brakes screeched. Angry drivers jammed their hands on their horns and yelled at the tops of their voices. Natascha took no notice. She didn’t give a moment’s thought to her own safety. All she cared about was finding Max.

Tim sprinted behind her, desperately trying to keep up. More cars swerved. More brakes screeched. More angry drivers yelled and hooted. Some of them even leaned out of their windows and shook their fists. Tim wished he could have stopped and apologized. He didn’t like annoying anyone. But there was no time to waste. If he paused for a second, he would lose sight of Natascha and she would be gone forever.

Grk would have liked to stop too. He could smell warm fresh bread and fried onions and raw meat and all kinds of interesting smells that he would have liked to investigate. But he was attached to Tim’s hand by a
short leather leash, so he didn’t have any choice about where he went. His little feet pattered on the pavement as he scrambled to keep up.

They ran through the lines of trees.

Ahead of them, the Eiffel Tower’s great gray silhouette grew larger and taller until it appeared to be dominating the entire sky.

Tall buildings are usually surrounded by other tall buildings. If you go into the center of most cities, for instance, several skyscrapers will be crowded together, making each of them look a little smaller and less impressive than it would alone.

The Eiffel Tower is different. There are no other buildings nearby, just trees and grass and flowerbeds. That is why the tallest building in Paris looks as if it might be the tallest building in the whole world. As Tim and Natascha ran through the park and came closer to the tower, they started to feel very, very small.

Grk didn’t even notice the tower. He had seen several other dogs playing in the grass. They were sniffing the trees and the flowerbeds and one another. That looked fun! That was what he wanted to do too! Why couldn’t he stop and sniff? But the leather leash took no notice of his wishes and dragged him onward at full speed.

Tim and Natascha sprinted down a tarmac path, pulling Grk behind them, and arrived at the base of the Eiffel Tower. For a moment, they were both speechless. They looked around in amazement, stunned by the size of the structure above them. And then they remembered why they were here. Not to be amazed. Not to see the sights. But to find the Jules Verne restaurant and rescue Max.

They searched for any sign of something that might look like a restaurant.

Above them, they could see the tower’s extraordinary structure. It resembled a spider’s web woven out of metal. Four huge legs came out of the sky and plunged into the earth, supporting the tower’s vast mass.

There were lifts in the legs, taking tourists to the top of the tower. People were standing patiently in long lines, waiting to go up in the lifts.

Hundreds of tourists were taking photos, angling their cameras at the tower, capturing the same views again and again.

Hawkers were selling little silver models of the Eiffel Tower to hang on your key ring and bigger bronze models to put on your mantelpiece.

Tim could see a crowd of people holding banners. There were words written on the banners. He strained his eyes, trying to read the
letters. When he deciphered one of the banners, he tugged Natascha’s sleeve. “Look,” he said. “That must be the place.”

Natascha turned round. As soon as she saw what he was pointing at, she said, “Brilliant! That’s it! Let’s go.”

They pushed through the crowds.

The Jules Verne restaurant is one of the best restaurants in Paris. Lunch costs more than most people earn in a week. But it is still full almost every day. Diners are happy to pay a lot if the food is good enough. The view is good too. If you get a table by the window, you can look across the entire city.

The restaurant occupies a fantastic site on the second floor of the Eiffel Tower. A private lift takes diners up to the restaurant, then brings them down to the ground again at the end of their meal.

Today, a hundred people had assembled outside the entrance to the restaurant. Half were protestors and half were police.

The protestors were waving homemade banners with slogans painted in several different languages. Tim could read some, but others meant nothing to him.

The protestors were Stanislavians who had escaped or been exiled from their own country when Colonel Zinfandel took power. Now they lived in France.

The protestors were surrounded by a ring of police, who were preventing them from blocking the entrance to one of the smartest and most expensive restaurants in Paris.

Political protests are permitted in France. You can stand on the street and wave a banner, showing your disapproval of anyone or anything. But you are strictly forbidden from blocking the entrance to a restaurant. No one comes between the French and their food.

Natascha stood there for a moment, looking at the protestors and the restaurant, deciding where to go.

Tim and Grk stood beside her, waiting for her to make her decision.

Natascha was a proud Stanislavian. She loved her country. She was proud of her fellow Stanislavians who had come here to protest against Colonel Zinfandel. She would have liked to go and stand beside them to show her support. But she knew what would happen if she did. The police wouldn’t allow her to go anywhere near the restaurant and she wouldn’t have a chance to save her brother.

Tearing her eyes away from the protestors, Natascha hurried toward the entrance to the Jules Verne restaurant.

Tim and Grk ran after her.

A man in a black uniform was standing beside the door marked LE JULES VERNE.

His name was Pierre Flaubert. He was the doorman.

He arrived at twelve o’clock in the afternoon and took up his position by the door. He stood there all afternoon and all evening. He left at midnight. He welcomed diners to the restaurant, escorted them through the door and took them to the private lift.

Today, Pierre Flaubert ignored the protestors and the police. He didn’t mind them. He was used to distractions. Every day, he was pestered by tourists, demanding to know whether they could go and eat in “Le Jules Verne.” He always answered them in the same way. He produced a copy of the menu and thrust it into their hands.

“Have a look at this,” he would say. “Choose what you like to eat.”

The tourists usually went away when they saw the prices.

When Pierre saw two children and a dog coming toward him, he didn’t reach for a menu. He was sure they wouldn’t ask for a reservation
at the restaurant. They were probably looking for the restrooms, he thought, or wanted to find a bowl of water for their dog. He smiled at them and said,
“Bonjour.”

“Bonjour,”
said Natascha. “Do you speak English?”