Grk Undercover (12 page)

Finally Colonel Zinfandel swung his right arm and landed a brutal punch in the middle of Max’s face.

Max staggered backward. Blood gushed out of his nose and down his chin. He wobbled on his feet for a moment. He wanted to stay standing and keep fighting. But he didn’t have enough strength left in his limbs. He toppled backward and slumped to the ground and didn’t get up again.

Natascha cried out and ran to her brother.

Max clutched his bleeding nose.

Natascha dabbed his face with her sleeve. She took some Band-Aids from her backpack and placed them over his wounds. As she worked, she whispered to her brother, asking if he was okay.

Max didn’t answer. He couldn’t even bring himself to lift his head and look her in the eye.

He had been hit hard. His face hurt. So did his body. But nothing hurt more than the pain of losing.

He would have liked to get up and keep fighting, but he knew there wasn’t any point. He was beaten.

He had been dreaming of this moment for a long time. He had been hoping to get the chance to fight Colonel Zinfandel. Just the two of them. Face to face. Man to man. He wanted the chance to take his revenge.

Max was stunned and shocked. He could hardly believe what had happened. He hung his head in shame.

He had been given his chance. And he had failed.

Colonel Zinfandel crossed his arms over his chest and chuckled. There was only one thing that he enjoyed more than fighting—and that was winning. He stepped forward, looked down at Max and Natascha, and spoke to them in Stanislavian.

Tim couldn’t understand what Colonel Zinfandel was saying, but it was clear that his words weren’t pleasant. Neither Max nor Natascha replied. They didn’t even look at Colonel Zinfandel. But he didn’t appear to care. He spoke to them again, then turned his attention to Tim.

“I recognize you,” said Colonel Zinfandel, speaking English with a strong accent. “We have met before. Your name is Timothy Malt. Am I right?”

Tim nodded. If he had known what to say, he would have spoken back, but he couldn’t think of the right words to use.

“We met in my country,” said Colonel Zinfandel. “You helped these two children—these two criminals—when they escaped from prison. Am I right?”

Tim nodded again.

“I know all about you,” said Colonel Zinfandel. “I know what you have done. I know you think you are stronger than me. And cleverer than me. But you are quite wrong, Timothy Malt. You may have helped
these children before. But you will not able to help them again. And I have some bad news for you, Timothy Malt. You will not be able to help yourself either.”

Colonel Zinfandel turned and barked an order to his men. They stepped forward and surrounded the children.

The bodyguards led the children across the grass to the road.

Tim glanced around, searching for a way to escape, but he could see it was hopeless. He was completely surrounded. He wouldn’t get farther than five paces before one of the guards caught him—or, even worse, shot him.

He would go along with them for now, he decided. He would watch what happened. He would take his time. And later, when the guards weren’t guarding him so carefully, he would escape from them. And he would take Max, Natascha and Grk with him.

Three black Toyota Land Cruisers were parked in a row.

The children were ushered into one of the cars and driven away. The other two cars followed close behind, escorting them through the streets of Paris.

Colonel Zinfandel stepped into his own limousine and settled on the long leather seat.

He had more meetings this afternoon. He didn’t give another thought to Max, Natascha, Tim or Grk. He knew what would happen to them. He knew they wouldn’t escape from him. Later, when his meetings were finished, he would deal with them.

He barked an order to his driver. The limousine eased forward and moved through the traffic.

Tim stared out of the blacked-out window. He could see out, but he knew that no one would be able to see in. There was no point trying to wave or grimace or do anything else to attract the attention of a passerby.

He glanced at Max and Natascha. Neither of them had said a word since they got into the car. Now they were both staring directly forward. He wondered what they were thinking about.

He looked at Grk, who was crouching on the floor at their feet. He wondered whether Grk was thinking about anything. If so, he was probably thinking about food. That was Grk’s main interest in life. Being in a strange car wouldn’t make him any different.

Tim remembered that he hadn’t eaten a decent meal for several hours. He was surprised to notice that he didn’t feel hungry. Perhaps fear drives out hunger. Because he certainly felt scared.

Until this moment, he realized, he hadn’t taken their situation entirely seriously. From the moment that he had been woken up, the whole thing had felt a little like a dream. Coming to Paris had been exciting and dramatic. But this was different. This felt so ordinary that it could only be real.

He wondered where they were going and what might happen when they got there.

He knew what Colonel Zinfandel was capable of. He had already murdered Max and Natascha’s parents, so he wouldn’t worry about murdering Max and Natascha too. And if he murdered them, he would have to murder Tim and Grk too. Colonel Zinfandel wouldn’t want to leave any witnesses who could tell the world what he had done.

I don’t want to be dead, thought Tim.

So I’d better think of a way to escape.

They drove for about twenty minutes through Paris, then turned off the street and plunged down a ramp. The other two cars followed close behind. The ramp led down to an underground car park. Through the darkened window, Tim could see several parked cars and two men wearing leather jackets, standing over a motorbike that they were cleaning or repairing. The men glanced at the car, then went back to whatever they were doing, not interested in anyone or anything else.

They drove down two more levels. There were fewer cars and no people. The whole place appeared to be deserted.

The car stopped. The driver turned off the engine. They sat for a moment in silence. Then the driver turned to the children and barked an order in Stanislavian. Tim couldn’t understand what was said, but he followed Max and Natascha when they clambered out of the car. He thought it would probably be best to do whatever they did.

As soon as they climbed out of the car, they were immediately surrounded by Colonel Zinfandel’s bodyguards.

Tim looked around and counted the number of men. There were eight. All of them were dressed in black suits and white shirts.

Eight of them, thought Tim. Eight grown men. Fit and strong and probably armed with pistols. Against three of us. Plus Grk.

It’s impossible, he thought. We could never escape.

The bodyguards looked calm and happy. It was an easy job for them. They usually spent their lives worrying about assassination attempts, looking out for bullets and bombs, wondering whether they were going to be shot or blown up. Today, they just had to guard three children and a little dog. They were sure that they had nothing to worry about.

There was no sign of Colonel Zinfandel himself. He had come to Paris to meet French businessmen, arms dealers and politicians, and he wasn’t going to let his plans be interrupted by the odd assassination attempt.

One of the bodyguards barked another order. Looking at him, Tim decided he must be the leader. He had cruel lips and a small, thin mustache.

He ordered two guards to search the children.

When the guards were sure that the children weren’t carrying any concealed weapons, they marched them across the car park, down a dark
corridor and into a small lift. The leader pressed the button marked twenty-three. The door slid shut and the lift shuddered upward.

When they arrived on the twenty-third floor, they walked down a long corridor, passing several flats but no people. They stopped outside at a closed door. Tim noted the number: 238.

The leader knocked twice, paused for a moment and knocked twice more. A voice came from the other side, asking a question. The leader responded and the door opened. Again, Tim couldn’t understand what anyone was saying. He wished he understood Stanislavian and hoped he would soon have a chance to speak to Max and Natascha, so they could tell him what had been happening.

They found themselves in the main room of a small apartment. The furniture was anonymous and impersonal. It looked like the type of stuff that you would expect to find in a hotel, not a home.

The three children and Grk were led to a bedroom at the back of the flat. They were ushered inside. One of the bodyguards spoke to Max in Stanislavian, then shut the door. They heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. And they were alone at last.

As soon as the door was shut, Tim turned to the others and said, “So what’s going on? What did they say?”

Natascha put her finger to her lips. “Shh.”

“Why?”

Natascha pointed at the walls and whispered, “They’re probably listening.”

Tim nodded. He knew she was right. From that moment onward, they only spoke in whispers. Tim repeated his questions, speaking so quietly that no one could possibly have overheard what he was saying: “What’s going on? What have they been saying to you? What’s happening? Where are we?”

“In a prison,” said Max, choosing only to answer the last of Tim’s questions.

“This doesn’t look like a prison,” said Tim. “It looks like an ordinary room in an ordinary flat.”

“It doesn’t matter what it looks like,” said Max. “It’s still a prison. We’re locked in. We’re being guarded by the secret service. They might keep us here. They might even kill us here. But if they don’t, they’re going to smuggle us out of the country and take us to Stanislavia. And
when they get us there, they’re going to put us somewhere that really does look like a prison. With bars on the windows and locks on the doors. And we’ll never get out of that.”

“We did before,” said Natascha. “With Tim’s help.”

“That was a miracle,” said Max. “And miracles don’t happen more than once in a lifetime. This time, no one will get anywhere near us. The guards won’t even let us out of our cells.”

Tim said, “So what are we going to do? How can we get out of here?”

“We can’t get out of here,” said Max. “We’re trapped. We can’t escape. It’s completely hopeless.” Max sighed. His shoulders slumped. He sat down on the bed and touched his face with his fingers, exploring the extent of his wounds. His cheeks were covered with dried blood and everything hurt.

Natascha sat beside her brother. She licked her sleeve and wiped his face, cleaning the blood from his skin.

While Natascha was tending to Max, Tim looked around the room, taking stock of their situation.

They were locked in a small room on the twenty-third floor of a tower block. They couldn’t get out of the door. And even if they did,
their progress would be blocked by a group of highly trained and heavily armed bodyguards who would not hesitate to shoot them.

Tim said, “What about the window?”

Max lifted his head and peered at the window. In a quiet voice, he said, “What about it?”

“Maybe we can get out of the window and escape from here.”

“Maybe,” said Max. “But isn’t it locked?”

Tim went to the window and saw that Max was right. The window was locked with strong metal bolts. Tim wrenched the bolts, trying to open them, but they were too strong for him.

“We could smash the glass,” said Tim.

“And then what?” said Max. “Jump?”

Tim pressed his nose to the glass and looked down. He could see a long drop to the ground.

“Twenty-three floors,” said Tim. “That’s a long way down.”

“We can’t get out of the window,” said Max. “And we can’t get through the door. I don’t imagine we can get through the walls, the floor or the ceiling either. We’re trapped.”

“Let’s search the room,” said Tim.

Max sighed. “What’s the point?”

“Maybe we’ll find something we can use.”

“Fine,” said Max.

It was a small room, but they searched it carefully and methodically, moving from one side to the other, making sure they didn’t miss anything. Max looked under the bed. Natascha hunted through the cupboards. Tim ran his fingers along the carpet.

Grk searched the room too. He didn’t want to be left out. He scrambled under the bed, ran round the walls and sniffed the floor.

Max found a matchstick. Natascha discovered an empty envelope. Tim didn’t find anything. And nor did Grk.

“This is hopeless,” said Natascha. “There’s nothing we can do.”

Max turned on her angrily. “Hopeless? Hopeless? Don’t start complaining now. This is entirely your own fault.”

“My fault? Why is it my fault?”

“Because you came to Paris. Because you followed me. Because you stopped me from killing Colonel Zinfandel in the Eiffel Tower. If you’d left me alone, none of this would have happened.”

“If I’d left you alone, you’d probably be dead,” said Natascha.

“I might be,” said Max. “But I’d be happy.”

“How can you be happy if you’re dead?”

“I would have been happy to die. I’d have done what I wanted.”

“That’s just stupid,” said Natascha.

“No, it’s not,” said Max. “It’s what I wanted most in the world—and you stopped me from doing it. All I care about is killing Colonel Zinfandel. Yes, if I’d done it, I might be dead too. Or in a French prison. But you’d be safe. And so would Tim. Rather than all three of us being here. You shouldn’t have stopped me.”

“I couldn’t let you get killed!” cried Natascha.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re my brother.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Max. “I’m old enough to known what I want to do with my life. I can make my own decisions for myself. You should have left me alone. But you couldn’t do that, could you? You had to stick your nose in my affairs. And you’ve made everything much, much worse.”

Natascha stared at her brother. She couldn’t believe what he was saying to her. Why was he so angry with her? Couldn’t he understand why she had done what she did? She had just tried to help him, nothing more. She had thought she was doing the right thing.