Grk Undercover by Joshua Doder

said Max.
    “When did you see him?” said Natascha.
    Tim quickly explained how he had escaped from the Eiffel Tower and where he had last seen Colonel Zinfandel.
    “We’re on an island,” said Max. “If they’ve got any sense, they’ll have put a guard on every bridge. They’ll have the whole place surrounded.”
    “How we can get past them?” said Natascha.
    “We don’t have to,” said Tim. “We can go under them.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the remaining eight Métro tickets. They were damp but still usable. “Let’s catch the train.”
    As they walked across the square, Natascha reached into her backpack and pulled out the remnants of bananas and the chocolates. She divided them equally into three portions and handed them out.
    “Sorry,” she said, looking down at Grk. “There’s nothing for you. But we’ll find you some food later, I promise.”
    Grk stared at her with mournful eyes.
    “You don’t like bananas,” said Natascha. “And chocolate is bad for you. So don’t bother looking at me like that.”
    Her words had no effect. Grk watched them with a gloomy expression as they finished off every scrap of banana and every chunk of chocolate too. Then he turned his attention to the pavement, hoping to see a discarded croissant or an old sandwich, dropped by a tourist who had stopped for lunch.
    In the corner of the square, they found a map of Paris, showing the locations of the Métro stations. A red circle pinpointed their position.
    “We’re here,” said Tim, pointing at the red circle. “And the Métro is there.” He pointed at a capital “M.”
    The nearest Métro station was called Cité. They could reach it without crossing any bridges or leaving the island.
    They hurried through the streets, watching the crowds carefully. People sat outside cafés, drinking coffee and eating croissants. Tourists mingled with smart businessmen in slick suits. Buskers stood on street corners playing guitars.
    And there was the Métro.
    Ornate green railings surrounded the entrance. Above the stairs, one sign read METROPOLITAIN and another announced the name of the station: CITE.
    “Let’s go,” said Tim. “It’s only seven stops from here to the Gare du Nord. And from there, we’re only two hours from London. We’ll get home before Mum and Dad realize we’ve gone.”
    They jogged down the stairs to the ticket barriers, where they came face to face with three of Colonel Zindandel’s bodyguards.
    The three men were wearing black suits and white shirts. They were standing by the ticket barriers, watching everyone who came andwent, searching for any sign of the people who had tried to assassinate their leader. They recognized the children immediately.
    “Run!” shouted Max.
    He turned and sprinted up the stairs.
    Natascha, Tim and Grk charged after him.
    The three bodyguards were just a few paces behind.
    They ran up the stairs and emerged in the streets. There wasn’t time to discuss what to do or where to go. Max ran to the left. Tim and Grk ran to the right. But Natascha didn’t run anywhere. Before she could move, a bodyguard grabbed her arm and twisted hard.
    Natascha screamed. She couldn’t help herself. It hurt so much.
    Alerted by the noise, Max stopped and turned back.
    So did Tim and Grk.
    They saw the three bodyguards surrounding Natascha.
    “Run!” she shouted to them. “Leave me here! Save yourselves! Run!”
    Max paused for a moment, deciding what to do. Then he walked slowly back to his sister.
    Tim and Grk did the same.
    They could have saved themselves. But they would have had to leave Natascha behind. And none of them wanted to do that.
    One of the bodyguards patted down the three children, searching for weapons. The second opened his jacket, showing the pistol in the holster under his arm, warning the children what would happen if they tried to escape. The third made a call on his mobile, telling Colonel Zinfandel that the assassins had been