Grk Undercover by Joshua Doder Page A

with a loud splat.
    The waiter returned with two tall glasses of orange juice. He placed them on the table and said. “Are you ready to order?”
    “Yes, we are,” said Natascha. “I would like to start with the scallops. And then I’ll have the turbot.”
    The waiter nodded politely, then turned to Tim. “And for you, sir?”
    “I’ll have the same as her,” said Tim.
    “A very good choice, sir.” The waiter scrawled their order in a small pad. He had decided to pretend that Tim and Natascha were just ordinary customers and their age was nothing unusual. He would treat them as graciously as he would anyone else.
    When the waiter had gone, Tim sipped his orange juice. It was delicious. He said, “What are scallops?”
    “A type of shellfish,” said Natascha. “Like oysters or mussels.”
    “Oh,” said Tim. He didn’t think he liked oysters or mussels, so he was fairly sure he wouldn’t like scallops either. “And what’s turbot?”
    “It’s a fish too.”
    “Okay,” said Tim. He had suddenly remembered the waiter recommending the restaurant on the tower’s lower level. “You will be able to buy yourself a burger and some chips,” the waiter had said. Mmmm, thought Tim. Burger and chips. That sounded good.
    Tim suddenly realized he was really quite hungry. He started to dream about a squishy burger covered in ketchup and surrounded by chips. He was just imagining exactly how the chips would taste when a voice broke his concentration.
    The voice belonged to Natascha. She whispered in an urgent tone: “Look!”
    Tim lifted his head and looked at her. “Hmmm?”
    “I said look!”
    “What am I supposed to be looking at?”
    Natascha didn’t move. Her face was rigid. She whispered, “That.”
    Tim turned his head to see what she was staring at.
    On the other side of the restaurant, a boy was walking across the dining room, heading straight toward Colonel Zinfandel. It was Max.
    Tim whispered, “What’s he going to do?”
    Natascha didn’t answer. She couldn’t speak. She was desperately trying to decide what to do. Should she run forward and stop Max? Or should she let him come into the restaurant and kill the man who had murdered their parents? Indecision rooted her to the spot.
    With each moment that she hesitated, Max took another step into the room. And each step brought him closer to Colonel Zinfandel.
    Tim didn’t know what to do either. He was Max’s friend. And Natascha’s too. He knew how much they hated Colonel Zinfandel, and he understood why. But should he simply sit still and watch a man get murdered?
    He didn’t know whether to run or shout or throw himself forward or simply sit still and keep quiet and let Max do what he wanted.
    Under the table, Grk was standing up. His ears were upright. His mouth was open. His tongue was hanging out. He had seen Max.
    Grk was confused. Max was here. And Colonel Zinfandel too. What was going on?
    He looked up at Tim and Natascha, wondering why they hadn’t moved. Why weren’t they running across the restaurant to say hello? That was what Grk wanted to do. But he knew he shouldn’t. Not if Tim and Natascha weren’t. So he stood there, his tail wagging and his mouth open, waiting to see what they did.
    When Max reached Colonel Zinfandel, he stopped. And looked around. He was searching for a weapon.
    On a nearby table, he saw a knife.
    Max grabbed it.
    He gripped the wooden handle in his right hand. The sharp blade gleamed in the bright lights. He said, “Zinfandel.”
    Colonel Zinfandel didn’t turn round. He was immersed in his conversation and didn’t want to be disturbed.
    Max spoke again, louder this time. His voice was strong and clear. He said, “Zinfandel.”
    This time, Colonel Zinfandel turned round to see who had interrupted him. His brows were furrowed and his mouth was open. He stared at Max and said, “Yes? Who are you?”
    “You don’t know me?”
    “I’ve never seen you before,” said Colonel Zinfandel. “How