Deception On the Danube

by D'arcy Kavanagh

  “Keep riding,” Renata Hable said.

  Soon, the children were well back. One of them hollered a curse at the riders for not stopping.

  “At least those people back there aren’t going to take over the country like those refugees that are flooding the continent,” Blake said in a loud voice.

  No one replied.

  The subject of refugees coming to Europe was a controversial one, debated and fought over in more than a dozen countries. From what Burke understood, the problem wasn’t going to go away since refugees were still coming by the thousands onto the continent in a bid to leave behind terrible circumstances in their homelands. Then there were “economic migrants” or people looking for a chance to enjoy a western lifestyle. With such a migration to the continent, many Europeans openly expressed their fear that terrorists would sneak into Europe during the chaos.

  The Austrians, as Burke understood the situation, were struggling with the numbers of refugees crossing into their country. While some Austrians were doing whatever they could to help, others were voicing their concerns in the traditional media, in social media and even in protest marches, saying there was no way the nation could cope. There was also a divisive split among the national politicians as well with insults being employed with greater frequency.

  Burke put aside thoughts of refugees and focused on getting the cyclists back to the Sunna without further incident.

  When the ride ended one hour later by the dock in Krems where their cruise ship was now docked for the night, Burke noticed a look of relief on Young’s face. The American seemed exhausted, his shoulders slouched and his head drooping.

  Burke glanced over to where Bennett Blake was exchanging a joke with Eric Chapman and Hoshiko Kimura. Blake laughed at the conclusion; the other two just smiled. The three of them looked refreshed.

  The group replaced their bikes in the ship’s storage compartment and then, as usual, convened in the dining room where two large tables, loaded with fruit, water and juice bottles, were set aside for them. Notebooks and pens were also provided in case anyone wanted to take notes.

  Hable made a couple of general remarks, not mentioning anything about the Young crash, and then turned matters over to Burke. Just as he was about to start, he noticed out of the corner of his eye Sergeant Plaschke drive away, followed by the two police on motorcycles.

  He’d have to catch Plaschke or the others later.

  His first challenge, though, was determining what to say. He had been thinking about his comments for the last half hour without anything coming to mind; it was certainly challenging to find anything positive to mention. Kendall Young had been a disaster on the road, trying awkwardly in some strange way to please Bennett Blake who, in turn, treated the American like some kind of lackey. A few of the others had tired unexpectedly in the last hour. Only a handful in the group, led by Hoshiko Kimura, had shown any decent form.

  Burke remembered Renata Hable telling him at the outset of the trip to “spare no punches” during his critiques, but he was reluctant to be too harsh. So he began by outlining – again – the advantages to good teamwork. He saw a couple of the participants immediately begin to lose interest; one person, David Fraser, even rolled his eyes.

  Then Burke diagnosed how quickly an accident can happen, but didn’t mention Kendall Young. “When something goes wrong, it’s absolutely crucial in cycling to get back to being organized as quickly as possible. The longer it takes to react, the worse your prospects are.”

  “Which is also the way with business, as we all know,” chimed in Hable. “You simply can’t sit and wait. You have to assert yourselves and get to work again. As for self-analysis, that has to take place sooner than later if you’re going to avoid repeating mistakes.”

  She took over the presentation, forcefully telling the group what they probably already knew – that a company whose managers aren’t committed to the same goals is doomed to failure – and adding that it’s not about competition within an organization but competition with external groups.

  After a few more minutes, she changed the subject to the evening’s special activity – a wine tasting. “We are in one of Europe’s greatest wine-producing regions as you know and we’re going to take full advantage of that with a special wine-tasting tour this evening in a village close to Krems.”

  Several of the group said they had been looking forward to the wine tour from the first day of the trip.

  Hable smiled. “That’s excellent. I know some of you consider this to be one of the trip’s highlights – and rightfully so – but it will be about more than wine. It will be about sampling, evaluating and making decisions, again just like the world of business or, for that matter, the world of government.”

  She told them that three local winemakers would be providing products for sampling. “We’re talking about award-winning wine here. We’ll have some palate cleaners that won’t disrupt your taste buds and then, after the wine tasting, we’ll return to our ship and have a late dinner prepared for us by Chef Claude and Chef Reinhard.”

  Burke expected his friend and the Austrian were already going full speed to produce the meal.

  Hable explained how three mini-buses would collect those participants who had signed up, their interested family members and staff and then head out on the tour. After two hours, everyone would return to the Sunna. Only Hoshiko Kimura and Eric Chapman had backed out.

  “Hey, Kendall, don’t be handing me any wine tonight,” Bennett Blake interjected, pointing a finger at the American. “I don’t want anything to spill on my new linen suit.”

  Several in the group chuckled while Young managed only a slight smile. Burke couldn’t believe how different Young was from the man at the start of the tour – and how Blake had become louder and more obnoxious during the same period.

  He wondered what the wine tasting would bring.

  But, first, he wanted a word with Sergeant Plaschke.

  Chapter 14

  Burke reached Plaschke on his second phone call to the Krems police station. Using German, he explained what information he wanted.

  There was an extended pause at the policeman’s end. “It seems you’re suggesting the cause of death might be something other than an accident,” Plaschke finally said.

  “Well … .”

  “You have no evidence to support that suggestion, Herr Burke. That means you’re wasting my time with this call.”

  Burke could sense Plaschke was ready to hang up. “Do you know if he was up there on his own?”

  Another pause and then a sigh. “You know, Herr Burke, I did some research on you and discovered more about your involvement in some murder investigations in southern France.”

  “Why did you check me out?”

  “It was just a matter of due diligence when we looked into the sudden passing of Herr Talbot.”

  Burke wasn’t sure what “due diligence” meant in that case, but he decided not to pursue it. “All right, I understand. But do you know if he was up there alone?”

  “Whatever we know, we won’t be sharing it with you, Herr Burke.”

  “Are you 100-per-cent satisfied it was an accident?”

  “I will see you tomorrow morning for your group ride.”

  Before Plaschke could hang up, Burke asked what was behind expanding the police escort. “Why are you coming with us? And why did you come with us today? We didn’t need guidance. We knew where we were going and so did those two motorcycle cops who’ve been very helpful since we started.”

  “I’m just providing a little more local knowledge to avoid any traffic issues. After all, Krems is a much bigger community compared to the small towns and villages where you’ve been.”

  Burke didn’t buy it. He doubted a police sergeant would be assigned such a mundane task. “Are you going with us all the way to Vienna?”

  “I’ll be with you just one more day. When you reach Tulln tomorrow afternoon, I’ll leave.�
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  Burke knew the distance was about 45 kilometres, much of it along quiet country roads. If anything, a person would have to make an effort to get lost. “Who asked you to help us out, Sergeant?”

  “I have no more time to waste, Herr Burke.”

  And then Plaschke ended the call.

  Whoever was behind adding Plaschke to the escort patrol, Burke was sure it wasn’t Thierry Delisle or his bosses.

  More police wouldn’t make anyone comfortable.

  Chapter 15

  Thierry Delisle, with help from Burke, Renata Hable and Carmen Moreau, led the 40 wine-tour participants onto the three small buses, telling everyone how great the evening would be. The mood among the group was a jovial one with lots of smiles and laughter. Even Kendall Young was in good spirits.

  The team-building people and their families took over the first two buses. Burke went into the third one, sitting behind the driver. Beside him was Carmen Moreau, busy tapping something onto her phone. The rest of the passengers were aides, most of them not talking, just pecking away at a phone or a tablet, looking like they were catching up on work-related tasks.

  Burke looked out the window as the bus twisted and turned, climbed and dropped along narrow, dark laneways. The driver, a middle-aged woman with oversized hands, handled the bus with great skill, shifting with ease and rarely stepping on the brake. But she had to be good to stay with the first two buses which were speeding along at a rate that seemed borderline suicidal to Burke.

  Then they were there.

  The buses pulled into a large, gravel parking area. They continued a few more metres and then stopped before a two-metre-high stone wall connected to a massive iron gate. Behind the wall was an old sandstone building, half house, half fortress. To Burke, it seemed like they had stepped into the past by about 200 years.

  Several of the visitors immediately starting snapping photos and Burke couldn’t blame them. The building was impressive and the setting in a small forest on the side of a hill was picturesque, even at twilight.

  The massive gate opened and six people walked out.

  Three of them – two men and a woman, no one older than 40 – wore black trousers and black shirts, almost like a uniform. The other three, all woman, were in their 50s and sported Austrian traditional dresses with white aprons.

  The shortest of the three dressed in black took one more step forward. “I am Gunther Groer, proprietor of the 250-year-old Groer Winery which is where we stand right now,” he said in flawless English. Then he turned to the woman beside him. “This is my sister Dorina Pfeffer who is proprietor of the Pfeffer Vineyards which you can find two kilometres east of here. The gentleman beside my sister is my brother Markus who is in charge of international trade for both my company and my sister’s company.”

  The three of them bowed in unison.

  “As you might know, you are in Austria’s greatest wine-making district,” Groer said with a theatrical wave of a hand. “But you may not know how long wine making has been going on in this region. Two-thousand years. That’s right, two millennia. The Romans encouraged wine production and so did the great Charlemagne, who loved a cup of the best wine. The rulers who followed them were equally enthusiastic and so winemaking in this part of the world has continued, through wars, industrial changes and technological advances until we find ourselves standing here today.”

  Dorina took over, speaking in equally good English. “And it’s our honour to welcome you to the place where our great, great, great, great, great grandfather began the family wine business.”

  “We have expanded since those days, but we remain dedicated to the craft and profession of making world-class wines,” added Markus. “And in case you’re wondering, we’re not in competition with each other. We produce different wines and work as a unit in marketing them. Wine is the family trade, so to speak.”

  Then Gunther introduced the three women in traditional garb: Julia, Isabella and Maria. He provided no surnames. “They are all professionally certified sommeliers who have been working with our family for more than 30 years each,” he said.

  And with that, he waved everyone forward into the mauve-coloured courtyard where four massive tables, all set up with white linen cloths and countless glasses and plates, stood under the shade of three leafy plane trees.

  “This is amazing,” Carmen Moreau whispered to Burke.

  Burke could only nod. It was a magnificent setting with the beautiful trees and enormous flowerpots, and, of course, the mansion itself. Whoever lived here, probably Gunther and his family, must feel like royalty, he thought.

  Then two dogs came out of nowhere, bouncing and barking. Gunther stopped them dead with a hand gesture. The two dogs, both brown-and-white pointers, sat with their tongues lolling and eyes alert to the next command.

  “These are my guardians, Lisl and Laika,” he said. “They help me on my rounds and greet my customers and friends. They are very friendly and very popular, but I ask that you don’t weaken and give them any treats. They are already spoiled enough.”

  And then the wine tasting began.

  Gunther started, introducing a Riesling from a vineyard not 100 metres from where they were sitting. When it was time to taste the wine, the three sommeliers took over, moving around to talk to their visitors about what they tasted as they sampled the wine. The three women were genial and knowledgeable. They were also easygoing and funny. Soon, the courtyard was filled with laughter.

  Burke took only a sip. As a staffer, he was under orders to keep his wine intake to the minimum which was unfortunate because he thought the Riesling was an exquisite wine, delicately fruity, clean and crisp.

  He noticed Moreau and Hable were barely touching their wine as well. Delisle, though, was more liberal with his drinking, but then he was the boss and obviously felt a glass or two would help him entertain the participants.

  Next up was Dorina who introduced a Weißburgunder. She had barely gotten into mentioning the wine was an “all-rounder” when Bennett Blake interrupted her in a booming voice. “For all the accolades and awards you’ve mentioned, your wines are not as acclaimed as the French. Is that because Austrian wines are just not as good? Is the issue in the grapes?”

  Glancing around, Burke saw most people wincing at Blake’s obvious desire to be in the spotlight. That’s when Burke noticed Blake’s wife Felicity wasn’t there. If she was, she’d probably be embarrassed by her husband’s rudeness.

  In response to Blake’s comment, Dorina smiled sweetly. “You have made an interesting observation. I believe it is accurate to say French wines are the world’s most famous. Are they the best? That’s for you and everyone who enjoys wine to decide. I will tell you that Austrian wines, especially the whites, have developed an outstanding reputation for quality. It’s the result of years of hard work, research and talent. For example, I have a university degree in making wine. So, too, do my brothers. And before we got to this point, we had to serve an apprenticeship although, to be honest, making wines is in our genes.”

  That brought some chuckles and lightened the mood, Burke thought.

  “When you sample each wine, please take your time to evaluate its texture, nose, taste and finish,” Dorina said. Then she looked right at Bennett Blake. “I think you are a very experienced drinker of fine wines, sir.”

  Burke could see Blake was waiting for her to dish out some criticism. Instead, she smiled even wider, her eyes still locked onto him. “I would only ask you to give our wines a fair chance. I think you might be surprised. Maybe the next time you reach for a great wine, you’ll think about an Austrian wine and perhaps one of ours.”

  Blake smiled back but without much joy. He’d lost his moment.

  Carmen Moreau leaned toward Burke. “There’s always one in every crowd,” she whispered.

  Burke nodded. But he was surprised by one aspect of the brief exchange – how quickly Blake had backed down.

  Chapter 16

>   Two hours later, the tour was over. Burke was convinced all the guests, even Bennett Blake, had enjoyed themselves. The wines had been brilliant and about half the guests had purchased at least one bottle. In Blake’s case, he had bought a dozen despite his interruption at the outset of the presentation. Burke wondered where Blake was going to keep all his wine purchases; he had bought almost 30 bottles in the last two days.

  “Please give our hosts one more round of applause,” Thierry Delisle said.

  The guests enthusiastically complied.

  Back in the bus, Burke thought the noise level among the previously quiet staffers was significantly louder. No one was working on a phone or tablet. It was clear what a few glasses of great wine could do.

  The trip back to the Sunna was quick and unnerving, given the darkness and the driver’s desire to demonstrate her Grand Prix skills. The only surprise came when she had to swerve sharply to avoid striking three children walking beside the road. At that hour and wearing dark clothing, the kids had been invisible until the last second.

  “What the hell?” someone yelped at the sudden motion by the bus.

  “Roma,” the driver said.

  “Or refugees,” came another voice from farther back in the bus. “They’re bloody everywhere.”

  When they were back at the ship, everyone trooped into the dining room which was already half full with those who hadn’t gone to the wine tasting.

  Burke spotted Claude at the kitchen doors. His friend nodded and winked. All was well. And when Burke looked at the buffet tables laden with food, he could see why. He wasn’t sure what all the platters contained but each one looked delicious. He had sampled some of the hors d’oeuvres on the wine tour, but he was still hungry.

  The wine-tour people spread out to join their families and staff at various tables, and the room quickly filled with laughter. It was the best night yet of the tour.

  Burke wondered if anyone was thinking about Wilson Talbot. Looking at all the smiling faces, he doubted it.