It seemed everyone was impressed by cycling the Danube.
“You feel like you’re away from the rest of the world,” Ingrid Froon said. “I come from the Netherlands where we have very little open space and people are always around you. Maybe that’s why this is such a captivating region.”
“It seems everywhere you look you can see a castle or a massive monastery,” Kendall Young remarked. “It’s a totally different world from being back in the States.”
Burke thought that was the most he’d heard Young speak in two days.
“If you want to start an argument between Germans and Austrians, just ask them which part of the Danube is prettier,” Dietrich Beck said. “The Germans will tell you that the German part is far more scenic while the Austrians will say it’s impossible to surpass the beauty of the area where we are now.”
“The Danube hasn’t always been so peaceful, you know,” said Niklaus Gast. “In fact, there were many centuries when it was dominated by warlords and even pirates who’d operate out of small hilltop fortresses. They’d see an approaching boat and then rush down to intercept it. It was a profitable business – and a bloody one, too.”
“Pirates have been on the Danube in recent times, too,” interjected David Fraser. “I recall reading that it was back in the early 2000s that real pirates raided ferries going along the river in Bulgaria. They came up on the ferries in small boats, used grappling hooks to pull themselves up and then ransacked cars and trucks.”
Burke was stunned to hear about modern-era pirates along the Danube and he could see others were, too. He wondered if Blake’s killer had secretly climbed aboard, maybe like those Bulgarian pirates, but then he dismissed the notion. Too great a risk of being seen.
“Are you sure?” Young asked. “That sounds like fiction, almost like something out of the Pirates of the Caribbean.”
“Check it out for yourself, Kendall, but it’s the truth,” Fraser replied. “Today’s world, as we all know only too well, is not a safe place.”
“There’s no doubt the Danube has been a force in commerce for a very long time,” Gast said. “For example, the ancient Greeks navigated its waters, starting in the Black Sea. The Romans were more active, building military outposts along much of its route. That’s why you can find Roman ruins in countless areas.”
“And then you have Richard the Lionheart and his knights,” Gert Vanderkamp said.
“You might be interested to know that the Lionheart didn’t get caught and imprisoned after some large battle,” Gast said in his rich baritone, sounding to Burke like a well-regarded history professor. “In fact, it was quite the opposite. After some conquests but also several misadventures during the Crusades in Palestine, he learned that his brother John was plotting against him back home and he decided to return to England to protect his crown. He decided to take a route through today’s Austria and, with a handful of his followers, used a disguise to avoid trouble. Unfortunately for him, it didn’t work and he was captured by the men of Duke Leopold of Austria. That’s how he ended up in the castle at Dürnstein, awaiting to be ransomed and hoping he’d have a throne to return to.”
“You seem to know a great deal about him, Niklaus,” Jean Poirier said.
“I studied medieval history at university,” Gast replied. “That was my main interest, but I recognized that knowing a considerable amount about the Crusades was not going to pay many of my bills. So, I studied economics as a way to be more practical.”
Burke tried to recall how the Swiss had worked his way up the corporate ladder. He remembered Gast earned graduate degrees in international economics and worked for several years for the Swiss government in some kind of financial capacity. Beyond that, he didn’t remember when and in what capacity Gast had joined Worldwide. But he knew that Gast was stationed at the company’s Zurich office.
“So, the Danube has a history of danger and bloodshed,” Poirier said.
“As much as any river, I’d say,” Gast said.
The servers came out with two final platters, this time loaded with desserts, all of which looked delicious. The group didn’t linger, attacking the treats as if they were starving. As they ate and had a final beer, wine or coffee, the participants talked more quietly among themselves and no longer about Richard the Lionheart, Bulgarian pirates or Roman and Greek visitors. Burke had the sense that Bennett Blake’s absence made them all feel more comfortable.
When everyone had finished eating and drinking, Renata Hable went inside to pay the bill for the group. Burke watched as the participants returned to their bikes, most of them ensuring their machines remained in perfect working order. The mood was still bright as they chatted and joked. Lunch had been a good time.
Burke stood off to the side, checking his map. He knew the route, but wanted to ensure he didn’t miss any possible highlights on the trip back.
“Interesting group, aren’t they, Paul?” said Hable, re-appearing after settling the bill.
“Some very smart people.”
“But some of them still remain attached to the old ways.”
“What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you noticed that several of the male members of our team-building group have an inner circle among themselves?”
Burke took a moment to consider Hable’s observation. It was true, he thought. A half dozen of the men seemed to hang around together or, at the least, to share private conversations. “Now that you mention it, I do see it. Maybe it’s a case of the old boys’ club.”
“I know about that club all too well. You’ll find it in most towns and cities. We Dutch like to think of ourselves as being progressive, but in such male-female matters we still have some work to do.”
For a few days, Burke had wondered what was bothering him about the group. Renata Hable had pinpointed it. There was indeed a small inner circle of men who shared conversations away from the female members and also from everyone else.
But it wasn’t like those conversations were bursting with jokes and laughter, he thought. If anything, it was the opposite. When they talked, they did so in serious tones and with secretive glances around them. It wasn’t like they got together to discuss new computer software or great hotels or their golf games.
They were hiding something. Burke was sure of it. But what?
Maybe they were involved in some internal fraud scheme. After all, the newspapers and TV newscasts frequently reported on such matters. But Burke doubted it. There was something more sinister coming from their joint gatherings. If it wasn’t money, then maybe it was power. They could be jointly plotting to increase their roles within the company hierarchy. Again, Burke discarded that theory; they couldn’t all expect to rise up the corporate ladder and he didn’t think anyone in the group seemed the type to sacrifice himself for the betterment of others.
So, if it wasn’t money or power, Burke wondered if their collective interest was sex. After all, he recalled, there was the theory that most crimes involved money, power or sex. But then he put that one aside as well since the inner-circle had all wives or girlfriends and seemed content with their romantic status.
And then he pondered Bennett Blake’s status within that group. Sometimes, he had looked like a member, but on other occasions he had appeared like an intruder. Or so it seemed to Burke.
Whatever Blake’s involvement, Burke thought it was possible that one of those inner-circle members had managed to lure Blake to the storage compartment. And since there was a secret behind their meeting, that person might have persuaded Blake to make sure he wasn’t seen going to the compartment.
And then that person had killed Blake.
Maybe.
Chapter 42
On the ride back to Krems, the group lacked the punch of the trip out to Herzogenburg, thanks to the hefty lunch. But for Burke, that was fine. He hadn’t stuffed himself like most of the others, but he was distracted as they rode, his thoughts drifting back to the inner circle of men within the t
eam-building group.
As he pedaled, he thought again about Bennett Blake’s involvement with that inner male group. He remembered a couple of occasions when Blake had walked up to the others, chatted for a few seconds and then left. The men remaining had looked anxious, even worried. At least most of them had.
The more he considered those scenes, the more Burke thought Blake’s death was a direct result of what had happened at those small sessions.
He identified who was probably in the group: Blake, Dietrich Beck, Roger Langford, Gert Vanderkamp, Kendall Young and probably David Fraser.
He doubted that Jean Poirier, Eric Chapman and Niklaus Gast were involved. Poirier was a family man whose greatest pleasure was spending time with his wife and two young children. He was un-French-like because he didn’t have a wandering eye for an attractive woman and always treated the opposite sex with the utmost respect. Chapman seemed equally devoted to his family and similarly uninterested in any kind of “boys’ club.” He was always polite, reserved and business-like in his dealings with others. Burke considered the Canadian to be some kind of rising star within the organization. As for Gast who was approaching possible retirement, he never talked about friends or family, and had never married although he was supposedly a womanizer, which Burke could easily believe given the Swiss’ elegant style, tall, lean build and sharp, handsome facial features. As for his place in the company hierarchy, he wasn’t someone the others seemed eager to cultivate.
As for anyone else, Burke didn’t think it was likely they were involved.
As the group crossed the bridge back to the north shore of the Danube, Burke continued to consider what kind of bond was shared by the members of this supposed inner circle. Money matters? Possibly. Corporate gossip? Maybe, but why be so anxious? Burke even wondered if they could be involved in some kind of plot to defraud the company of millions. But he put that aside, acknowledging he was being influenced by too many bad television shows.
Then he told himself that, once again, he wasn’t supposed to be delving into such matters. Whatever had happened to Bennett Blake wasn’t his business, despite the fact he had found the body. His job was to produce blogs, not to poke his nose into murder.
But then he thought again about what the inner group was hiding. He couldn’t help it. Something wasn’t right.
Then they were at the dock where the Sunna was.
And Burke saw Hélène standing by the gangplank, talking to her Uncle Claude and looking radiant with her golden skin, auburn hair and bright smile.
He didn’t think about the inner circle anymore or who might have murdered Bennett Blake. All he wanted was to hold Hélène which he did seconds later.
“I’m so happy to see you,” he whispered into her ear.
“As am I, chéri.”
“Did you have any trouble getting here?”
“None, but when I arrived, the police talked to me.”
“About what?”
“They were interested in why I was here. I talked to them for a few minutes and then everything was fine.”
He felt someone approach them. He turned and saw Thierry Delisle.
“It’s time for final remarks to the group, Paul,” Delisle said.
Burke nodded and started to introduce Hélène to his boss, but Delisle brushed the effort aside. “Claude introduced us a few minutes ago,” he said, turning his attention to Hélène. “You are a very lucky man, Paul.”
“I am indeed.”
“Now, you need to join Renata and look after the post-ride analysis. We’ll just do it on the dock, not in the dining room since the kitchen staff is especially busy in there. But keep it short. I think everyone needs to go someplace and relax.”
Burke nodded and returned to the group who were standing, holding their bikes and waiting for Hable to conclude the day’s ride and to provide some details about the next day’s plan.
That took five minutes. When it was Burke’s turn to say something, he praised them for working so well together. To his surprise, his remarks were greeted with smiles. A few even exchanged some high fives – a first on the trip.
When Hable and Burke were done, Delisle took over, informing the group about the special evening meal that was being planned and how the tour would resume its way to Vienna the next morning. “The police will continue to have a presence nearby, but it won’t be anything to worry about.”
Burke wasn’t sure that was true.
But he didn’t care. Hélène was with him now. That was what mattered.
Chapter 43
After ensuring all the bicycles were properly stored away on the ship and quickly changing into casual clothes, Burke walked into town with Hélène. She was athletic and strong, but she still let him carry her small shoulder bag.
“You look tired, chéri,” she said.
Burke nodded. He felt it, too. “But with you here now, I’ll soon feel better.”
They found a small boutique hotel about five minutes from the ship and Hélène checked in. The room was on the second floor and was beautifully decorated with yellow-and-white walls, an old chestnut desk and table, an even older armoire with a vase holding a spray of beautiful Edelweiss flowers, a four-poster bed and a high ceiling. The windows were opened, letting in the sweet scent from the garden below.
“Are you still tired?” Hélène said, crooking an eyebrow.
Burke realized he wasn’t.
An hour later, lying on the bed, he told her about the last couple of days, providing details and observations. He also told her about the “inner circle” that he and Renata Hable had seen among the team-building group.
“What do you think they do as a group?” she asked.
Burke said he didn’t know.
“Maybe the next time you see them together talking, you should go over and involve yourself in the discussion.”
“Maybe, but I doubt they’d let me into whatever secret they’re sharing – if there is a secret.”
“You know, chéri, you mentioned the local police seem to be capable despite not having arrested anyone yet. Why don’t you leave it up to them? It’s probably safer since no one has been charged with murdering Monsieur Blake.”
Once again, that argument made sense to Burke. He should have a quick word with Karl Plaschke about any new developments, write a blog about what he learned and then leave the matter completely in the hands of the police. Of course, he had made similar promises in the past and not kept them.
“How is Monsieur Blake’s wife doing?” Hélène said. “By the way, what’s her name again? Something different, I recall.”
“Felicity, and she seems to be doing better every day.”
“That’s good. To have your husband murdered so brutally must be a terrible thing.”
Burke remembered Felicity Blake’s face and voice when she had heard about the death of her husband. “There’s no doubt she was shocked when it happened, but I don’t think she’s going to mourn him for too long. I have the sense from a couple of conversations with her that they didn’t have the best marriage.”
“You said she seems to be feeling better the last two days. Don’t the English tend to hide their feelings when they face bad news?”
“That’s a bit of a stereotype, but there’s also some truth to it, at least in her case.”
“I know if I was in the same position, I wouldn’t want to share my grief with outsiders.”
“You could be right. It might be a matter of pride.”
“It might also be a case where she believes the best plan is to move on, one small step at a time.”
Burke nodded.
“You said she’s a runner, right?” Hélène asked.
“Yes, she told me she competes in various races when she has the time. In fact, she’s supposed to run in a race in Vienna in a few days, but that might be all messed up because our schedule for getting there has changed.”
“Maybe, for her,
running is therapy.”
“She certainly seems serious about it. I’ve seen her run. She moves fast. She’s great on a bike, too.”
“Chéri, you’re not becoming interested in her, are you?”
Burke looked at Hélène and saw she was grinning. She knew he had no interest in anyone else. “I only have eyes for you,” he whispered.
“That makes me feel very secure and very warm in my heart.”
They decided to spend more time in bed.
Chapter 44
Burke couldn’t believe how relaxed he felt in the warm, humid hotel room. He looked over Hélène’s bare shoulder and out the window. The branches of two tall trees were waving in the afternoon breeze. The scent of the flowers below was even stronger. It was so perfect.
But it would have to end soon because he had a late-afternoon meeting with Delisle and Hable aboard the Sunna where they’d review the next day’s trip.
Burke leaned toward Hélène. “Come with me back to the ship and I’ll see if I can get you a place for dinner tonight.”
“You don’t need to do that, chéri,” Hélène said, almost purring.
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve already been invited to dinner aboard your ship.”
Burke figured Claude had made sure his niece had a spot.
“It was Monsieur Delisle. He insisted. It was very kind of him. Of course, if he hadn’t asked, I’m sure Uncle Claude would have found a way to get me in, maybe as a member of the kitchen staff.”
He wasn’t surprised that Delisle was behind the invitation. Even with his mercurial moods, Delisle was a good man. But he was also classically French with an eye for a pretty woman and Hélène was extremely attractive.
They took turns showering and then Burke left to meet with Delisle and Hable.
When he got to the meeting in a cabin normally set aside for the crew, he saw Carmen Moreau, not surprisingly, was also in attendance. She looked tired, but managed a smile.
“Things are looking better,” said Delisle.
“What do you mean?” asked Burke.
Deception On the Danube Page 14
