Deception On the Danube

by D'arcy Kavanagh

“Good. Now get off the phone and get moving.”

  And then Lemaire ended the call.

  A moment later, the cabin door opened and Hélène entered.

  “I ran down to tell you to turn on the television to Channel 6, the local news,” she said, breathing quickly. She had obviously jogged to the cabin. “It’s playing on the kitchen TV and in the dining area. Everyone who is there is watching.”

  Burke flicked on the television, barely hearing Hélène saying she had to dash back to the kitchen.

  There was Alex Eisler going through the announcement in German. It showed him identifying the individuals charged. When he finished a minute later, the room exploded with questions from reporters. Eisler, ever calm, answered with one theme: The investigation was complex and involved various agencies in different countries. Details of the charges would be released shortly.

  That spot ended and the news anchor introduced a clip featuring a spokesperson from Worldwide Events Consulting Inc. “Worldwide Events Consulting is shocked by these charges,” said the spokesperson, a 30-ish blonde with enormous blue eyes. “We are co-operating with the authorities in every way possible because of the nature of the allegations. Beyond that, the company is withholding comment until more details are provided.”

  Burke, who had seen large corporations shatter under public duress, figured the senior executives at Worldwide Events Consulting would be scrambling to separate the company as much as possible from the men charged. But there was little chance of them being successful, he thought. The company was about to become toxic around the world.

  Burke’s phone buzzed with a text.

  “Watching the news?”

  It was from Karl Plaschke.

  Chapter 62

  When the news ended five minutes later, Burke left his cabin for the dining room, eager to see how many passengers there had seen the clip. Before he even got to the room, he could hear voices, lots of them, loud, angry and worried. When he got a full view, he saw at least 50 people standing around, all of them locked into intense conversations. Another 20 were seated at tables and just as animated.

  He approached the nearest group, eager to hear what they were discussing but unwilling to join in.

  “All of us are going to be guilty by association,” said the wife of a Swiss participant who had always kept a distance from his fellow countryman Gast. “We can’t ignore this or pretend it won’t affect us. People are going to believe we knew what these men were doing and believe we condoned it. We’ve to do something and we’ve got to do it fast.”

  Her husband tried to calm her down, but she wasn’t interested in his soothing words. “You should have noticed something,” she said. He looked like he’d been slapped. “I don’t know how or when, but you should have. Now we’re all being dragged into this mess.”

  That prompted an angry exchange with not just her husband, but a couple of others who argued they hadn’t known either and shouldn’t be criticized for it.

  Burke moved to another group. The emotions were equally raw with some Worldwide Events staffers concerned that the blowback to the company would mean cancelled contracts and, ultimately, lost jobs.

  When he walked by a handful of people at another table, he heard them expressing shock at what the six team-building participants were being charged with. “They sat among us, ate with us, drank with us and yet we never knew,” said one young staffer who worked for David Fraser.

  Wherever Burke went, it was the same – anger, disbelief, worry, disgust. No one was giving the men charged the benefit of the doubt. They were guilty. End of story.

  Burke wondered if the families of the men in custody felt the same, but he didn’t spot any of them. They were either in their cabins, trying to avoid possible conflicts or painful discussions with other passengers, or they were somewhere else, maybe even at the police station where the men were being detained.

  Then he saw a grim-faced Carmen Moreau walking his way. She stopped in front of him, paused and then said: “Monsieur Delisle has been talking to head office for some time, trying to work out what we can do next.”

  “And what does head office say?” wondered Burke, expecting the senior managers at FWC Specialty Tours would probably be a little nervous these days.

  “According to Monsieur Delisle, our big bosses are both furious and worried. They know we’re not connected to these crimes, but it happened on our watch and so they’re not pleased with us.”

  “What did they expect us to do?” Burke replied, getting angry. “We didn’t do anything wrong. We just did our jobs. These men have been hiding their dirty little secret for years and somehow it all exploded on this trip.”

  “Monsieur Delisle knows that, but head office is concerned that the company name is attached to what’s happening.”

  Burke nodded, recalling the comments he’d heard minutes before about being guilty by association. The adage that bad PR is better than no PR wasn’t always true. He expected FWC Specialty Tours would probably get some grief from its connection to events occurring on the Sunna and might even lose some potential contracts as a result, but Burke expected FWC would survive without too much lost business. However, for Worldwide Events Consulting Inc., the stigma would likely never go away and could even be great enough to destroy the company.

  “So, what does Delisle want us to do?” he asked Moreau.

  “Nothing right now. He said he has to talk with Captain Keller about a couple of matters before making any decisions.”

  “Where’s Renata?”

  “In her cabin. She was out here earlier and got swarmed by passengers looking for information she didn’t have. She explained that to them, but it didn’t help. When a few of them became belligerent, she left.”

  “Have you had any confrontations with passengers?”

  “A couple of passengers were mildly unpleasant, but that’s been it. Most of the people here think I’m just the little girl who scribbles the occasional note, checks something on the tablet and bows to Monsieur Delisle. Right now, that works fine for me. There’s a great deal of anger on this ship.”

  Burke spotted some passengers looking his way. He figured it wouldn’t be long before they accosted him. After all, he rode with the team-building participants and had obviously been conversing with the police over recent days. “I think I’ll escape,” Burke told Moreau.

  “In case you haven’t heard, the police aren’t restricting people to the ship anymore. It seems they’re no longer worried about us running away and doing something bad. Besides, they still have all our passports.”

  “Thanks for the update, Carmen.”

  Then Burke left, walking quickly to the outside deck. There were two burly uniform cops at the top of the gangplank and two more at the bottom, on the dock

  “I just want to go ashore,” he told one of the officers.

  “That’s fine, Herr Burke,” the officer replied, surprising Burke by using his surname. “Just ensure you have your ship’s pass with you.”

  “If passengers can come and go now, why are you officers here?”

  “We’re not here to keep passengers from leaving. We’re here to ensure no one without authority comes aboard. If we weren’t here, you’d have dozens of journalists and probably even a couple of hundred curious bystanders storming the ship and that could lead to some trouble.”

  Burke expected that’s exactly what would happen if the flics weren’t there. But since the police couldn’t stay around indefinitely, he hoped someone connected with the tour had thought about hiring a security firm to provide the same protection once the flics were gone.

  He went down the gangplank, noticing several people starting to converge at the bottom. The two police were struggling to keep them at arm’s length.

  “Reporters,” one of the police told Burke.

  Once beyond the police officers’ protection, Burke was surrounded by journalists who fired off a dozen questions at once. Burk
e felt odd to be in the centre of a media scrum. More than a few times in the last two years, he had been in the scrum, trying to ask a question.

  He gave a couple of answers, saying he didn’t know anything more than what he’d seen on the news.

  “You’re Paul Burke, right?” someone asked.

  Burke nodded.

  “You’ve been involved in police investigations before. Are you helping the cops this time, too?”

  “I’m just trying to stay out of trouble.”

  The questions didn’t stop. Burke gave a few more innocuous replies and then extricated himself from the scrum when the journalists began turning their attention to a couple of other passengers who were coming down the gangplank.

  He went a block and spotted a taxi. “The main police station, please,” he said.

  He wondered what was happening there.

  Chapter 63

  The Vienna Police Directorate was a 15-minute ride away. As the cab approached the cold, imposing structure, Burke noticed a half dozen media vehicles parked across from the police station and up the street.

  After paying the cabbie, Burke made his way through the front doors into the foyer and into a scene he had witnessed more than once. More than a dozen reporters were clamouring for information about the Sunna’s passengers who were being detained while a handful of uniformed cops stood around to ensure they didn’t go where they shouldn’t. Then there was the regular flow of flics, suspects and crime victims coming and going.

  No one paid any attention to Burke. He was just another face.

  He went up to a young TV reporter and asked in German if a police spokesperson had made any statement about the Sunna’s passengers being held in custody.

  “Someone came out a half hour ago and talked to us, but didn’t say much,” she said. “We’re expecting a spokesperson to give us a proper update in a few minutes. Who are you with? I don’t recognize you.”

  Burke didn’t want to tell her he was sailing on the Sunna. That would make him instantly interesting to her and the other journalists. “I’m a freelancer for various websites in France. I happened to be in the area for a few days and heard about what was going on with the cruise ship. Good timing since this story is getting bigger and bigger.”

  She didn’t look convinced, but it didn’t matter because the spokesperson had finally shown up, a man in his late 40s who towered over everyone in the room. Burke figured he had to be at least 200 centimetres tall.

  “I’m Assistant Commissioner Erich Rauch,” he began in a booming voice that reminded Burke of the actor James Earl Jones. “I’m going to give you an update on the matter most of you are obviously here for – the passengers of the Sunna who are facing a variety of criminal charges in connection with a child pornography ring.”

  Burke spotted someone moving to join Rauch. He poked his head between reporters to get a better view and saw Alex Eisler who barely made it to the taller man’s shoulder. Eisler looked quite pleased with himself, though.

  Rauch told the gathering that the charges against the men were in the process of being finalized. He said no one was going to be released, given the serious nature of the charges, until the men appeared in court. Then it would be a judge’s decision.

  He didn’t identify any of the men in custody but allowed they came from different countries. He also said they were all employed by Worldwide Events Consulting Inc. and had been on the Sunna as part of a team-building exercise.

  He then introduced Alex Eisler as the officer who was leading the investigation, adding that police personnel from a half dozen communities plus Interpol were involved. Eisler nodded to the journalists.

  “Chief Inspector Eisler will bring you up to date on the latest developments,” Rauch added.

  Before he managed to say a word, Eisler was bombarded with questions. Why Interpol? How big was the child-porn ring? What countries were involved? Were other arrests going to be made and where? Who started the investigation?

  As the scrum got tighter, three burly uniformed officers moved forward and blocked off the assistant commissioner and Eisler from being pushed although Burke thought there was little chance anyone would be able to dislodge Rauch from his spot.

  Eisler maintained his calm demeanour, providing answers that contained little detail although he did mention that police forces in four other countries were conducting investigations in connection to the Sunna one. That prompted a flurry of new questions.

  Burke stepped backward, figuring neither Eisler nor Rauch was going to say much more, at least for the immediate future. And if one of them did, the information would be going online within seconds. There was nothing new he could produce for François Lemaire although Burke did take out his smartphone and shoot some video which he immediately sent to Lemaire.

  Then he had a thought and moved back into the scrum. “Have you talked to the families of the passengers who’ve been arrested?” he shouted.

  Burke doubted his question would be heard in the din, but he was wrong. “Officers are conducting interviews with them right now,” Eisler said. “It’s normal procedure.”

  More questions followed from the crowd. Were any family members facing charges? Did any of them know about the child-porn ring? How were they reacting to what was happening?

  The two police spokespersons continued to stay away from details and so Burke once more moved away from the throng. He thought about staying around a while to see if anything of substance really happened, but his instinct told him the current scene would play out in another few minutes and then get replayed in another hour with no fresh information being given. It was a dance between police and media that Burke had seen before.

  Outside in the warm afternoon air, Burke thought about what he should do next.

  “It’s a little crazy in there,” came a familiar voice.

  Burke turned and saw Karl Plaschke in street clothes standing beside him.

  “How come you’re not in there?” Burke said.

  “The big-city police no longer require the services of a small-town officer.”

  “That’s it? You’re done with the investigation?”

  “For the moment, yes. But that’s the way it is, especially when Interpol and our national police force are involved.”

  Burke told Plaschke what Rauch and Eisler had said.

  “You didn’t really expect them to say much more, did you?” Plaschke said.

  “Not really. But I’m curious what the interviews with family members will produce.”

  “The families won’t say much. Besides, most of them have been advised by company lawyers to keep quiet, at least for now.”

  “Did you see the wives and girlfriends of the inner-circle group go into the station?”

  “I saw a few. A couple had their kids with them.”

  “How did they look?”

  “Is this for your blog or column?”

  Burke figured he’d be honest. “It could be although I’d keep your name out of it. That way, you wouldn’t get into trouble.”

  “I’m just curious. I’m not really worried at this moment, Monsieur Burke, that any of my superiors will care what appears in the blog of someone who writes for a small group of newspapers on the Côte d’Azur. They’ve got bigger matters to deal with. Besides that, some officers are already competing for the glory that’ll come from breaking this child-porn ring.”

  “Glory? Really?”

  “Oh, yes. Child pornography is an ugly business which is why the police who solve the crime will be recognized and applauded. When there are accolades to be handed out, some people will do just about anything to get to the front of the line. Sad but true.”

  “I guess so. But let’s go back to the wives and girlfriends. How did they look when you saw them?”

  “Shell-shocked, I’d say. It seems they really didn’t know. A couple of them were in tears, very distraught. One of them, though, was quite the opposite, spitti
ng fire at anyone who came near her, saying she didn’t have a clue and really didn’t know her partner very well at all.”

  Burke had an idea. “Are you talking about Kendall Young’s girlfriend, Andrea Beltran?”

  “That would be the one. She’s so angry that if she knows anything, she’ll turn on Young in a heartbeat. I’d bet my car on that. She’s no anti-porn activist, but she believes she has been embarrassed and even shamed by what Young has been involved in.”

  Burke recalled a dozen occasions when Beltran had put on a show for anyone who cared to watch. She had wanted attention and might even have considered Young her meal ticket to better days. Now she was in the wrong kind of limelight.

  “Is there any chance the police might offer any of the men a deal if he turns on the others?” Burke asked.

  “That’s probably happening as we speak. The first person who rolls over on the others will get at least one charge dropped and it might be one of the more serious ones.”

  “Which charge would that be? Any guesses?”

  “Distribution of child-porn is a lot more serious than possession or accessing. The sentence is probably twice as long. And it would mean a much rougher time in prison.”

  Burke asked what type of prison would anyone convicted of child pornography be sent to.

  “That’s probably part of the negotiation process that’s underway right now. It’s a big bargaining chip, too. These men aren’t hardened criminals. If they end up in a maximum-security prison, they’re going to learn quickly that it’s worse than they ever imagined. The conditions are better than they used to be, but the inmates have their own social structure and child-porn criminals are going to be victimized as soon as the word gets around ̶ which it will. For them, it’ll be their worst nightmare. And when they get out, if they get out, they’ll never be the same. They’ll be broken men in every way.”

  “So, do you think someone will roll over on the others?”

  “Right now, I think the lawyers for those men are begging the prosecutor to cut a deal if their client provides information about the others and about the entire operation. I doubt anyone is trying to be a tough guy. It’s just a case of who is fastest to impress the prosecutor.”