A Vintage End

by D'arcy Kavanagh

  Burke wondered how someone had burned Yablonski in effigy from the top of the city’s most famous building without being noticed. Then he recalled Antoine Pastore’s opinion that the people behind these stunts were smart and tech savvy. No one had tracked them down yet and Burke doubted the Arles police would have any better luck, even if they had video of the immediate area for the last few days.

  These people were clever but, just as importantly, they were determined.

  So, Burke thought, what was next?

  Chapter 34

  With another dozen police officers showing up to control the crowd and examine the scene, the party was largely over. Still, about half of the original gathering remained, curious to see what might happen next.

  People seemed to love a bad time especially if it was at someone else’s expense.

  Or so it seemed to Burke.

  The MC talked to the audience as the police did their work, thanking the sponsors, re-introducing Yablonski who only waved from the stage and then mentioning there was a beer garden in the park near the starting line.

  That prompted an immediate exodus of about 100 people who obviously welcomed the idea of quaffing a beer or two. As for those who remained, Burke wondered if they were still there in hopes of something else occurring.

  But it didn’t and soon the MC was done and the stage was being dismantled.

  Burke watched as Yablonski walked away with his entourage. The tall woman remained by his side, but she wasn’t saying anything. Neither was anyone else around him. The faster they could get out, the better it would be.

  Then came an explosion.

  Burke ducked in response; the explosion had occurred within two blocks, he guessed.

  “What the hell was that?” someone said beside Burke.

  Burke didn’t have a clue, but he wanted to find out.

  So he walked quickly in the direction of where the explosion had come from, noticing billowing dark grey clouds soaring above the buildings ahead.

  Several police officers jogged past Burke and other pedestrians, elbowing their way by anyone who was slow to move.

  Two blocks away, on a wider street, a black limousine was in flames.

  Police were forcing people to a safe distance since the flames threatened to spread to a handful of parked cars nearby which so far had not been damaged.

  Burke heard the siren of an approaching fire truck, looked around and caught sight of Yablonski and his group, who had obviously hustled to the scene and who were staring at the burning limo.

  Yablonski looked shocked, even more so than at the Arena. So, too, did most of his handlers. Only a couple of husky staff, including Burke’s favourite muscleman, were looking elsewhere; they were studying nearby faces and then the windows of nearby buildings.

  That’s when Burke knew the limo was Yablonski’s.

  Chapter 35

  Moments later, the first fire truck arrived and a crew dashed toward the car, hauling a fire hose with them. Within seconds, a smaller fire truck showed up. All the firefighters got right to work with a commander barking out orders.

  Ten minutes later, as Burke took photos and video, the limo fire was extinguished.

  While the firefighters checked for embers, a couple of police engaged Yablonski and the tall woman in conversation. The woman did most of the talking but, twice, Yablonski pointed at the limo and then jabbed a finger at one of the officers.

  He was clearly angry.

  Burke wasn’t sure if the destroyed limo was the work of the anti-Yablonski group since there were no “Courtesy of “ messages to be seen, but, at the same time, it seemed too coincidental that some kind of malfunction in the vehicle had caused the explosion.

  Figuring it would help to get closer to where Yablonski and his people were talking with the police, Burke eased his ways to within 25 metres of the group. He didn’t want to be noticed by anyone in the entourage and so he stayed slightly behind a huge man who was more gorilla than human.

  He managed to overhear Yablonski blistering one of the cops about the lack of security. The policeman nodded and said his superior would be along soon to lead the investigation.

  At that point, Burke knew Yablonski’s limo had been bombed.

  But if it had been a car bomb, why weren’t any of the other vehicles parked nearby damaged? And if the anti-Yablonski group was behind the bombing, why hadn’t it produced some kind of public message linking the explosion to Yablonski’s past? It had done so with all the other stunts.

  Burke wondered if there was a personal message there for Yablonski and not for the public. If so, what was it?

  That’s when Inspector Julien Sauvageot showed up with a uniformed officer in his wake.

  Burke moved closer. He wanted to hear any conversation.

  Sauvageot marched up to Yablonski, showed a credential and then started talking to Yablonski. When the tall woman, who introduced herself as Josette Martel and Yablonski’s director of special projects, interjected, Sauvageot just nodded and then turned his attention back to Yablonski.

  Burke had no clue what “director of special projects” meant, but it was clear Martel had some authority because she interrupted Sauvageot, saying she would speak for Monsieur Yablonski. Sauvageot nodded again, said he understood her request, but he needed to talk to her boss without anyone else’s involvement.

  Burke could see Martel frown in disapproval, but it didn’t do her any good; Sauvageot wasn’t going to change his mind. When the flic turned toward Yablonski, it was as if Martel no longer existed.

  Burke snapped more photos as Sauvageot asked if Yablonski had any idea who was behind the car bombing, if he had received any threats beyond the roadside protests, and if he had his limo driver follow a regular routine. Yablonski replied in terse sentences, saying he suspected the car bombers were the people trying to humiliate him, there had been no threats, and his driver was a seasoned professional who did have a routine but not an obvious one.

  Then Burke saw the Saint-Raphaël muscleman had spotted him. He stopped taking photos. He shrugged, trying to indicate to the muscleman he was only doing his job. The muscleman responded by taking a step toward Burke and waving a finger in warning. The message was clear: No more photos.

  Burke thought about being defiant and snapping a couple more shots since it seemed the security man was reluctant to leave his boss, but he decided not to make such a statement. It wasn’t a battle worth fighting and, if it was, he would lose.

  The meeting lasted another minute and then Sauvageot offered his card to Yablonski. The businessman ignored it, leaving Sauvageot standing there with an outstretched hand. Instead, Josette Martel took it.

  Then Yablonski and his group went toward the parked cars. The muscleman opened the rear door of a large black sedan and Yablonski slid in, followed by Josette Martel on the other side. A moment later, the car pulled away and eased through the crowd and out of sight. A second car loaded with Yablonski people followed.

  Four of the Yablonski entourage stayed behind. They had clearly lost their seats.

  As Sauvageot talked to one of the uniformed officers who had first encountered Bosco Yablonski, Burke approached him.

  “Ah, Monsieur Burke, I see you are everywhere,” Sauvageot said without any malice.

  The inspector spoke a few seconds more with the officer who nodded and left. Sauvageot turned back to Burke.

  “I see you were riding in today’s race,” Sauvageot said, pointing at Burke’s race number.

  “Any idea who placed the bomb under Yablonski’s limo?” Burke said.

  “No small talk, I see,” Sauvageot said.

  Burke shrugged. “You’re busy and I’m just looking to get an answer or two,” he said.

  “What makes you think the car was bombed?” Sauvageot said.

  “When we look at the damage, it’s too localized to be anything else. The limo was the only vehicle damaged. I also think the bomb was set by someone who meant it as a warning, not as a wa
y to blow someone.”

  “Why do you say that?” Sauvageot said, staring at Burke.

  “If the person who placed the bomb wanted to kill Yablonski and others in his group, he could have watched from a distance and activated the bomb when Yablonski and the others got into the car.”

  Sauvageot said nothing.

  “It was definitely a warning. No one was hurt and yet someone could have been injured or killed very easily,” Burke said, hoping Sauvageot would start reacting soon to his theory since he was running out of ideas.

  “A warning to whom?”

  “You know was well as I do – Bosco Yablonski.”

  “And what do you think the message was, Monsieur Burke?” Sauvageot said.

  “I can only guess.”

  “So guess for me, Monsieur. After all, that’s what you’re doing with your entire theory,” Sauvageot said.

  Burke paused. Did he really have an idea about the reason for the car bombing?

  “I think it was meant to tell Yablonski to watch over his shoulder, that the people who did this can do more if they want,” Burke said.

  Sauvageot stayed silent.

  Burke knew he was formulating his opinion as he spoke.

  “I think they were also telling Yablonski that they’re dangerous and skilled. If they had been crazy and unskilled, they’d have blown up the limo and a bunch of other vehicles.”

  “So what do you think they want Yablonski to do?” Sauvageot said.

  “Confess,” suggested Burke.

  “To what?”

  “I haven’t a clue.”

  Without another word, the policeman left.

  Burke watched Sauvageot walk to a group of uniformed officers and give some directions that sent the others moving quickly in different directions.

  Figuring he should do something productive, Burke emailed his photos and videos to François Lemaire. Then he called the newsman to explain what had happened.

  Lemaire answered and said he had just heard about the car bombing of Yablonski’s vehicle, adding that the national news agency Agence France-Presse was already providing information. When he heard Burke had just sent some photos and videos, Lemaire seemed pleased.

  “Give me the basic details of what you saw,” the newsman told Burke.

  So Burke told him about the figure popping out from the top of the Arena, complete with a banner, and then the explosion. He added a few comments from Sauvageot. As he spoke, he could hear Lemaire attacking his keyboard, obviously writing up some of the information for use on the newsgroup’s website and maybe on social media.

  “What do you think is going on, Paul?” Lemaire asked.

  It was an open question and Burke didn’t have any definite idea how to answer. It seemed natural to link the car bombing to the anti-Yablonski stunts in Saint-Raphaël and Nice, but, on the other hand, there was a violent element in the events in Arles that suggested a totally different strategy.

  So Burke told Lemaire that.

  “Give me something better,” Lemaire said. “That’s what almost anyone can deduce.”

  Burke bristled at Lemaire’s criticism, but knew the editor was right.

  “OK, I get it,” Burke said. “If this car bombing and burning of Yablonski in effigy is the work of the same people who did the stunts in Saint-Raphaël and Nice, I think there’s been a change in leadership. And whoever is driving the group now is a dangerous individual who is likely to up the ante for the final vintage race – if there is one.”

  “Do you think the police think the same?” Lemaire said.

  “I haven’t a clue what they think,” Burke said. “They’re not telling me, or anyone else it seems, much of anything. But the flic I’ve been talking to doesn’t seem stupid and so I think the police see the seriousness of matters now. I’d be surprised if they didn’t link up with other forces to investigate what’s happening.”

  There was a pause. Burke could hear more typing in the background.

  “Good, that’ll work,” Lemaire finally said.

  “What will work?”

  “Your new blog,” Lemaire said. “I’m about to post it.”

  “But I haven’t written it,” Burke said.

  “You just did,” Lemaire said. “I only did the typing.”

  “And what did I say?” Burke said, knowing Lemaire was always eager to post something on the newspaper chain’s website or on social media that indicated his newsgroup was current with whatever was happening in the general region.

  “You said the Yablonski protests just took a violent turn and were possibly the result of a change in leadership in the group going after Yablonski,” Lemaire said. “You also mentioned the police have to consider working together with their counterparts in Saint-Raphaël and Nice because the car bombing means matters just got a lot more serious – and deadly. Finally, you said all eyes will be on next week’s vintage race in Vaison-la-Romaine if the organizers still hold it. I added you intend to be there if it does happen.”

  Burke didn’t object to what Lemaire had concocted. He thought about telling his editor about the links between the Yablonski protests and the three deaths in Arles earlier in the week, but opted to keep those thoughts to himself for the moment. When he had more information, he’d toss his ideas at Lemaire.

  “I want you to talk to the police again today to see if they have anything new and let me know,” Lemaire said. “Whatever you get, even if it isn’t much, I want you to call me by six tonight. I want to post something, even if it’s just a post on a social media site. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Burke said.

  Lemaire ended the call.

  Burke pondered what to do next. Then he thought about the police. He had a sense that if they read or heard about his newly published blog, they might not too interested in talking further with him.

  After all, in his blog he had just told them how to conduct their investigation.

  Chapter 36

  As he stood there thinking, Burke got a text from Hélène saying she had heard on the radio about the car bombing in Arles and wondered if he was OK.

  Burke phoned her, wanting to hear her voice and assure her that he was fine. She answered on the first ring.

  He told her he was unhurt and was just checking into what had happened with the explosion.

  “I hope you won’t be silly, chéri,” Hélène said, the concern in her voice evident to Burke.

  “I’m only asking questions of the police, nothing more.”

  “I hope so.”

  But Burke could detect her skepticism.

  They chatted a few more minutes and then ended the call. In another day, Burke would be with her again. He could hardly wait.

  Then it occurred to him to check social media to see if there were any more Yablonski-related posts.

  There were two posts on different platforms that caught his attention:

  “Yablonski cannot escape his history.”

  “First it’s his car, then it’s his past.”

  Burke wondered if some tech expert working for Yablonski or the police would be able to find whoever had posted those messages. Yablonski clearly had resources to get top talent and the police likely had people with superior skills, and yet Burke felt that somehow the perpetrator wouldn’t be caught. The person had used false identities and covered his technological footprint with great skill. At least that’s what Burke figured. After all, no one had yet been arrested and it wasn’t for lack of effort by the police.

  The second post also contained a URL which Burke clicked on. It was a Wikipedia site about war profiteering with generic information about international arms dealers, commodity dealers, black marketeers and civil contractors. It gave an overview of how several nations had been involved over decades. The Americans received the most notice followed by the British. The French were farther down the list of profiteers.

  Then Burke remembered how the websites involving the first two vintage races had been hacked and so he checked
the city of Arles’ site.

  It was down.

  He checked the website for the series of vintage races.

  It was also down.

  Burke checked the time – 3:10. He cursed himself. He should have been aware enough to check the websites at 2:30. But then he remembered he had been busy trying not to get crushed by a frightened crowd and then how he had chased down the bombing of Yablonski’s limo.

  Burke phoned Antoine Pastore, hoping his friend could supply some information or direction.

  “I was checking the two websites right at 2:30,” Antoine said. “Something that said Yablonski cannot escape his history popped up on the city website, but it wasn’t there for more than 15 seconds. Then the site went down. Obviously, the city had a tech person waiting for the hack and as soon as it happened, he or she took the site down.”

  “What about the website for the races?” Burke asked.

  “It was hacked with someone saying First it’s his car, then it’s his past,” Antoine said. “But like the city’s site, the message was there for just a few seconds and then the site went dark. So, obviously the race technicians were prepared for a hack. If you weren’t looking at just the right time, you would never have seen the messages.”

  “So, the race people and the Arles techies were prepared,” Burke said.

  “But they still weren’t good enough because they still got hacked,” Antoine said. “Because I was ready – Lemaire was right at my shoulder – I managed to get screenshots showing the two messages. We’ve got them online as part of a developing story about the Arles race.”

  “At least you were ready,” Burke said.

  “When you know what to look for, you can usually find it,” Antoine said.

  Burke asked if Lemaire was publishing details about the burning of Yablonski in effigy as well as the bombing of his limousine.

  “We have a story and photos from the wire service plus we’re using some of the shots and video you sent, Paul. You’re getting credit, of course.”

  “You’re treating this like a big story,” Burke said.