“Did you get close to any of the horses?” asked a 50ish woman who owned antiques stores in several Catalonia communities.
“I can tell you in all honesty I was within an arm’s length of the brown horse. And he was a handsome beast. I think he knew it, too, because he looked at me for a second and winked. And I swear to God that’s the truth.”
The others at the table all laughed.
“A wink? He must have liked your team uniform,” the vet said with a grin.
“When I tell people that story, they don’t believe me,” Burke said. “They tell me the horse just blinked like it normally would. But that wasn’t the case. That horse knew what it was doing. And it was winking at me.”
“What happened then?”
“The horses moved through the peloton and then turned off, like they had planned the entire encounter.”
“And if the horse winked at you on purpose, was it to wish you good luck?” asked the antiques woman with a wry smile.
“If that was the reason, it didn’t work. I finished so far back that by the time I arrived with a few other riders, the workers were already collecting the barriers to take to the next community.”
“Good story, Seῆor Burke,” said another guest at the table.
“Again, I am Paul,” Burke said.
“Well, Paul, I’d like to ask if … ” began the vet.
A scream from outside stopped him. Then came yelling and more screams.
A few moments later, as the guests sat speechless in the large room, two uniformed police entered the hall and went straight to the table where the mayor and other dignitaries were seated. The officers spoke urgently and pointed a couple of times to the entrance into the hall. Burke saw the mayor nod and pull out her phone.
“The mayor looks worried,” someone said.
Burke thought that was an understatement.
A half minute later, four more uniformed police entered the hall, moving quickly to the mayor who put aside her phone and led the flics to a corner. Four of the dignitaries from her table followed.
The noise outside increased.
Burke had a feeling the evening was about to get a lot more interesting.
Chapter 23
As guests started to look around, the mayor took to the podium and said there was a problem outside and everyone should remain in the hall. She added the police would have the situation under control shortly.
Burke wasn’t so sure. He heard police sirens and then the yelling outside went up another notch.
No, the situation definitely wasn’t under control.
“This is silly,” someone said behind Burke. “We can’t be held hostage here.”
Burke shook his head. If the man who’d voiced that frustration went outside, he’d probably find real trouble. Sitting inside sipping cava and waiting for the police to do their jobs was probably the best strategy.
Burke spotted Chef Andres in a corner, a few of his kitchen staff behind him. They were obviously trying to figure out what to do next ̶ serve, hide or flee.
A moment later, the four burly men who’d brought in the food from the lane approached Chef Andres who took them aside and talked to them. Burke sensed Andres didn’t want anyone to hear the conversation. After a few moments, the men disappeared into the kitchen. Seconds later, Chef Andres went to the rest of his staff and directed them to return to work.
Burke’s phone buzzed with a text.
It was from Jules Tessier who’d been checking social media and had learned that pro-independence and anti-independence protestors were fighting outside. The police were trying to separate the groups, but it wasn’t going well.
Burke glanced around and saw others were checking their phones. Most of the guests in the room looked worried and the police officers there seemed equally concerned.
Burke got another text. This one was from Suzanne Godard and it told him to meet in the far corner by a potted palm tree. Excusing himself from the table, Burke walked as casually as he could toward the palm tree, thinking that such a place to meet was like a scene from an old-time movie.
“There’s a riot happening outside,” Godard said when Burke showed up. “The two sides of the Catalan independence movement are attacking each other. I overheard a couple of police talking and they sounded worried, like they were losing control.”
“Jules gave me an update a few moments ago,” Burke said.
“I suggest we all stay inside and see what we can learn,” Godard said. “This may have some impact on our next broadcast. So, stay in touch.”
“OK.”
“And, Paul, don’t do anything foolish.”
“Foolish? What do you mean?”
Godard smiled slightly. “You know what I mean. Just don’t get into any trouble.”
Burke nodded. He wasn’t interested in joining any political melee.
He watched his boss march away, obviously to meet with the others in her crew. She was right to be worried. And the same applied for the Vuelta’s main organizers. A riot on the eve of the Vuelta’s arrival could prove disastrous enough that alternative plans would need to be made.
Burke looked around, trying to figure where he might get more information, but before he could decide, he spotted Chef Andres’ four caterers from the vans re-appear once more. The men huddled together with their boss so others couldn’t hear. Whatever they were discussing, Burke thought it was an urgent matter because they all seemed edgy.
A couple of moments later, one of the chief organizers of the event, a man Burke had seen on previous Vuelta stops, approached Chef Andres and his catering staff. The organizer seemed eager to know what the caterers might be doing during these moments of anxiety.
Burke saw Chef Andres take control, doing all the talking for his group. He obviously was convincing because the organizer nodded and left. Once he was gone, the four catering staff headed toward a back door in the hall, moving quickly. Burke couldn’t figure out why they didn’t go back into the kitchen.
Burke looked around to see if anyone else had watched the exchange, but no one seemed to have witnessed it. Then he looked at Chef Andres whose eyes darted about the huge room. When the celebrity chef spotted an oncoming group of guests, he turned on his smile and shrugged like he didn’t know what all the commotion was about. Burke thought it was a polished performance.
Turning his attention back to the four caterers from the vans, Burke watched them disappear through the door. Once again, Burke thought they didn’t look like any caterers he knew. Admittedly, he wasn’t acquainted with many, but the ones he knew from working with his friend Claude Brière back in Nice were hardly the burly type. Most of them were smallish and not particularly muscular. This bunch looked like they belonged in a rugby match.
Curious, Burke took a few steps toward the exit door. He waited for a few moments, wondering if the four men would return. If they did, they might find it odd to find him standing there.
But they didn’t come back.
Burke continued to the door, listened and, hearing nothing, opened it. He peeked outside and saw one of the catering vans moving slowly through the crowd. The driver was having to go slower and slower because the rioters were increasing in number and getting more aggressive.
Knowing it wasn’t the best idea, Burke took a couple of steps into the lane, nudging a stone to block the door from closing. He didn’t want to get locked outside.
Then he felt a push in the back and before he could do anything, he was being swept toward the square by a large group of new arrivals who were charging down the lane, taking him with them.
He watched with growing panic as he was pushed around the parked van and toward the slow-moving one. And closer to the riot.
The catering-van driver was getting impatient, honking his horn and nudging aside protestors. Some of the rioters slapped at the vehicle but most just got out of the way and the van started to pick up speed.
Se
conds later, Burke forgot about the van because he was in the middle of the riot.
Pushed into the square, he tried to force his way back to the door of the hall, but it was impossible. There were too many people between him and safety. And panic was starting to build among the protestors.
Then the first tear gas bomb went off.
And Burke realized he should have listened to Suzanne Godard’s orders.
Chapter 24
Burke had never been in a riot before. As a pro cyclist, he and his fellow racers had been caught in some large protests, but those occasions had never been violent. Usually it was just a group trying to get some TV time. They yelled their slogans and then pulled back to let the race continue. Job done.
This was different.
As he was pushed and jostled, Burke knew there was real danger here. Punches were being thrown and people were smacking each other with signs. The police were trying to control the crowd by pushing back with their protective shields and sometimes by using their batons on an arm or even a head.
Burke saw some people were bleeding.
The noise was deafening. And the smoke was starting to cover everyone.
Someone kicked him and he turned to see who. But it was useless as he was pushed sideways by a surge of a dozen people. He heard someone nearby scream a curse at the pro-independence crowd. Several of the protestors around Burke yelled back. That told Burke he was on the pro-independence side.
Then the surge turned quickly to the right and Burke went with it. He had no control where he was going. He pushed against those closest to him, heard a grunt or two and got cursed at, but he couldn’t change anything. He was going wherever the crowd was heading.
Then someone punched him on the forehead, a glancing blow but it still hurt. He glanced to his right and saw a huge, bald man, maybe 30, winding up to punch him again. Burke had just enough time to move his shoulders and the punch whistled by. If it had connected, he’d have been in real trouble.
But the big man wasn’t quitting. His eyes were blazing as he stared at Burke.
“I’m not a protestor,” Burke yelled.
“Fuck you!” came the response.
This time, Burke couldn’t move enough to escape the blow and he took a punch on his right cheek. It stunned him and he felt himself going backward. The big man followed with another punch. This one landed on Burke’s chest.
And then someone grabbed the big man around the neck and yanked him away, showering blows on him. Burke couldn’t see his protector, but he didn’t care. If the big man took a few, he was fine with that.
Desperate to get away, Burke tried to push his way to the side, but it was a hopeless effort. More and more people seemed to be joining the massive melee. Burke could hear dogs barking in the background and a voice on a loudspeaker yelling for people to disperse.
When someone banged into him from behind, Burke felt his anger erupt and he swung his right elbow back until it hit something. He heard a cry and looked over his shoulder to see he’d smashed his elbow into the face of a young woman who was grabbing her nose. Blood was filling her hands at an alarming rate.
As he stared in horror, someone punched him, catching him right over the left eye. It hurt like hell. Several other punches followed from other sources and Burke knew he was in trouble. Blood filled his mouth and he felt something stream down near his eye. Still more punches landed.
And then the mass of bodies suddenly jammed together as if propelled by some giant hand. Burke was so squeezed he couldn’t move his arms and could barely breathe. He had never been claustrophobic, but this was getting close. At least people weren’t punching him anymore, probably because they were equally trapped.
The smoke continued to cover the square and Burke, like others, began coughing. His eyes started to tear as well.
And then somehow the entangled group of bodies tilted. People weren’t falling yet, but it would be happening soon and Burke grew more fearful. When people hit the ground, he expected that’s when the real injuries would occur.
The change in the crowd’s movement opened up some space and Burke felt a couple of more punches on the back of his head. He still had enemies around him, probably for what he’d done to the young woman.
And then he felt something jab him in the back.
He tried to turn around to see what was going on, but then the human dominoes began to tumble and he found himself going sideways to the ground. The screams increased in volume. People began kicking and punching feverishly.
Just as he pushed off someone below him, Burke felt another sharp pain in the back. He yelled and threw back another elbow, not caring whom he hit. This was the kind of chaos that left people dead.
But he didn’t connect.
Then someone started kicking him. Burke couldn’t see who it was, but the kicks were landing with authority on his ribs, kidneys and back, and the pain was excruciating. Whoever was doing it was getting full value for his or her efforts.
And then a new set of bodies fell, landing all over Burke and others on the ground. For the first time, Burke was worried he might not survive the riot and cursed himself for not staying back in the hall.
With two or three others piled on him, Burke couldn’t get his breath and he needed to fill his lungs desperately. The kicks had hurt him and the tear gas was making breathing worse. With people atop him, Burke thought he wasn’t going to last more than a few seconds before blacking out – or worse.
Seconds later, Burke knew he wouldn’t last.
Killed in a Spanish riot. Or was it a Catalan riot? Burke started to lose consciousness, the pain diminishing.
And then as the world started to go black, he felt bodies move off him. He managed a breath and then a second one, gasping. Someone pulled at his right arm and then hoisted him to his feet. Burke could hardly open his eyes and he was barely able to stand, but whoever was helping him had a good grip on his waist and wasn’t going to let him collapse again.
“Paul, I’ve got you,” said a familiar voice. “You’re OK.”
Burke opened his eyes and saw his rescuer.
It was Jules Tessier.
Chapter 25
“Let’s get out of here,” Tessier said, yelling into Burke’s ear.
Burke was in no position to argue. Besides, he wanted to escape as much as anyone. He was hurt and knew he needed immediate medical assistance.
But it wasn’t going to be easy. People were flailing at each other with arms, clubs and signs while the police were slowly moving forward, swinging truncheons and using their shields to clear space.
One tall man moved toward Tessier and started to wind up to throw a punch, but Tessier reacted with stunning speed, unleashing a kick to the balls that crippled the attacker. When a second man looked threatening, Tessier kicked him in the kneecap. That ended that threat.
They started to move from the centre of the chaos, but it was slow going. Tessier shielded Burke from more blows and whenever someone tried to attack them, the young man used either a kick, a punch or some judo move to eliminate the threat.
Burke was amazed. Tessier might have been the quiet geek in the corner, but he knew how to fight.
Finally, they squeezed out of the crush and Tessier half-carried Burke down the lane he’d come from. They reached the side entrance to the hall and Tessier checked the door. It wasn’t locked.
As Tessier started to open the heavy door, Burke spotted someone charging at them. A big man holding something.
Burke yelled at Tessier.
Tessier spotted the rapidly approaching figure, pushed Burke against the door and took a couple of steps toward the attacker.
Burke felt helpless as he watched the big man, who wore a yellow bandana over his lower face, wave a long, nasty knife at Tessier. He handled the blade like he’d used it before. Burke shuddered. This wasn’t going to end well and he yelled “Help” at the top of his lungs. But he couldn’t get much volum
e due to his injuries and there was too much noise to allow anyone to hear.
The attacker flicked the blade at Tessier who danced back a step, narrowly missing being cut. The big man lunged a second time with surprising quickness. But he wasn’t fast enough and Tessier stayed away from the knife.
The big man, aware that Tessier had some skills, crouched slightly, weighing his next move. Burke saw he’d cut off some of Tessier’s escape route. The big man wouldn’t miss a third time. But he was still being careful.
Suddenly, the attacker feigned a punch with his other hand, before launching a blow with his knife hand. But Tessier saw the manoeuvre and with astonishing speed moved inside the knife blow, fending it off with an elbow sweep and then lashing out with his other elbow at the attacker’s face. When Tessier connected, there was a large crack and the big man wobbled, his arms sinking. Tessier reversed his elbow sweep and racked it against the man’s cheek. Another crack and the attacker dropped to one knee, ready to collapse onto the ground.
Then Burke saw two more men running their way. They both wore similar bandanas across their faces.
“Let’s get inside – now!” Burke yelled.
Tessier spotted the charging newcomers, grabbed Burke and pulled him inside, jamming the bolt lock after them. The door rattled a couple of times and then the men outside gave up. They weren’t getting in.
“Who did you piss off, Paul?” Tessier said.
“I don’t know,” gasped Burke.
Tessier glanced down at his hand. It was covered in blood. “Paul, you’re bleeding,” he said, showing his hand.
Burke reached back and felt one of the spots where his back hurt. He winced when he touched it and felt something sticky. Blood. He reached and felt where the other wound was. More blood.
“Shit!” Burke said.
“I think you’ve been stabbed,” Tessier said.
Silenced in Spain Page 12