As he got out of the taxi Reyes was hoping the meeting with Mr. Gotthelf would shed some light on the matter.
#
Two hours later, cleaned up and changed, he was entering the elevator of Alps Tankers building and was pressing the button the receptionist had indicated. He was wearing a dark gray suit made by his tailor in Madrid, blue shirt with a red tie with white stripes and gleaming black Fratelli Rosetti shoes. Had it been a social occasion he would have worn a green tie to go with his eyes. He knew his eyes had charmed many a young woman when he was in his prime and even now they caught the attention of more than a few. As for the rest of his body, he thought dispirited, it had changed much more. Everyone noticed his age and he himself was no exception. Twenty or thirty pounds more made it so he didn’t feel as confident at the beach, and wrinkles are not forgiving to anyone. He knew that if he didn’t have his mother’s eyes he wouldn’t attract any attention. Fortyish man belly, medium stature, facial features common in Mediterranean Spain and dark hair. Of course, he took good care of himself, always clean shaven, hair combed and a touch of cologne, but he wasn’t the same anymore.
In any case, Reyes thought, I’m not here to pick up girls. I’m here to do what I like and no one does it like I do.
As he exited the elevator there was a young woman waiting for him.
“Good morning Mr. Reyes,” she greeted him. “Welcome. This way please.”
Twenty-something, tall and thin, although he noticed thankfully as Marianne turned to go, not as thin as some women like to be. Blonde, blue eyes, clear skin and delicate features. She had on cute glasses, the kind that some call “sexy secretary glasses”. She could have probably been a model if she had wanted to. She was the stereotypical Nordic woman many Latin men dream about. She was wearing a skirt, blouse and heels that said: I’m working, I’m a professional, but I still like to look good.
Reyes followed her through a wide hallway that was decorated with good taste and class. It was obvious Mr. Gotthelf liked taking care of himself and enjoyed the good things in life. Reyes thought he recognized the style of a famous painter in one of the paintings on the walls.
At the end of the hallway just after a desk with two computers and a number of telephones that must belong to Marianne there was a mahogany door at which the secretary called before entering. She announced in German, “Herr Reyes.”
After that she stepped aside and let the Spaniard in. The office had the same style as the hallway. Reyes was sure it was worth more than his entire chalet on the outskirts of Madrid. And he also liked taking good care of himself.
At the back of the room behind an oak desk and sitting on a leather chair Gotthelf watched him collected. When he rose to greet him Reyes noticed the chair was custom made. He had heard about those but had never seen one. They would take the customer’s measurements to get the shape of the body and then would make a chair to fit. For the owner it would be the most comfortable chair in the world, whereas for anyone else it would feel as uncomfortable as a torture chair. Reyes initially dismissed how expensive he thought he remembered they were but when he looked around the office he reconsidered. If there was a man who could afford it, it was Gotthelf.
“Welcome to Zurich Mr. Reyes! I hope you had a pleasant flight.”
“Yes, it went smoothly,” he answered.
Flying first class usually has that advantage.
“First of all, I want to apologize for asking you to get here so suddenly,” the magnate said. “But if I’m not mistaken, you won’t regret your decision.”
“No worries,” answered Reyes, “one gets used to traveling.” And then he thought, and of course, you don’t regret making me come here.
“I’m sure. Have a seat please,” Gotthelf said pointing at one of the sofas on one side of the office. “Would you care for a drink?”
“Yes, thank you. Whiskey?”
Gotthelf stared at him for a second but gave him a glass without making any comment. He didn’t drink anything.
Reyes was glad Gotthelf had chosen the sofas instead of the chairs with the desk in between. Without the physical obstacle of the desk and in the comfort of the sofas the conversation would be less formal. And with a superb whiskey in his hand it would be an absolute pleasure.
“Let me get to the point then,” Gotthelf said. “I guess that after our conversation yesterday you know why you are here. I would like to hear your thoughts on the subject.”
“Very well Mr. Gotthelf. Alps Tankers has had to pay three substantial ransoms within the last two years to save a few ships and crews that were captured by Somali pirates. You paid the ransoms promptly to avoid complications as was the case with the sailor in the first one, the Aletschhorn if I remember correctly.
Gotthelf nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“In all three instances the pirates have displayed means and abilities that until now have not been attributed to them and they have made no mistakes that we know of. This indicates that they have specialized training and direction. In addition, they have specific material and human means.”
Gotthelf continued nodding while Reyes was getting to the point that both of them knew was baffling them.
“And for whatever reason or chance, your ships seem to be their preferred targets,” Reyes finished, looking for some reaction on the face his listener.
But there was none. He would make a great poker player, Reyes thought.
“Up until now,” Gotthelf said, “I’m in complete agreement with you. And forgive me if I’m congratulating myself but it’s not every day one comes to the same conclusions as the greatest expert on the subject. The only thing I would add is that the prompt payments not only prevents casualties, but also tons of crude spilled in the ocean and too much negative publicity for my company. I prefer to pay quickly so that those vultures from the news networks don’t have time to have a feast at the expense of my tragedy. The oil sheikhs don’t want to hear that their transporter has problems,” he added. “Most of all, I appreciate that you, even though you haven’t said it in so many words, also sense that there’s something else besides pirates behind all this.”
This time it was Reyes’ turn to nod his head, and smile slightly. He liked the way the conversation was going. Gotthelf steered away from ambiguity and analogies, he spoke clearly and directly, wasn’t afraid to speak his mind and looked you in the eyes when he did so.
“Well, Mr. Gotthelf,” Reyes said. “Now that we have established some context I would like to know, what exactly is it you want from me?” he asked, anxious to finally know the reason for his possible recruitment. Rather, probable, he thought while he smiled inwardly.
Gotthelf smiled from ear to ear. It was funny how his eyes almost disappeared. Then he said, “I’m guessing you’re a little lost.” And when Reyes tilted his head slightly, he added, “Do you know what Morgan, Drake, Lafitte, Surcouf and your countrymen Íñigo de Artieta and Mateo Mainery have in common?”
Reyes, even more confused now than before had to say no, to which Gotthelf replied, “Neither did I, until just now. The truth is, I’ve never been a fan of history but when this idea popped in my head I did some research on the internet and found out that many years ago war wasn’t limited to regular armies, there were also some men that were dedicated to fighting for money.”
During the next few minutes he explained his idea like a child when he proudly shows off a new bike. When he finished he asked, “What do you think?”
“Well Mr. Gotthelf, it’s certainly an unusual idea.”