The Albatros And The Pirates Of Galguduud

The Albatros

and the pirates of Galguduud

A story of a Letter of Marque in the 21st century

Federico Supervielle Bergés

Copyright © 2019 - Federico Supervielle Bergés

Chapter One

Friedrich Gotthelf hung up the phone defeated. At times like these, the fact that his phone was the latest model or that his contact list was packed with the phone numbers of the most influential and successful businessmen in the world - especially in the oil business – full of famous people and celebrities, even a few politicians, meant absolutely nothing. His fancy office, if you could call a room bigger than most apartments an office, offered him no satisfaction. Not even his ergonomic chair that had cost him twenty-five thousand Euros seemed comfortable. After what he had just done all his accomplishments disappeared behind a cloud that only allowed him to see his failure. This was the third time in twenty months! With this last phone call Gotthelf had just authorized the payment of the ransom for the release of the supertanker Dufourspitze, one of the twelve belonging to Alps Tankers; his main source of income. Translating the name to English had been the suggestion of one of those business consultants that receives an astronomical salary for doing a job that in the magnate’s opinion didn’t really generate any profits, but it was a necessary evil. In any case, the damn Somali pirates didn’t seem to care about the name of the company anyway, or its nationality, flag, cargo, destination or anything else for that matter. They would hijack any ship on the water whether close or not so close to Somalia if they deemed it feasible, and then they would demand the ransom. Dufourspitze, together with Finsteraarhorn, Nordend, Aletschhorn, Zumsteinspitze and the rest of the ships had to go by Somalia and pass through the Gulf of Aden if they didn’t want to go around so far out of the way that it made the trip not even less than half as profitable. In business everything is about profits. Although, after paying this last ransom Gotthelf was sure that in the last twenty months he would have been better off sending his fleet the long way around the Cape of Good Hope. It hadn’t been long since they had begun the extraction of oil in Tanzania and his company had acquired the contract to transport crude to European ports but that meant crossing the entire area swarming with Somali pirates.

“Dammit!”

From his office in the commercial district of Zurich everything seemed so simple. If only the civilized countries would get together and do something. But there was no way to get those politicians to take a risk. They would not do anything to compromise hundreds of thousands of votes in the upcoming elections, and that was the case in all the Western countries. This was one of the reasons that at sixty-one years of age he had declined numerous offers by the Helvetic Republic to be at the head of the Portfolio of Economy. His experience and connections were well known but politics was not for him. Businesses were much simpler; procure more money spending less and you’ll be doing fine and there’s always the option to improve. Not so in politics, one day you’re on top, the next on the bottom, that’s as sure as death and taxes.

Almost all the western countries with interests in the area had one or a few warships patrolling the zone catching a skiff here or there but that wasn’t enough. The pirates weren’t stupid and with their experience and the money from the paid ransoms they had been able to double their efforts and improve their techniques. Anyone who was familiar with this topic affirmed that the only way to address the problem was to nip it in the bud and attack the pirates at their home base on land. However, it seemed that no government or international organization was aware of this. The problem stemmed from Somalia being a failed state, and obviously to carry out these attacks you would need to enter Somali waters and be in Somali territory. And without a visible head of state to obtain permission from, no government was going to face a possible contrary public opinion. Gotthelf couldn’t understand what people had against attacking the pirates except maybe the possible collateral damage to civilians. But therein was the key. They were too used to peace, there in Switzerland most of all, to accept a few foreign civilians as the only possible victims of a military operation; aside from the soldiers of course. One gets used to thinking that those in the military die because it’s part of their job, but we also have to take them into account, right?

In any case, it was clear that nothing was going to be accomplished with the aid of only the western governments. The vice-president of the emergent Somali government, who didn’t even control half the country, had talked to him several times. He seemed like a man suitable enough for his position and he had good ideas and initiative but nothing with which to carry them out. The Somali proposed many things, from an army that could take the country by force to naval or air raids. But no one seemed to listen to him. The western countries were too busy sustaining their ailing democracies to pay attention to the petitions of a government that was barely governing. And in this day and age besides governments, what is there? It had been a long time since the age of mercenaries even though some considered the glorious Vatican Swiss Guard as such. In the naval war they had also existed, what were they called? Corsairs. That’s it. But it had been centuries since any corsair traversed the oceans. They were nothing more than memories of times gone by.

And suddenly everything was clear to him. It was a crazy idea but, why not? In any case, if he wanted to carry it out he needed someone well versed on the topic. But who? It was obvious no one in Switzerland would have that kind of expertise. He himself had never set foot on any of his ships. It had to be a foreigner. Gotthelf racked his brains, mentally searching through all those meetings, banquets, receptions and other events he had attended, and after a few minutes, “Marianne!” he yelled through the door at his secretary.

Marianne knew that when her boss forgot to use the intercom he had on his desk to call her he was either in a hurry or nervous so she quickly went into his office wondering what it was this time.

“Do you remember that reception a couple of months ago at the Hotel Alden?” he asked.

The young woman nodded. It had been the most important social event of the year and her boss, even though he wouldn’t admit it, gave it much importance. It was one of the best places for doing business.

“I was talking to a Spaniard. I don’t remember his name but I need you to find him. It shouldn’t be too hard. He was one of the few Spaniards present and he didn’t have a very important position. He was some sort of consultant.”

Marianne nodded again and assuming her boss needed nothing else turned and headed for her desk.

She knew at that moment Gotthelf’s eyes would leave his papers and turn to look at her, but she didn’t care. Her boss was happily married, had two children, and all the right in the world to look lustfully at his young and sexy secretary who knew very well he would never cross that line. Besides, she only had eyes for her fiancé Jean-Paul, captain of the Swiss Guard and no need to have an affair with a magnate. Gotthelf was a good boss, he paid well and Marianne knew that as good looking as she was if she didn’t do her job well he wouldn’t have hired her.

And now to find the Spaniard. The task her boss had given her was a peculiar one, but that was exactly the kind of work that would break the monotony and she was always grateful for that. Marianne sat at her desk unaware that at that moment Gotthelf was thinking about how even her name exuded sensuality. Not that he’d do anything about it, of course.

#

“Good afternoon monsieur Reyes.”

“Good afternoon Pierre.”

The Hotel Rocco Forte in Brussels was the best in the city and Pierre was an old acquaintance.

“Something for me?” he asked as he handed him his key.

“Oui monsieur, you got a call from … Alps Tankers,” Pierre said after looking at his note. “They didn’t leave a message, just this number.”

“Very well, thank you,” Reyes answered taking the piece of paper and heading for the elevator while he searched his memory. Alps Tankers … The name was so obvious he didn’t need to think too much; the top Swiss crude supertanker company. The owner’s name was Golfhead or something like that. He had met him recently at a reception in Zurich. Friedrich Gotthelf was his name. About sixty, tall, obviously in great shape in his younger years, light-colored eyes, and hair that had once been blonde but was now mostly white. However, he didn’t bother dyeing it as most others did. The Swiss had been gracious and polite as any good businessman, but there was something in his eyes that said loud and clear: I am cold and calculating, good at what I do and yes, … I’m a nice guy. An “old fashioned” guy was maybe a better way to put it. They had talked about nothing in particular for a while and then the magnate had moved on to greet some of the other guests.

What could the great Swiss magnate want from Jaime Reyes Luzón? In his mind Reyes went over the skills that had brought him to that hotel room not caring about the exorbitant prices. He had studied political science and immediately branched out to a Master’s degree in security and defense politics and naval subjects. He had been a consultant in various Spanish governments for both parties – at the precise level where you were considered important but you didn’t have to be affiliated to the party, and he wanted to keep it that way – and also in various international organizations: NATO, the UN, and the European Union. The names were all the same to him as long as the pay was good and he could do what he liked. No strings attached. Hence, his vast experience and reputation. But, what did that have to do with the Swiss shipping company?

Reyes decided that the only way to find out was to call. He had never avoided peculiar situations like this one and it had always gone well for him. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself thinking it was an opportunity. Maybe the call had to do with trying to sell him shares or to ask him where he had bought the tie he wore to the reception. The very, very wealthy have a tendency to be eccentric. But not Gotthelf. Their brief chat had been sufficient to reveal that detail. In that case it could only be a job offer and no doubt a well paid one. Gotthelf was the type of guy who valued a job well done and Reyes wasn’t the best at what he did by chance. But still, his thoughts brought him back to square one, what for?

Reyes' rare skills were geared towards governments or international organizations not private enterprises. Reyes liked to think of himself as a modern strategist. Without a uniform, but designing the politics that helped the West maintain its control. Was Gotthelf a fan of military history who just wanted to share his visions regarding the world’s geostrategic position with a professional? Too far-fetched. And yet, as much as he searched he couldn’t come up with an adequate answer.

Here it goes, thought Reyes now in his suite and dialing the number Pierre had given him. Whatever it is I’m about to find out.

After a couple of rings someone picked up the phone and answered in a voice that he could only define as “sexy”.

“Mr. Gotthelf’s office, how may I help you?”

English … an office accustomed to receiving international calls or a phone that had caller ID or any other explanation from a million of possibilities. He decided to respond in the same language, out of education and convenience. It was extremely unlikely that the sexy voice on the other side of the phone spoke Spanish and he was perfectly fluent in English, his neutral accent a result of intense and expensive practice sessions with people of various origins.

“Good morning, my name is Jaime Reyes Luzón, I received a call from you.”

“Oh yes, Mr. Reyes,” answered the sexy voice, “good morning my name is Marianne, Mr. Gotthelf’s secretary. Just a moment please, I’ll transfer your call.”

While Reyes pondered over how in each country his name was pronounced differently - and never entirely well - a few hundred miles southeast Marianne got up from her desk and went to her boss’ office. She knew Gotthelf preferred face to face communication rather than the intercom.

“Mr. Gotthelf,” she said, “Mr. Reyes is on the phone.”

“Transfer him.”

“Good morning,” Reyes greeted him moments later.

“Good morning, my name is Friedrich Gotthelf from Alps Tankers. We met here in Zurich in the spring.”

“Yes Mr. Gotthelf,” said Reyes. “I remember very well. How are your wife and your two children?”

Reyes knew the memory exercise had been worth the effort. Everyone loved it when the person they were talking to remembered them, and what better proof of it than to mention the previous meeting or a known fact. Gotthelf must be secretly congratulating himself on his importance. To think that a man with whom he chatted for barely half an hour remembered him including his family even though he had briefly mentioned them. The magnate must be feeling as if he left an impression on Reyes and it was always good when your boss feels important. Even if he was, as of now, only a potential boss or maybe not even that.

“Very well, thank you,” answered Gotthelf surprised. “I hope you as well,” he said hoping Reyes couldn’t tell that he couldn’t remember whether he had family or not.

This also put Reyes at a slight advantage since Gotthelf seemed somewhat surprised and clearly would have liked to return such a courteous greeting in kind. And just as Reyes had anticipated and wanted Gotthelf didn’t beat around the bush and got straight to the point.

“I have a project in my hands and would like to count on your advice.”

“May I know what it’s about Mr. Gotthelf?” answered Reyes not bothering to conceal his curiosity. He had not been able to figure out what Gotthelf wanted and frankly, he was dying to know.

“I would rather discuss it in person if you don’t mind,” Gotthelf replied.

“In order to do that Mr. Gotthelf, I might need certain particulars or papers and it would be impossible for me to get them in time if you don’t give me a clue.”

“Let’s just say, Mr. Reyes, that lately I’ve been growing tired of the Jolly Roger,” Gotthelf said, enjoying puzzling Reyes. “Can we meet?”

“I’ll be there tomorrow. Have a good day,” Reyes replied realizing Gotthelf had convinced him before even talking to him. After he hung up the phone he lay back on the plush bed in what he defined as the best position for thinking, supine with his arms stretched out at his sides.

So, pirates.

Suddenly everything made sense. Recently the magnate had paid a ransom for one of his oil tankers. Reyes couldn’t remember the name but he knew they all had the names of mountains in the Swiss Alps. Anyway, the name was not important. This was not the first time Alps Tankers had paid a ransom to the Somali pirates. Meanwhile, an accusing little voice was telling him he should have remembered. The conscious part of his brain still had no revelation.

It was clear Gotthelf wanted to protect his ships but this wasn’t a job for him. There were numerous companies dedicated to this type of problem as well as advisors with human resources and materials. Had Gotthelf mistaken his credentials? Not likely. Gotthelf was the kind of guy who was used to doing things well and not showing all his cards. If Gotthelf wanted to talk to him there was a reason even if he himself couldn’t figure it out just yet.

In any case, Reyes decided as he sat in front of his laptop, I need to get up to date on the subject. He knew it wouldn’t be hard. He had done this many times when he was with NATO and the European Union. Speaking of NATO, I need to make a few phone calls to let them know I won’t be available for a while. Those were the perks of being the best. For Reyes, the ideal contract was one that didn’t tie him up definitively. Being able to come and go as he pleased was part of his personality and opened up opportunities such as this one.

While he purchased the ticket for the direct flight in the morning he couldn’t help but remember the secretary’s voice. Hopefully he’d get to meet her the next day. His subconscious had come to the conclusion that a voice like that could only be accompanied by a very nice body. And one of the advantages of being single at forty-two was that he could think about any pretty young woman guilt free. Who knows? He could maybe even flirt with her. He smiled remembering his player days.

#

He had always liked Switzerland. There were landscapes that looked like they were straight out of a movie. Either that or maybe half the scenes in movies were shot there. He loved Spain but the valleys surrounded by snow capped mountains, green meadows and blue skies couldn’t be found in his Alicante of birth, or anywhere else in the world.

Reyes took advantage of the taxi ride from the airport to Zurich to mentally go over the information he had compiled the previous day. The three Swiss ship hijackings had all been similar. The pirates had attacked by night managing to get close to the sides of the enormous oil tankers with various skiffs which were supposedly launched from a mother vessel that had not yet been identified. It wasn’t even known if it had been the same organization that had perpetrated all the attacks.

As soon as they had control of the tanker the pirates had set a course for Somali waters, specifically the south of the country, the zone that the government had no control over. In two of the instances the war ships that patrolled the zone had no time to react before the supertanker reached Somali waters. And in the other instance, the pirates had managed to take the ship without the crew even noticing until the next day when they revealed themselves. Either way, when the pirates took an oil tanker they would send a warning message on channel 16, the international marine emergency channel, threatening to shoot one of the hostages if any other ships approached the tanker.

In the first of the hijackings, which happened almost two years ago, a French frigate had approached the tanker to try to use the special operations team on board. Then the pirates had contacted them by radio and shot a hostage. When the French heard the shot and the screams over the radio they immediately aborted the operation. Luckily, they had shot the hostage in the leg and he was treated the next day without too many complications after the ransom was paid. However, since then no one had attempted to take a captured ship back by force.

The standard pirate procedure was to anchor the ship on some protected beach and wait for the ransom to be paid while they kept the hostages constantly at gunpoint to make sure no one tried to free them by force. In other cases, the pirates had made a mistake, and either an American, English, or French special operations team had taken advantage of it. But not in Mr. Gotthelf’s case.

After getting paid, the pirates would flee leaving the hostages on board and threatening to blow up the ship if someone followed them. Shortly after, they would disappear in the chaos of the southern part of the African country. The bomb threats were not always true but no one was about to gamble with the lives of the hostages, and much less after having paid the ransom.

It was clear the pirates knew what they were doing. There had to be someone behind all the planning. He was sure of that. The improvement of their means came from the ransom money. But money means nothing unless you know where and how to spend it. What’s more, their techniques were becoming increasingly refined. A few years ago no one would imagine a group of drugged Somalis taking a ship without alerting the crew, as if they were American Navy Seals. It was clear they were receiving more or less specific training, and that at least some of them were leaving their khat behind.

Another detail that the consultant had noticed was the speed with which Gotthelf would pay the ransoms. It was usually the next day. For a split second a crazy idea crossed his mind. Illegal associations between Swiss magnates and pirates to swindle insurance companies? But he quickly rejected the thought. The little he knew about Gotthelf was enough to think he wouldn’t make alliances with pirates. Or so he thought.

Gotthelf was a man used to winning, but it was precisely because of that fact that he would also know perfectly well when he had lost and probably preferred to get rid of it immediately thus avoiding bigger troubles. However, three times in twenty months was too many and that’s why he had decided to hire a consultant in the field of security and defense even though Reyes still hadn’t been able to figure out what for.

Three times in twenty months. That was the other thing that had caught his attention. He had reviewed the rest of the hijackings in Somali waters and no other company had such great losses. In the instance of the only other supertanker that had been captured it had been a combination of the attackers’ luck and the crew’s incompetence. No one could figure out how the pirates, completely drugged, had managed to board the ship. Then, when they got to the bridge they had found the officer alone and asleep. He had sent the helmsman to bed. Reyes remembered how, completely bewildered, he had asked a friend from the Merchant Marine about the behavior of the officer and he had replied that even though it wasn’t common, it wasn’t the first time it’s been heard of an officer sending his helmsman to bed and then falling asleep himself on the bridge. On that occasion the pirates had been so careless that they had beached the ship before anchoring it. The pirates, fishermen after all, who were used to seeing twenty-something foot long dugout canoes probably never imagined there were supertankers with a sixty-five foot draft.

And there had barely been captures of tankers that size. His curiosity piqued, Reyes had looked up the characteristics of Swiss ships, more than 980 feet in length and a beam of almost 165. He had also verified how the latest work on the Suez Canal allowed for the passage of these giants. It was clear that not everyone can pilot a ship with those characteristics. The pirates had to have someone with at least some basic training.

It was also true that Alps Tankers had the most ships fitting those characteristics in that area but still the ratio didn’t quite make sense.

What was it about the Swiss shipping company that attracted efficient pirates? Was it just a fluke?

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.