The Albatros And The Pirates Of Galguduud. Federico Supervielle
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of disconnecting during the more than four hour long trip, Reyes looked around. Seated next to him was a thirty-something man reading the paper. Reyes observed the man discreetly. He wanted to have a pleasant chat to help pass the time. What the hell, even if he’s an uninteresting bore, at least it will help me forget about ships for a while, thought Reyes.
Then he noticed his seatmate had a garment bag with the Navy’s coat of arms. He looked at it again. He probably looked older than what he actually was and he had the permanent dark circles under his eyes of someone who has spent years standing watch. His hair was short and he was meticulously clean shaven, shirt, chinos and boat shoes. Something about his gaze and the way his brow was furrowed gave the impression he was someone used to making decisions. In fact, he exuded self confidence. Everything indicated he was a Navy Officer. All that from just a look? Why, of course. There are things one learns to notice with experience.
“Are you a seaman?”
The man closed his newspaper and looked at him surprised but not upset.
“Huh? Yes.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve always been fascinated by your line of work. Where are you going?”
There’s no better way to strike up a conversation than by complimenting someone.
“Oh, no worries,” he said. “It’s nice to know someone appreciates what we do. Right now I’m the captain of the patrol boat Tabarca.
If he was not mistaken, Tabarca was a small, old patrol boat one of the last in a class where most had been decommissioned. However, the captain was a Navy Lieutenant (which would rank him as an Army Captain) and very few of that rank commanded ships. He must have been very good.
Reyes decided to lighten up the conversation to break the ice.
“What did you lose in Madrid? I doubt you ran your ship into the Manzanares River.”
The Lieutenant smiled.
“No, I’m coming back from a court case.”
Gauging from the way he answered, Reyes could tell the Lieutenant didn’t want to talk about it. If he had to bring his uniform along it was probably official business and more than likely unpleasant. But his smile indicated that he was willing to talk so Reyes decided to continue chatting.
By the time they were passing Cordoba, Reyes found out that Nacho Marzán Febles, was born 34 years before in Cartagena. His father was a retired Rear Admiral and his mother was a housewife. He was the second oldest of five brothers, of which the oldest was also a seaman. He was happily married and had two young daughters. He was going to Cadiz for personal reasons (his ship was in Marin, Pontevedra). To be exact, he was taking advantage that he had gone to Madrid to visit his father who had just had surgery, thank God, successfully.
Nacho turned out to be the perfect seatmate. They were having quite an enjoyable and pleasant conversation. Up until now Reyes had managed to avoid talking about his work. But he knew that wouldn’t last until they reached Cadiz. Finally Nacho asked him, “So, what do you do?”
Reyes wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it but deep down he was curious to get an objective opinion. Besides, he thought, none of what we’re doing is a big secret and, who knows? Maybe he’ll have something useful to contribute.
So he decided to tell Nacho about his project, sparing no details, ending with this trip and the possible reward waiting for him.
When he heard the story Nacho’s eyes opened wide in amazement and he asked Reyes if he was really thinking about getting a BAM and if it was really possible. After Reyes convinced him it was true, but also making sure he highlighted that nothing was sure, Nacho got lost in thought a few minutes.
After he thought in silence for a while he congratulated Reyes on his plan and his luck. He also said he agreed with the strategy and, being a practical man, he asked an obviously logical question, “What about the crew?”
Reyes decided he was starting to really like this guy and decided to be upfront with him.
“I have nothing yet.”
Afterwards, he explained his approach and Nacho nodded in agreement. But when Reyes told him about how he was going about finding a captain, he smiled and shook his head.
“What’s wrong?” Reyes asked puzzled.
“Are you really going to find the man who’s going to lead a group of strangers on a new and dangerous enterprise by just looking at some papers? Maybe you haven’t noticed, but probably ninety percent of the success of this plan depends on your selection. And you aren’t even going to meet the guy before you hire him?
Even though Reyes didn’t like his work being criticized, deep down he knew Nacho was probably right.
“What do you suggest? So far I haven’t been able to find a candidate that’s even worth interviewing,” he said defending himself.
Nacho smiled and became pensive.
“Maybe when you find out who it is you will say it’s favoritism, but I think I know someone that might interest you.”
“Who are you talking about?” Reyes asked his curiosity piqued.
“My little brother is a Merchant Marine Officer. He doesn’t have specific experience but he’s always been very linked with the military field. In fact the reason he’s not in the Navy is because he’s always been an adventure seeker, and the Navy was never challenging enough for him. He’s in Cadiz right now, and unemployed. If you’re interested, I can call him and you can have a beer together. If you don’t want to feel obligated, I don’t have to tell him you’re looking to hire someone.
It had been difficult for Reyes to step back into his professional self, but once he got past it he thought about the proposal carefully.
What had impressed him initially was the way in which Nacho had proposed the idea. Anyone else would have overwhelmed him trying to get a job for their brother. But this guy seemed to be merely proposing a solution to his problem notwithstanding the benefit to his family member.
Reyes decided to accept. After all, he had nothing to lose.
#
“Good morning Mr. Reyes. It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Good morning Mr. Guerra. It’s nice to meet you too.”
At 56 years old, Miguel Guerra Méndez was the manager of the shipbuilding company Navantia, formerly Izar and Bazán. Reyes hadn’t heard much about him. All he knew was that Guerra was a naval engineer who had developed his career within the company.
That, thought Reyes, could be very good or very bad. He could be a man who knew his business inside and out (from the engineer’s point of view) and who had learned from experience exactly what the company needed. Or it could be that the man’s lack of experience as a businessman would eventually catch up with him.
Reyes was hoping that whatever it was it would help him accomplish his goal.
“I hope you had a nice trip over from Madrid,” Guerra said.
Why did he get the impression that all the conversations that were going to have an impact on his future began the same way? Nobody really cared how his trip had been. It was just a simple way to break the ice.
“It was good, very good. The trains keep getting better.”
“That’s true,” the manager agreed, suggesting he also often traveled to Madrid.
He’s not comfortable, Reyes thought. He seems to be playing a role he doesn’t like. Something told him that Guerra was more at home with his plans and models than with negotiations and financial affairs. And probably politics didn’t appeal to him much either.
It looked like the typical case of an executive almost running a business into the ground and then abandoning it, thus forcing the company to find a replacement. The company, leery of entrepreneurs