Mark casually ate lunch in the hotel restaurant, then walked to the entrance, where he got into a taxi summoned by the doorman and headed for the Port of Antwerp.
The burly Belgian was dressed similarly to the day before, still in that mismatched suit. He fastened his top button, then slightly turned to the side to adjust his tie in the reflection of the car window. Then, he leaned back silently against the seat.
He had spoken to Durban on the phone last night, and Keith instructed him to buy the ship as soon as possible. So, first thing this morning, he called FEMAS and expressed his client’s interest in purchasing the *Christo*, asking them to arrange a viewing of the ship and a meeting with the captain.
The *Christo* was docked in a secluded corner of the Port of Antwerp. After paying for the taxi, Mark had to walk for another twenty minutes to reach it.
This cargo ship had clearly been refurbished recently, but the rust treatment was sloppy. Up close, many areas of fresh paint were already bubbling under the sunlight or peeling from seawater exposure, revealing brownish-red rust spots on the hull, giving it a dirty and worn appearance. But this didn’t bother Mark, as it was exactly what Keith had requested — unremarkable enough. In the Mediterranean, hundreds of similar ships crossed the Suez Canal every month, shuttling between Europe and African ports; the *Christo* looked just like them and would attract no attention.
Three white men were standing by the gangway, one of whom, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, was Mr. Goussain from FEMAS. He greeted Mark with a smile and introduced the other two.
The one with the Germanic face and graying hair was the captain, named Karl Waldenberg. He was over fifty but well-preserved, with no signs of sun or wind damage on his face. His slender figure and well-fitted brown plaid suit gave him an air of German Junker nobility.
The other was in his early forties, with a square face and freshly shaved chin, named Ivan Sernechevich. Despite the cold weather, this Slavic man, as strong as a Kodiak bear, wore light clothing. He had on faded work pants and a weathered tan jacket, with the open front revealing a rust-red T-shirt that tightly hugged his solid chest muscles.
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Mark shook hands with both men, then followed them up the gangway onto the ship.
The crew quarters were locked, and the sailors were all ashore enjoying themselves, not expected back until the evening. Mark first toured the bridge and navigation room, and then, led by the captain and first officer, carefully inspected the entire 5,000-ton cargo ship inside and out.
Following Keith’s instructions, he paid special attention to three things: whether the deck had enough space for four medium helicopters to take off and land, whether the interior could accommodate 200 people for a week, even if they had to sleep on the floor in the lower holds, and whether the engine was in good enough condition to ensure a safe journey to South Africa.
During the tour, he covertly observed the captain and first officer. He noticed that apart from formalities, Waldenberg barely spoke, maintaining a detached attitude. In contrast, Sernechevich was very enthusiastic, not only handling the entire ship’s introduction but also patiently answering all kinds of questions.
The inspection took the entire afternoon, and Mark was quite satisfied with the ship’s condition. He said goodbye to the captain and first officer, then got into Goussain’s BMW 325 to leave the dock.
As the car left the port area, Mark started inquiring about the background of the captain and first officer.
“Both of them came from a previous company and have been on this ship for over a decade,” said Goussain as he drove. “Waldenberg reached retirement age a few years ago and no longer manages much. Sernechevich handles all the day-to-day affairs on board.”
Mark’s face showed a “just as I thought” expression, and he asked, “What do you think of this guy?”
“Sernechevich? He’s a good man. Ambitious, knows the ship well, and keeps the crew in line.” Goussain paused, adding, “He’s already got his captain’s license. If your client wants to keep the current crew, he’d be the ideal choice for captain.”
“I’ll pass along your recommendation,” Mark nodded knowingly, then put on a slightly troubled look and cautiously said, “It might be a bit awkward to ask, but does he have any bad habits? I think my client would consider that when making a decision.”
“That guy?” Goussain laughed and confidently replied, “You don’t need to worry about that. Other than drinking and occasionally gambling a bit, he goes to the ‘red-light district’ after payday. Typical sailor stuff, nothing really problematic.”
Mark laughed along and replied, “Then that’s even better.”