Indonesian Gold. Kerry B Collison
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of cigarettes, flicked the bottom of the box, and offered the extended rokok to his sponsor. At first, Subroto ignored the offer then poked a chubby hand outwards, taking one of the clove sticks and holding it, ready for Baird to light.
‘Really, Eric, you should look for others to assist you with our business.’
Baird felt the familiar tug to his stomach – the uncertainty of operating in this country with quasi-legitimate status had a severe downside. Foreign investment laws required substantial capital contribution, the benefits, enormous in terms of tax holidays and other considerations; for those who were limited financially but could bring the necessary expertise, there were but few options. Even marrying an Indonesian woman could not guarantee legitimate status, for Islamic Code influenced the laws. Regulations prohibited Indonesian women married to foreigners from holding directorships and acquiring trading licenses; and, there was no guarantee that foreign men married to local women would have the right of residency, let alone citizenship. As for acquiring the latter, he was aware that only one Westerner had been awarded this privilege under the Suharto regime, not that he wished to emulate the colorful Stephen Coleman, who had long since distanced himself from these shores.
Years before, Baird had taken the path so many of his fellow expatriates had chosen, establishing an Indonesian nominee company to provide legitimacy to their presence. Now, as others had discovered, there was a price to pay.
‘You are right, Pak,’ Baird deferred to the white-haired Air Vice Marshal, ‘as soon as this contract is finished, I will not accept any more work from him.’
‘It would be better for all of us,’ Subroto advised. ‘The government is only interested in those who are serious about investing in Indonesia – and your friend does not fall into that description. He makes money from us without producing results for our people.’ He looked over expensive bifocals that had slipped down his near bridgeless-nose. ‘And, I know for a fact that Immigrasi has been keeping a close eye on his activities here.’
The mere suggestion that Immigration was monitoring Kremenchug twisted the knot in Baird’s stomach even more, the inevitable panic attack sending his hands searching for an inhaler.
‘Why are the authorities so interested in Alex?’
The General deflected the question. ‘Because of your association, they could have you under surveillance, as well,’ Subroto suggested, ‘and that makes me unhappy, Eric. I shouldn’t have to remind you that whatever you do, whom you associate with, all reflects on me. When I first joined AURI…’
Baird remained standing, as Subroto launched into one of his all-too-familiar harangues that would, predictably, revisit most of the Air Force General’s career, reminding himself that this was a small price to pay for the revered, Javanese officer’s sponsorship.
****
Baird had come to understand that Subroto’s early career had been tied, indirectly, to that of the country’s president. In 1962, when Indonesia waged war over the Netherlands’ last remaining outpost in Asia, West Papua, Subroto was there, serving under the Mandela Campaign commander, Suharto. It was a bittersweet time for the young General Suharto who had returned to the field, having been banished by the former C-in-C, General Nasution, accused of smuggling activities with the Chinese cukong, Lim Sioe Liong. At that time, Lieutenant Colonel Subroto and his fellow pilots had played a central role in the campaign, flying missions in their Soviet-supplied Tu-2, and Il-28 light, tactical bombers. Subroto had been more fortunate than many of his comrades during this confrontation, as the Dutch accounted for many of the inexperienced pilots during aerial engagements. Nevertheless, President Soekarno had heaped praises and medals upon all involved, when the future province fell to the Indonesians. And, as Subroto’s name was linked with Suharto’s with respect to the outcome, the AURI General was spared during the ignominious period that followed the coups of 1965, when the Indonesian Air Force was cleansed of its communist elements.
The AVM’s star had then remained in limbo up until the AURI 1985 reorganization, when a large number of the country’s senior ranking officers were either made redundant, or encouraged to enter Parliament, where the military maintained a controlling block of seats. Subroto had elected to move into private enterprise and was placed on the semi-retirement list, along with some fifty others of general rank, to assist with their transition from military to civilian roles.
It was because of Subroto’s close links with the Indonesian Ministry of Mines, that Baird first approached the retired officer seeking sponsorship. That, and the fact Subroto had worked closely with the Australians during the early Seventies, when the RAAF gave AURI a squadron of Sabres to assist rehabilitate operational air-defence training. When Subroto learned that Baird had the capacity to introduce foreign mining companies, the Air Vice Marshal agreed to provide legitimate shelter for the geologist’s activities.
At first, their arrangement had prospered. Baird, true to his word, succeeded in introducing a number of mining investment opportunities to Subroto who, in return, showed his gratitude by accepting the geologist into his family circle. But, when Baird’s reputation had later been sullied over his dealings with Kremenchug, their relationship had slowly deteriorated, further exacerbated by Subroto’s discovery of Baird’s deviate sexual preferences which, in turn, led to Mardidi being removed from the office staff, and the appearance of Subroto’s niece, Pipi Suhartono.
****
Baird remained politely interested, relieved that Subroto was nearing the end of his often-repeated tale.
‘And, when the Sabre flew over the rich rice paddies in Central Java, the pilot experienced a flameout, and ejected.’
Although Baird had heard this story before, he was always at odds as how best to respond to what happened next. As usual, he decided to appear quietly introspective.
‘Who would not believe in ‘adjal’, Eric?’ the General asked, rhetorically, referring to the belief that all death is predestined. ‘A simple farmer, tilling the soil, who has most likely never strayed more than a few kilometers from his village and land since birth, suddenly hears the rush of wind and looks up and, in that moment, is killed by this strange object falling from the heavens.’
It was normally at this point in the telling, that Baird would put on his serious face, feigning interest. ‘To die from old age or even disease is one thing. But, to be killed by
an ejection seat when one has never even seen an aeroplane, surely must demonstrate that Allah planned for this to happen? ’
This, Baird knew, was his signal to nod his acceptance. ‘It would certainly seem that way, Pak.’
‘Yes, that is precisely my point!’
Baird was surprised by Subroto’s deviation from previous closings.
‘If someone dropped something on you, Eric,’ the Javanese’s eyes danced mischievously, ‘then we would be obliged to accept that such a mishap was, undoubtedly, by Allah’s design.’
Eric Baird experienced a familiar, sinking sensation in his stomach. During his years living in this country, he had learned that opinions were regularly offered, disguised in the most oblique forms. Javanese disliked confrontation – and, even when addressing foreigners, rarely came directly to the point. However, Baird clearly understood the underlying threat Subroto had made.
‘Pak ‘Broto,’ he opened, reverently, ‘this time, Kremenchug has agreed to give us shares in the Kalimantan venture.’
‘You cannot trust this man,’ Subroto replied, obstinately.
Baird quickly calculated the value of his quarter of a million dollars in stock. ‘We will be given almost half a billion Rupiah worth of stocks in the Canadian company.’
Subroto removed his glasses, looked directly into Baird’s eyes, and started tapping the desk with a ball pen. The US dollar equivalent was around two hundred