Indonesian Gold. Kerry B Collison
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have been so fucking far off with this?’
This comment, as it had not been rehearsed, was met with dumb response. Baird, sitting in the Jakarta apartment that he shared with an advertising executive, suddenly lost his place in the conversation. He checked his notes, taken off an earlier and recorded exchange between him and Alex Kremenchug.
‘Are you still there?’ Kremenchug’s voice bellowed down through the line. An echo repeated his aggressive demand, the final words ‘there, there, there’ reverberating annoyingly through the speakers in the mining company’s Vancouver office.
‘Shit,’ Kremenchug shouted, this too echoing from ground to satellite, then back to an earth station near the Indonesian capital sending Eric Baird the message, ‘shit, shit, shit’ as the geologist responsible for the fabricated report started to panic.
‘Now, wait a minute,’ Baird started to argue, the time lapse between the parties creating the misunderstanding. He was interrupted by the unfamiliar voice of the Canadian company’s chief geologist, and Chairman, on the speakerphone.
‘Eric,’ the hollow sound bounced around the apartment as Baird gathered his thoughts. Speaking directly to Christopher Fielding had not been part of their plan. ‘Eric, this is Chris Fielding,’ the distorted voice claimed.
‘Hello, hello?’ Baird continued to panic, wondering if he should hang up and claim later that they had been cut off.
‘Eric,’ Fielding tried again, ‘it’s Chris Fielding. Can you hear me?’
Of course, Baird could hear him. He just did not wish to be dragged into a conversation without knowing what he was supposed to say. ‘Hello, hello?’ he feigned again, ‘is that still you, Alex?’
Kremenchug realized what had happened, silently admonishing himself for his own stupidity in deviating from the rehearsed dialogue. He moved quickly to circumvent any possible misinterpretation by Fielding.
‘Eric,’ he spoke intermittently, enunciating carefully as if atmospherics were, indeed, the problem, the show entirely for Fielding’s benefit. ‘I think the problem is here, with the speaker system.’ He turned to Fielding, his face covered with the most serious of expressions.
‘I...am...going....to…turn....it...off..okay?’
Baird understood immediately, the conversation then taking a dramatic turn.
‘Eric?’ Kremenchug asked. ‘Eric. Is this clearer?’
‘Can Fielding hear me?
‘No? Then wait a moment and I will check the receiver here.’
‘What’s this shit about being off with the survey?’
‘That’s good. Yes, I can hear you clearly now.’
‘What do you want me to say for Chrissakes?’ This, from the Jakarta end where Baird was now sitting with his legs sprawled across a divan, his kretek cigarette hanging carelessly from his fingers and in danger of burning the plastic head-cover, which had never been removed since delivery.
‘Eric, can you give Vancouver any additional information which would support the earlier survey?’ Kremenchug manipulated the conversation as was necessary.
‘Are you sure that Fielding can’t hear me?’ Baird asked, worried, ignoring the question.
‘No!’ Kremenchug responded flatly.
‘Then go and fuck yourself, Alex!’ Baird yelled into the phone, his Bacardi- influenced bravado tipping him over the edge. At the other end of the line Kremenchug stood speechless. With a click of his tongue, he turned to the Canadian mining executive, shrugged his shoulders then hung up.
‘We lost the connection,’ Kremenchug lied.
****
Since their first meeting in Jakarta, two and a half years before, the company had been floated, successfully raising several millions from the Canadian public. In fact, the offer had been oversubscribed, such was the interest for mining companies with Indonesian gold prospects and, as the Borneo Gold Corporation boasted several of these within the Kalimantan provinces, stockholder funds filled the subscription offer within an hour of the company being listed on the Canadian Exchange.
Initially, Christopher Fielding had commissioned a more detailed survey of the Palangkaraya alluvial leases, but the findings were not significant. The following year, the BGC President had then decided to embark on a comprehensive drilling program of their East Kalimantan areas, the results causing the stock to fall to less than half their par value once overall results had been revealed to the market. The disappointing results left the fledgling mining corporation with few funds and questionable capacity to raise further capital. Christopher Fielding again found himself fighting off creditors, his occasional consultancy contracts subsidizing his half-salary-income paid by the near-insolvent company.
At the end of the escrow period, Kremenchug and the Baird-Subroto partnership found that their stock was practically worthless, and moved on to other ventures to keep themselves afloat. Kremenchug and Baird kept in touch, both maintaining interests primarily in Kalimantan’s burgeoning mining sector. However, as Indonesia’s gold fever had revitalized interest in prospects Down Under, Kremenchug decided to visit Western Australia where many of his ilk were amassing fortunes, by floating near worthless mining companies. Unable to resist the hordes of speculative investors lining up to be fleeced, Kremenchug headed into the West Australian outback, where he became embroiled with a group of would-be-mining magnates in the small, gold mining town of Meekathara.
****
Chapter Five
March 1993
The Philippines
Sharon Ducay peered through the window, the landscape blurred by sheets of rain. She looked back over her shoulder at the elderly man slumped in an oversized, carved teak and leather chair, and smiled, sadly, then moved to his side. ‘Thank you, General,’ she placed her hand on his, the threat of tears real as her eyes dropped to the black armband he wore on the anniversary of his younger brother’s untimely death. ‘It means such a great deal to me.’ ‘When will you leave?’ he asked, Sharon concerned at how he had aged since his recent illness. ‘Tomorrow,’ she replied, stroking his arm. ‘You will return in time for Easter?’ ‘Of course, General, I wouldn’t dream of missing the holidays with you.’ ‘Are you certain you can’t stay a few more days?’ he pleaded, not at all looking forward to her absence again. ‘I should go, General. The timing is right. Besides, Alfredo will take care of you while I’m away,’ she consoled, referring to her uncle’s muscular manservant who had served under the Filipino officer and then followed him into retirement, at the President’s personal request.
‘You should find a young man, get married and settle down,’ he suggested.
Sharon gave him her customary response. ‘When I find someone like you, General,’ knowing how dearly he enjoyed having her say so.
‘I will miss having you here,’ he complained, but they both knew that it went deeper than that.
‘I will ring you every day,’ she promised, ‘and Alfredo, to see if you are taking your medicine.’ The General’s wry smile greeted this announcement with a wave of one hand in dismissive gesture.
‘Alfredo would be happy to see me gone,’ he lied, enjoying this game they so often played whenever Sharon was to leave.
‘General,’ she warned, participating in the charade, ‘if he did so, who would he have to beat so easily at chess?’ General Narciso Dominguex’s once powerful lungs rasped laughter at the thought of Alfredo ever beating him at his favorite pastime. He looked Sharon directly in the eyes, the exchange filled with love.
‘Be careful,’ was all he said, and she nodded, squeezing his forearm gently.
‘I