The Fifth Season (13 page)

Having graduated with honors from Cambridge University in England, Hamish was recruited by Morgan & Morgan as part of their British team.

Encouraged to continue his studies whilst in their employ, he forwent the many leisure opportunities and relationships which came his way, dedicating his time instead to furthering his career. Four demanding years passed and, armed with his Masters in Business Administration, Hamish McLoughlin was delighted to accept a newly created position with the international fund management group, as their Hong Kong based representative.

It was there, during his three years dealing with the financial wizards of Asia that the relatively young financier attracted the attention of the International Monetary Fund. Two years later he moved to Washington where he consolidated his position and reputation, amongst some of the world's most powerful financiers as a skillful negotiator and lateral thinker.

It was during this time that he had met and married, the daughter of a prominent Boston banker. Unfortunately, his expertise could in no way have prepared him for the bitterness which would then occupy his life.

Eight months into their marriage, during one of Washington's typically bleak winter mornings, black ice sent his inexperienced wife's car skidding sideways through an intersection and to her death, when her vehicle lost control. Desolated by his loss, Hamish had struggled to recover emotionally, but found this impossible surrounded by constant reminders of his brief happiness and, quite out of character, packed his clothes one morning and left his world behind.

Eighteen months flashed by quickly. He started in Mexico, consuming excessive amounts of alcohol, his days spent sitting alone in dark bars, his nights lost wandering through an alcoholic mist. He continued in drunken stupor, often awakening in accommodations with no recollection of where he might be. Awash with tequila, he dragged himself and his self-indulgences through Panama, down to South America and through the tourist traps until copious amounts of alcohol necessitated a stint drying out in a Brazilian clinic. When he resumed his travels, Hamish found himself in Africa where again he was hospitalized with suspected alcoholic poisoning, still drowning in his own self-pity, still looking for closure over his past.

In hospital, while recovering from the abuse his liver and other vital organs had endured through two years of punishing drinking bouts, he finally accepted that he must live with his loss, recognizing that failure to come to terms with what had happened might cost him his own life. Recalling how he had enjoyed earlier years in Hong Kong, Hamish McLoughlin decided to return there and re-establish himself as a financial adviser, offering his expertise to the growing financial markets found amongst the emerging tigers of South East Asia. Emaciated by prolonged abuse, Hamish set about restoring his health, undertaking a rigorous fitness campaign. Slowly and painfully, his condition returned, as did much of his self-esteem. Several months passed and, satisfied that he had successfully exorcised his ghosts, Hamish flew to the British colony, and commenced the next chapter in his life.

Occupying one of the newly constructed condominium apartments perched among Hong Kong's Mid-Levels, Hamish used his remaining funds to establish a finance consultancy, taking advantage of the British colony's favorable corporate and taxation laws. Within two years, his company, Perentie Limited, had achieved considerable success, and the company's reputation for writing deals already legendary.

Offered a staggering amount he believed to be grossly excessive, McLoughlin willingly relinquished control of Perentie to a group of British investors, agreeing to remain on the board only until the transition to new management had been successfully completed. At that time, Hamish resigned his position and commenced trading currencies in his own right, achieving spectacular results. It was during this period that a run on the Thai Baht triggered a series of events creating extreme panic from Bangkok to Seoul, then down to Indonesia where Perentie had overly exposed themselves. As a result of liquidity problems, Hamish's expertise was sought by his former company's new directors.

Perentie's British Chairman's bullish approach to Indonesian investments had attracted representatives from all levels of Jakarta's business community through the company's doors. The chief executive of the Cendrawasih Taxi company was no exception. Once it had been revealed that this organization was, in fact, a subsidiary operation belonging to Nuri Suhapto, the Indonesian President's oldest daughter, Perentie's directors did not hesitate. They plunged in wildly, committing two hundred million dollars to finance the proposed fleet expansion for what they expected would become, another First Family monopoly.

Press announcements revealing that the deal had been consummated brought accolades from afar, and suddenly, within capital investment markets, Perentie Limited seemed incapable of error, resulting in a flood of new capital flowing into his company's coffers. Then, with pressure exerted on the local currency, it became apparent that Perentie might have been overly bullish in Indonesia, causing the new directors to become concerned with the extent of their investment exposure. They retained Hamish McLoughlin to visit Jakarta, and advise what steps might be taken to reduce the company's risk.

The wavering Rupiah was not the only inducement which had encouraged the financier to visit Jakarta. He sensed the imminent chaos collapsing money markets would surely bring. Concerned with the liquidity of Cendrawasih Taxis and Perentie's two hundred million capital, he suspected that it would not require more than a few hours to determine whether the loans had been utilized as undertaken by the company's board or, as he suspected, a portion simply removed by the major shareholder to be squirreled away somewhere in one of her Swiss bank accounts.

* * * *

Hamish could feel the warming, comforting effects of the whisky working, now somewhat less concerned that his friend was this late. Hamish looked around the pub, observing how it had filled almost beyond capacity, as staff hurried cocktails to tables while the bartender worked furiously to fill orders. The CNN broadcast had been displaced by a band, the noise level within O'Reiley's now reducing conversation to inaudible levels.

A group of young expatriates, obviously out for a good time laughed loudly, attracting his attention. He looked over in their direction, and was immediately stung by envy. The young men were accompanied by beautiful Indonesian girls, whose stunning features and elegance were difficult to ignore. Someone yelled out, drunkenly, turning heads in his direction as a roar of laughter followed. Hamish returned to his drink, in quiet deliberation. Then, from nowhere, there was a rain of cashew nuts as two well-dressed groups of young, foreign businessmen flung missiles at each other, as they might do back home.

For a while, there was some semblance of order as the boisterous crowd calmed down, now preoccupied with replenishing their drinks with the overly-generous serves of alcohol staff hurried to their tables. Someone else shouted from a dark corner, and this was greeted immediately by catcalls and boisterous behavior. Hamish let his eyes roam around the bar, observing the near-inebriated bunch, wishing he too could put Indonesia's ills behind, once the office doors were closed.

Few of those present would have any real understanding of what was happening, he knew. Fewer still would care, for the life of an expatriate was, in many cases, a generous, ego-satisfying journey through what some considered to be a subservient culture, justifiably relegated to their lesser position in the economic order of things and destined, deservedly, to fail without their generous expertise. Hamish despised the general air of superciliousness, and unfounded superiority some European foreigners carried to these, and other Asian shores, alert at all times, that he too not fall into this trap.

Deep in thought, Hamish heard the chords and, recognizing the tune, turned with others to clap in approval as the talented pianist commenced his solo. He listened, his thoughts delightfully wandering as the entertainer hit his own version of the chorus:

‘..You might be one-legged Pianola Man,

But you can sure play well when your tight,

Remind us how young we all used to be,

Never scared of a challenge nor a fight.'

Immediately, the bar burst in unison, singing the only words those in attendance could remember, and Hamish, the alcohol working, could not resist joining in:

‘…Tra la la, diddee da, tra la la diddee da, La da, ……..'

By now, the bar was pumping, everyone present singing the original words, some swaying where they sat while others, already too drunk to notice, splashed their drinks over those standing nearby as the mood lifted, erasing from their minds, what might be taking place outside.

As Hamish swallowed the remainder of his single malt whisky he observed Harold Goldstein enter at the far end of the bar, and raised his arm in acknowledgment. The IMF officer spotted Hamish and strolled over, nodding to several other guests as he did so.

‘Sorry, goddamn Jakarta traffic gets worse with every visit,' Goldstein apologized, accepting the other man's hand. ‘Give us two more of whatever he's drinking,' he instructed the hovering barman.

‘How much time do we have?' Hamish asked, his head a little hazy from the whisky, but nevertheless pleased to catch up with his former associate. They had worked together in Washington at the Nineteenth Street IMF offices, before Hamish's life had undergone drastic change.

‘Plenty. In fact, we're having dinner together with a charming young woman, you might just find attractive.' McLoughlin raised his eyebrows enquiringly.

‘Business?'

‘More or less, Hamish. I had a call from Mary Jo Hunter to see if the IMF would give her an update. We've met before on a number of occasions and, as the choice was to bail out on you or have her tag along I thought, what the hell, and invited her to join us.' Goldstein explained.

‘Here she comes now,' he added.

‘Fine by me,' Hamish shrugged, turning to meet the journalist, immediately taken aback by the physically arresting appearance of the woman.

‘Hello, Harry,' she said, stepping forward as Goldstein bent to kiss her cheek. She turned and offered her hand. ‘Hello, I'm Mary Jo Hunter. Please call me Jo. And you're Hamish McLoughlin?' she announced, surprising both men. Laughing softly, she explained. ‘Your exploits are well known to the media, Mister McLoughlin. In fact, this is a most fortuitous opportunity for me. You see,' she continued, her smile captivating those present, ‘I have you on my list for an interview as well.' With this, she withdrew her hand from Hamish's and placed her handbag on the barstool.

At that moment, a group in the far corner started clapping as one of their number finished swigging a half-yard of ale, most of which being spilt over his tie and shirt during an attempt to chugalug the beer. Mary Jo turned her attention back to the two men just as the pianist reluctantly sang a request for another group, the guests failing to understand how offensive some might consider
‘Hava Nagila,'
to be, in a predominantly Moslem country. The entertainer played the first few bars, threw his hands in the air, feigning loss of memory and fell back on Billy Joel's
‘Piano Man' 
again, seeing it had been so popular when he had played it before.

Hamish found himself tapping to the chorus, again, embarrassed when his eyes came into contact with the delightfully attractive woman who had joined them.

‘It's always been one of my favorites,' he explained, smiling at Mary Jo, who pounced on the opportunity.

‘What about that interview, then, Mr. McLoughlin?' and he laughed, the mix of music and the beautiful woman added to alcohol, lifting his spirits.

‘Well, you may have your time cut out for you Jo,' he explained, with practiced charm, ‘I plan to leave tomorrow.' Jo pretended to sulk and both men laughed.

‘What about a breakfast interview?' she suggested. Hamish considered this for a moment before replying.

‘Only if you can make it by six,' he offered, turning to applaud the pianist as he skipped from one song to another, his audience obviously enjoying the medley as he moved from Billy Joel to Elton John, and across a range of distinctive, popular tunes.

‘Never happen,' Goldstein interrupted good-naturedly, ‘you'd never get him out of bed.' There was a sudden, embarrassed silence, then Mary Jo laughed softly.

‘You know what I mean,' he chuckled, gulping the whisky and ushering the others before him. He raised his hand and scribbled in the air, calling for the check. ‘Come on, let's get something into our stomachs. I'm as hungry as hell.' The staff hurried to present the bill, and within minutes they were on their way, Hamish waving towards the preoccupied pianist, as if they were old friends.

They walked casually out into the magnificent foyer, pausing and moving discreetly to one side whenever Goldstein stopped briefly to chat with familiar faces.

‘He's very popular,' Mary Jo whispered. She stood alongside Hamish patiently waiting for their friend to rejoin them.

‘Who wouldn't be? His presence here represents more than forty billion dollars to this economy,' he replied, almost matter-of-factly. She examined his expressionless face, and decided there was no envy in the response. If anything, he seemed a little drunk.

‘Will he give it to them?' she asked, with a slight tilt of her head.

Hamish McLoughlin admired the combination diamond and blue sap-phire earring exposed, as her soft, blonde hair drifted away from her cheek with the gesture. For the first time, he became conscious of her perfume as the delicate fragrance of Nina Ricci's
L'Air du Temps
touched his senses.

‘I wouldn't,' was all he said, his thoughts uncomfortably elsewhere.

‘Do you think….' she began, but Hamish shook his head, then smiled.