The Fifth Season (14 page)

‘Leave it for Harry, Jo,' he advised, then wishing he had not been so abrupt. They were rejoined by the IMF representative, who continued to smile at everyone they passed as they exited the hotel.

‘Not eating in?' Hamish asked, surprised, as the hotel's restaurants were all five star.

‘I doubt we would be left alone,' Harry replied. ‘Besides, I know just the place if you still enjoy a good combination Indonesian and Chinese. It's a bit down market, but the food's okay. What do you say, Jo?'

‘Sounds okay to me. Where are we going?'

‘Down near Chinatown,' he laughed, winking at the other man in conspiratorial manner. ‘There's a place I was taken last time I was in town.

Food was great and I'm sure they'll remember me.'

‘You've got to be joking!' Hamish laughed. ‘Don't you know we all look alike to the locals?' Mary Jo remained out of the banter, enjoying their obvious camaraderie.

‘No, they'll remember me,' the American assured them, alluding to whatever had taken place during his recent visit. Content to leave it at that, they bundled into a taxi and permitted Goldstein to direct the driver to their downtown destination.

As they drove down Jalan Thamrin the traffic seemed endless. Sky-scrapers lined the boulevard, lights blazing as if staff manned their offices around the clock, and colorful bulbs strung around the upper floors presented an almost carnival atmosphere. Mary Jo remembered arriving not long after Christmas, only to discover that Indonesia's entire Moslem community totaling more than one hundred and seventy-five million were preparing for the month of
Ramadan
, the ninth month in the Islamic calendar, during which fasting is undertaken during daylight hours. The
Hari Raya Idulfitri
celebrations following
Ramadan
would fall almost simultaneously with Chinese New Year. To Mary Jo, it seemed that the economies of the entire region would grind to a halt when this occurred, as more than one and a half billion people from China through Malaysia, Singapore and Indonesia, closed their businesses to join family and friends for the celebrations.

Their driver followed Jalan Gunung Sahari until reaching Ancol
,
then right into Martadinata. Ten minutes later, as their vehicle turned and twisted through Tanjung Priok's narrow back-streets, both Hamish and Mary Jo felt uneasy with their surrounds. The harbor was not even considered a safe place during the day, let alone this far into the evening and, although the nature of her work often resulted in her being placed in dangerous situations, there was just something sinister about harbors which had always made her uncomfortable. She was about to suggest that perhaps they were lost, when Harold Goldstein called out.

‘Here we are,' he announced, almost proudly, patting the driver on his shoulder. He peeled off a number of bills and passed these to the man.

‘Terima kasih,'
the driver thanked his fare. Mary Jo could not believe that Goldstein was about to send the taxi away, aware it would be impossible to find another when they were ready.

‘I wait here?' Mary Jo was relieved to hear the driver ask, and was amazed that her co-passengers were even considering the question.

‘Yes, you wait here,
terima kasih,
' she intervened, flashing a handful of Rupiah notes. The taxi driver nodded, beamed at the three foreigners, then killed his engine. He would sleep there outside the restaurant until they returned. The small group climbed out, and to Mary Jo's dismay, stepped directly into a shallow, muddy puddle, causing her to leap for the broken pavement, barely visible under the dimly lit doorway. She heard both the men curse loudly as they too scrambled to avoid slipping and, reaching safety, examined their shoes to see what it was they had stepped in.

‘Come on,' Harry encouraged, advancing carefully into the single-story structure. The Cahaya Laut restaurant's muddy entrance was, to say the least, disconcerting, and in no way reflected the fine cuisine found inside the noisy establishment. As they made their way further into the packed restaurant Mary Jo could not believe her eyes at the spectacle before her.

There were more than two hundred determined diners crammed claus-trophobically into an area suitable for half that number, all attacking the various servings covering their round tables with a gusto reminiscent of scenes she had encountered in the alleys of Shanghai. The three forged ahead through a steady stream of departing guests, stopping near the cashier's post to wait for a table. Harry called out something but this was lost in the incredible surrounds of overwhelming chatter.

‘Sorry?' the others called back, leaning closer to hear.

‘I said, it's great, isn't it?' Goldstein shouted proudly, his face beaming with anticipation as he stepped back to permit several waiters to struggle through, carrying dishes of steamed eel and barbecued turtle. A Chinese cook clad in a filthy singlet suddenly appeared, yelled at one of the waiters while brandishing a large kitchen knife threateningly, then retreated to his domain still cursing the intelligence of the other man's ancestors. The manager appeared and directed two of his staff to clean a table vacated only moments before, as he assisted the three foreigners into their cramped space.

‘My god, it's bedlam!' Hamish McLoughlin complained, leaning back to permit another waiter access to their table. Chopsticks and small soup bowls added to the clatter as these were placed noisily on their table, while tired waiters rushed to comply with their employer's and guests' demands.

Sticky, plastic-covered menus were then dropped onto their table, along with an assortment of small dishes containing a variety of pickles and sauces. Someone appeared and splashed lukewarm tea into hurriedly-washed, miniature porcelain cups, while a more senior waiter succeeded in pushing his way to where they were seated, to take their orders.

Harry pointed to the drinks list, ordering beers all around. Wine was not available; just cognacs, whiskies, soft drinks and beer.

‘I'll order?' he suggested, to the relief of the others. The experienced vistor pointed to a number of dishes he believed he understood, and accompanied by confused gesticulation between the pair, the waiter finally managed to understand what it was the foreigner wished to order, and scribbled impatiently on his pad. To Hamish's surprise, the Bintang beer arrived cold, and he grinned at the others as they touched glasses in toast.

Mary Jo was a little disappointed that their venue made it impossible to communicate. She had hoped for an opportunity to discuss the IMF's position regarding current negotiations with the Indonesian Government.

Now, she realized, Harold Goldstein had cleverly removed that opportunity with his selection of dinner locations. She looked across the table wondering if Hamish McLoughlin's presence had been orchestrated, to prevent an in-depth interview.

Crab and asparagus soup was served, by which time all three had given up any further attempts at talking. Soon, other dishes arrived, and Mary Jo's resentment at the evening's outcome all but disappeared as the first tantalizing aroma of suckling pig reminded her that she had missed taking lunch in Bandung. Having never mastered the art during her many visits to China, she struggled with the chopsticks until an observant waiter provided forks and spoons. Mary Jo watched, as both men expertly separated pieces of deep-fried, sweet-and-sour
kakap
then shared the fish with her.

By the time they had eaten the tender squid, steamed prawns, Cantonese rice and
kai-lan
leaf which had been soaked in oyster sauce, surprisingly, the restaurant had all but emptied.

‘Where have they gone?' Hamish asked, his watch showing it was ten o'clock.

‘Same thing happened the last time I was here,' Harry replied, accepting a warm, wet towel from the waiter. He wiped his face slowly, releasing an audible sigh of satisfaction with the moment. ‘I was brought here last visit by the Finance Minister. A couple of Chinese businessmen tagged along, probably to pay for the evening and, before I could do anything about it, I found myself drinking XO cognac as if there was no tomorrow.'

The IMF official then shook his head, remembering what followed.

‘With my experience, I should have realized that the Chinese element wouldn't have settled for just a few social sips. Anyway, once I discovered that the government officials had surreptitiously slipped away and gone home, I decided that I'd had enough and insisted that I be taken back to the Hyatt.' Both Mary Jo and Hamish listened attentively, somewhat bemused that someone as well-traveled, and as senior as Harry had found himself in such a predicament.

‘Anyway, the Chinese hosts were reluctant to let me go and short of causing an incident, I agreed to finish another bottle with them. There's not much more to tell except one of them fell over that railing over there,'

Harry explained, his expression serious, ‘and we had one hell of a job pulling him back up and inside. Needless to say,' he added, his face breaking into a smile, ‘he was covered in mud and whatever unmentionables lurk in these filthy harbor's waters.

Mary Jo noticed that the last guests were settling their bill. She decided to delay their own departure, taking advantage of the changed ambiance. As Goldstein concluded his anecdote, she waved to the waiter and requested coffee.

‘Why don't we finish up at the hotel instead?' Hamish suggested, spoiling her plan. She decided to be blunt and plunged in hoping for at least some time to probe Goldstein for information regarding the current crisis.

‘How about ten minutes, here?' she asked, smiling sweetly. Hamish McLoughlin shrugged.

‘Okay by me, but I don't think I could stomach their coffee. Harry?'

Goldstein's eyes flicked unnoticeably. ‘Okay, Jo. But I'm not sure there's a great deal to tell you yet,' he fenced. He knew that by agreeing to meet with Mary Jo, she would aggressively pursue her questions. He had hoped that Hamish's presence would provide sufficient distraction.

‘I don't want to put you on the spot, Harry, but New York expects an in depth submission from me, and I thought the information would be far more reliable coming from you, than those bastards over at the Indonesian Ministry of Information. God, Harry, it's incredibly frustrating trying to extract real facts from these people,' she pleaded.

‘All I can suggest, Jo, is that the IMF is hoping that something more concrete will eventuate out of next month's meetings. For now, there really is nothing much I can say. I'll tell you what, though. I'll give you whatever I can after the next round of talks. How's that?' he suggested, hoping that this would suffice. He really could not divulge that, as they spoke, Washington was in the process of preparing new guidelines for the Indonesians which, he expected, would result in the most severe ramifications should these not be adhered to by the Indonesian government.

Realizing that she had hit a brick wall, Mary Jo retreated graciously, smiling at the rebuff.

‘Exclusive?' she asked hopefully, knowing that this would be unlikely.

‘Sure, sure,' Goldstein laughed, pleased that she had reacted this well.

He raised his hand and called for their check. ‘Anyway, you could always pick Hamish's brains for your story,' he teased, grinning widely now.

‘Now that's a possibility,' McLoughlin joined in, pleasantly surprisedwith Jo's behavior. She seemed to lack the aggression he associated with media types. ‘Why don't we go back to the Hyatt and talk over coffee there?' he suggested again.

They agreed, and Harry paid the bill, leading the way outside where their driver remained, sound asleep. Within minutes they were speeding back towards the city, the traffic around the
Selamat Datang
statue noticeably lighter as they arrived at the Grand Hyatt.

‘I'm afraid I'll have to leave you two to it,' Goldstein said, stifling a yawn.

‘Not even a nightcap?' Hamish offered, surprised as it was only eleven o'clock.

‘Sorry,' he apologized, reaching over to squeeze Mary Jo's hand. ‘We'll catch up next month,' he promised, and winked at McLoughlin. ‘See you at breakfast, Hamish. Goodnight,' with which, he walked away towards reception. They watched as Goldstein collected his room keys and messages, and waved as he stepped into the lavishly decorated lift.

‘Still want that coffee?' Hamish McLoughlin asked, hoping she would not stay.

‘Perhaps something a little stronger. It's been a long day,' she replied, placing her arm through his. They returned to O'Reiley's and found a table hidden in a softly-lit corner of the bar. They selected their drinks, then settled back to talk, enjoying each other's company. The atmosphere was more subdued, the number of guests reduced to a few.

Sitting across the dark onyx table, Mary Jo decided that she approved of the Scot, wondering how, as a banker, he managed to maintain the deep suntanned features which complimented the man's obvious athletic form.

He was certain to work out, she guessed correctly, at ease with Hamish's warm and convincing smile.

‘Do you know why Harry was so reluctant to reveal what's happening?'

Jo asked. Hamish looked past Mary Jo, distracted by the flickers of light at the other end of the bar as a couple there lit their cigarettes. Suddenly, something triggered a distant memory and he could taste the warm, comforting tobacco smoke as it entered his lungs. He returned his gaze to the attractive woman sitting opposite, pleased that he had given up smoking more than fifteen years before. He addressed her question.

‘Jo, this country's in one hell of a mess. The surprising thing is, no one here seems to care. Corruption has permeated all levels of society, and the First Family, along with their cronies and relatives, continue to rip the guts out of the country. My guess is, they're bankrupt; or at least, on the verge of financial collapse.'

‘Why doesn't the World Bank or the IMF just bail them out?' she asked, not displeased with the opportunity to hold some discussion which might, in some way, contribute to her overdue story.