Indonesian Gold (24 page)

He accepted a glass of champagne from the flight attendant
and sipped, quietly revisiting his brief sojourn to the Philippines, and the gratifying, and
embarrassing, interlude. A look of disgust collapsed his face when he recalled the revelations,
made during that morning's breakfast.

‘You should have remained longer,' he had whispered to
Sharon across the table so the maid could not hear.

He'd frowned when Sharon held a napkin to her face to hide
her laughter. ‘You didn't know it wasn't me?'

Kremenchug
remembered leaning
over the table. ‘Excuse me?' He had then followed Sharon's eyes across the room to where Maria
stood, hands clasped across the front of her apron, smiling appreciatively, in his direction. He
looked back at his hostess, then over at the maid again, the realization of what had really
transpired stultifying.

‘I'm sorry, Alex, but I just couldn't resist!'

He felt foolish, and with a casual wave of the hand, as if
dispensing with the matter, said, ‘Well, for what it's worth, the experience wasn't all that
bad.'

Sharon
had reached across and
patted his hand as a parent would some errant child. ‘Just remember for the future, then. I don't
mix business and pleasure.'

It had taken him the rest of the meal to recover from his
embarrassment, Sharon assisting by moving their conversation forward with more important matters,
reviewing his brief and their financial arrangements.

She had established a formula with respect to what
stockholding the Filipino side required in a revitalized Borneo Gold Corporation, based on the
premise that shares in BGC would undoubtedly rise commensurate with the value of the gold
deposit's proven reserves. The question of how Sharon Ducay would deliver the necessary drilling
results to justify BGC's acquisition of the Kalimantan property remained foremost in his mind.
When Kremenchug had raised this most important issue, Sharon had assured him that she was
confident that future assay reports would support their valuation, but refused to reveal just how
she intended achieving this aim.

Sharon
had, however, raised
the issue that her name carried no international recognition. There would have to be others
clearly associated with the mining operation, those whose reputations would, by name,
substantiate her findings out in the field. For this, they would need to bring Christopher
Fielding into their fold. Kremenchug was cognizant of the BGC President's financial woes and, in
consequence, did not anticipate too much resistance from that quarter. Fielding's own stock
position had already been watered down as a result of his marital indiscretions – Kremenchug
believed that Christopher Fielding would remain on as the CEO due to his financial predicament,
prepared to offer the president an attractive package and options.

Unwittingly, Fielding would become the Ducay-Kremenchug
front man.

Borneo Gold Corporation would have to be re structured and
shareholder approval sought to accommodate the Filipino's position. Then there was the problem of
removing Scott Walters from the Board and, hopefully, completely from the scene. Kremenchug had
suggested that Sharon buy Walters' stock and she had agreed to consider this path, once he had
raised the question with the financier. In the event that control over BGC became too difficult
to achieve, only then would Kremenchug consider other options.

The two hundred million in gold bars would be laundered
through the BGC, Kalimantan mine. The restructured company would acquire the proven prospect
under an options agreement, in consideration for which, the Filipinos would receive a negotiated
value in share scrip, to be issued at the stock's face value, and options. As the stock was
expected to at least double, the real value lay in the options. Kremenchug had negotiated a
twenty percent position with Sharon, this giving him one fifth of everything the Filipinos
received as a result of the deal. He anticipated that Canadian authorities would require their
stock to be held in escrow for at least a year, at which time Sharon would gather her own team
and commence the ‘mining' operations to recycle the existing gold.

Sharon
had agreed to fund the
operation up to the point when BGC acquired the gold mining property. This would require that she
provide capital to cover the costs of establishing a corporate entity to acquire the prospect
from the Indonesian government. Sharon would then have to finance the drilling program, and any
other expenses incurred in bringing the concession up the point where they could justify the BGC
stock allocation.

From Kremenchug's perspective, he had nothing to lose. The
concession would be backed by the Filipino gold, his original shares would rise, and to top it
all off, he would enjoy a position on the company's Board. All in all, he thought to himself,
accepting a flute the stewardess had filled with Beaumont des Crayeres, he had done very well for
himself.

****

‘Eric, it's Alex.' Kremenchug had waited to make this call
from the first class lounge where some semblance of privacy could be achieved.

‘Hi, Alex,' the slurred speech told Kremenchug that he
should have gone to Jakarta and spoken to Baird, in person. It had been some time since they had
last discussed anything in person. ‘Long time, no hear!'

‘Eric, I need information on what areas are still
available in East Kalimantan.' Kremenchug waited, when there was no response, he tried again.
‘Eric, this is very important! I want you to get down to Mines first thing and establish what
prospects are still open for direct, foreign investment.'

Baird grumbled unintelligibly, testing his associate's
patience.

Kremenchug
tried again. ‘Eric,
can you get me that information tomorrow?'

‘I …just told ya,' Baird repeated, ‘there's nothing
left.'

‘Nothing at all?' Kremenchug challenged,
disbelievingly.

‘That's …right,' the other man's sluggish voice
replied.

‘Are you sure?'

‘Yep,' Baird affirmed, ‘…all gone.'

‘Eric, listen!' Kremenchug was of two minds whether he
should delay his visit to Canada, and get down to Indonesia to ensure that everything was in
place there, before banging tables in Vancouver. ‘What was that place that was passed back in by
the locals, Long-something-or-other?'

‘Longdamai,' the response came back, ‘longtime,
Longfellow... Is that what you're referring to, Alex?'

Kremenchug
swore. ‘Eric, stop
screwing around – this is bloody important!'

A moment passed before Baird's impaired brain clicked into
gear, the wheels grinding ever so very slowly, as he gathered his thoughts.

‘Alex,' he wheezed, the freshly lit cigarette burning his
lungs.

‘Alex, is that you – shit, man, where the fuck have you
been?' This was followed by the sound of a racking series of coughs that belonged to a ward in
some hospice. Kremenchug shook his head; there was so much riding on Eric Baird.

‘Eric,' he tried again, ‘I'm at Kai Tak and need to know
if you are up to talking sensibly?'

Baird listened, his face smothered with a drunken frown.
He thought Kremenchug said something about being under attack, but knew that probably wasn't
right. He looked down the length of his naked body forcing his eyes to focus.

‘Where…where…are you?' he moaned, dragging his limbs into
a half-sitting position. One hand moved out clumsily brushing an ashtray aside, knocking the
bedside light to the floor. ‘Shit' was the next word Kremenchug heard, followed by a string of
expletives which would have cost him the connection, had an international operator been
monitoring the call.

‘Eric, I'm in Hong Kong.' Kremenchug waited, and was about
to hang up and go to change his tickets when Baird's voice returned.

‘Alex,' the geologist apologized, to the voice from out of
the blue, ‘sorry. You… woke… me. I'd bombed myself out.' Another pause, interposed with another
coughing attack and then, ‘What's happening?'

Kremenchug
could hear Baird
sucking deeply on a cigarette. He spoke slowly, still undecided as to whether he should just drop
the receiver and catch the first flight down to meet the man, face to face, or
persevere.

‘The Longdamai prospect; Eric, I want to know about the
Longdamai site.'

‘Why?' this was followed by another bout of heavy
breathing as the marijuana's effect topped up existing levels in Baird's bloodstream. Mixed with
his daily dosage of rum, the cocktail's effect was inevitable.

‘If it's available, I'm going to take it up,' Kremenchug
announced. ‘It's serious, Eric. I've a done deal with a party that's desperate to get into East
Kalimantan.' This was greeted with an empty response.

‘Eric?' Kremenchug asked, his voice losing its usual
confidence.

‘Yep, none other,' Baird slowly responded, his slurred
speech disguised by the poor connection.

‘Eric?' Kremenchug tried again, ‘it's Alex.'

A few seconds passed before the Jakarta party responded.
‘Hi, Alex,' Baird said, and started giggling.

‘Shit, Eric!' Kremenchug wishing he could reach down
through the line across the South China Sea and strangle the little, ginger-haired bastard.
‘Listen to me!'

‘I liselling,' Baird replied, his exceptionally poor
imitation of how a Chinese migrant might speak, appalling at the best of times. Kremenchug knew
that his chief geologist was not only drunk to his boots, but most probably high on grass as
well.

‘Eric,' he pleaded, ‘get a hold of yourself. We have to
talk!'

‘Okay, Mastah, you talkie, I glisten,' Baird started
coughing as the clove cigarette bit deeply into his lungs. ‘Oh, shit!' was all Kremenchug heard
at the Hong Kong end. He knew Baird drank far too much and virtually lived with a cigarette
hanging from his mouth. That the man had survived this long, with his limited diet and habits,
continued to amaze all who were familiar with the geologist.

‘Eric, are you okay?' Kremenchug started to chew on the
inside of his cheek. Another minute dragged by before Baird answered, his brain partially
recovering from its confused trough as the
ganja's
tricky effects produced momentary
clarity.

‘I'm okay. Damn near coughed up my heart. Fucking
cigarettes!'

‘Eric, listen,' Kremenchug coaxed, ‘I'm going to phone you
back again, first thing in the morning. Okay?' This was followed by a frustrating silence.
Kremenchug waited for what felt like an eternity, and tried again. ‘Eric? Are you still
there?'

Another coughing fit proved this to be true. The phone
crackled, a more subdued Baird back on the phone. ‘Sorry, had to throw up,' he apologized.
Kremenchug pulled the receiver away from his mouth in disgust.

‘Eric, are you able to talk now or not?' he tried again.
He had experienced such fractured communications with Baird before when, for some minutes, the
man could be completely coherent and then suddenly flip back into his alcoholic or drug-related
state. This time, against a background of distortion, he could hear Baird's receiver being
dropped. ‘Eric?' Then the line went dead.

It was half an hour before the anorexic geologist answered
the phone again, with Kremenchug anxiously counting the clock.

‘How do you feel?' Kremenchug inquired,
concerned.

‘Alex?' Baird asked, waves of nausea threatening to drive
him back to the bathroom. ‘Sorry. Think I had a bad prawn.' Kremenchug knew that this was
unlikely to be true. Baird rarely ate anything that did not come in a can, his many phobias
preventing the rather brilliant geologist from behaving in any normal fashion.

‘Do you want me to phone you back tomorrow when I get into
Vancouver?' Kremenchug offered.

A slight pause, and then, ‘No, let's talk now.'

‘Are you sure?' Kremenchug needed to have his associate
comprehend what was to be said. ‘This is really important, Eric.'

‘It's okay. I'm okay.' A brief pause filled the airwaves
before Baird's voice could be heard again. Staring down at smoldering ash on his lap he brushed
at the danger with one hand, only to fan the spark. He then leaned forward and spat, the saliva
killing the glow. ‘What do you want, Alex?' he asked, his brain-impeded state diminishing his
capacity to concentrate. He had started drinking himself impotent much earlier than usual, his
binge the result of disastrous news relating to his stock portfolio. Financially, he had never
been worse off than now, and had been counting heavily on the Canadian shares to retire some of
his debt.

‘Are you
sure
you're okay to talk?'

‘What's happening to our stock?' Baird asked, hopeful that
the woeful tidings Reuters had carried the day before on the stock market's closing prices were,
in fact, the result of some dreadful, typographical error.