LITMIR.BIZ

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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

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