The Fifth Season (27 page)

Her shocked and disapproving mother had fetched Hani from the hospital where she had remained, unconscious, for an entire day. Once she could identify herself, the authorities realized the delicacy of their predicament, moving quickly to contact General Purwadira's office. Shocked to discover that his daughter had participated in the demonstrations, and angered that she had been injured by his own forces, General Purwadira went hunting for the police officers responsible for the shootings.

His instructions had been specific; the troops were to use rubber bullets. When investigations suggested that live rounds could have been issued in error, he was devastated.

Now having rested well into the third day since her traumatic experience, Hani discovered that her father had been relieved of his command in disgrace. At first she blamed herself, believing that her participation might have resulted in the decision to remove him as Garrison Commander. But then, as her head cleared, her mother explained that the General had become the government's scapegoat for the student shootings. His career in ruins, Hani's father was urged to leave the capital, a pariah amongst his own officers. When he departed, he did so as a broken man, wrongfully accused, his pension all that remained to reflect his many years of loyal, and diligent service.

Bewildered by their sudden change in fortunes, Hani left Jakarta, and followed her family back to their home town of Sukabumi.

****

Mary Jo & Hamish

Although the level of conversation had risen to a point where communication could only be achieved by shouting, the atmosphere was electric, the bar inundated by members of the foreign press.

'Over here!' Mary Jo called, waving to Hamish as he made his way to her group. Introductions were made, the bonhomie apparent as the journalists laughed and joked with each other, relating incidents of other times and places. She knew most of those present, having crossed paths in such unenviable locations as Bosnia and Ethiopia, and other countries where man had set upon man, intent on destroying the other.

'What's happening?' Hamish leaned closer and spoke loudly. He had seen little of Jo over the past thirty-six hours. Jakarta's hotels had become swamped with expatriates and their families, now too frightened to remain in their splendid mansions. Buildings continued to burn throughout the city, looters continued to run amok, and the death toll now exceeded one thousand.

The international airport had been besieged by tens of thousands wishing to escape the country, its racial violence and the threat of civil war. Foreign governments acted quickly, arranging the evacuation of their citizens with unscheduled mercy-mission flights. There was a genuine fear that it would soon be impossible to leave the country by air as roads to the Sukarno-Hatta Airport became partially blocked by demonstrations and soldiers barricading the main arterial roads. Hamish tried to communicate with Mary Jo again, but she shook her head.

'Later!' she yelled, indicating with her free hand that she had no intention of competing with the band, and Hamish nodded in agreement. He raised his hand and attracted the barman's attention. He would know what to serve; Hamish McLoughlin had been in residence long enough for most of the staff to know his name and habits. He reached between a couple of inebriated souls and retrieved his whisky.

Thankfully, the music stopped, the band having finished its first set. Mary Jo completed the introductions, and Hamish could see that her face was flushed from the alcohol. He guessed that she had been there for sometime, most probably matching her friends round for round as they recounted anecdotes from their pasts.

'Are you all staying here?' he asked a tall, thin, ginger-haired type sporting a pencil mustache.

'Good lord, no!' the man laughed. 'We're bunked four to a room at a friend's house. Besides,' he added, 'all the bloody hotels are full.' The British journalist then spotted someone across the crowded bar and made his way over to another group.

'Have you been outside the hotel at all?' Mary Jo asked Hamish.

'No, you'd have to be crazy to go out there right now.' Mary Jo recalled Hamish did not approve of the risks she took.

'Maybe you should try it, sometime. Want to come with me tomorrow?' It was not a challenge. She knew that he worried about her.

'No, Jo,' he said, far from interested, 'I'll leave it to the professionals.'

'What will you do tomorrow?'

'Sit around and wait to see what's happening with the Swiss.'

When Hamish had finally revealed the precise nature of his association with the Swiss merchant bankers, it had been done so on the premise that Mary Jo would not take advantage of any information he might inadvertently or otherwise reveal to her. He had also extracted an undertaking that she would not pursue any leads relating to his clients' activities in Indonesia.

Recently, Hamish had inferred that the Geneva-based group might be considering winding up their activities in Indonesia, at least until the situation became more conducive to foreign investment. Hamish had mentioned that he was surprised that they had kept him engaged this long. Mary Jo wondered what would happen to their relationship should Hamish leave. They had grown closer over the months, and she felt comfortable with him around. Hamish was an intelligent, energetic man, and Mary Jo knew that she could not expect him to remain in Jakarta forever, especially living permanently out of suitcases the way he did. She gave him a motherly pat on the arm, and offered to take him with her again.

'I'm serious, Hamish. Anytime you would like to come along,'.' Mary Jo was half-way through the sentence, when she heard someone call out, his voice louder than the rest.

'That's not how you make Black Russians!'

Mary Jo paused, mid-sentence, the familiar resonance of the voice behind catching her off-guard, as its owner castigated the barman over preparation of the unusual drink. When she turned and saw Eric Fieldmann's rugged, handsome features, she faltered, mesmerized by his presence.

'Jo?' the CNN cameraman in her group asked, touching her lightly with his hand to gain her attention. Her mind snapped back from some distant journey, and she laughed, a little too loudly, as she over-reacted to seeing him there.

'Well!' she said, her voice attracting the attention of others outside her group, 'if it isn't the famous Fieldmann!' with which, Mary Jo flicked her head before realizing that the long, fine, blonde strands which had adorned her head when they were lovers, had long since been abandoned for a style more practical to her work. She glanced across to see if he had heard, without realizing that almost everyone present in the bar had.

Mary Jo felt the hot, burning flush sweep across her face.

'Hello, Jo,' she heard the familiar voice call. She turned to face Eric Fieldmann, as he pushed his way towards her. 'My God, Jo! Is it really you?' he called, reaching out and taking her arm as someone swore, wiping some of the newcomer's spilt drink from a sleeve. At that moment, her feet turned to lead. Then she looked up at Eric eyebrows raised.

'Then it really is you?' she pretended, mock surprise lighting her face. She placed one hand on his wrist and turned to her group. 'For those of you who have not been blessed, this is the famous Eric Fieldmann,' she announced, attempting to deliver the comment facetiously, instead, her voice filled with admiration. It did not go unnoticed. Hamish extended his hand and introduced himself.

'Hi, there, Eric, I'm Hamish McLoughlin.' They shook hands, then the others who had yet to meet the well known foreign correspondent stepped forward, some almost subserviently, and introduced themselves.

'What are you drinking?' someone asked, competing with the busy crowd for the barman's attention.

'Seems that you're well known,' Hamish suggested, conscious of the attention the other man's presence had attracted. 'Are you covering the riots?'

'Yes, me and half the entire goddamn Western Press,' he answered, waving his hand to indicate he meant those in the bar.

'When did you get in?' Hamish accepted another whisky as he spoke.

'Just a few hours ago. Getting through that airport would make a story in itself,' Fieldmann said. 'Don't hold much hope for those expecting to leave. The soldiers were throwing barricades across the road as we came in.'

'Have you managed to get a room somewhere yet?' Hamish glanced at Mary Jo, her cheeks still flushed.

'Yes,' he replied. 'Our lot had already secured rooms before my arrival. Thought we'd drop over and catch up with some of the others,' he indicated, this time with his head. 'We're staying at the Mandarin across the road.'

Eric Fieldmann extracted a card from his pocket, and offered this to Hamish who squinted under the dim lighting as he read the words 'Foreign Correspondent' under the well known international daily's title. Hamish extracted his wallet with one hand and reciprocated. The other man smiled, observed closely by Mary Jo as memories came flooding back of the intimate moments they had enjoyed together.

'I hear you're based here now, Jo?' Fieldmann asked. He already knew the answer. He had checked when first advised he would be traveling to the area.

'Sure am,' she confirmed, still struggling with her inner feelings. They

had parted on good terms but Mary Jo had never quite forgiven him, even though she recognized that it had been her own decision to leave and follow her career interests elsewhere.

As Mary Jo and her old acquaintance talked, the warmth in their voices was not missed by Hamish. He watched, becoming aware from Mary Jo's occasional touches, and Eric's response, that the two had a history, and this disturbed him in some way. Hamish listened to their banter, annoyed with the sudden twinge of jealously. He observed her eyes and, even with the amount of alcohol she had obviously consumed that session, Hamish could detect a warmth in her expression, rekindled by this chance meeting. With mixed emotions, Hamish turned to order another round when he caught the barman's signal and moved closer to the bar.

'Someone wishes to speak to you, tuan,' the hotel employee indicated, pointing outside politely with his fist closed. Hamish McLoughlin's eyes followed, identifying one of the business center's secretaries waving to attract his attention. He caught Mary Jo's eye.

'Geneva,' was all he said, and left, pushing through the now boisterous throng. The band had commenced playing as he cleared the bar and approached the efficient woman waiting outside.

'You have had several calls from overseas, Mr. McLoughlin. The last was urgent, so I brought these for you to read.' She handed a number of small, sealed envelopes containing his messages. He tore these open and read the contents while she waited. Hamish had made a habit when traveling of always informing the hotel telephone operators as to his whereabouts. He thanked the secretary, deciding to return the calls from the privacy of his own room. Hamish hurried upstairs and dialed the number which had appeared on all four messages, and spoke directly to his client in Geneva. When he had finished, Hamish glanced at his watch and was surprised to discover that he had been talking for more than half an hour. The merchant bankers had requested that he proceed to Switzerland as a matter of utmost urgency. He had little choice but to accept, undertaking to leave immediately.

Considering the status of the international airport Hamish knew it would be unwise to expect to secure a seat overseas from Jakarta. However, he believed that this would be possible from other exit points such as Bali, Surabaya and even Batam Island in the north. He phoned the business centre and asked them to arrange immediate seating to any of these destinations and, within the hour, Hamish's ticket had been confirmed to Surabaya, via Bandung. He would have to drive to the mountain city and board his flight from there, early the following day.

Cursing the civil unrest, Hamish McLoughlin packed hurriedly and informed the hotel reception that he would require a car and driver immediately. He knew it would take at least three, perhaps four hours considering the current circumstances, to reach Bandung. It would be senseless expecting to complete the journey in the morning, and he believed that his decision to fly to Surabaya and then onto Singapore from the port city to be the most practical solution.

Hamish phoned the concierge and requested that they send a porter to take his baggage down to his car, while he returned to the bar to inform Mary Jo of his departure. By this time, he had been absent for more than an hour.

****

'You look great, Jo,' Fieldmann flattered, his hand gently holding her upper arm. Mary Jo smiled through the light alcoholic haze, warmed by his comment and the extended drinking session.

'You don't look too bad yourself,' she responded, admiringly, her face flushed not only from the alcohol. Eric was not as tall as Hamish, nor was he as good- looking, but there was something about his confident manner and encouraging smile which Mary Jo still found enticing. She felt something stir, deep down, the warmth flowing up through her insides. How long had it been?

'We're going back to the Mandarin to have a few drinks there. Want to join us?' he asked. Hamish had been gone for at least half an hour, and she had no idea how much longer he might be. Mary Jo lifted herself to tiptoe and peered across the crowded bar. She knew that once Hamish started talking banking on the phone, he would often lose all track of time. It had happened before. She could leave a message with the barman.

'Sure,' she said, 'why not?' Fieldmann informed the others in his group that he was ready to leave, taking Mary Jo by the hand as he led the way through the packed bar. She followed, willingly. Suddenly, it was just like old times, and she was swept by a feeling of elation.

They walked outside, Jakarta's muggy tropical air instantly assailing their bodies as they strolled across the near-deserted roundabout and over to the Mandarin Hotel. There they met up with another group of expatriate journalists who had congregated in the Captain's Bar and, before she was aware of how it might have happened, Mary Jo found herself alone with Eric Fieldmann in his room.