become invaluable from the outset, and Mary Jo had found comfort knowing that she was also dependable. The job paid well, and the two of them had hit it off immediately three weeks before, when Anne had started as Jo’s assistant, cum interpreter and gopher.
Often, when they appeared together in the most unlikely places, local children would follow closely, giggling and whispering, the pale-skinned American’s corn-colored hair, her height, and soft blue eyes the object of their interest. Mary Jo had laughed when Anne commented on her nose, explaining as she touched the flattened bridge of her own, that most Indonesian girls would die to have such bone structure.
As they sat together, her assistant’s eyes remained locked on her own.
Mary Jo returned the smile, Anne immediately becoming embarrassed.
Staring at another was considered extremely rude, even confrontational in most parts of Asia. Observing the sudden change in her expression, Jo placed ten thousand Rupiah on top of the check, and rose to leave before realizing that this most probably would not cover the coffees. Annoyed with the escalating exchange rate as the currency continued its incredible dive, she dropped another five thousand Rupiah alongside the first, and then placed her arm on Anne’s shoulder, leading her back to where they had left their driver. Half an hour passed before they located their vehicle and managed to make their way through the city’s barricaded streets, leaving Bandung behind with its smoke-filled sky, evidence of the day’s violence.
Neither spoke as they commenced the two hundred kilometer drive, Anne falling asleep as the car’s tires hummed monotonously, providing Mary Jo with the opportunity to finish writing the story she would file with her office in New York before attending her dinner engagement. She removed her laptop from its protective case, and went to work. As the car sped along the Cikampek-Jakarta highway, she observed a number of army convoys also heading for the capital. The driver slowed, waiting directly behind the last vehicle for the signal to overtake and Mary Jo looked directly up at the young, expressionless faces belonging to the well-armed soldiers standing in the rear truck, the scene reminiscent of others she had witnessed in former Soviet satellite republics and other distant places.
Momentarily, Mary Jo ignored her notes, her thoughts captured by recollections of other events she had covered during her career, as the names of cities and places flooded her mind. Bosnia, Chechnya, Baghdad, Beirut, the list seemed endless and, she confessed silently, had left her with a seemingly inescapable, haunting emptiness. Mary Jo’s brilliant coverage of these wars had established her credentials amongst her peers which, in turn, had resulted in her being permanently assigned to the South East Asian Bureau, a posting she had sought since first joining the news agency.
Memories of her first months as a novice in Asia, came flooding back.
* * * *
Stinking garbage floating down rat-infested canals, snotty-nosed children squatting in the gutters peeing, and rotting, mutilated corpses lying with grotesque, bloated stomachs had soon become all too common sights for Mary Jo, rendering it difficult for her to remain dispassionate, and impartial, when reporting these scenes.
Two years before, when she first arrived in Hong Kong, the colony was gearing up for the hand-over to China. There was an air of despondency everywhere, even amongst the expatriate corps. At cocktail parties and the races, the conversations were mainly the same. Concerns about how China’s military would treat democratic gains achieved prior to the takeover, overshadowed all discussion, in every corner of the British colony. Professional Chinese packed their bags and followed their money to Canada, Australia, and America, where they could acquire residency through investments made in those countries.
Mary Jo found the lifestyle exciting, and the travel even more rewarding than she had expected. Her assignments took her to the most exotic, and sometimes dangerous, destinations throughout Asia. She visited Beijing more than a dozen times before finally prevailing on an associate to accompany her to the Great Wall, fulfilling one of her childhood dreams which, at the time, had sadly revived distant and blurred memories of her father.
Mary Jo visited the warrior tombs in China, stood looking across the heavily fortified embattlements separating the two Koreas, and on one occasion, scrambled across slippery, moss-lined rocks to avoid Khymer Rouge soldiers who had appeared, while she was photographing children playing around land mines at Angkor Wat. In her first year she traveled extensively, her reporting and photographic coverage of Asia widely acclaimed by both readers and her peers.
It was towards the end of her two year assignment that she had requested the Jakarta posting, and was delighted when this was granted.
Mary Jo had packed up her collections and clothes, posted a sign in the Foreign Correspondents Club just up from Central wishing those she was leaving behind, well, then left Hong Kong to its new Chinese masters.
She had arrived in the Indonesian capital as the economy had commenced its meltdown, engaging her assistant, Anne, on recommendations from a friend in Reuters. Mary Jo then went about learning as much as she could about the shaky Republic, and its multi-faceted society.
* * * *
Mary Jo was jolted from her reflections as the driver dropped down a gear and accelerated. She looked up again, sighting a soldier for them to pass, and she acknowledged this with a smile, pleased that they would not be stuck behind the convoy any longer. Returning to her laptop, she concentrated on her account relating to the Bandung riots, relieved that her assistant continued to sleep.
The convoy had not delayed their return to any great extent, and by the time their vehicle had arrived at Mary Jo’s small villa in the southern suburb of Cilandak, she had completed her story and was ready to have it filed with New York. Annie accompanied her employer into the villa, where the American had turned one of the bedrooms into an office and communications centre. There, Mary Jo downloaded the information from her laptop and camera, and examined the results of their day’s handiwork. Although the shots she had taken had been hurried, she was pleased with the results.
They waited for several minutes before their Internet connection had accessed her agency address, then sent the story, complete with colored photographs, electronically to New York. Finished for the day, Mary Jo sent her assistant home, then climbed into a warm spa-bath and rested, thankful for the bubbling water’s therapeutic effects which managed to expel the remorse which had troubled her earlier.
Chapter Five
Jakarta
Hamish McLoughlin
Hamish checked his watch impatiently, wondering where the hell his friend Harry Goldstein, had disappeared to. He caught the bartender’s eye, nodded, signaling for another whisky, then turned to observe the other guests sitting in the magnificently appointed bar. Located on the fourth level, O’Reiley’s Pub was patronized by Jakarta-based expatriates and locals who enjoyed the lively evening atmosphere.
He grimaced as the band’s sound check got under way, noting that less than an hour remained before the American band commenced playing. Then, he remembered, conversation would become impossible. He glanced over at the giant screen which was so popular with the lunch trade, as regulars filled the pub to catch the live CNN news and sports broadcasts. As he waited, Hamish McLoughlin observed how quickly O’Reiley’s had filled, single guests occupying most of the seats around the island-shaped bar.
The financier sighed. There was a time when one could have recognized most of their faces. Numerous waves of foreign investors inundating Indonesian cities had established pockets of Western communities across the expansive country, and it was now possible to meet other
