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.
‘Their case is different to that, say, of Mexico, Jo.’ He looked around for the waiter and, having gained his attention, indicated that they would have another round. ‘How much do you understand about the workings of the IMF?’ he inquired.
‘Not as much as I should, considering my profession,’ she admitted.
Hamish instantly admired her for her honesty. He had struck few journalists who would have suggested anything but the contrary.
‘A quick lesson, then?’ he asked, not patronizingly.
‘Providing you promise not to bore me to death,’ she smiled, and for a moment Hamish acknowledged that Mary Jo certainly had a refreshing directness about her manner.
‘Okay, here goes,’ he started, pausing only to sip the remaining whisky.
‘Firstly, the IMF is charged with the responsibility for safeguarding the stability of the international monetary system.’ He moved slightly, making himself more comfortable before continuing.
‘I have found that, with the exception of a small circle of financiers and economists, the IMF’s activities are considered to be shrouded in mystery.
More often than not, it is confused with the World Bank but, in fact, it is something of a cooperative institution with almost two hundred members.
These are countries which have joined voluntarily, believing that the IMF is perhaps the best forum for buying and selling their currencies, thereby stabilizing the flow of capital around the world. The IMF maintains, although some would argue that this is not the case, that it has no effective authority over the domestic policies of its member nations.’ Mary Jo raised an eyebrow at this.
‘I’ll explain a little later,’ he said, accepting the fresh whisky and taking a quick mouthful. ‘The IMF offers its members rational advice to assist whenever this is believed beneficial. For instance, some nations splurge a considerable proportion of their foreign exchange on military purchases. When the IMF identifies such problems or activities,
