raised a brow; surprised that Agus had managed to keep such an acquisition secret from the city’s plethora of rumor mongers. ‘When?’
‘Oh, about a year ago.’ Andrew could see that Agus was pleased with this revelation and raised his glass in salute.
‘Good for you, Agus,’ he leaned over and patted the other man’s shoulder, ‘and thank you for sharing this confidence.’
‘I had a team of Singaporeans come down with materials and build the bungalow so I could keep the venture under wraps,’ he confided.
Andrew could not resist laughing. ‘My God, Agus, I am impressed!’
They arrived at their destination mid morning, Andrew whistling his approval at the idyllic setting, the bungalow’s architecture blending with the island’s natural ambience. Surrounded by the whitest sand, the atoll remained covered with lush vegetation, coconut palms swaying lazily under an azure sky, the pristine waters so clear he could see fish swimming idly, metres below the surface. Agus issued instructions for the mini-harem to remain on board. Andrew was then given a tour of the five-hectare island, the pair strolling along a narrow path that meandered through the flora to a clearing on the far side of the atoll.
Andrew lifted his face to the sun. ‘Must remember to make more time for moments like this.’
Agus removed his sandals and waded into the shallow water then turned, shielding his eyes from the brilliant sun. The men could no longer hear the monotonous thumping emanating from the resort’s generator, both now conscious of the island’s rhythm as wind ruffled palms, and an occasional surge from the wake of some passing freighter spilled imperceptibly onto the sand.
‘One thing that has always frustrated me in being Javanese,’ Agus opened, Andrew recognizing that he was about to learn the purpose of their outing. ‘…and that is having to be so damn circuitous when attempting to establish a point.’
Andrew smiled inwardly. Agus was already heading down that tortuous, cultural path.
‘Before I continue, I need your assurance that if we don’t arrive at an agreement today, whatever transpires remains here.’
Andrew considered the request before responding. He felt reasonably confident that whatever Agus had in mind there would be sufficient enticement to ensure the response he expected. ‘You have that undertaking.’
‘Good,’ Agus waded from the lukewarm sea and strolled the few metres to a copse of coconut palms seeking refuge from the sun. He looked up into the trees and, satisfied that none of the fruit would strike in the event one fell, sat on his haunches in relaxed Indonesian pose. Andrew remained standing soaking up the rays; his curiosity building as to the direction their conversation might lead.
Agus picked up a shell and threw it aimlessly. ‘Would you mind telling me what stock you hold in Greg Young’s new float?’
Andrew was caught by surprise. ‘My group was not registered as a buyer,’ he parried.
Agus crowed. ‘My sources inform me that you are holding around ten percent.’
‘And you want to know because…?’
The Javanese entrepreneur looked the American directly in the eye. ‘I am holding you to your promise. What is said here stays here…okay?’
Andrew nodded. ‘Okay.’
‘I want to buy your stock,’ he hesitated, before adding, ‘off market.’
‘Why don’t you just go out into the market and buy another ten percent?’
‘Come on, Andy,’ Agus opened his hands as if helpless, ‘once the word spread that I was interested the stock would rocket.’
Andrew accepted this comment. ‘Then why didn’t you take a position when the prospectus first went out?’
‘I did,’ Agus resisted a sneer, ‘but the nominees’ allocations were cut back due to the flood of applications. Greg Young had instructed the brokers to widen the spread of shareholders.’
‘Why the interest in Young & Budiono, won’t it directly compete with Bimaton?’
Agus dropped his chin and looked over his sunglasses at Andrew. ‘There is a closed tender coming up. There will be only two contenders.’
Andrew understood immediately. ‘Must be some tender…’ he left his thoughts hanging.
‘I’d be receptive to paying you a premium of, say, twenty percent on today’s closing price.’
Andrew calculated quickly. The company’s market cap had reached around $100,000,000. He held ten percent and should he accept Agus’ offer, he would increase his profit by a further $2,000,000. ‘I’m interested. If I were to proceed I’d need to have the deal done offshore as I wouldn’t be interested in paying tax penalties.’
‘The deal would be done off market. We can arrange the transfer to avoid the taxes.’
‘When do you want my decision?’ He had already decided to accept the offer.
Agus forced a smile. ‘Today.’
Andrew was amused. ‘How about we have lunch, gather up the ladies and you give me a couple of hours on the way back to sleep on it?’
It was Agus’ turn to laugh. ‘And by sleeping on it you mean…?’
The men shook hands.
The following week control of Greg Young’s publicly listed company passed covertly to Agus Sumarsono. Before the end of that year Young & Budiono would become the darling of the Jakarta Stock Exchange, having secured two major infrastructure projects by what virtually amounted to government proclamation.
Tenggulun Village – East Java
Sweat trickled into Amrozi’s eyes as he worked away in the galvanized-iron-roofed shed repairing his Yamaha motorcycle. A loudspeaker crackled and then shattered the air with the mid-morning call, summoning the faithful to prayer. Immediately, he downed tools, wiped grease from his hands and ventured outside the makeshift workshop where he observed other villagers gravitating towards the muezzin’s call. A dilapidated bus sounded its horn as it competed with an ox-drawn cart for dominance over the broken macadam. He wrinkled, then picked his nose, inspected the three-centimeter fingernail on his left hand then flicked the hardened mucus into the dust.
A group of girls caught his attention as they walked purposely in the direction of the mosque, seemingly oblivious to the lung-parching heat. He frowned disapprovingly, observing that although their heads were covered with the traditional, white hijab scarf, the girls all wore jeans. There had been a time, he admitted silently, when he would have coaxed them inside and tempted them to play. But now, having learned to act in a manner more appropriate to his family’s standing in the local community, Amrozi’s delinquent ways had changed, the pious metamorphosis directly attributed to the reverence he held for his older brother, Ali Ghufron.
Amrozi’s sleepy and dirt-poor village of two thousand inhabitants lay in a dry and unkind environment, a few miles inland from the East Java coast, and two hundred kilometres from Surabaya. As a child it had been Ghufron who had watched over Amrozi, singling
