Indonesian Gold (47 page)

Sharon had moved quickly to make up for lost time –
relieved that the government had sent soldiers to accompany the Madurese settlers, although their
presence had not reduced the unsettling losses amongst the migrants, incurred from the moment
they had stepped ashore. She had counted one hundred and twenty-seven laborers gathered on their
first day, amongst these, eighteen women all breaking into nervous laughter when they discovered
that a woman was in charge. The Madurese had thrown themselves into the immediate task at hand,
slashing through nearby jungle for the materials needed, erecting their temporary village within
days; amongst the first structures, a mosque. A communal laundry cum ablution block was built on
the river's banks and, within the week, the camp had taken on a shantytown air, and Sharon was
able to finally resume drilling operations.

At first, drilling had proceeded slowly, due to
near-insurmountable problems associated with clearing prime forest without the support of heavy
equipment. There were no bulldozers, front-end loaders or any other motorized vehicles here, the
location so isolated, the nearest road was more than one hundred kilometers to the east. Had it
not been for the tireless efforts of heli-crews, even the rigs would never have made it to the
Longdamai Sial
site. The treeless, but heavily grassed area, where base camp and
operations had been centered, covered an area less than the size of an average football field.
Electric power was generated on site; the Cummins-driven units voracious demand for diesel fuel a
constant headache, requiring fuel supplies to be ferried upstream, hundreds of kilometers from
Samarinda. Only essential equipment and supplies were delivered by helicopter – the JetRanger a
welcome sight, never failing to bring the operation to a standstill whenever it
appeared.

Sharon instructed the drillers to commence sampling in a
direction that required clearing paths into the forest for more than five hundred meters, the
work tedious and dangerous, the cost in terms of human life, far more than any had imagined. Five
Madurese workers vanished during the first, extended shift, forcing Sharon to goad the remaining
men back to work the following day by stepping into the forest, ahead of the teams. At the end of
that week, she decided it was an appropriate time to announce an increase in daily labor rates,
lifting their basic, daily rate from two American dollars to three, placing her laborers amongst
the highest paid in the country. Sharon expected that this would drive the men forward and she
was not to be disappointed. By the end of the second month, a pattern of six-meter wide access
roads had been cut, crisscrossing fifty hectares of what was once virgin forest, the constant
screaming pitch of chainsaws ripping through giant, towering trees forever present, as long as
light permitted.

Once a tree had been felled, teams descended upon the
ageing giants with chainsaws, tearing at trunk and limb, cutting and sawing, reducing the timber
into manageable blocks, leaving behind nothing but sawdust-filled air. These wooden blocks were
then carefully placed as foundation material along the newly created tracks, the smaller trees
utilized as rollers to facilitate the movement of drilling rigs and ancillary equipment, dragged
with rope and chain by human hands, along the once moist, forest floor.

The expatriate drillers punched into the forest, their
grueling ten-hour days producing samples along the designated grid, these bagged, split and
sealed as practice required, the first shipment sent to Samarinda by helicopter for on-forwarding
to the analytical laboratories. And, as she had absolute control over all these procedures,
Sharon Ducay carefully spiked the first samples in the same manner as before, knowing that the
results would reveal that this geologist had not lost her Midas touch.

Having achieved this milestone, Sharon was desperate to
maintain the drilling program's momentum; her deepest concern now, how best to retain her
dwindling labor force. She decided to demonstrate how pleased she was with their efforts,
ordering that additional rations of rice and canned beef be broken out for a
selamatan,
to
celebrate the project's third month in operation – and, more importantly, to ward off evil
spirits. The Madurese women prepared the mini feast – Sharon was then treated with a newfound
respect for understanding the importance of the traditional ceremony.

The morning following the
selamatan
Sharon awoke,
startled by women's screams. Suspecting that yet another of the laborers had succumbed to snake
bite, she called for Mardidi to join her. Together, they hurried through the camp to where the
laborers gathered around the body of a young man, Mardidi interpreting for Sharon.

‘Not die from snake
,
' she was told.

‘Was he killed in an argument?' Sharon asked, unnerved as
she stared down at the man's features – twisted grotesquely in death. Swept by a sudden chill,
she rubbed her upper arms and turned away, uneasy, anxious to be away from the smell of
death.

‘They say he was killed by the forest
spirits,'
Mardidi reverted to Indonesian, his nervous voice
adding to her concern.

‘Saya tidak mengerti –
I don't understand,
'
she explained, Sharon's frustration evident in her
tone.

Mardidi pointed to the forest. ‘Ghosts,' was the only word
his limited vocabulary could provide.

‘That's nonsense!' she snapped, ‘get
Tuan
Baird
over here, quickly!' Mardidi jumped to obey, the urgency in Sharon's voice clear. She moved away
a few meters from the corpse, alarmed by the growing attrition rate amongst her workers. At last
count, seven had now been lost to the jungle's venomous creatures, this figure not including the
eleven that had simply ‘disappeared'.

Sharon
had challenged the
camp's Madurese spokesman when the numbers had escalated, questioning whether these men had
returned to the newly established settlement downriver. The headman had refuted the accusation,
suggesting that if Sharon believed this to be so, she might wish to consider sending the soldiers
to the settlement to check for themselves. She knew that this was a ‘no-win' situation, realizing
that to challenge the headman's word would create disharmony, and decided instead to solicit his
support to recruit replacement workers. She had waited another two weeks and, when the supply
longboats appeared with monotonously regularity without additional labor, Sharon knew that it was
not just local mumbo-jumbo that was working against her. Now she was faced with another
suspicious death.

Baird had arrived and spoken to the Madurese workers,
avoiding their requests to examine the body. ‘They believe he was killed by forest spirits,' he
confirmed.

‘Is there any evidence of a wound – perhaps a
bite?'

‘They say there isn't.'

‘What do you think?' she asked.

‘It's possible he died from poison. Did you see his
face?'

‘Do you think one of them did it?'

‘Anything is likely. The Madurese have their own way of
dealing with each other. Could've been someone decided to settle a dispute. It's hard to
say.'

‘Will the soldiers investigate?'

‘What do you think?' Baird nodded in their direction.
‘They're only interested in not having anyone rock the boat. What they earn from us in a month is
more than the army pays them for a year.'

‘Why don't you ask them to check it out?'

‘Okay,' Baird agreed, the accompanying sigh signaling that
he felt it would be a waste of time. He knew that the presence of the
Kopassus
soldiers
offered no protection against snakes and wild animals, deducing that they were there only to
observe, as some forward guard. When the first Madurese workers had been reported missing, the
soldiers had displayed disinterest, their apathetic attitude unchanged, even when the number
grew.

Sharon
checked the time.
‘Chopper should be in, around noon.'

Baird was reminded of their conversation, from the evening
before. ‘They'll have the results with them?'

‘That's what Jakarta said,' she looked skywards then back
at the group huddled around the body. ‘I'll leave this mess to you, Eric,' she said, then made
her way down to where the drillers were starting their breakfast, determined not to permit the
untimely death of another worker spoil what she expected would turn out to be a momentous
day.

****

Baird's eyes followed Sharon Ducay as she left him alone
to deal with the death, the Filipino's shapely figure in no way stirring dormant desires – only
distant recollections of an earlier life. He accepted that Sharon was, indeed, a beautiful woman,
his admiration more for her resilience faced with these extreme, adverse conditions, than her
obvious, physical charm. He had met a few female geologists and engineers in his time, but never
anyone with Sharon Ducay's confidence and determination, nor skill in the field. Not for the
first time since she appeared in his life did Baird wonder if there was someone waiting for her,
back home. Although their relationship was symbiotic, Sharon had not made any attempt to share
such secrets, the substance of their conversations almost always revolving around the Longdamai
Sial operations.

His thoughts then turned to Mardidi, and what might lie
ahead for them both. Now he was married to Pipi, Baird accepted that he would be expected to
conform when in Jakarta, and that his ongoing liaison with Mardidi would need to be even more
covert than before. As for appearances on site, he now openly shared his tent with Mardidi, in
spite of the expatriate drillers' sniggers. He was concerned that he, too, did not simply
disappear during the night.

When Sharon had moved the entire drilling operation
upstream, relocating the camp directly where his Modang escorts had been slaughtered some six
years before, Baird had been more than apprehensive about the move. Now, whenever darkness fell,
memories of his narrow escape from death filled him with dread – the irony of the situation in no
way lost on him, conscious that Sharon's decision to relocate to that specific location had been
influenced by the very field notes he had fabricated, back in time.

Since then, exploration activities in Kalimantan had grown
demonstrably. There had already been substantial discoveries made to the south, north and east of
Longdamai. Baird knew that it would not be long before the Indonesian government would insist
that BGC relinquish a substantial part of its area to other investors; this provision had been
built into the CoW agreements to prevent large tracts of land being monopolized, without
exploration work being carried out within a prescribed period of time. Once BGC slipped down the
forfeiture trail, Baird knew that his stock in that company would be worthless, his own
motivation for remaining with Sharon Ducay, to see the drilling program through.

With this in mind he, too, was anxious to learn how the
assay reports read, the likely possibility that there would be no significant showings in these
initial results, all too real.

****

Jonathan Dau remained rock-still, stretched along the
thick branch not three meters above the forest floor, his form perfectly blurred against its
surrounds, the approaching Madurese worker unaware that he was about to die. The Dayak chief's
hawk-eyes narrowed, measuring the distance between them, his grip on the base of the
double-tipped spear firming as the laborer's head and shoulders came into reach. Exhaling slowly,
he reached down with deadly aim and, with an almost effortless jab, punctured his victim's throat
with twin, poisoned-tipped barbs, his second kill in less than twenty-four hours.

Jonathan's hate-filled eyes watched dispassionately as the
man's head snapped up, eyes wide in disbelief as poison gripped his heart, the migrant's body
locked in seizure as he collapsed, dead before hitting the ground – the only witness to the
barbaric act, a solitary, black hornbill perched high in the canopy above. With one arm, the
chief lowered his lean, powerful body from its perch and with a controlled fall, landed on his
feet alongside the Madurese migrant's lifeless form, then slipped silently away, disappearing
into the forest depths before the body was discovered.

Two hours passed before the Dayak chief arrived at the
familiar gorge where he paused to admire the cascading waterfall, and the serene setting that
embraced his Longhouse community below. Across the deep pond where the river split into two,
long, twisted vines dangled from treetops, and he watched, observing the village children
frolicking about in the water, their boisterous play triggering memories of his own,
uncomplicated childhood. A shout carried across and up the escarpment and he spotted a boy high
in a tree, preparing to plunge. Jonathan waited for the splash – silently applauding the
dangerous act before continuing on his way.

Following a narrow, timeworn path down to the water's
palm-covered banks Jonathan vanished as he entered an elongated cavern, the natural pathway
hidden by thunderous spray. He crossed to the other side, exiting onto a rope walkway that led
him home, waving and returning children's calls as he went, his return observed from a distance,
sending the village mechanic scrambling to start the Perkins diesel. Before Jonathan Dau had
entered the Longhouse, the generator's familiar beat could be heard throughout the community,
their concerns for his safety immediately put to rest. As he walked through the maze of rooms, he
stopped to acknowledge others, bending down to speak briefly to an ageing, toothless woman who
peered up through loving eyes, greeting him with a wide, betel-nut red smile.