Sea of Gold

by Nick Elliott

  Then we sang from a sheet a hymn most of us knew well. It began:

  Eternal Father, strong to save,

  Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,

  Who bidd’st the mighty ocean deep,

  Its own appointed limits keep;

  Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,

  For those in peril on the sea.

  An hour later I hugged Yvonne and boarded the departing helicopter. ‘Good luck, Angus, and take care.’

  ‘You too.’

  As we lifted off and swung back over the ship I could see her standing on the helideck, a lonely figure waving up at us.

  CHAPTER 20

  Paranoia keeps you alive, they say. They also say it distorts perception. After what had happened to Wongsurin, Timson and the crew of the Astro Maria, and having read and re-read the bizarre document that Dougal had got hold of, I wasn’t feeling too confident of my own safety either and decided to keep well below the radar of whoever might be taking an interest.

  I took a taxi from the airport to the main entrance of Raffles, walked through the passageways of the hotel complex, out the other side onto Bras Basah Road and up onto Victoria Street, where I waited for another cab. This time I gave the cabbie an address in Sembawang in the far north of Singapore island, and from there walked the short distance to Gibraltar Crescent where, in splendid isolation, resided Peter Stark of Coreminex.

  His ‘black and white’ lay behind high gates. I pushed the bell and within moments an amah arrived, replete in white tunic blouse and black trousers in harmony with the colonial pile that was Stark’s home. These houses were built for British military men and their families in the first part of the twentieth century and are highly prized, not least since there are so few of them left.

  ‘This way, sir. Master expecting you,’ and up the drive we went.

  Lush vegetation crowded in from either side. The ubiquitous skwark of the Asian koel bird intruded from the surrounding trees.

  Peter Stark was standing on the veranda as we approached, legs apart, a cigar in one hand, the other outstretched to greet me. He must have weighed a hundred and thirty kilos but was tall, so the overall effect was large rather than just fat. His blond hair, which was going white at the sides, had a habit of falling down his forehead towards his right eye and he had developed an involuntary counter-tactic of flicking it back in a toss of his head. I suspected he’d been doing it since his youth. It had almost become a nervous tick, though he didn’t seem a nervous man. He did have some trouble walking though, due I assumed to the excessive weight he was carrying.

  ‘So,’ he bellowed. ‘Mr Angus McKinnon. I’ve heard much about you. Come on in.’

  We entered the cool, shadowy living area of the house. It took my eyes a moment to adjust after the intensity of the light outside. This was more than just a room. It must have measured fifteen metres long and incorporated a staircase leading up to a gallery above. Downstairs several doors led off to other parts of the house and there were alcoves too, which formed their own discreet seating areas. In one of these was a rattan bar above which hung a circular bamboo cage housing a pair of lovebirds. The dark parquet flooring was scattered with bright ikat rugs. Three wood and brass fans suspended from the high ceiling by long downrods, turned slowly, merely disturbing the humid air. The outfacing side of the room was open to the veranda and a huge garden beyond. I could make out the bright blue of a pool through the trees.

  I couldn’t help comparing this with Kyriakou’s palatial island estate. I was on the wrong side of the business I decided.

  ‘Ah Ming,’ he shouted and Ah Ming came trotting in from wherever she’d been hiding. ‘Take this gentleman’s bag up to his room then let’s have some drinks. What’ll you have, McKinnon?’

  I asked for a beer. ‘A San Mig for our friend here, Ah Ming, and the usual for me, all clear?’ He turned to me. ‘If we’re going to be talking about Mindanao, might as well get you onto the local beer.’

  My beer came, icy cold and in a frosted glass. Stark’s ‘usual’ was a whisky soda.

  ‘Yes,’ he said after we’d sat down with our drinks. ‘Yvonne seemed very impressed by you,’ then added, ‘one way or another?’ He looked at me searchingly but I didn’t respond. ‘And others tell me you’re a resourceful guy McKinnon, if a little unorthodox.’

  ‘Depends who you’ve been talking to.’

  ‘Oh, after Yvonne told me I should meet you I put a few feelers out.’ He didn’t elaborate.

  ‘So. Your Greek owner friends want to know what the hell happened to their ship and her crew, and we want to know what the hell happened to our cargo. At least now we seem to have part of the answer. Ship, crew and cargo blown to bits and lying on the ocean floor.’

  He stopped to drink his whisky and relight his cigar. Having done so, he waved the match about until it was extinguished and tilted his head, blowing smoke up towards the ceiling fan while dropping ash over his shirt. He cursed and brushed it off in annoyance as if some hidden gremlin were harassing him.

  ‘Right. What I’m going to do, McKinnon, is outline to you why I believe this has all come about. But I must warn you from the start, it is not a pretty tale and if you decide to enjoy lunch and a couple of beers with me, say thank you very much and goodbye, then I will respect your decision. It would certainly be the most sensible course of action for you to take. However, should you decide, for whatever your own reasons may be, and on the basis of what I am about to tell you, to pursue this matter to a conclusion, to walk into the lion’s den I am going to direct you towards, then I will render whatever assistance I can and wish you luck.

  ‘Furthermore, McKinnon, we are corporate guys. We can wrestle with the best of them in a corporate environment, in the law courts if necessary, but we have a situation over there in Mindanao that is lawless, and to be frank, we’re all out of options with this one. Should you manage in the course of your pursuit to neutralise the forces that are working against Coreminex in the Philippines, and clear the way for us to proceed with our lawful business there, then I am authorised by our Board, to pay you a sum of one million US dollars into an account of your choosing.’

  No one I know is completely free of greed. When I accepted the assignment from Kyriakou, I knew that what he was asking me to do was well within my investigative experience and abilities. And I considered the element of risk to be within reasonable limits. I haggled over the rate he offered because that is the Greek way and he would not have respected me for not doing so.

  What Stark was offering was over ten times what Kyriakou was paying. But from what I sensed, it entailed at least ten times the risk. So, already imagining a future free of mortgage debt, getting the business properly funded, and perhaps renovating that old ruin I’d had my eye on for years on Alastair Marshall’s island, I waited to hear more.

  ‘Right,’ he said. He blew his nose, drained his glass and shouted to Ah Ming for another drink. ‘Now before you decide, I will offer you a brief history lesson on the situation in Mindanao, and Sarangani province in particular. I will then give an account of our own presence there and the difficulties we face. And finally I shall conclude with my theory of who and what lie behind those difficulties.

  ‘Then, should you still be interested, we can discuss ways in which we can resolve them.

  ‘Lunch first though. Sound like a plan?’ He clapped his hands. ‘Ah Ming! Drinks, then bring us something to eat will you?’

  Lunch began with laksa lemak, a noodle soup served with fiery sambal chilli paste and garnished with coriander leaf.

  ‘This dish arrived with the Baba-Nyonya hundreds of years ago,’ Stark explained. ‘Chinese immigrants who came down to the Indonesian archipelago and Malaya. A bit like me I suppose.’

  Stark told me his own background. He was of White Russian origin, his grandparents having left Vladivostok for Shanghai in 1922. The family flourished for a while then fled to Australia as the Japanese invaded China in 1937. Stark was born in Melbour
ne. He studied mining engineering and joined Coreminex on graduating, working his way up to his current position. He had a wife back in Melbourne, he said. ‘Doesn’t like it here. Too hot and humid for her. What about you then?’

  We carried on exchanging the kind of information people do when they don’t know each other well but want to make an assessment.

  Ikan bakar arrived next, a dish of charcoal-grilled fish marinated in spices. It was a delicious meal washed down with an expensive bottle of Chablis. I complimented him on his home and the food. ‘Chinese amah, Malay cook, Tamil gardener and Singaporean driver,’ he laughed, more a bark than a laugh.

  After we’d eaten we went out onto the veranda. It was mid-afternoon. More wooden ceiling fans were turning out here making the humidity and the heat bearable. Stark sat back in his planter’s chair with his feet up and lit a cigar. I sat in an old roorkhee campaign chair with a beer.

  ‘Fire away,’ I said. There was an ominous rumble of thunder.

  ‘It’ll rain within the hour,’ said Stark, and then he launched forth.

  CHAPTER 21

  ‘Ever heard of a rido?’ I shook my head. ‘It’s a clan feud, and they’re common to Mindanao,’ Stark said. ‘Can be sparked by something as trivial as a car splashing muddy water onto a passer-by, but more frequently it’s triggered by a land dispute or political conflict. Whatever the cause, violent retaliation is often the result. It has a whole lot to do with perceptions of honour, and shame too. A rido is a blood debt, McKinnon. It can be between families or whole communities but the feudal clan system is at the heart of it.’

  I thought of Grant Douglas’s cherished reivers of the Scottish borderlands five or six hundred years ago. What Stark was talking about sounded similar.

  ‘These feuds – or certainly those that erupt into violent armed skirmishes – usually occur in areas where government is weak, where the judicial system is ineffective and crucially, where the security forces are unable or unwilling to intervene. These clans and their private armies act with impunity. There’s a whole culture of impunity.

  ‘It’s a major problem because apart from the human cost, rido on the scale we see in parts of Mindanao, dislocates the local economy. It inhibits investment, including the mining industry of course, which is where we come in – or don’t come in, the way it’s looking now.’

  ‘But the army’s there, and the police. Are they so useless?’

  ‘Hah!’ he barked. ‘No, they’re not useless, but consider this. The Philippine military admit there are at least a hundred and twelve private armies operating around the country. Some number over two thousand men, all armed to the teeth. Believe it or not, a previous president actually legalised these armies in return for electoral support. These clans with their militias can guarantee blocks of votes from their supporters and from those who dare not oppose them. This is an island infested with radical Islamist insurgents, Communist guerrillas, separatist rebels, and these feudal clan warlords – men who control vast private armies and arsenals.’

  ‘So where does Coreminex fit into all this?’

  ‘I’m not finished with the history lesson, McKinnon,’ he said, wagging his finger. ‘Patience, eh! This is all context, remember. Right, Mindanao is predominantly Muslim whilst the rest of the country is Catholic. For the past forty years or so Muslim separatist groups, and others too, have fought for independence, or at least for autonomy. First came the Moro National Liberation Front, then the Moro Islamic Liberation Front, then Abu Sayyaf – that’s “Bearer of the Sword” in Arabic.

  ‘The MILF and the Abu Sayyaf are breakaway factions of the MNLF, which itself is torn by in-fighting. They’ve all got violent track records but Abu Sayyaf is the most lethal. They’re reckoned to be closely allied to al-Qaeda. They carry out kidnappings for ransom and bombings to further their aim of an independent Islamic state in Mindanao and the Sulu Islands.

  ‘Then there’s the New People’s Army – the military wing of the Communist Party of the Philippines. They aim to overthrow the government using guerrilla-style warfare.

  ‘Then of course we have the powerful clans such as the Malatans, who we’re dealing with here; more of them later, but others too all vying for power, influence and wealth.

  ‘Last but not least there are the Lumad – the tribes. On Mindanao alone there are eighteen indigenous groups, each with their own language and culture, and their own claims to a say in what happens on their ancient lands. This is a place where even farm labourers carry guns slung across their chests when they go to work, because if people abandon their land others will take it from them.

  ‘So, you could call it a bugger’s muddle. But ask your average Mindanao Joe what worries him most and he’ll tell you it’s the rido. It’s rampant and in many cases it’s happening in your back yard, or that of your neighbour.’

  Stark paused to relight his cigar.

  ‘What about this Bangsamoro deal?’ I said ‘I thought the Philippine government had reached an agreement with all these gangs you’re talking about.’

  ‘Hah! So you read the news, eh? Listen, the Bangsamoro agreement can only be a good thing, if it lasts. But it’s not a done deal yet. And take my word for it, there are still separatist elements on Mindanao who seek complete independence, and others who thrive in a state of chaos. And the agreement doesn’t address the rido issue either. The separatist groups I’ve mentioned may have their unholy alliances but these rido feuds are something different. They’re outbursts of retaliation often sparked suddenly, impulsively.

  ‘Now, you ask where Coreminex fits into all this and no doubt you’re also wondering what this has to do with the loss of the Astro Maria. So, four years ago Coreminex obtained an exploration permit and mineral production sharing agreement to mine copper and gold in the region of Mount Buwan Bundok in Sarangani province. It’s one of the largest undeveloped copper and gold deposits in the world: in round numbers two million tons of copper and eighteen million ounces of gold.

  ‘Since then we’ve brought every influence to bear, but we’ve played by the book too. We’ve not given in to the temptation to bribe local officials or pay protection money to the neighbouring clans.

  ‘Now, besides our contacts with central government in Manila and local politicians in Mindanao, Coreminex has thrown its hat in with the B’laan people – the indigenous tribe in the region. Buwan Bundok is sacred to them, they say. We respect that. But we’ll also help them develop their own economy, preserve their traditions, bring schooling and infrastructural developments – all in their own time, at their own pace and according to their own agenda. We’re working with the central and regional authorities to see that this happens. We’re setting up trust funds whereby they and other local folk will share in the profits from the mining. And of course, when we’re done, we’ll clean up the mess – complete restoration of the site.’

  He saw my expression. ‘You can look sceptical, McKinnon, but I tell you that is what we will do. It’s written into our strategy. It’s incorporated into our mission, vision and value statements. It will happen. That’s how we work. You can check how we operate at our other mines. But it ain’t working at Buwan Bundok, that’s for sure.

  ‘It all sounds very altruistic,’ I said, ‘but what about the environmental impact? Don’t these mountains have delicate ecosystems? If it’s an open-pit mine there’ll be deforestation, and there’s the impact on groundwater?’

  ‘Fair questions. We follow stringent environmental and rehabilitation codes, the same as apply in Australia. It all gets restored when we’re finished. The site is re-contoured, covered with soil and we plant vegetation to help consolidate the material. Then we monitor it for years. The alternative is to let Razul Malatan or his like wreck the whole area. Believe me, McKinnon, forgive the pun but Coreminex is the gold standard when it comes to environmental rehab.’

  If anyone was going to get their hands on the Buwan Bundok haul, better Coreminex, it seemed.

  ‘So what’s the
particular obstacle?’ I asked.

  ‘Obstacles, you mean. First is the Malatan clan and particularly their warlord, Razul Malatan, Snr. This lot are one of the most powerful, ruthless, bastard clans in the country. They fund and provide armed support for the Muslim factions, they pay off politicians with gifts of land and money. They even have elected politicians from within the clan itself. Violent corruption of power, intimidation, killings – this is their modus operandi; political patronage with the Malatans providing whole blocks of votes right to the top of the system. And political office means political power and influence, which means access to resources.

  ‘Now they’ve realised a good thing when they see it and are laying claim to our Buwan Bundok project. They have declared a rido against us. And,’ he paused, ‘they have support from outside.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning some foreign organisation that provides them with arms, vehicles and logistical support as well as strategic and tactical advice. And we believe their plans go further. Word is the Malatans see the whole of Mindanao as ripe for a coup. They’re collaborating with the other factions: other clans and the Muslim separatists. And these outsiders.’

  ‘And your best guess as to who these people are?’ I asked, suspecting what was coming.

  ‘Until someone sank the Astro Maria I didn’t have much of a clue. Now I’m pretty sure the people behind the sinking are the same lot who are supporting the Malatan clan. And I’m equally sure they took out that ship not just to obstruct our efforts to establish the Buwan Bundok project, but also to fire a warning shot across our bows – so to speak. Coreminex was the target – not the ship.’

  The storm was coming now. As the sky grew darker big, heavy spots of rain splashed onto the paths and surrounding bromeliads, frangipani, the bamboos and profusion of other tropical plants that was the garden. Within minutes it was a deluge. A wind had sprung up bending the lush foliage. The rain came down in sheets. Lightning flashed casting for an instant an eerie light onto the shining greenery. Recurrent drumrolls of thunder provided an accompaniment creating a cacophony of sound.