Читать книгу Indonesian Gold - Kerry B Collison - Страница 23

Christopher Fielding stared out through the double-glazed windows in the direction of a wind-chilled Stanley Park, the impulse to jump curbed by the knowledge that the windows were firmly fixed into the skyscraper’s walls. Borneo Gold Corporation (BGC) shares had plummeted to a new low, the embarrassment eclipsed only by the enormous financial losses he and other investors had incurred.

Minutes before, Scott Walters had phoned, the conversation vitriolic, at best. Walters had provided mezzanine capital initially, to kick-start the operations, his financial backing sufficient to float the company based on a number of Indonesian mining tenements. He made it quite clear that it had never been his intentions to remain involved for the long haul.

‘What in the hell are you doing with BGC?’ an angry Walters had shouted, Fielding wincing with every word. ‘Stock in every other Canadian miner with Indonesian rights has gone through the roof. What are your guys doing over there, for Chrissakes?’

‘It’s only temporary,’ Fielding had tried, ‘we have acquired other properties and these should make BGC stock rise once the reports have been filed.’

‘And where will you find the capital to fund further operations?’ he demanded.

‘BGC stock will rise when we release our annual report next month. We have some very attractive prospects in Kalimantan.’

‘Don’t give me that crap!’ the vehement financier yelled. ‘Look what happened after results of the last survey were released. God-damn it, Chris, I could have doubled or even tripled my investment elsewhere by now!’

Walters’ claim would have been difficult to refute. Over the previous ten years a rush of new gold mining entities had listed on the Calgary and Vancouver stock exchanges, most of which had remained reasonably solvent, their Indonesian prospects enabling the companies to raise additional capital without too much difficulty.

‘You could always vote for a change in the Board’s composition next month,’ Fielding challenged, then became concerned as the line went quiet, worried that the financier may be contemplating going down that path.

‘Don’t tempt me!’ The menacing voice alarmed the BGC president. Walters was connected, a point he had often raised when recalcitrant associates reneged on their commitments.

‘There’s not much else I can do, Scott,’ Fielding tried another tack. ‘Kremenchug appears to have lost interest and hasn’t been that communicative since he moved back to Australia. I know he has been negotiating with others over here.’ Fielding did not mind throwing Kremenchug to the wolves. He could hear Walters breathing heavily and guessed his mind was digesting this information, and what steps he could take to clip their associate’s wings.

‘Leave Kremenchug to me,’ he insisted, ‘besides, from what I hear he is in a heap of shit in Australia.’

Everyone in the industry was aware of the mess Alex was embroiled in Down Under. Fielding’s consolation was not having had any capital at the time to participate in the Meekathara prospect when it first went on offer. ‘You don’t want me to contact him?’

‘No,’ the banker warned, ‘I’ll have a few words with him when he shows his face. In the meantime, I’ll spread the word that he’s persona non grata.’

Fielding became further alarmed. Kremenchug’s name was still linked to BGC in a substantial way. ‘Don’t, Scott,’ he pleaded, ‘we’re still trying to tidy up a few arrangements in Jakarta, and, if he gets wind of what’s happening, we may as well close up shop there, altogether.’ Fielding felt a surge of panic; should Walters have their associate black-listed, he knew that this would stigmatize all involved and, with Kremenchug’s very close ties with the Indonesian government, he could retaliate.

Walters’ shrill laugh echoed down the line. ‘You think he walks tall and carries a big stick? Let me tell you something, Chris. It’s whoever carries the moneybags over there that counts. Don’t fret about Kremenchug; the Indonesians would dump him faster than you can say, ‘how much?’ if they thought there was a dollar in it for them.’

Fielding conceded that this may be true, but was still reluctant to burn bridges unnecessarily. ‘I still don’t think it would do our stock any good to sandbag one of its major players,’ he argued.

‘BGC stock can’t fall any further,’ Walters quipped, cynically.

‘Who says?’ Fielding responded, wishing immediately he had bitten his tongue.

‘If it does, Chris,’ the other man warned, ‘you would do well to consider other pastures.’ With that, Walters had slammed his receiver down leaving Fielding wallowing in a sea of desperation.

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Christopher Fielding’s recent marital skirmishes had left him all but impoverished. Since settling with his first wife five years before, the once highly respected geologist’s image had been tarnished on a number of fronts. A brief, second marriage had also ended in acrimony, his shareholding in BGC reduced by half, the stock dumped on the market within days of settlement causing most of the company’s value-woes of today. Then there was the challenge with respect to the integrity of Kremenchug’s senior geologist, Eric Baird, when further investigations had been carried out under a ‘farm-out’ arrangement which saw the stock all but collapse. Fielding accepted that he must shoulder the greater portion of blame, refusing to permit twenty years of experience and his gut instinct from questioning the veracity of Baird’s glowing report. As a result of two divorces his finances were at an all time low. He knew that Scott Walters’ ominous threats should be taken seriously and, for one fleeting moment, as he gazed out over Vancouver’s, bleak winter skyline, he contemplated finishing it all and saving Walters’ goons the trouble.

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