Gold And Fishes

Prologue

At 6:58 am on December 26, 2004, the earth erupted under the waters of the Indian Ocean. A quake measuring 8.9 on the Richter scale began off the coast of Indonesia, 160 kilometres west of Banda Aceh.

The earth’s seismic movement was so great it drew the water away from the western beaches of Sumatra Island. As the ocean receded it left behind a tempting gift — thousands of live fish floundering on the sand. Children hurried to accept the offering and were swept away when the first of three violent rushes rose to meet them. By the time the third wave came, its force was felt well beyond the western shore, destroying towns and villages nearly two miles inland.

Tsunami early-warning systems failed. Thailand was unprepared for the disaster that struck it later that same morning. Nearly 6,000 more lives were lost there, among them both local people and tourists from the West, as mountainous waves rolled over beachside resorts.

In Sri Lanka buildings were levelled. A train carrying more than a thousand souls was ripped from its rails. Almost everyone on board was drowned. It is estimated 32,000 died that day in Sri Lanka.

The Tamil Nadu State of India was also unprepared. 11,000 Indian lives were lost, many say needlessly. By the time the water washed onto the shores of India, an early-warning system might have saved those lives.

In the Maldives, the famous honeymoon resort a mere four feet above sea level, newlyweds clung to the tops of palm trees. Finally, the great wave crashed onto Africa’s East Coast. No one knows how many African fishermen were lost. But many Somalians continue to suffer the results of the tsunami, as strange symptoms attack those who came in contact with the hazardous debris washed ashore on Boxing Day.

In Asia there were stories of mass graves, orphaned children, unidentified bodies and mothers forced to let go of their precious babies. Slowly the death toll climbed, from an estimated 12,000 on Boxing Day to more than 140,000 by the time reports began to trickle in from Aceh Province. On January 20, 2005 the Indonesian government reported new and crushing numbers, raising its death toll to more than 160,000.

In the days and weeks following the disaster another kind of wave began to flood the ruined shore of Sumatra Island. Teams of Aid Workers struggled to distribute food, clean water, body bags — anything that might help.

For centuries Indonesia has been known for its gold mines, especially those in the areas of Borneo Island, including Kalimantan. Legends abound of adventurers trailing through the malaria-ridden jungles in search of the yellow god.

But after the greatest quake in more than forty years, it was not gold Westerners were mining for. It was corpses, buried in haste by the thousand – bodies without names, spirits without the dignity of a formal good-bye.

Forensics teams rushed to Thailand where bodies were exhumed. Aid Workers helped locals in Banda Aceh as they sifted the remains of loved ones from the rubble. Mass graves were dug. People were buried in the silt and mud caused by a torrential monsoon rainfall.

This book is dedicated to the nearly 300,000 people who died or who are still missing, as well as to all those survivors who suffered tragic losses on December 26. It is written in thanks to the thousands of selfless volunteers the world over who rushed to help in the battered regions, as well as to those millions more who donated time and money to this cause.

Above all, it is for the surviving children of Banda Aceh. May your lives be long and filled with better memories.

Donna Carrick

Chapter 1

December 25, 2004…

Enrico reached for the gold. The heavy bracelet was still warm. He closed his eyes, breathing in the essence of the sleeping girl.

He was a long way from his village in Brazil – from his newly widowed mother shrouded forever in the black of mourning, and from his sisters, fat and shrewd, who took time out from shrieking at their brats to pummel him with demands.

With his father’s passing Enrico was the keeper of the family fortune. Neither he nor his siblings should ever want for anything. Although now he’d had a taste of his sisters’ endless needs, he wondered: how much was enough?

There was so much gold in Asia! It was everywhere he turned, dangling from the wrist of every whore. The jewelery shimmered against the girl’s skin as if she was a statue of the finest metal, burnished by the touch of many hands.

Enrico had never seen anything like this girl. She was so far removed from the women in his ordinary life she might as well be from another planet. He wondered what his sisters would say if they could see her stretched out on the bed with her naked back to him in the semi-darkness.

The thought of those great cows with their moustaches sent a shudder down his spine. He picked the girl’s dress up from the floor, savouring the fragrance of the silk. He lay back on the bed letting the fabric caress his chest.

This whore was worth a dozen women from his village. One night with her could stoke a man’s memory forever.

He grew hard again. There was no hurry. He had her for the whole night. She had cost him a lot in both dollars and promises, but he had no regrets.

He enjoyed a gamble. A spill of the dice, a turn of the cards, it was all the same thing. If the gold measured up to expectations, he would triple his investment before the summer. By the time another Christmas rolled around he would be in a position to lace his sisters, in fact his whole village, in a layer of the finest carat.

He pressed his penis against her thigh. Her hair tickled his nose. Running his fingers down her neck, he felt her stir. She had, after all, only pretended to be asleep.

She took her time, stroking him with the exquisite touch of high-priced lover. She was a far cry from the boisterous brothel-girls in Patong Beach. He could have had a handful of whores for a fraction of what this one had cost. But those three-penny prostitutes were nothing more than starving children. They swarmed a man, taking his money and goading him into a swift release that left him feeling more alone than he had before he came.

He put his hands on her breasts, watching her body move above him. At last he closed his eyes, allowing the tremor to subside. Then he slept.

The girl lay with her back to him once more. She was careful not to move until she heard his gentle snores.

Then she slid off the bed and flew around the room, gathering loose pieces of clothing from the floor. She carried them into the bathroom, closing the door before turning on the light. She washed herself and pulled on her dress. The comb tugged at her hair, smoothing it into a long black mass that covered her bare shoulders.

She was about to step into the hall when she remembered the gold. It was the only thing connecting her to that other life. Could she really bear to leave it all behind?

She moved toward the nightstand. Ignoring the more valuable pieces, she reached for the necklace with an intricate jade flower her mother had given her. Unlike the brilliant flash of the emerald earrings, the warm jade pendant was a perfect match for her eyes.

With the necklace clutched firmly in her hand, she stepped into the hallway. She had everything she needed to begin her new life: the courage of the very young and one good friend.

She met him in the hotel parking lot, just as they had planned. His muscles tensed when he held her. She knew he could smell the other man on her. To his credit he didn’t mention it, just buried his face in her hair and said, That’s it then. Are you ready?

I’m ready, she said.

She had her doubts, but she had already come to terms with them.

He turned the key. The engine broke the silence. He wanted her more desperately than ever, now that their final goodbye loomed over him. He wanted to make love to her right there in the car, to stroke the memory of the Brazilian from her skin.

There was no time. They had to move quickly. If the Brazilian were to wake before they made it to their destination…. One chance was all they would be given.

As they drove past the main entrance of the hotel, he glanced into its lobby. A fake evergreen covered in white lights twinkled in the darkness, reminding him of falling snow. It seemed grossly out of place in the oppressive heat of southern Thailand.

Just as he was out of place. It was hard after all this time to admit he didn’t belong here. The Christmas tree made him think of his children. It was mid-day on their side of the world. The air around them would be electric with the sounds and smells of cooking. They would be opening their gifts. Would they be missing him?

He forced his thoughts to return to the here-and-now. This was a dangerous game he was playing. One wrong move could cost him more than all his other losses put together.

She climbed into the back seat and pulled the dress over her head. She found the clothes he had placed there – the beige pants, the bra, and the blouse. Within minutes she had transformed herself into an ordinary girl.

Well, almost ordinary. It would take more than plain clothes to obscure her strange beauty. All the cotton in the world could not hide the golden glimmer of her skin, the other-worldly glow that emanated from her green eyes.

When she spoke, her voice pulled at his ears the way it always did, so he had to strain to understand the words rather than simply allowing himself to fall into its melody.

Do they know we are coming? she said.

They’re expecting us.

What do they know about me?

They know everything, he said. They will help.

When they arrived, he held her for a long time.

You’re sure about this? he asked.

I am not sure about anything, she said. But this is the path we have chosen.

The porch light was on. They had been waiting for her. He let her go inside alone. Thirty minutes later he parked outside of his own hotel. He sat in the car, wondering whether he should go to his room. It was his last night in Thailand. He didn’t think he would ever be back.

The lobby entrance was decorated with red and green lights in honour of Christmas. Throughout the day the place had been filled with music, Yuletide carols to appease the Christian guests. The largely Buddhist staff were dressed in their best outfits, and each was adorned with a sprig of holly.

He would miss his friends at the Pang Hotel. He wished he could say goodbye.

He turned instead toward the beach. The moon’s face glowed an eerie white that was reflected off the perfect sand.

Earlier, crowds of young people had made their way to the nearby islands to join in the ‘full moon’ celebrations. But he had never learned to follow the Asian lunar calendar. To him it was December twenty-fifth, Christmas. Only necessity could have pulled him so far from home on this of all days.

He sat down at the water’s edge. Burying his fingers in the cool sand, he listened to the sound of the waves. Their rhythm could soothe a man, untangling the emotional knots that plagued him. Like death and taxes, it was something one could rely on, this steady ebb and flow of nature. It made all lesser considerations seem paltry.

When everything else failed, there would always be the comfort of the sea. On this, his last night in Thailand, he knew he had changed. He was a better man than he had been before.

These were his thoughts as he rose to his feet. He turned away from the darkness of the ocean for the last time.

He started, suddenly aware he was not alone. A person approached, taking shape as the distance closed between them. With a chill of certainty he realised he was teetering on the edge of his own mortality.

Such was the choice he had made. The only thing he could offer on this Christmas night was the gift of silence. He drew himself up to his full height, staring with resolve into his killer’s eyes under the knowing face of the great white moon.

Chapter 2

January 28, 2005

It was time for me to go. I had already said selamat tinggal – goodbye – to anyone who would remember I was there. My bag flopped forward on the tarmac like a worker at the end of a long shift.

Captain William McNairn of the US Marines ran toward me. He waved and pointed to where his helicopter sat beside a skid of empty crates. I would pay for this last flight to Phuket International Airport as I had the others, in the currency of Banda Aceh those days, not the usual Rupiahs, nor even US dollars, but instead the currency of labour. Before the flight I would load empty crates onto the helicopter. In Phuket I would help to unload them, and then we would load whatever Billy could grab for Banda Aceh – food, medicine or more likely body bags.

I tossed my pack into the chopper and climbed up after it. Billy grunted his hello and threw the first crate into my waiting hands.

I didn’t have a photo of Billy. I studied his face, determined to remember every line and every trick of light that made him. He was not the man I remembered from that first day. I suspected I wasn’t the woman he remembered either.

At least I hoped I wasn’t. No one should witness such tragedy and remain unchanged.

All set, Ayla? Billy said. I nodded. His next sentence was lost under the roar of the propellers. I was sorry not to hear him. He had become a man of so few words.

We kept a companionable silence over Aceh Province. Once we hit the open water, though, the quiet became ominous. Billy stared at the dark waves.

Looking out over the Strait of Malacca for what was probably the last time, I was aware of a sense of loss.

Did I dare to hope my efforts in Banda Aceh would make a difference? Already there were reports of man-made deaths, even as we struggled in those camps to foster the smallest spark of life.

And what would happen when Captain Billy McNairn and his fellow Marines left the region? Would Indonesia’s President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono honour his promises to rebuild Sumatra Island? Or was the dark cloud hanging over Aceh Province bringing with it more unspeakable acts?

In a country known for decades to be one of the most corrupt on earth, dark forces reside as comfortable neighbours among the righteous. I hoped Mr. Yudhoyono would recognise the struggles around him for what they were.

We have to hope, I reminded myself. That was my new mantra, stolen from my Armenian friend Lucine. She believed there was no point planning for death. The end would come or not as God alone decreed. We mere mortals can only plan for growth. We must look to the future and envision it the way we believe it can be. Then we roll up our sleeves…

So I will hope as I stare at Billy’s grey stubble he is not leaving Banda Aceh too soon. I’ll hope the world will keep its eyes on this beleaguered nation as it struggles to rebuild.

I’ll hope there will be an end to war and greed, and the people I am leaving behind will find peace at last.

Most of all, in the smallness of my own human heart, I hope one day I will see Mahdi again.

Chapter 3

A month earlier…

A single shot of whiskey could never make me forget my chronic if misguided sense of obligation. However, it can be effective in softening the harsh call of duty that occasionally keeps me awake. I added some ice to my Scotch and water and made my way to the couch.

My bag stood ready, swollen with everything I might need. Our co-ordinator, Brent Patterson, would have a supply of Indonesian Rupiahs for each of us in the morning. Only one thing remained undone, but it was a big thing. I hadn’t told Zonnie I was leaving.

When I got the call from Brent my first reaction was shock. I was not alone. In the beginning nobody understood the magnitude of the Boxing Day disaster. I rushed to the television and clicked it on. The story was unbelievable. I didn’t think to call Zonnie at the time.

Now, though, the call was unavoidable. I lifted the receiver and heard the familiar beep telling me I had a message.

I knew it would be from her. It’s one of those twin phenomena. I’ll reach for the phone and it will ring before I can pick it up.

Zonnie and I are identical twins. I love her, but there are times when I think a psychological makeover might do her some good.

Her message sounded urgent. I dialled her number.

Ayla? she said.

Yeah, it’s me. I have some news.

I don’t know what to do. She was crying. Her tears trumped my news. I waited for her to speak.

It’s Robert, she said.

I held my breath. Robert Trasque, sometime estate lawyer and sometime big-money speculator, was not my favourite person.

He was in Thailand, Zonnie said.

It took a moment for her words to settle in my ears.

What was he doing there?

He was meeting someone on business. I can’t reach him. He should have called by now to tell me he’s okay.

The phones are down, I said. There’s been no contact with the region since it happened.

What am I going to do?

Zonnie, there’s something I have to tell you. Our mission is leaving for Banda Aceh in the morning. We’re stopping in Thailand. Get a pen. I need you to gather up some things for me. I’m coming over.

I have a pen, she said.

I need a picture of Robert and a copy of his passport. Round up any other documents you can find. And Zonnie, I paused, I need you to check the bathroom. If he left his toothbrush behind, put it in a baggie for me. Don’t wash it.

I couldn’t tell whether she understood my last request. I didn’t want to explain it. At that point I still had no idea what we were dealing with. Brent said the first reports were of a quake registering more than eight on the Richter scale followed by a monster wave. Hundreds, maybe thousands of people had been killed.

More than likely Robert was fine. But if I told Brent I had a relative in Asia during this situation, he would pull me from the mission. If I could get to Thailand before the rest of the world arrived, I might be able to find Robert. I could check the local hotels, the hospitals, the morgue…

In the unlikely event Zonnie’s husband had been killed, at least I might be able to identify the body and bring him home.

Zonnie, try to find out who Robert was meeting and where he was staying. Go into his office and get his desk diary. I’ll be there in half an hour.

Thank you, Ayla.

I put the receiver down and stared hard at my glass. There was no time to think things through. Our team was scheduled to leave at 0600 hours. I was either in, or I was out.

I took a long drink and poured the rest down the drain. That’s the hell of having an over-developed sense of duty.

Zonnie was waiting.

I followed the highway across the north end of Toronto to her house. She opened the door before I rang the bell. Nick, my ten-year-old nephew, stood beside her. His twelve-year-old sister Cleo took my jacket. The resemblance between Zonnie and her children was striking. They both had our fair hair and complexion, inherited from our Russian mother.

Have you heard anything more? Zonnie asked.

No. Our flight leaves first thing in the morning.

I got Robert’s toothbrush. He left a copy of his passport in the kitchen. And he had a tattoo, a Z’ on his left arm. I got a picture of it for you. She handed me a colour close up of herself and Robert, both showing new tattoos on their biceps. Hers was an ‘R’ in a swirl of ivy.

What about his itinerary? I asked.

I couldn’t get into his office. He has the only key.

I rummaged in the kitchen drawer until I found a multi-headed screwdriver. Zonnie followed me down the hall to Robert’s office.

He won’t like this, she said.

We won’t tell him.

It took me less than a minute to get the handle off the door. Once I did that it was easy to release the locking mechanism.

Robert’s computer was on a workstation near the window. His main desk held only his phone. I’d hoped to find a calendar. The RCMP were asking people to tell them who their loved ones were travelling with, where they were staying, what their itinerary was. Brent said several hundred Canadians were thought to have been in the region at the time of the tsunami.

I pulled out the desk drawers. Nick opened a cabinet near the computer.

By the time I realised Robert probably kept his diary on his PC, Cleo had already turned it on. In this age of technology, even a twelve-year-old instinctively turned to a computer as the most likely place to find information.

Here you go, she said.

Cleo clicked on the arrows, scrolling back to the week before Christmas. It doesn’t say where he was staying, she said.

I know where he was staying, Zonnie said. It was room 319 of the Pang Hotel on Patong Beach. He said it was an easy flight from Phuket into Sumatra Island.

What business did he have in Sumatra? I had a feeling I knew the answer. About ten years earlier, Robert got involved in one of his get-rich-or-get-taken schemes. He made a lot of money, sinking his earnings back into the project.

Those were the days when all of Canada was ‘gold-crazy’. Investors were dazzled by the good fortunes of our fellow-countrymen David Walsh and John Felderhof as Bre-X shares climbed to the top of the Toronto Stock Exchange.

A lot of paper changed hands during the nineties. A lot of fortunes were made. More were lost.

By ninety-seven the chrome was off the Camaro. Investors scrambled to unload worthless stock. By the time the truth about Busang became public knowledge, a lot of Canadians had been fleeced. John Felderhof had the sense to bury himself safely away in the Cayman Islands. His side-kick, geologist Michael de Guzman, apparently escaped responsibility for the salting scam by jumping from a helicopter over the jungles of Indonesia, leaving Calgary businessman David Walsh to explain the Borneo fiasco to the world.

My oh-so-clever brother-in-law heard bad things about the Bre-X executives in the early days. But like a lot of other money-men he couldn’t resist the glimmer of gold. He kept his money out of Busang, but not out of Indonesia. He started pumping dollars into a project on Northwest Sumatra Island, lured by reports of native alluvial mining.

From ninety-four through ninety-six the payouts were huge. Robert began to neglect his legal practice and became a full-time speculator and arm-chair miner. He made several trips into Indonesia in the days when foreigners were still allowed into Aceh Province.

When the site-geologist demanded more money for core-drilling, Robert didn’t just fork it over without question. He insisted on a tour of the project and copies of the sample analyses.

However, he overlooked one glaring fact: He knew nothing about mining. The geologist and promoter were only too happy to lead him into the wilds of Sumatra, filling his ears with nonsense about whole core samples and ounces per acre. They knew what Robert didn’t – that he wanted desperately to believe whatever they told him. My brother-in-law was becoming rich very quickly, and he liked it.

So he came home and talked with Zonnie. One of the few things my twin and I owned was a trust fund. An unknown benefactor created the fund when we were children after reading our story in the newspaper. It was more than enough to make sure we had a chance at life, a half a million dollars, split between us.

When Zonnie told me