The Tiger Temple

  Steven Moore

  The Tiger Temple

  A Hiram Kane Adventure

  First published by Condor Publishing in 2017

  Copyright © Steven Moore, 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

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  Banjar suka duka.

  The sharing of joy and pain.

  Chapter One

  Incense hung thick in the air, a bluish-grey haze adding to the somewhat mystical atmosphere in the temple’s inner sanctum, the organic frangipani scent synonymous with the frequent religious ceremonies in the village of Nyuh Kuning.

  From somewhere out of sight, the haunting melodic chimes of the rindik musicians added a second layer of mystique, and coupled with the unique architecture, and shrine after shrine laden with flowers and offerings, Hiram Kane was again reminded Bali truly was the ‘Island of the Gods’.

  Standing beside Hiram were Ketut and Putu, two brothers who had become his close friends since he’d arrived in their village almost three months previous. Ketut was lean, clean cut and good looking, and a popular resident of the community of eight-hundred that called Nyuh Kuning home. His shaggy hair gave him the appearance of a twenty-eight-year-old teenager, and Kane teased him for being the long-lost fifth member of The Beatles.

  Putu, the older brother at thirty-seven, was taller and broad shouldered, handsome in a rugged way but with watchful eyes and an air of menace about him he was acutely aware of and that had served him well in his younger years. The shaved head and huge tattooed biceps enhanced the look, but despite his tough appearance Putu was lively, quick with a smile, and the type of man who would do anything for anyone, often to his own detriment.

  The physical difference between the siblings was stark, and Ketut’s flip-flops were no match for Putu’s heavy biker boots. But the love between them was there for all to see, and their mutual respect was genuine and inspiring to Kane who, since he’d known them, had come to trust the brothers as if they were his own.

  The colourful ceremony at the pura puseh, the ‘Temple of Origin’ located in the east of the village, thus nearer to the spiritually important Mount Agung volcano, was to honour the Balinese Hindu God Betara Desa, and the annual event was a social highlight of the community, when the men got together to complain about taxes, the cost of scooter fuel and their aching joints, and the women got together to complain about the men. There was, of course, a lot of praying.

  Kane wasn’t a religious man, but he’d always been fascinated by religion, a dissonance he was comfortable with as it gave him a chance to witness beautiful art and architecture, and peaceful, atmospheric ceremonies such as this.

  The three men stood to the rear of the temple, the brothers focusing on the words of the priest while Kane watched with fascination as everyone present paid their respects to Betara Desa. Even the effervescent children were still and quiet, attention where it was supposed to be, and Hiram felt a deep respect for the serene and innate discipline so evident in Balinese people.

  Gazing through the swirling incense clouds and the throng of bodies, Kane caught a glimpse of a young girl, who happened to turn and catch his eye. Her mischievous smile would melt any heart, and Hiram had a momentary pang of regret he’d decided not to have kids of his own. But as always, it was gone in a flash, Kane aware that the adventurous, spontaneous lifestyle he enjoyed and the scrapes he all too often found himself in, plus the dramatic and dangerous overpopulating of the planet, meant not having kids was one of the few sensible decisions he’d ever made. Besides, he’d yet to convince the long-term yet unrequited love of his life, the beautiful art historian Alexandria Ridley, to even commit to a relationship. Nope, Hiram loved kids, but he would leave producing them to other people.

  He recognised the pretty little girl in the jade green dress… Ayu? She turned away, but before she did she poked her tongue out at Kane, who promptly returned the compliment. Before she disappeared back into the crowd the last thing he saw was the stuffed toy tiger that seemed permanently attached to her hand since he’d first seen her around the village.

  Crack. Crack. Crack.

  The unmistakable retort of gunshots echoed around the temple, and in an instant the place fell silent as the worshippers processed the shocking sounds. But a moment later the temple erupted in a chaotic chorus of screams and shouts and a crush of bodies as the terrified villagers scrambled towards the exit. Before he could react Kane felt himself forced back against the inner wall, unable to resist the manic surge of bodies and the flailing arms of the fear-stricken worshippers. Forced back into the same corner, Ketut locked eyes with his friend, shock and fear written on his face, his wild eyes telling their own story.

  The screaming and surging continued as close to three-hundred people hustled to safety, the unknown gunman still elusive.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Kane shouted to Ketut, who remained speechless. “Are you hurt?”

  Ketut simply shook his head, mouth agape.

  “Ketut? Are you injured?” Kane pressed.

  “No… no. I am okay. Where… Where is Putu?”

  Kane glanced among the hordes, finally thinning as the majority of temple goers at last made it outside.

  “I can’t see him,” Kane yelled above the still rowdy bedlam. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They joined the last stream of villagers, acutely aware there may still be a gunman in the temple, when Kane heard the most pitiful wailing he’d ever heard. It was a woman, and she was crying out for… Ayu?

  “Where is my daughter? Where is Ayu?” she howled in her native Balinese, and recognising that final word Kane was instantly on high alert. He glanced at Ketut, who had also heard those dreadful cries, then with horror Kane remembered Ayu was Ketut’s niece.

  With single-minded determination Ketut forced his way through the crowds and burst outside, the sudden bright sunlight momentarily blinding him.

  Kane quickly joined him, and a moment later Putu arrived, clearly panic-stricken.

  “Where is Ayu?” he bellowed, “Where is my niece?”

  But just then the deafening growl of powerful motorbikes thundered above the hum of the crowd, and amid that roaring chaos Kane swivelled in time to witness a scene he would never forget; little Ayu being shoved roughly onto a motorbike seat, clamped between the legs of a big man who, after catching Kane’s eye and holding that glare for a few seconds, pulled down his black visor and accelerated away from the temple, two other huge bikes right on his tail and scattering bewildered worshippers in all directions.

  Without a second’s hesitation Kane grabbed the brothers. “With me. Now!”

  Neither Ketut nor Putu had seen what Kane had witnessed, but knew him well enough by now not to doubt him, and as he sprinted off to the rear of the temple towards their own motorbikes they followed, and less than fifteen seconds later were tearing up the main road through Nyuh Kuning towards the sacred Monkey Forest on what had suddenly turned into a rescue mission.

  Chapter Two

  What the hell? Kane thought. What just happened?

  The village of Nyuh Kuning, or ‘yellow coconut’, was as mellow a place as Kane had ever been, so laid back in fact that he had decided to call it home for a few months rest and recuperation after an exhausting season guiding expeditions in the Peruvian Andes.

  The idea that a gang of men… gunmen… had just burst into a religious cer
emony, fired a series of shots, and kidnapped a six-year-old girl, was… well, to say shocking just didn’t cut it. Nyuh Kuning was an ancient village of sculptors and wood carvers, and the most dramatic thing that ever happened were the weekend kite wars that took place on the soccer field, when local youths did battle with their beautiful handmade kites, soaring them hundreds of feet above the village in an impressive display of colour and acrobatic kitemanship.

  But Kane didn’t have time to think about that now, as his motorbike accelerated to 50mph along the usually quite dusty street that led to the monkey forest, home to hundreds of native macaques outnumbered only by an ever-growing flood of tourists who delighted in having their photo taken with the inquisitive creatures, but who often went home angry after a monkey swiped their hat or a half-eaten bag of chips.

  Tourists. Shit, thought Kane, there’ll be swarms of them. If the bikers go through the forest…

  They had to head them off before that. Kane knew the area well and knew the kidnapper’s most direct route of escape was directly through the heart of the Monkey Forest–right through the throngs of tourists. He did know of a narrow laneway that ran alongside the perimeter of the forest that few tourists knew about. If we can just catch them up and steer them that way…

  He hunched down in his seat and pulled back on the throttle, pushing his modest 150cc Kawasaki to its equally modest limits. To his surprise he started to gain on the rear kidnapper’s bike but estimated he had no more than thirty seconds to head off the inevitable carnage. Putu’s bike was more powerful, and as if he’d read Kane’s thoughts the big man suddenly flew past his right flank and tore after the trailing rider ahead.

  Twenty seconds, now, and neither Kane nor Ketut had made up any significant ground. “Go on!” he shouted as Putu closed in on the kidnapper.

  Ten seconds. Putu swung wide, veering past the tail bike, and just at the last second edged him into the narrow lane to the right of the forest’s rear entrance, almost colliding with a stooped old man rounding the bend.

  Two’s better than three, Kane thought. But Ayu was still on one of the lead bikes. It was no use… they were going through the Monkey Forest. And at a little after eleven in the morning, it would be crowded.

  The lead bike burst through the entry barrier, tourists and monkeys scattering in their wake with an uproar of screams and high-pitched shrieks. Kane had no choice but to follow, Ketut hard on his trail. The front bike swerved right, around the natural amphitheatre that was a favourite playground to troops of the fun-loving macaques, but all bar none of the fifty or more there at that moment froze on the spot, their games forgotten, as first one, then two, then three and four motorbikes screamed past above them, shattering the silence in the shady forest grove.

  Ketut managed to pull his bike alongside Kane’s and shot him an agonised sideways glance, the message in his pleading eyes clear: Help me.

  The natural geography of the forest was not conducive to high-speed motorbike chases, the narrow concrete trails and low hanging trees skirting around perilous ravines and deep canyons at the bottom of which raged wild white-water rapids. One mistake now, Kane knew, could mean his death, or worse, a broken neck. But with no idea what the kidnappers had in store for little Ayu, he shoved his own fear aside and leaned into those perilous curves as if her life depended on it. For all he knew, it did.

  They surged on, brightly dressed tourists flashing by in a blur, their screams of terror lost beneath the combined roar of four straining engines. Suddenly, the two kidnappers’ bikes split up, the lead edging left to the west of the forest, the trailing bike steering right. But which one has Ayu? Kane couldn’t tell, and on a hunch chose left. The bike he was following momentarily disappeared around a bend and he cursed, losing sight of his quarry.

  It’s not that he even knew what he’d do if he caught the kidnappers up. He had to assume all three were armed and dangerous, and though Kane was a tough man who knew how to look after himself–two decades of tae-kwon-do training assured that–mere hands and feet were useless against men with guns.

  But the girl… his friend’s niece. He had no choice, and Hiram Kane knew he would do whatever he could to get her safely back where she belonged.

  Focusing hard on the sun-dappled path through the wild forest, Kane caught a flash of movement to his left and spotted the kidnapper’s bike on a higher ridge, and knew he must have darted across the ancient stone bridge that spanned the deep ravine. He knew it well, and braced hard into his seat as he hurtled around the bend, approaching the narrow arched bridge far too quickly but accelerating anyway, his mind now fully zoned in on catching up with Ayu’s kidnapper. Too late he saw a pair of juvenile monkeys sat in the middle of the bridge, frozen where they sat and unable to leap to safety. He slammed on his brakes, cognizant enough only to apply the rear, else he’d have thrown himself and his motorbike head over heels to their deaths in the canyon far below, but instead he skidded and fell, metal screeching horrendously on concrete, his arms and legs scraping along the unforgiving surface and tearing the flesh from his bones.

  In a moment of terror Kane didn’t think he’d arrest his slide in time and closed his eyes before the inevitable impact with a gnarly, centuries-old tree. But finally, after what seemed an age but was only a few seconds, he came to a juddering halt, alive, battered, and being stared at by two pairs of curious monkey eyes. Kane’s sunglasses had flown off and landed a few inches from one of the creatures, whose head twitched from side to side, nervous, but more than a little curious about the noisy strange intruder. A moment later, a much larger monkey, the mother, dropped from a branch above the bridge, grabbed up the two infants and swung them onto her back, then eyeballed Kane. A second later, she grabbed Kane’s shiny new Ray Bans from the ground, and with two strides and a leap scampered up into the tree.

  Kane struggled to his feet and checked for broken bones, surprised to find none. He limped over to the bike, its engine still running, and with a shake of the head, both to clear it and in amusement at the light-fingered monkey, he jumped on and sped off in the direction of the kidnapper.

  Putu and Ketut had managed to stay close on the tails of their respective targets, in Putu’s case on such a narrow lane there had been no chance to overtake. He thought if he could just get beyond the monkey forest to the main road in the town of Ubud then he could cause the guy to fall off. Then there would be hell to pay! He narrowed his eyes and leant into the bends, his front tyre just inches from the kidnapper’s rear.

  Ketut was raging as he flew after Ayu, and could see her hair whipping around as her kidnapper threw his bike suicidally into the turns. It was so dangerous; one skid or a wrong turn and she could be kil…

  He swiftly put those dark thoughts out of his mind. But why the hell have they taken her? Who are these people? What the hell do they want with an innocent six-year-old from Nyuh Kuning? Ketut gritted his teeth and focused every molecule of his being in staying on the kidnapper’s tail, careful not to get too close and cause an accident, but close enough not to lose sight of them in the forest. They would soon be clear of the trees and onto the main drag, where the kidnapper’s bigger bikes would surely leave them behind on the long straight road out of Ubud.

  He could not let that happen.

  He would not let that happen.

  As if choreographed, all three kidnappers emerged from the forest simultaneously, and were soon flying the wrong way up the one-way Hanuman Street, dodging taxis and tourists and hundreds of moto-scooters, the preferred method of transport on Bali’s congested roads. But such was the congestion in Ubud’s most popular tourist street that Kane saw his chance. He anticipated which direction the kidnappers would take, certain they’d reach the top of Hanuman, or Monkey Street, and take a left, heading west past Ubud Palace and out of town to make their escape on the relatively quiet country roads. He signalled to Ketut to continue straight, and though Putu was too far ahead to notice, Kane knew there would be no telling the fiery, head-strong bo
dybuilder what to do anyway.

  A hundred yards ahead was a left turn Kane knew, Jalan Dewisata, and if lucky it would be a shortcut in the direction he hoped they’d take. He eased off the throttle a shade, letting the others pull ahead, and once they were all beyond the turn off, he took it, screeching around the bend and gunning the throttle, tearing up Dewisata and hoping to cut them off on the main road leaving Ubud.

  He swerved and dodged the multitude of food stalls and silver and handicraft vendors famous in Ubud, narrowly avoiding a pair of street dogs lazing in the road, and sixty-seconds later he rounded the last curve, hoping beyond hope that he’d beaten them to the river.

  To his utmost dismay, he hadn’t, and saw the kidnappers up ahead. Ketut flew past him, desperation etched onto his face, and Kane had no option but to rejoin the chase. Up ahead they veered right before crossing the bridge, and just as he’d expected, angled their bikes onto the Champlung Ridgeway. With his hopes diminishing Kane knew that if they managed to get onto that trail unhindered, well, that would be that and the race for Ayu would be over.

  Kane skidded around the narrow lane and burst onto the ridgeway, his tyres kicking up bursts of dust and gravel as they dug into the trail and propelled him forwards. He was gaining on Ketut, who in turn was catching up with Putu, the big man’s bike slowing down, and then inexplicably juddering to a halt as he ran out of fuel. Of course, none of them expected to be involved in a gas-guzzling chase across Ubud, and Kane watched from afar as Putu threw his motorbike down in a frustrated rage, his eyes wild as he uttered a bellowing roar that echoed across the rice terraced valley either side of the ridgeway path.

  But Ketut didn’t slow down, and powered past his brother, as did Kane.

  The ridge trail wasn’t narrow, perhaps ten-feet across, but they were speeding along at such a pace that one false move or one unseen pothole could prove disastrous, even fatal.