The Tiger Temple Read online

  Kane knew the Champlung Ridgeway well. A couple of times a week he’d shove on his running shoes, and in an effort to stave off the impending threat of middle-age he’d hit the stunning trail that split the valley. His knowledge meant he knew that pretty soon they’d be leaving the trail and getting back onto another main road, one way of which led back into Ubud, the other eventually splitting off into all directions. If they lost them before that… well, then they’d have no idea where Ayu would end up.

  The kidnappers were relentless in their efforts to get away, racing along the ridgeway dangerously fast. Kane still had no idea who they were or why they had kidnapped Ayu, but it was clear they were ruthless men with nefarious motives. The thought of what they might do to Ayu spurred him on, and with a complete disregard for his own safety he threw himself into the chase, leaning into the curves and taking a racing line closer to the precarious ledge.

  Kane spotted a flash of colour ahead as an unsuspecting rice farmer stepped into the trail from behind a copse of bougainvillaea, startling the lead rider who wobbled, and in a vain attempt at self preservation swerved left, his front wheel slamming into a pothole to send him flying over the handlebars, his body somersaulting out of sight down the left side of the beautifully terraced ridge. It was almost as if in slow motion, all sets of eyes watching as the lead kidnapper twirled ungracefully through the air, his bike crashing into a ditch between two flooded paddies.

  But a second later the other two kidnappers were surging on, Ayu locked in place and thoughts of their fallen comrade secondary to their pressing need to get their prize to wherever they were heading.

  Shit. Kane knew in that moment that whoever these scumbags were, they meant serious business. It didn’t bode well for Ayu.

  It didn’t seem possible that the kidnapper could have survived the accident, but to Kane’s great surprise he spotted the man stagger to his feet and make off across the paddies. He glanced ahead and knew he could not catch up to the riders, then glanced back over to the fleeing kidnapper. Fuck it!

  Kane skidded to a halt, dumped the bike and threw himself down the terraces after the kidnapper, leaping drainage ditches and wading across the flooded rice paddies, slowly gaining on the man who should have been crippled but seemed miraculously unscathed.

  And he was fast.

  Kane cursed as he slipped, one foot disappearing into the mud of a drowned paddy, the five-second delay letting the kidnapper edge further away. Kane was in great physical shape, the best of his life, but the fleeing man was a machine and no matter how hard he pushed he could not make up the ground. Images of Ayu’s face flashed before him, and he dug deep, straining every sinew to catch the criminal, and at last he gained, the distance between them narrowing from forty yards to thirty, and then twenty, and just as he was about to close to within ten feet, the man turned, pulled out a pistol and fired three shots at Kane, who dove for cover into a drainage ditch, crashing into the solid baked earthen bank with a painful thud.

  After a moment, and when he realised he was unhurt and the shooting had stopped, he lifted his head. He’d expected to see the gunman staring at him, ready for the kill shot.

  That’s what he expected.

  That is not what he saw.

  Instead, Kane recoiled in horror when he noticed the brown and yellow striped 12-foot long king cobra staring him down, its hood extended with menace and its head up, ready to strike. It stared, motionless, its long forked tongue tasting the air to see if the sweaty human before him might make a good meal. For many people, the scenario was the stuff of nightmares.

  Now, Kane is a man not generally afraid of snakes, but when pinned against the edge of a filthy ditch in the middle of a Balinese rice terrace after being shot at by a gun-wielding maniac trying to kill him, well he’d had more comfortable moments. However, aware that just one bite from the lethal cobra might be fatal, and armed with the knowledge the kidnapper had just taken three shots and missed with all three, Kane took his chances with the gunman.

  He leapt to his feet just as the massive cobra struck, its powerful neck a lightning blur as he dodged its huge fanged mouth, and dove out of the ditch, relieved to see no sign of the kidnapper.

  But the relief was short-lived.

  The criminal had gotten away, and Hiram Kane had failed to stop him.

  *

  Ketut peered ahead, beyond the two riders, and with alarm spotted a large 4x4 parked in the centre of the trail. A few seconds later the kidnappers slid to an abrupt stop at the powerful looking truck, dumping their motorbikes where they fell, the engines still running, and after launching a screaming Ayu into the arms of a waiting henchman standing on the truck’s flatbed, the two riders climbed in, and as the truck pulled away in a cloud of dust and flying stones and rubble, the men pulled out a handgun each and began firing potshots at the brothers as they approached.

  Ketut, and now Putu, who’d jumped onto Kane’s discarded bike, skidded to a shuddering halt and leapt off, diving for cover behind a stand of swaying bamboo, and with his head in his hands Putu roared with an outburst of pure unbridled rage.

  A few minutes later Kane trotted up to his friends as they emerged from behind the bamboo. As he knew they would be, the kidnappers were gone. And so was Ayu.

  They stood on the trail, the cloud of swirling dust finally settling to the ground, the only sign that the truck and kidnappers had even been there at all, the dusty, shredded tiger toy lying face down in the dirt.

  Ayu’s toy.

  Kane walked over to the stuffed toy and picked it up. Then he turned to his friends, and looked on helpless as the two brothers stood there, their expressions a mix of rage and frustration and shame.

  Their beloved ten-year-old niece was gone.

  And they had failed to save her.

  Chapter Three

  The banjar kelian, or ‘neighbourhood leader’ of Nyuh Kuning village, was distraught. Ayu was his daughter, and her kidnapping had ripped his heart in two.

  But as their leader he was also the man the villagers turned to in times of crisis in the community. Not that any trouble ever bothered their peaceful suburb. The villagers had voted him in several years previous, and he was now coming to the end of a second successive five-year tenure as the spiritual and moral governor of Nyuh Kuning.

  The village had experienced a long unbroken spell of peaceful prosperity, the kelian’s passive, thoughtful leadership qualities serving his villagers well. They’d successfully managed the inevitable influx of tourists to the area, and used the extra income into the community to maintain Nyuh Kuning as one of the cleanest, greenest and most beautiful eco-friendly villages in all Bali. It was an honest, hardworking village, and all its almost eight-hundred residents were proud to call it home.

  Tourists loved to wander the stunning frangipani lined streets, bewitched by the unique style of the houses and the candi bentars, the iconic split gateways synonymous with Balinese architecture, and enamoured not only by the serene beauty of atmospheric, flower-filled laneways, but by the old-world charm and perma-smiling residents who made every visitor feel welcome.

  But as the hordes of villagers now crammed into the hastily arranged meeting back at Nyuh Kuning Temple fell to a nervous hush, those smiles had vanished.

  Nothing like this had ever happened there before, and a general sense of confusion and fear lined the faces of those residents, both young and old. Simply put, Ayu’s kidnapping had torn the soul out of Nyuh Kuning.

  The kelian once taught Kane a Balinese phrase, banjar suka duka, which means ‘the sharing of joy and pain’. Hiram knew the villagers were sharing the kelian’s pain now.

  Kane, Ketut and Putu entered the temple, but as an unofficial resident of Nyuh Kuning Kane remained at the back as the brothers made their way to the front and took a seat on the floor in front of the kelian.

  Even from his distance Kane could see the devastation drawn on the man’s face, and Hiram’s heart ached for him. Kane knew the kelian to be in
his mid-forties, but today he’d aged, the proud shoulders slumped, the vitality gone from his eyes.

  The banjar kelian stood and looked around the assembled people, all either a friend or family. A long silence ensued, everyone waiting to hear what their twice elected steward had to say. No one could know his thoughts, but everyone felt his anguish, his eyes dark, his skin pale.

  The kelian didn’t speak for long moments in what seemed to the witnesses a valiant effort to compose himself. But as they looked on a bizarre transformation seemed to take place, and it was so stark that even Kane sat up at the back and took notice. The man before him, the man who just moments ago appeared to be a broken shell of his former self, had changed. His shoulders had straightened, his eyes refocused. The sadness was gone from those narrowed eyes, his posture now that of a man who meant business.

  He took a step forward and slowly scanned the room, as every single one of the men and women inside felt the full weight of the kelian’s glare.

  Armed men had burst into their temple, causing panic and mayhem, and although no one was injured, the peaceful existence of the village had been shattered by unknown criminals. The man’s only daughter was kidnapped that morning, and Hiram had expected him to say something like, ‘Who will help find my daughter?’ or, ‘does anyone know who those men were?’

  That’s what he’d expected the man to say.

  But that was not what he said.

  “Who among you is responsible for this?” he demanded, words that set the room abuzz with disbelief and confusion.

  Wow! Kane could not believe what he’d heard. Is he accusing one of his own villagers? Really?

  “What do you mean, among us?” asked one of the younger men near the front, clearly indignant. “None of us knows anything about this.”

  The kelian looked down at the man and recognised a young sculptor from around the corner. The kelian just nodded.

  “What are you saying?” This time it was an older woman, Wayan, from the vegetable shop. “I don’t understand… we don’t understand.”

  Again, the kelian looked at the woman, and again he nodded, and continued looking around the assembly hall at the faces of the villagers.

  It was so quiet Kane believed he could have heard a grain of rice drop, such was their level of incomprehension. Then someone else spoke, and Hiram recognised Ketut’s voice immediately.

  “Are you saying one of us here is responsible,” asked Ketut, incredulous. “That someone in here now knows something about this?”

  The kelian fixed his eyes on Ketut for a long moment, then looked again at the larger crowd.

  “Yes, Ketut. Yes, I am.”

  Kane was thunderstruck, and based on the stony silence that followed, so was the entire community. Is he really blaming one of his own villagers for kidnapping his daughter? Surely that couldn’t be true? Could it? But then he spotted something even more bizarre. Putu, his friend, and a man he knew to be a feisty, often aggressive character, sat with a decidedly odd look on his face. Is that guilt? What the…?

  A couple of voices then spoke up, followed by more, as the gravity of the kelian’s accusation sunk in, everyone wanting their say, including Ketut. But as Kane stood, he saw Putu slink away and duck outside the assembly room. Hiram followed him outside, surprised at how dark it had become, despite being early afternoon. A monsoon storm seemed imminent, both inside the temple and beyond.

  Putu walked away from the building, and Hiram noticed him looking over his shoulder, as if checking to see if he’d been spotted leaving. In that moment, Kane thought he had never seen a man look more guilty of anything.

  But surely Putu wasn’t involved. He couldn’t be!

  Kane was well aware that on occasion Putu had been involved in a series of somewhat shady dealings, hanging around with guys who had every once in a while fallen foul of both official law and the banjar’s traditional set of rules, adat. But as far as Hiram knew they were relatively minor infractions; a cock fight here, a stolen backpack there, and moreover, Ketut had led him to believe that Putu’s days of getting in trouble were a thing of the past.

  Nevertheless, Putu was his friend. And it was about time he and his friend had a chat.

  *

  For what felt like days but was in fact only a couple of hours, Ayu had stayed as quiet as possible. Not that she had much choice, though, trussed and gagged as she was and ensconced beneath a stinking pile of blankets and packing crates.

  The kidnappers had abandoned the stolen 4x4, swapping it in for an enclosed minivan once they’d left the heavily touristed town of Ubud behind.

  They’d arrived at the rambling outskirts of their own territory, the verdant slopes of magnificent Mount Agung the imposing backdrop to the Kentamani region in eastern Bali. The area is famous among travellers not only for its natural beauty, the volcanic Agung its iconic symbol, but also for the spectacular Besakih Temple, also known as the Mother Temple, Bali’s largest and most important place of worship for Hindus, that religion accounting for almost 90% of the Balinese population, somewhat unique in Indonesia, a country with the highest number of Muslims on the planet at a little over two-hundred million.

  The battered old truck’s worn out suspension meant Ayu’s slender frame was tossed around unceremoniously on the hard unforgiving floor of the vehicle, her elbows and hips absorbing the worst of the constant collisions. But she hadn’t cried.

  She was too scared to.

  One moment she was poking her tongue out at her uncle’s friend Hiram, and the next thing she knew she was grabbed by a strange man, shoved roughly onto a motorbike and taken on a terrifying ride through the Monkey Forest and along the ridgeway, then thrown onto a truck before getting bundled into this one.

  She was afraid, tired, and didn’t know where she was or who she was with. Worse still, she’d lost her favourite toy, her treasured stuffed tiger, Babaya Putu, and feared she’d never see him again.

  At last, after rumbling over rough ground for several minutes and after rounding a long series of tight corners that caused Ayu to roll back and forth, slamming her into the truck’s hard sides, they finally stopped. And everything fell silent.

  It was total darkness inside the truck and smothered in that filthy blanket, but at least it was now quiet and still. She then heard a few voices, but they too faded away as the men who had taken her moved away from the truck.

  Ayu sat up. She was scared, but she was also hot, her throat dry and struggling for air. She also needed the bathroom. So, after lying still for several more minutes, her needs finally overcame her fears and she tried to stand, pushing away the stinking blankets and shoving the filthy crates and baskets aside. But after being so tightly confined for so long, Ayu’s bound legs were weak and she stumbled, hurting her wrists on the floor as she put out her hands to break her fall. And then, finally, the first tears fell, spilling gently down her dusty cheeks.

  But still Ayu didn’t make a sound, bravely stifling the urge to cry out aloud.

  She had no idea where she was, but steeling herself against the fear of the unknown, she scrambled to the back of the truck and poked her head through the tarpaulin flaps covering the back. Giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the harsh lamplight, she soon realised she was in what looked like some kind of storage area. Scanning left Ayu saw several stacks of boxes and crates, carefully loaded onto large pallets. Further along was a series of work tables, behind which stood a wall of shelves containing dozens of large glass jars, though she couldn’t quite make out what they held, other than a yellowish clear liquid.

  She cast her eyes right, now, and saw a large metal table that shimmered under a series of elevated lamps, and on the table were a pile of tools that looked like those her father used when working on his sculptures back at the village.

  Below that table she saw a couple of small cages, the ones she’d seen used to transport roosters to the market, but although these cages were empty a sense of unease fluttered in her stomach. Something about the
shiny table, the tools, and the animal cages…

  Next Ayu glanced at the ground, and didn’t mistake what were obviously blood stains, and coupled with the stench, it reminded her instantly of her trips with mother to buy meat at the market.

  And when she glanced a little further to the right, the terrified six-year-old finally screamed.

  Chapter Four

  “Putu,” called Kane. “Putu, wait.”

  But Putu either didn’t hear Hiram or chose to ignore his friend. Either way, Kane became increasingly perturbed, and in an effort to stop Putu reaching his motorbike and leaving he took off at a sprint around the back side of the temple and reached Putu’s bike first, snatching the keys from the ignition and shoving them deep into his pocket.

  Putu rounded the bend, walking fast, his head down as if in a daze, and he’d almost reached his bike when he at last looked up. When he saw Kane before him, he froze.

  “Hello Putu. What’s up, mate?”

  Putu just stared at Hiram, unable to speak.

  “Come on, what’s the matter?”

  “It is… it is nothing. I have to go.”

  “It doesn’t seem nothing to me. Talk to me. Maybe I can help.”

  Putu continued staring, and Kane sensed a conflict of emotions in the big man’s dark eyes. His shoulders dipped a little and Putu exhaled, as if he was about to tell Hiram something important. But then he took a deep breath in, looked Kane hard in the eyes, and said, “I… you can not help. It is… I am okay. I must go.”

  Putu edged past Kane to his motorbike and went for the keys, but they weren’t there. He turned to look back at Hiram, whose expression was impassive.

  “Keys?”

  “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”