This time the old fire returned to Putu’s eyes, and he took a menacing step towards Kane. “We are friends, but do not involve yourself in this. Trust me, Hiram… stay away. The keys. Now!”

  Kane was taken aback. Putu was a tough customer, and Kane knew all about his once volatile reputation, but he had never witnessed it himself, and certainly not towards him. He knew in that instant Putu was in trouble. However, he sensed now was not the time or place to push his friend for answers.

  He nodded and handed over the keys.

  Putu grabbed them, straddled his bike and started up the powerful machine. He looked hard at Kane again, mingling emotions still dominating his expression. But just before he roared away, his eyes softened. “Thank you. But please,” he said, “stay away.”

  And with that he accelerated away, leaving Hiram standing alone and none the wiser of what trouble Putu might be in. But Kane felt certain of one thing; inexplicably, his friend was involved in the kidnapping of his own niece.

  Hiram couldn’t just heed Putu’s… was that a warning?… to stay away. There was likely a kid’s life on the line, not to mention the impact it would have on his friends in the banjar, folks that had become like his Balinese family since he’d rented a house in the tranquil Ubud suburb twelve weeks previous.

  Besides, Kane wasn’t the kind of man to stand around and watch his friends suffer, and a minute later he was racing off to find Ketut, unsure how to break the news that his brother was an active player in the worst drama ever to hit Nyuh Kuning.

  *

  A strange atmosphere hung over the village, heightened by the ever darkening skies. The usually vibrant laneways and their cafes were eerily quiet, a calm before the proverbial storm, and the common sight of children running and laughing and flying their kites at the soccer field was absent. In fact, Kane saw no kids at all, and suspected their mothers had them safely tucked away in their family compounds, unsurprising in light of the morning’s events.

  Kane rushed to Ketut’s house but found no sign of him, and next tried Putu’s, their houses in the same family complex. It came as no surprise he wasn’t there. He ran to the banjar kelian’s house, half way up the lane from the soccer field, but again the man was not there. On a hunch he ran to the main road, and found a dozen village men standing in a line across the street, effectively forming a human barrier to the banjar.

  Of course, Kane thought. After what had happened they needed to keep track of anyone coming into the community, and he expected the same scene at the now destroyed rear gates to the Monkey Forest, essentially the northern boundary to Nyuh Kuning.

  Kane approached the men, a few of whom he recognised as they nodded a solemn greeting, though today there were none of the customary warm smiles. They trusted Hiram, but the entire community of Nyuh Kuning had been rocked by the events of just a few hours ago, and Kane couldn’t miss the loss and fear in their eyes. “Banjar suka duka,” he muttered. The sharing of joy and pain.

  He detected also a palpable sense of confusion and helplessness, not only on the faces of those men, but in the way they stood, rigid and on edge. The Balinese are a lethargic people, calm and content, but today these men were far from content, their collective calm swept away with one heinous act.

  They were no clearer about why it had happened than Kane was. All they knew was that unknown gunmen had stormed the temple and kidnapped a young girl. That it was the banjar kelian’s daughter made them all feel somewhat responsible, despite the unprecedented nature of the drama. Still, it could have been anyone’s child. It could have been their own.

  Kane angled towards the far left of the line, to a man he recognised as a taxi driver, Kadek.

  “Have you seen Ketut?” he asked. “I can’t find him.”

  Kadek nodded, replying in decent English. “They are in sangkep… I am sorry, assembly… at the pavilion. You can find him there.” He turned back to join the line.

  Hiram knew the pavilion, a large bamboo hut beneath a massive tree in the centre of the village where much of the social organising—and gossiping—was done. It’s where he’d met Ketut and Putu, when he was looking for a house to rent and the brothers got into an argument about Hiram’s best choices, each keen to claim their commission off the new foreigner in town. He smiled ruefully at the memory, and raced off to the pavilion.

  Kane made the half-mile distance in a few minutes, and arrived in a heavy sweat, the monsoon season stiflingly hot and extra humid, especially beneath the brewing storm. He took off his checked shirt and wiped the sweat from his face before tying it around his waist, then entered unopposed, and found perhaps fifty men from the village sat around on benches and chatting in urgent yet hushed tones. At the front the banjar kelian sat in close to a village elder who had leaned in to say something. The kelian nodded, his features stony hard beneath his traditional udeng hat.

  Kane had never seen him without a smile, at least not until this morning. He had heard the man say a simple yet poignant sentence often, and the words came to Hiram now: happiness starts with a smile. But now, instead of that warm and genuine smile he saw a sombre, determined man before him.

  The kelian looked out at the assembled villagers, then noticed Hiram in the shadows and nodded, motioning him to take a seat, which Kane did. The kelian then stood up.

  “My friends and brothers,” he said, his tone sincere, “never in the history of Nyuh Kuning has anything like this happened. We are a close knit community who, as far as I know, have no enemies. There is no reason for anyone from beyond our village to resent us. We offer our assistance and help to anyone who needs it, regardless of what banjar they’re from, and likewise, we accept the same in return. I have worked tirelessly these last few years to maintain our excellent relationships with our neighbours, both here in Ubud, and beyond.

  “But today we are betrayed. We have been attacked by an outside entity, they have broken the sacred code of our temple, and they have… they…”

  The stoic head of the village paused, unable to go on for a moment, thoughts of his beloved daughter Ayu causing rare tears to fall. Hiram felt for the kelian, as kind and humble a man as he’d ever met.

  But the man took a long, deep breath, straightened his lean back, and continued. “They have taken something from me… taken something from us. And I will not rest until I get her back.”

  A rising murmur of determined ascent rose around the crowded pavilion, but after a moment the kelian raised his hand and the murmur fell to an eerie hush.

  “As I said,” he continued, “we have no known enemies, no one who has any reason to inflict this horror upon our community.” He paused again, looking around at the gathering of the village’s most prominent members. “Which is how I know someone from Nyuh Kuning is involved. One of you has caused this, and I demand to know who.”

  Absolute silence fell over the group like a ghostly veil as the weight and likely truth of the kelian’s words settled like an accusation of guilt over every single one of them. The heads of those in the pavilion at that moment began to look back and forth, searching each other’s eyes for any hint of guilt. Few words were exchanged, but after an uncomfortable minute most eyes had settled on Ketut.

  “Why are you looking at me?” he asked, his eyes suddenly nervous. “I know nothing about this.” He looked incredulous, shocked that his friends and fellow villagers, many of them blood relatives, could believe he was involved. “Ayu is my niece, my family, and the kelian is my mother’s brother… I would never—”

  “Not you, Ketut,” said Opik, head of the Wood Carver’s Guild and one of the most prominent men in Ubud, not just Nyuh Kuning. “Not you. We know you are not involved.” Opik looked at Ketut with what might have been sympathy, and the hint of a sad, knowing smile. But then his eyes hardened, and his next words hit Ketut like a jab to the sternum. “But where is your brother, Putu? That troublemaker should be here—”

  “Putu had nothing to do with this,” Ketut cut in. “He would not harm anybody, not least his own niece… he is… he is probably looking for her right now, while we are here wasting ti—”

  “He should be here. Putu is the only one who has ever been in trouble with—”

  “He has not been in trouble for years. He—”

  “Where is he then? Why is he not here?”

  “I do not know where he—”

  “Stop it!” Putu’s deep voice thundered around the packed pavilion, and everybody fell silent, staring at the big man as he stood alone, a huge silhouette in the entrance.

  “Stop it, please.”

  The gathered villagers followed him with wary eyes as he walked slowly to the front of the space, pausing in front of the banjar kelian and raising his hands together in front of him in the formal Balinese greeting.

  The kelian didn’t flinch, locking his eyes on Putu’s. Putu gave a shallow nod and turned to the gathered men. What he said next shocked them all.

  “You are right,” he said. “Ayu is gone… and it is all my fault.”

  Audible gasps permeated the silence that hung thick in the air around the men. The kelian remained still, but if one looked closely they’d have seen his grip on the table tighten so much his knuckles turned white as his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed to a glare. In that moment he wanted to lash out, slam his fists into his nephew’s head. His beloved Ayu was missing, and Putu was involved. Yet he needed to stay calm and focused on getting his daughter back. And for that he would need Putu.

  Ketut strode over to his brother, a haunted look in his eyes.

  “What do you mean, it is your fault? How is that possible?”

  Putu looked down at Ketut, pain etched on his face. But he couldn’t speak.

  “Putu? Tell me what you mean.”

  Still he remained quiet, but his eyes took on a vacant glaze as a single tear slipped down his cheek.

  “Putu?” pushed Ketut. “What is it? What is going on?” Ketut’s concern was transforming into something else, his emotions and confusion rising and as they finally got the better of him he pushed Putu in the chest, wobbling him backwards. “What is it? Tell me!” he demanded, and shoved his brother again, who did nothing to defend himself, his shame rendering him unable.

  “AAAHH,” bellowed Ketut, this time slamming his fist into Putu’s powerful chest, and it appeared to the staggered onlookers as if Ketut was about to assault his older sibling.

  But at that moment Hiram placed a strong hand on Ketut’s shoulder.

  “Hey! Stop, Ketut. Just hold on a minute.”

  Ketut shrugged him off, his eyes displaying a wild mix of anger and confusion. But after a second he backed down, the two brothers staring at each other from a yard apart.

  It was then that the banjar kelian stood and approached Putu. “Sit down, nephew. Everybody… please give me and my family some time. Hiram, please stay,” he added in English.

  With that, the bewildered villagers filed out of the pavilion and left the kelian, Putu, Ketut, and Hiram alone.

  The four of them sat down, three of them waiting for Putu to tell them exactly what the hell he was talking about.

  Chapter Five

  What Ayu was looking at through her tear-filled eyes would have been shocking for anyone. For a gentle, animal loving six-year-old it was horrific beyond imagining.

  Hanging on a row of suspended hooks was a collection of animal pelts. Off to the side of those, on another of the long shiny tables, were the slain victims from where those skins originated. The skinned bodies of four animals, two large and two small, lay sprawled and lifeless, their pink flesh shredded in parts, and bloody, open wounds that buzzed with flies had begun to stink the place out.

  With a sudden and dreadful realisation, young Ayu understood what was in the jars on the shelves; the internal organs of a family of slaughtered tigers.

  As Ayu came upon this heartbreaking knowledge, she screamed, but it was immediately silenced by the strong hand of one of her kidnappers clamping her mouth shut. He smirked, and dragged her from that room through a crumbling brick doorway and hauled her along a dark passageway. Finally, he paused, and whilst holding her with one hand, leaned over and lifted a steel grate in the floor. Without a word, the man undid her trusses then unceremoniously dropped her through the hole, slammed the grate, and covered it with a sheet of wood.

  Ayu screamed as she fell through the air and crashed into the concrete floor with a jolt. But for once her slight frame was a blessing, as she managed to land on her feet and roll forwards, amazingly unharmed except for a few scratches and scrapes. Dazed, she glanced up at the hole in the ceiling, which as she looked was suddenly covered over, plunging her into absolute darkness.

  Alone, and dumped into some kind of pit, she muttered several words to herself as she finally cried aloud in the dark.

  “Uncle Putu,” she whispered between sobs. “Where are you?”

  Chapter Six

  “What have you done to my daughter?” demanded the kelian.

  It was a simple question, but it was a question Putu seemed unable, or more likely, Kane guessed, unwilling to answer.

  “Where is she, Putu? Where is Ayu?”

  “I… I do not know. She…”

  “Where is she?” the kelian roared.

  “I…”

  “Answer the question, Putu,” shouted Ketut. “Answer your uncle, damn it. Ayu is your niece. Where is she?”

  Putu hung his head in shame, conflicted about how to answer. He glanced up, looking into the faces of the three men before him, but unable to face the intensity of their gaze he lowered his head again.

  “I… I did not know this would happen. They… they said they would never hurt… I am… I am so sorry,” he blurted, his wide shoulders quivering as he fought to keep it together.

  Ketut had never seen his big brother cry before, at least not since they were young kids, and whatever it was he had done or was involved in it was difficult to watch. He gave Putu a moment, then pushed for an answer.

  “Listen, brother. Whatever it is you have done, the only important thing now is to get Ayu back safely. So do not worry about what we or the villagers think and put your shame to one side.” He placed a hand on his sibling’s shoulder and paused for another long moment, before saying, “Tell us everything.”

  Ketut glanced at the kelian, who glared back at his nephew for several seconds. But then he gave an almost imperceptible nod, which Ketut returned, then faced his brother once more. After another minute, he said, “Putu?”

  Putu looked up and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly in an effort to compose himself, but it didn’t work. He closed his eyes, and after a long pause, said in a voice barely above a whisper, “I have made a terrible mistake.”

  Over the course of the next fifteen minutes the kelian, Ketut and Hiram listened on with shock as Putu explained the dire situation.

  Six months previous he had played in an illicit poker game with friends from the Jaya Gym he’d worked at for several years as a personal trainer. He had lost, considerably, but was offered a chance to win his money back by entering a higher stakes game, somewhere in the seedy back streets of Poppies Lane in Kuta, the main party hangout of backpackers and tourists and where almost all Bali’s shady goings on took place. Drug deals, prostitution, black market trading; you wanted it, you were guaranteed to find it in the notorious Poppies area.

  Putu was reluctant at first. He had been on the straight and narrow for many years, more or less, and hadn’t been in any serious trouble with the authorities for a decade. He would soon turn thirty-eight, and had tried hard to put that life behind him, working hard, keeping his head down, and focusing on his career at the gym. He even had plans to open his own gym down the road in Kerobokan, though that was a long way off, and Ketut even joked that he was more likely to spend time in ‘Hotel K’ than own his own gym. But to Putu that wasn’t funny. Hotel K was the notorious Kerobokan Prison.

  Yet Putu still had a weakness for the occasional flutter, and it was that weakness for gambling—illegal across all Indonesia—that had started this whole nightmare. He saw a chance to make back the money he’d lost, but not only make it back, perhaps double or even triple it, and so he accepted the invitation to join the super-illicit but very tempting game of poker in Poppies Lane.

  He turned up at the pre-arranged meeting point on time, and after being led through a series of ever darker, ever narrowing alleyways the contact ushered him through a seedy dilapidated doorway into a smoke filled room, where he was shown to a seat at a round table with half a dozen other men who would not have looked out of place as bad guys in a James Bond movie.

  Beer and whisky were in ready supply as the poker match started, and after an hour Putu had quadrupled his initial $500 buy-in stake. But as so often happened in Putu’s younger more reckless years, his weakness and greed and the effects of the whisky took over, and rather than play it safe and quit while he was ahead, he blindly chased the big score.

  Two hours later, and Putu was in the hole for $10,000 to a lean yet tough looking Javanese man known only as Jago, The Rooster.

  Putu felt nothing but shame and remorse when the reality of what he had done sunk in, and sensing an opportunity, Jago asked Putu if he could have a private word with him outside. Jago’s harsh features had softened, but due to the presence of several massive bystanders that appeared to be Jago’s bodyguards, Putu sensed he had little choice and duly followed him into the alleyway.

  To his surprise, when Jago turned to face him he wore a broad smile.

  “Do not worry about the money, my friend. We win some and we lose some. Believe me, I lose more than I win. Today I got lucky.”

  Putu assessed the man, and despite the smile he felt intimidated. There was something about him, something sinister he hadn’t noticed before. Of course, the proximity of the huge thugs didn’t help.

 

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