The Tiger Temple, page 4
“You are a big guy, very strong. In my line of work I can always use someone like you.” He motioned to the giants nearby.
“Like me?” Putu was taken aback.
“Yes, like you.” The smile widened to the point of disarming Putu, and he finally relaxed a little. Jago continued. “How about I give you the opportunity to pay back your debt by coming to work for me? It will not take long to repay, and if you want you can stay on my team and earn more money. Big money. There is a lot of it in my business. A lot. How does that sound, my friend?”
And that was how it started. It turned out Jago was head honcho of The Macan, or the Tigers, one of Bali’s most notorious mafia gangs, and unless you were crazy you did not make an enemy of the Macan who, like Jago himself, originated on Java in the nation’s capital, Jakarta.
Putu reluctantly quit his job at Jaya Gym, though popped in often to keep up his own regime of weight training, and started working for Jago. It was minor stuff at first. He would be tasked with driving packages around the island, occasionally over to Lombok and Java, and even the occasional flight to Sumatra, where he had only to hand deliver letters to a contact in the tiny jungle village of Bukit Lawang in the north central highlands. Putu was under strict instruction not to ask any questions, which suited him fine. He asked only one, right at the start of his work with the Macan.
“Does any of your… your business, involve children or drugs?”
Jago simply smiled when he answered. “No, Putu. No children and no drugs. I am a family man, and you have my word.”
Putu would never have become involved in that kind of business, regardless of his debt to the man, and he believed Jago, aware he had a daughter of his own.
That work continued for several months, and it wasn’t long before his debt to his boss was repaid and he had started to earn his own money. And just as Jago had promised, it was good money.
Putu had managed to conceal his shady associations with the mafia from Ketut, his family and the rest of the banjar community, telling them only that he worked for an independent delivery company, which in a way he did. It explained his frequent spells away from the banjar, and no one doubted his sincerity these days and asked no questions. Ketut was even proud of his older brother, and of the hard work that brought more financial stability into the family and to the wider banjar community.
Putu had steadily climbed the hierarchy of the Macan over those initial few months, and had finally been trusted to transfer a full truck load of Jago’s merchandise, from the bustling port in Denpasar to a village in east Bali. It was the opportunity he had been waiting for.
At just the same time, though, he was secretly presented with an alternative opportunity, and with the staggering rewards on offer, once again he was just too weak to resist.
One of Jago’s competitors, a Chinese businessman named Quang Xi, had approached Putu through a mediary with an offer the big man could not refuse. All he’d been asked to do by Xi’s associate was to redirect the shipment, claim to Jago that the load had been hijacked, and Putu would receive a payment so massive he knew he could retire from that business for good.
It was a simple plan. But in the unpredictable life of Putu, simple plans had gone wrong before.
After first declining the offer, he then witnessed something that made him change his mind. He overheard a conversation between Jago and a client, in which they were discussing a shipment of heroin from the Philippines via Sulawesi. Jago had assured Putu he was not involved with drugs, but it had been a lie. Putu felt betrayed, and wanting to leave Jago and that business behind, and considering the money on offer from Xi, he accepted the Chinese man’s proposal.
Putu had a good heart, despite his often terrible choices. He figured he could do that final big money job, and in doing so financially secure the futures of not only his own family, but his extended family in Nyuh Kuning banjar, forever.
On the day of the scheduled delivery he collected the unmarked load in an equally unmarked van from the dock in Denpasar and drove to the pre-determined location somewhere north of Ubud, not more than a couple of miles from the route Jago had instructed him to take. Once he had parked the truck on a quiet country road, somewhere near the beautiful Tegalalang rice terraces, he simply stood in the road, received a backpack containing a small fortune in cash by the waiting Chinese gang member, which he swiftly checked, and once satisfied Putu handed over the keys. It had gone without a hitch.
The next part of the operation, however, was less painless. Literally. In the need for authenticity, Putu then allowed himself to be on the receiving end of a brutal beating from two of the Chinese thugs. He had to act as if he’d been hijacked, robbed and beaten, and of course he’d claim to Jago he’d put up a valiant fight. Once the one-sided scuffle was over, all told the men had given him a pair of black eyes and some severe bruises over his arms and back, and he was in genuine pain.
But once they’d driven away, Putu doubled up in pain on the side of the road but a little shy of $50,000 richer, he couldn’t help but smile.
And then things unravelled, and they’d been unravelling more and more every day until his niece Ayu had been snatched this morning.
Putu stood there before his uncle, brother, and friend, a look of sheer devastation in his eyes. Ketut hardly recognised the man before him, his older brother, someone he had looked up to and in many ways hero-worshipped his entire life.
Putu was defeated. His powerful shoulders stooped and the confident, fearless expression that was normally a permanent fixture on his hard face was gone, replaced by a haunted, tired look of guilt and remorse so out of place that for a moment Ketut even felt sorry for him. But it was only for a moment.
Then his own eyes narrowed, and he was about to speak when the kelian stepped forward and unleashed a vicious slap to Putu’s cheek that was so fierce it rocked him back on his heels. But he didn’t back away and stood there, his expression unchanged but now accompanied by a stream of tears that fell from pure and unadulterated shame.
“Who has Ayu, Putu?” asked Kane, taking a passive approach. “Tell us who took Ayu.”
Putu remained silent for a long moment, unable to say the words. He closed his eyes tight, as if doing battle with some internal demons.
“I… I can not tell you. Things will be a lot worse if—”
“Worse? How could it be worse?” shouted the kelian, desperation tinging his words with fire. “My daughter has been taken and you say it could be worse?” He edged forward again, as if to strike like he had done a moment before, but Hiram stepped between them and placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” he said. “There has been enough violence today already.”
The kelian seethed, eyes wild with emotional distress and a terrible sense of loss. But after a moment his taut muscles relaxed and his entire body sagged, as if he felt helpless. Kane guided him to a seat, which the kelian took, and placed both hands over his face as if he couldn’t bare to look at Putu a moment longer.
Ketut edged closer to his brother, and in a tone that left no doubt as to the sincerity of his words, said, “You need to talk. Now!”
Chapter Seven
As if Ayu wasn’t scared enough, in an unknown location, locked in a dungeon, ugly men with guns opening the grate above and grunting as they tossed her down a little food and the occasional bottle of water, and knowing there were many massacred tigers nearby, a sudden and terrifying rumble shook the ground and the walls around her, a few of the crumbling bricks striking her head and shoulders from above. Ayu didn’t have any screams left, but more tears fell as she ducked for cover in the darkness.
The men had taken Ayu to their secret base somewhere on the lower slopes of Mouth Agung, Bali’s largest and only active volcano. It had lain dormant for more than half a century, but over the last few months a series of small tremors and subterranean activity had scientists at Bali’s Centre for Volcanology and Geological Hazard Mitigation concerned an eruption might be imminent. There hadn’t been enough serious threat to evacuate the villages that dotted the volcano’s populated lower slopes, where many thousands of Balinese natives lived and scratched out their living. But the scientists knew one thing; the pressure beneath Bali’s ancient earth was growing.
But none of that mattered to Ayu.
To her, the horrible grumbling sounds from below her feet sounded just like the Hindu she-devil Rangda.
Chapter Eight
“This was never supposed to happen,” pleaded Putu. “I was stupid. Twice. I admit it. I saw an opportunity to make some quick money and took it. I only wanted to repay the banjar community for all the support it has given me over the years, all the forgiveness it has shown me.” He paused and looked pointedly at the kelian and Ketut. “That you have shown me.”
The two men remained impassive, their eyes on Putu. Kane didn’t understand all they were saying, his basa Balinese language skills sufficient only to gather the main gist. But he didn’t need to be fluent in their native tongue to understand the truth and pain in Putu’s eyes. He was undoubtedly sorry for what he had caused, and was clearly at a loss at what to say or do next. But he pushed on, desperate to be understood.
“I… I was… the people I worked for did not believe me when I told them I had been robbed. Jago gave me an ultimatum; if I did not return his product within two weeks they would… they would make me regret it. They never mentioned my family, and I believed they would only punish me. So I approached the Chinese buyers and begged them to return the goods, but they laughed and threatened me if I did not let it go. They had already paid me very well, they said, and it was true, they had. They just used me and then turned their backs on me. After the risk I had tak—”
“You were so stupid,” blurted Ketut. “So stupid. Have you learned nothing from all your mistakes?”
Putu hung his head again, the pain of Ketut’s truths piling more shame upon him. “Yes, I was stupid,” he muttered. He lifted his head again and looked at Ketut. “I am sorry, brother,” he said, then turned to the kelian. “And you too, sir, and your wife… I am so very sorry. I love Ayu as if she was my own daughter, and I would never have done anything like this if I thought they would hurt my family.”
Putu’s eyes were wide and once more brimming with hot tears of guilt. He closed them tight, trying to stem the flow, and after a long, deliberate moment he shook his head and took a deep breath to compose himself. And when he at last opened his eyes again, the other men saw a new look there.
Determination.
And rage.
“I swear to you now,” he said, eyes locked on the kelian’s. “I will not stop until I return Ayu to you. Even if it kills me.”
Chapter Nine
In Ayu’s makeshift prison cell all had at last fallen quiet. But for many minutes the deep rumbling that emanated from below ground had continued to shake the walls and floor around her. It had caused alarm among her captives, too, several of whom she had heard not far from her cell in frantic discussion. They did not seem happy.
Ayu could not make out what they were saying, but there was definitely some serious disagreement among them, arguing this way and that, and then back again in loud, angry voices.
The quaking ground had dislodged one of the shelves from the wall, causing thousands of dollars’ worth of damage and triggering a great deal of stress among the men, who would rather face the might of the volcano than the wrath of The Rooster.
Good, Ayu thought, though it didn’t help her predicament at all. Despite her tentative age Ayu was bright and intelligent and figured she was at some kind of illegal warehouse and that these men dealt in the forbidden trade of tiger products. She had learned somewhere that certain parts of the tiger were special, though she didn’t understand how or why. All she knew was that tigers were rare and beautiful and had been her favourite animal since uncle Putu had first taken her to see one at the zoo in Kuta when she was three-years-old.
As the quaking had calmed down, so had Ayu, and she began to think more clearly about her situation. The men had not hurt her, though she had some scratches and aching bruises from the journey on the motorbike and in the trucks, and from when they’d tossed her into the pit. But they had given her food and water, so they wanted her at least a little healthy. But why?
She knew she had done nothing to deserve this, and could think of no reason why strange men would come to her village and take her. It was difficult for her to understand.
Ayu was fond of all her aunties and uncles, and loved each of them dearly, but she’d always held a special fondness for her uncle Putu, who always found time to play with her and give her presents. It was Putu who had bought her favourite toy tiger at the zoo, and she even named it Babaya Putu. Baby Putu.
Then she remembered she had lost it during the motorbike ordeal, and was hit by a sudden wave of sadness. But it quickly passed. Ayu knew she needed to be a big girl now, because she knew her uncle Putu was looking for her and she had to be ready to leave when he came.
But how can he find me if I am hidden in this dark hole? I have to get out of here, she thought, finding new resolve.
I must escape.
Chapter Ten
It was decided Putu and Ketut would set off in search of Ayu immediately. They briefly considered notifying the police, but they knew in Bali, as in most of Indonesia, corruption had become so bad that there was every chance the police were involved with, perhaps even controlled by, the mafia, probably the Macan. Corruption had escalated on the island since the early 2000s, when newly installed Chief of Police Madeh Pastika formed an illicit allegiance with the mafia, and gained some undeserved fame in the aftermath of the 2002 Bali bombings. No… in this situation they were definitely better off on their own.
Kane immediately offered to join them on their mission, to which he was promptly told no. It was the banjar kelian who spoke.
“No, Hiram. Not your problem. Very dangerous.”
“With respect, sir, I insist. You have become like family to me, the three of you. The whole of Nyuh Kuning has welcomed me into the community with open arms, and I want to help—I will help—in any way I can.”
Ketut glanced from Hiram to the kelian, then to Putu, and nodded. Putu approached Kane and embraced him, the two tall men looking into each other’s eyes.
“Suk-sma, my brother,” he said. Thank you.
Kane simply nodded, mad at his friend for the trouble and anguish he’d caused, but sensing the very real remorse and guilt over everything he had done he knew he would also do everything in his power to help.
“I do not know exactly where their operation is based. They only ever give neutral drop-off points for the trucks, in order to keep their base secret. But I think I know how I can find it. We must go to Kuta. It is time to pay an old friend a visit.”
Putu, Ketut and Kane were given their blessing, first by the village shaman, who prayed for the safe return of themselves and of course Ayu. But perhaps more importantly, the banjar kelian also gave Putu his own blessing. It was crucial for Putu to know he had the support of the leader of their village. He had started this terrible mess, and he would never forgive himself for his selfish, stupid mistakes.
He looked at his brave uncle, drawing strength from the blessing, it instilling in him a great determination to make things right, a single minded focus he had not felt for anything in a long time.
This is my chance for redemption, he thought. Perhaps the final chance.
I can not get this wrong.
I will not get this wrong.
Ten minutes later the three men were speeding south west towards the hustle and bustle of Kuta, Bali’s first–and still biggest–tourist destination.
Kuta first sprang to prominence in the late 70s and early 80s, when international backpackers began arriving in their droves to play on the unspoiled beaches and ride the world class surf breaks. But over the last twenty years, as Bali became an unmissable stop on the over-travelled backpacker trail, Kuta had become crowded, overdeveloped, polluted, and had gained a deserved reputation as a wild party town where anything goes and usually did.
That hedonism came to a tragic tipping point in October 2002 when a group of Islamic terrorists chose the Sari nightclub in Kuta to demonstrate to the world what would happen if disrespectful foreigners continued to ruin what was once a peaceful fishing town. The bomb, detonated in a backpack by a suicide bomber from the Jemaah Islamiyah Islamist group, killed 202 innocent victims, mostly Australian, and injured or maimed 250 more. Other reports, however, suggested the bombing was orchestrated by bigger players. An audio-cassette discovered later allegedly contained a voice message recorded by Osama bin Laden, which stated that the Bali bombings–there were two other simultaneous incidents, a car bomb nearby and a smaller detonation outside the US consulate–were a direct retaliation against despised neighbour Australia’s support of the USA’s war against terror, and also for the part they played in the liberation of East Timor from Indonesia. Whatever the truth, the message was clear, and tourism took a nosedive for several years after the horrific incident.
But Kuta bounced back, and is now as wild as ever, and if possible, even seedier than before. Now the problems are more nefarious. Drugs are widely available, despite the death penalty for those caught dealing. Like all south-east Asian party towns, prostitution is a massive industry run by the mafia who rule the entire town, from the very bottom to the highest positions in local government.
But perhaps the worst development has been the emergence of child prostitution, and nowhere is this more prominent than in the dingy back alleys of Poppies Lane, once a favourite hangout of peaceful pot smoking hippies but now the rotting heart of a degrading town where one can buy anything from fake passports, drugs, guns, kidneys, and now even children. It is the inevitable route into chaos and debauchery that happens the world over, when fallible men become too greedy and everything has a price.
