Bali Bule Hunter

by Michael Powers

  “I’m okay,” Budi insisted. “I’d be better with a couple cocktails in me, but I’m okay.”

  “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanna go home and lock the door,” Greg assured Budi, stroking his arm softly, “but I think we’re safer together, and on the move.”

  Budi pointed the Kijang toward the alley leading out of the parking lot. “I’d go nuts sitting at home alone right now. Really, I’ll be fine.”

  Ten minutes later, Budi parked in front of the travel agency. “You two better wait here. My friend gets nervous when money changes hands and there are strangers watching.”

  While Budi was inside, Greg desperately wanted to ask Rial where Uncle Ted was, but that wasn’t the deal. Rial would only reveal the location when he held a visa with his name on it, so Greg continued to honor their agreement. Budi came bouncing back to the Kijang after a few minutes grinning ear to ear.

  “Got ‘em! They’re perfect. Here, take a look at the visa,” he urged Rial, handing him the precious document. “Signed, stamped, and it matches your passport and birth certificate.”

  Rial inspected his visa. “How I know this good?”

  Budi explained his friend bought blank Indonesian passports from a government official in Jakarta. The blank passport numbers were valid and the travel agent used Rial and Donny’s fake birth certificates and recent photos to complete the biographical portion. An insider at the U.S. Consulate on Bali supplied stamped work visas good for five years.

  “In India or Pakistan, a fake passport and U.S. work visa can cost up to ten-thousand U.S. dollars,” Budi boasted. “This package for two plus airfare would be worth more than twenty-thousand dollars, but we got it for the bargain price of four-thousand. Pretty good, huh guys?”

  “Truly amazing!” Greg complimented his friend, marveling at how quickly Budi recovered from the motorbike explosion. “You become more valuable by the hour.”

  “Passport and ticket?” Rial asked.

  Budi held them up for Rial to inspect, but hung onto them.

  Curious to see what the fake documents looked like, Greg asked to examine them. As he paged through the passport and compared it to the birth certificate and visa, everything looked authentic. “When Rial goes through U.S. Customs, they’ll scan the bar code on his passport. Will it work?”

  “Yup,” Budi assured them. “My friend told me the scan checks for stolen or missing passports, or duplicate numbers. That’s how they catch people with forged or altered documents. Passports like these are foolproof because they’re actually issued by the government and can be tailored to fit any person.”

  Greg was impressed with Budi’s resourcefulness. The ease with which he procured the fakes made Greg uncomfortable. “For enough money, anyone can still get into the States,” Greg remarked. “That means most of the other measures enacted after 9/11 haven’t made us any safer.”

  “Anyone willing to take some risk can do it for very little money,” Budi nodded. “My friend told me there are websites selling passports from obscure little countries like British Honduras which no longer exist, or whose names have changed. They’re known as camouflage passports to hide someone’s identity, but they won’t work for someone trying to get into the States or any EU country. The passport system relies on issuing country integrity, and birth certificates which can be easily forged, so there’s still widespread fraud.”

  “That’s good for Rial and Donny,” Greg mumbled. “Bad for the world, especially with ISIS trying to create as much chaos as possible.”

  “Donny papers?” Rial asked.

  Budi held up Donny’s papers for Rial to check.

  Satisfied, Rial announced, “We go Batur Lake. Rent boat. See Ted.”

  Budi turned to Greg. “Get comfortable. It’s a two-hour drive on single-lane roads to Batur Lake from here. You’ll finally get to see more of Bali than gay beaches and bars!”

  “I’ve got my digital camera,” Greg replied agreeably as he settled in. “Now I can take some pretty pics for the folks back home.”

  As Budi headed out of Denpasar, Greg tapped his shoulder. “This cashier’s check should cover the documents and plane tickets.”

  Budi pocketed the check without looking at it. “Wanna receipt, Greg?”

  “Not necessary,” Greg assured his friend, noting Budi hadn’t even glanced at the check. He knew his roommate Jaya would have examined it for decimal point accuracy, a quirk that annoyed Greg more than he cared to admit.

  Chapter 11

  Relieved he would be seeing his uncle in a matter of hours, Greg remembered his promise to call Liana. When he dialed her number, she answered on the first ring.

  “Greg, are you all right? I heard there was an explosion outside your hotel!”

  Fearing Liana would worry even more, Greg didn’t mention the vehicle swap. “We’re all fine. We saw the explosion as we were leaving the hotel. Right now we’re on our way to Batur Lake. That’s where Rial says we’ll find Ted.”

  Liana was silent for a moment, wondering if anyone had told Greg what was on the northern shore of the lake. “I’m glad you’re okay. The drive will take a couple hours. Have you passed through Ubud yet?”

  “No, we’re still in Denpasar. Why do you ask?”

  “Would you mind stopping by my home? It’s on the way. I’d like to ride along with you.”

  “We borrowed a Kijang and it’s not air-conditioned. Sure you don’t mind a little discomfort?”

  “Not at all!” she assured him. “It’ll do me good to leave the city and get some fresh air.”

  “Okay, we’ll pick you up. I’ve got your business card with your home address so I think we’ll be able to find you. I’ll call you back if we get lost.”

  “I’ll be waiting outside. See you in a few minutes, Greg!”

  “Sure thing, Liana. Looks like everything’s working out after all, with a little help from my new Bali friends.”

  “Let’s hope so, Greg. Bye.”

  As Greg stuffed the cell phone in his pocket, Budi asked, “Who were you talking to?”

  “A woman I met on the flight to Bali. She wants to ride up to Batur Lake with us.”

  “Her name is Liana?”

  “Yup.”

  “Lives in Ubud?”

  “Yup.”

  “Art gallery owner?”

  “Are you friends?” Greg asked. “Guess it doesn’t surprise me. You seem to know everyone on this island!”

  “She’s my sister,” Budi informed Greg quietly.

  Greg considered the connection between Budi and Liana for several moments, imagining an ugly reunion. “Guess you won’t need directions to her home,” he smiled weakly.

  “You should let her know I’m your driver. She may change her mind about coming with us.”

  Greg sighed heavily. “You’re right. It’s only fair. Budi, I’m sorry about this. I really had no idea you two are related.”

  “I’m not upset,” Budi lied. “How were you to know some fancy lady you met on the plane would be related to someone like me?”

  “That’s not what I was thinking,” Greg reprimanded Budi firmly.

  When Budi remained silent, Greg dialed Liana’s number again and explained his new friend was her brother. She admitted she suspected as much, then insisted she still wanted to join them.

  “She still wants to join us,” Greg reported. “If you don’t mind, Budi, can we stop to pick her up?”

  “Sure,” Budi replied icily.

  Greg told Liana to expect them in a few minutes, then apologized to Budi again.

  “Relax, Greg. I’m not offended. I haven’t spoken to my sister since I moved out of her home. I see her around at art festivals, but we never talk.”

  Greg slumped in his seat, wondering again what he’d gotten himself into. Halfway around the globe, he was being tailed, had threatened an American embassy officer, watched a man on a motorbike get blown to bits for helping him, and was trusting two young Indonesians he just met to drive him acro
ss Bali to his uncle. Nothing about his situation felt right.

  Liana was waiting by the front gate when the Kijang stopped. Dressed casually, she wore a white cotton top, blue jeans and hiking boots, with a nylon jacket wrapped around her tiny waist.

  “Sporty, but still elegant,” Greg greeted her as he held the Kijang door open. Rial and Liana exchanged polite greetings, then Liana gazed at her brother and smiled.

  “Good to see you, Budi. You look well.”

  “You too,” Budi replied, tightly controlling his voice and face. “Everyone ready to roll?”

  Greg snapped his seatbelt in place. “Let’s go!”

  As Budi pulled back onto the main highway to Batur Lake, Greg’s phone beeped. He read Jaya’s request for an update, dreading a lengthy reply. The roaming charges to call San Diego on his cell phone would be hefty, so he sent a brief text: On way to Batur Lake. Arrive two hours. Will let you know when I see Ted.”

  Rial watched Greg, then asked who he was texting.

  “My roommate Jaya in San Diego. He wants to know every move I make,” Greg chuckled. “Guess he’s worried about me.”

  “Jaya? Him Indonesian?” Rial asked, squirming in his seat.

  “Yes,” Greg smiled. “We met at UCLA and became friends. He’s from Sumatra, too. I don’t remember what village, but he went to school in Medan, then lived on Bali for a year before moving to the States.”

  “Jaya Gunter?” Rial asked, eyes wide.

  Greg squinted at Rial. “How did you know his last name?”

  “UCLA...California...work for big wireless?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.” Greg read there were forty million people on Sumatra. It seemed like an unusual coincidence to meet two people from Sumatra living half a world apart who knew each other. “You know him?”

  Rial went limp, then tugged Budi’s left arm. “Jaya....Yanto brother. Business partner. Him call Yanto, say we go Batur Lake. Yanto kill me! Must hide, Budi!”

  “You’ll be all right,” Budi assured the frightened teen, secretly glad that his chief rival was suddenly Greg’s enemy. “We won’t let Yanto find you. We’ll go to the lake, find Uncle Ted, and get you to the airport before Yanto knows what’s happening.”

  Greg shook his head as the pieces fit together. “This is beginning to make more sense. Jaya tried to talk me out of this trip. He wanted me to let the Bali police handle the search for Ted. Ever since my arrival, he’s been calling and e-mailing constantly, asking for updates. After each update, he suggests I end the search and return to San Diego. I’m such a fool! He’s probably the one who painted the target on Uncle Ted’s back in the first place. I can’t believe someone I thought was my best friend would do this!”

  Liana grasped Greg’s hand. “You had no idea Jaya was using you. When this is all over, he’ll pay for his treachery.”

  Greg found Liana’s observation less than comforting. “Rial may have good reason for concern. What if Yanto and his pals race up to Batur Lake? How will we defend ourselves if they’re armed?”

  “I brought a taser,” Budi announced proudly.

  “Where’d you get a taser?” Greg asked.

  “Bought it on-line,” Budi smirked. “Shipping cost more than the taser cuz I bought it used.”

  “You’re gonna protect us with a used taser?” Greg scoffed.

  “Hey, don’t give me any of your bule shit or I’ll give you a live taser demo!” Budi threatened.

  “Bule shit?” Greg chuckled, glancing at Liana. “Has your brother always been this amusing?”

  Liana recalled a happier time in their lives. “He made many jokes as a small boy,” she confided. “Some people thought he was funny, but he often came home bleeding and bruised.”

  Ignoring the childhood memories, Budi returned to the taser. “Don’t worry. I tested it. It works perfectly and I just loaded a new cartridge.”

  “What is taser?” Rial asked innocently.

  “Stun gun,” Budi explained. “Shoots an electric pulse through wires up to twenty-five meters away. Aim, shoot, and a dart attached to a wire flies at the target. Paralyzes up to a minute. It’s a safe way to defend yourself without hurting your attacker.”

  “What if man with gun more than twenty-five meter?” Rial asked.

  “Then we start praying,” Budi muttered.

  It was deathly quiet inside the Kijang as they each nursed their own worries. Greg gazed at the ricefields and centuries-old terraced hillsides they passed. Motorbikes laden with bamboo baskets piled ten meters high slowed traffic to a crawl. Trucks, vans, bikes, and cars choked the highway. As one slow moving vehicle turned off, another took its place, frustrating Budi.

  Passing through a third village, Budi announced, “Halfway point. Anyone need to stop for food, drink, or toilet?”

  A bearded man in a flowing black robe slowly crossed the street. Budi stopped respectfully to avoid hitting the old man, who dropped something, then bent low to retrieve it. When the old man rose, he signaled his apology to the Kijang, then scurried out of the way. Budi gunned the engine, quickly putting the intersection behind them.

  Rial and Liana indicated they didn’t need to stop. Greg checked his watch. They had been driving exactly an hour. “I don’t need anything either, Budi. You’re making good time despite the traffic. Should I make a phone call? See if I can create some trouble?”

  “Greg, let’s play a game called ‘What Am I Thinking’. I’m thinking of a place you can shove your phone. Can you guess where?” Budi grinned maliciously.

  “Is it my nose?”

  “Lower,” Budi hinted.

  “My navel?”

  “Lower,” Budi giggled.

  “I know!” Rial cried, joining the game.

  The Kijang began vibrating badly, veering to the left, so Budi pulled off the road and stopped. Both Greg and Budi checked the front of the Kijang and discovered the passenger side tire was flat. “It’s got good tread,” Greg observed. “Must have hit a nail.”

  Budi removed something from the tire. “Think I found what that old man was looking for in the last village we passed through.”

  Greg examined the multi-spiked object. “If you wanna give someone a flat, this’ll sure do the trick. Why would an old man do that to us?”

  “Maybe that old man has a friend named Yanto,” Budi guessed.

  “I suppose it’s possible Jaya’s called Yanto by now,” Greg agreed. “Hope the spare is full. Let’s get this tire changed fast.”

  Luckily, the spare was in good shape. Budi and Greg changed the tire like a NASCAR pit crew, then rejoined the slow procession to Batur Lake. Budi checked the rearview mirror more frequently. Greg half-turned in his seat to chat with Liana, while he kept an eye out for the silver Toyota, or any other suspicious vehicles.

  Chapter 12

  When they reached Batur Lake, Rial directed them to Kedisan, where they found a boat rental shack, badly in need of repair. As Budi parked the Kijang, Liana leaned forward. “Rial, are we going to Trunyan?”

  Rial smiled.

  “What’s Trunyan?” Greg asked Liana.

  “Trunyan is an ancient village, accessible only by boat. The village is believed to be more than a thousand years old. People there live differently from other Balinese. For instance, they don’t practice cremation like most Hindus. The dead are placed in open bamboo cages near the sacred Trunyan tree. The odor of rotting flesh is masked by a fragrance from the old tree. Legend has it the incense-like fragrance attracted the Goddess of the Lake and she ordered a temple built there. Tera munyan means wood perfume and that’s probably where the name Trunyan comes from.”

  “Popular tourist attraction?” Greg guessed.

  “It was once,” Liana nodded. “Tourists were about the only source of income for the village since they only grow cabbage and onions. For many years, the people begged other villages for rice since it won’t grow in their soil. It’s one of the few places on Bali where begging was actually encouraged. For small money, t
ourists could wander around the village and cemetery. Children and street vendors peddled trinkets the entire time. When village elders complained tourists were violating their sacred burial ground, the provincial governor forbid tour groups from visiting Trunyan. Seemed strange since tourists were their main source of income. I have no idea what they live on now.”

  “A tree masks the odor of decaying corpses?” Greg frowned. “Why don’t they just burn or bury their dead like everyone else?”

  “The dead are left exposed so birds will feed on them,” Liana explained. “They believe the birds will carry their souls to heaven, and this pleases their gods. They hope they will receive more favorable treatment during reincarnation.”

  Greg shivered at the thought of piles of rotting corpses, crawling with rats, maggots, and snakes. “It sounds gross, not to mention unsanitary. Have you been there before?”

  “Yes, I visited a couple years ago, and it’s not what you imagine, Greg. The cemetery is quite small and the aroma seems to keep rodents and bugs away, so only birds feed on the dead. I saw a neat pile of bones and skulls, but no decaying bodies.”

  “I see,” Greg commented quietly. He found the concept interesting, but was more concerned with locating his uncle.

  “Batur Lake is probably more interesting,” Liana continued. “It’s a crater, formed when Mount Batur erupted thirty-thousand years ago. The lake is about ten kilometers in diameter and more than sixty meters deep. Bali is an island with a thousand gods, a thousand temples, and a thousand stories to explain each one. Local people believe the Trunyan tree is where their dead begin their after-life journey.”

  “Guess the boat rental business is pretty lousy now that tour groups no longer come here,” Greg observed, waving a finger at the empty boat shack. “If we have time, maybe we can take a look at that big old Trunyan tree after we find Ted. Should be a good photo opportunity for me.”