The Secret Temple of Kintamani

By Ernie Palamarek

The exotic tropical island of Bali is the fabulous setting for the aftermath of the infamous BarLan Bre-X gold mine stock swindle in Borneo which is still thundering throughout South East Asia and echoing around the world.

A coniving and truly-evil, Irish-Canadian stock promoter from Jakarta, Indonesia has declared bankrupcy and is on the prowl to regain his riches. He stops at nothing; his rampant greed and lust know no bounds. Murder, opium smuggling and fraud are his forte!

A seductive Balinese physiotherapist nurse lost her family's fortune. Now her brother is missing from his job as a geologist at the two-mile-high Goldberg Gold Mine in New Guinea. Was he murdered? Where is his gold Ganesa icon? It's a mystery! In a state of near-collapse she has nowhere to turn!

This action-packed second novel in a series features the somewhat-jaded but dashing Rune Erikson, who enters a steamy world of scintillating Balinese myths and legends. He is caught up in the middle of an adventure where the ruthless winner takes all. Rune enlists the aid of his stockbroker buddy, Logan, in a race against time where the prizes are a stolen fortune, a missing brother, and the mother lode of gold. Coloured by romance and eroticism, this intrigue entices Rune off his sailing ketch Valhalla in Victoria's Fisherman's Wharf into the arms of beguiling Asian beauties on the exotic tropical island of Bali.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Aug 14, 2006
• ISBN: 9781412241670

Ernie Palamarek

Ernie Palamarek has appeared on New York's WAMC syndicated weekly, The Evironment Show, reading from his novels to world-wide audiences of over fifty million people. He has had feature articles and photos published in national magazines and is the author of the Rune Erikson series of novels which begin to unfold in Canada and blossom in exotic locations around the world. Having spent his boyhood growing up in the saddle on the Alberta cattle ranching prairie, he has a keen appreciation for nature's wondrous beauty and its amazing resiliency which balances the eggshell fragility of the environment. He has worked in public relations for a major newspaper, in a research and development laboratory, in his own businesses, and in the service of a federal government agency. Combining his eye for detail with a vivid imagination, he continues to roam the world in search of adventure while trying to sidestep danger Ñ to observe, to listen, and to talk to wonderfully-different people in strange, exotic lands. He experiences the adventure and journeys through life with his wife, Sharon, a published photographer in her own right. She has a keen eye for style, colour and composition, and shares his passionate quest for adventurous travel. The author has lived in Victoria, British Columbia since he was twenty years old. Vancouver Island, a temperate rainforest off Canada's west coast, is his retreat in the Pacific Ocean. AMAZONIA is Palamarek's fourth novel. Click here to contact the author, TRADE WINDS PRODUCTIONS

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THE SECRET TEMPLE OF KINTAMANI

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ERNIE PALAMAREK

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TRADE WINDS PRODUCTIONS

THE SECRET TEMPLE OF KINTAMANI

All Rights reserved

Copyright © 2000 by Ernie Palamarek

Cover Design copyright © by Sharon Palamarek

Clipart characters, where used, by Corel

Photographs copyright © by Sharon Palamarek

Photograph copyright © by Ernie Palamarek

This is a work of fiction. All the names, companies, organizations, places, products, incidents, and events portrayed in this book are either produced as a result of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously without any intent to describe their actual conduct or performance. All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The moral right of the author has been reserved.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, by any information storage and retrieval system, or otherwise, without prior permission in writing from the author.

A Trade Winds Production

E-mail author: [e-mail]

First soft cover edition: 2000

Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data

Palamarek, Ernie

The secret temple of Kintamani

ISBN 1-55212-444-4

ISBN 978-1-4122-4167-0 (ebook)

I. Title.

PS8581.A4863S42 2000      C813’.54        C00-910949-8

PR9199.3.P313S42 2000

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10      9      8      7      6      5      4

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

ANGEL EYES

CHAPTER TWO

A MOUNTAIN LAID BARE

CHAPTER THREE

BY HOOK AND BY CROOK

CHAPTER FOUR

ALL THAT GLITTERS

CHAPTER FIVE

WHEELERS, DEALERS & STEALERS

CHAPTER SIX

TWO FOR DESSERT

CHAPTER SEVEN

BLUE BRIDGE BLUES

CHAPTER EIGHT

PAGING DOCTOR GADGET

CHAPTER NINE

VANISHED INTO THIN AIR

CHAPTER TEN

ON A WING AND A PRAYER

CHAPTER ELEVEN

BALI HIGH

CHAPTER TWELVE

KINTAMANI

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

NEW GUINEA TRAIL

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

BORNEO

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

GOLD, GREED AND GRIT

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

VALLEY OF THE LOST HEADS

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

UP TO OUR NECKS IN HOT WATER

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

NEGATIVE EXPOSURES

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE MAIN EVENT

CHAPTER TWENTY

SINGAPORE SWING

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

DOUBLE TROUBLE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

TERROR ON TWIN TOWERS

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

SETTING THE HOOK

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

MALACCA STRAITS PIRATES!

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

SATUN SONGTHAEWS

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

LONGTAILS & SHORT FUSES

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

ASHES TO ASHES

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

DUST TO DUST

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The exotic tropical island of Bali is the fabulous setting for this second Rune Erikson novel. The aftermath of the infamous BarLan Bre-X gold mine stock swindle in Borneo thunders throughout South East Asia and echos around the world. Fortunes that had been won are now lost.

Barney Lanyon, a conniving stock promoter from Jakarta has lost his fortune and that of his clients. Now he is on the prowl to regain that which he had lost and more! He will stop at nothing; his greed and his morals know no bounds!

Alain Larocque, a small-town Alberta farmer, mortgaged the farm and sunk his last dollar into Bre-X through Lanyon’s BarLan investment company. He hasn’t seen Lanyon nor his money since that day. The bank is now calling his loan. He has fallen into the booze. Revenge is on his mind.

Dewi Parawati, a sultry Balinese registered physiotherapist, nursed Rune Erikson back to health. Her striking beauty makes men lust after her and women green with envy. She is in a state of near-collapse as she discovers that her family’s fortune has evaporated. Then…

Wayan Parawati, sexy Dewi’s geologist brother, is missing from his job atop the two-mile-high Goldberg gold mine in New Guinea. Although he is missing, a young female New York newspaper reporter has been found there. Her throat was slashed. The natives were blamed. Lanyon was there!

Rune Erikson, formerly in the service of a shadowy government communications agency, is enticed off his sailing ship, Valhalla, in Victoria’s Fisherman’s Wharf by the alluring Balinese beauty and the connivance of the truly-evil Barney Lanyon. Now it is Rune’s turn, along with his stockbroker friend, Logan, to return the favour by helping Dewi to try to find her lost brother and to recoup her family’s stolen fortune. Rune is drawn into this erotic intrigue that is coloured by the myths and legends of the exotic Balinese.

By the author of

THUNDERSEA

For Bob and Kay Palamarek

CHAPTER ONE

ANGEL EYES

FISHERMAN’S WHARF, VICTORIA, BRITISH COLUMBIA. The raven-haired angel wore a crisp white dress as she gently opened the door to my darkened room while furtively glancing left then right down the hospital corridor. I had a premonition that she would be coming. As she was only a silhouette against the brilliant hallway lights, I had no way of knowing that it was really her. Entering, the slender beauty stood quietly in the antiseptic room waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. A few moments passed before this vision in white surreptitiously moved to my bedside in the spectral gloom of night. Only the rustle of voile betrayed her stealth. I closed my eyes so that I was barely able to see her through the shadows of my eyelashes although a hint of her subtle scent had preceded her, infusing me with her silken sensuousness. Pausing at my bedside, she raised her arm then lowered her hand into the folds of her pocket. I remained motionless, waiting apprehensively with partially-lidded eyes; my breath was stilled. Pulling her hand back, I caught a glimpse of a shiny object in her hand. I stiffened as she held it up.

Scalpel? Hypodermic needle?

The thoughts pierced my brain. My instincts were jangling. Steady, I told myself as I steeled my nerves for her next move. Leaning over, she placed the shiny object on the bed beside me. I felt a sturdy rubber cord snake along my arm as it came to a rest.

Surgical cord? Stethoscope?

A warm glow flowed over me as this dusky, angel-eyed seductress lowered her full, moist lips to mine. Her firm breasts furrowed my chest as her body molded against mine. Relaxing, I felt as if I was dying and being swept up by this angel of mercy on a flood tide to heaven.

Suddenly a blinding shaft of white light bathed both of us! A deep voice boomed out from behind the brilliance, Nurse! Just what kind of medicine are you administering anyway?

Startled, she whipped her head around to the looming shadowy figure and replied, I’m sorry doctor, it won’t happen again! Please don’t put me on report!

The early morning sunshine flooded through the square-paned quarter windows of the master cabin aboard my sailing ketch Valhalla. The blinding sunlight washed over my closed eyes, causing them to open. Startled, I tried to organize my thoughts as my mind rapidly shifted from esoteric dream to reality. I was bathed with the sun’s soothing warmth, taking the night’s chill away. Lying in bed, I glanced around, focusing my eyes before rubbing the nighttime sand out of their corners. Yet another erotic dream. My thoughts always came back to her. No, better not dwell on her. Why torture yourself, I thought, it’s useless to become obsessed with this dreamy enchantress.

My curiosity about the day got the better of me. I sat up, shifted to the end of the custom-fitted bed in the stern of my classic ketch Valhalla then swung my legs down. Standing up, I stretched my muscles in turn. It was getting harder to limber up as the years and the injuries took their toll. I glanced out through the quarter window toward the sun rising above the Inner Harbour. Boats and ships of various sizes tied up at Fisherman’s Wharf were still only dark silhouettes against the golden dawn.

I ran my fingers through my hair, threw my robe on, then walked barefoot across the cool hardwood plank deck to the galley. Taking a bag of Costa Rican coffee beans out, I ground enough for a pot of coffee. I held the freshly ground coffee to my nose and inhaled the heady aroma. Putting the coffee maker on, I went back to the master cabin ensuite to take a quick shower.

I lathered, rinsed off then let the hot water run on the nape of my neck as I warmed up. Her sensual features flashed through my mind again. I cranked the shower off. Rune Erikson, I thought, you’ve got a serious case of the hots for this exotic babe! Her image slowly drifted away as I dried off. I ran the towel over the steamed mirror, then turned my red Sony pocket radio to the CBC morning news.

To wrap up our tour of South East Asia this morning, the news announcer declared, we go to the Indonesian capital of Jakarta where we have a report from our veteran Indonesian bureau correspondent, Sandra Lynn.

Hello from Indonesia! The Indonesian capital of Jakarta was beset today by clamoring students who were demonstrating in National Monument Park. The protestors overflowed onto the streets to protest the wave of religious clashes in some of the outer islands strung along this 4,800-kilometer-long chain of islands that runs from off the west coast of Malaysia to above the east coast of Australia. Three people died and scores were injured yesterday as Christians and Muslims fighting with kris knives, machetes, spears and Molotov cocktails clashed on the spice island of Ambon which is 2300 kilometers east of Jakarta. One of the dead had been shot through the head. At least fifty people were reported to be admitted to area hospitals with gunshot wounds. Soldiers had intervened quickly to try to quell the rioting. More than 200 people have died recently in clashes on Ambon Island.

Laying out a pair of slacks and a polo shirt to wear later, I grabbed a quick shave while continuing to listen to the news.

In other news from Indonesia, a stone-age headhunting tribe on the island of New Guinea was blamed for at least one slaying and for causing explosions by setting ablaze a huge fuel storage tank at the 13,500-foot-high, U.S.-owned Goldberg mine in the Indonesian territory of Irian Jaya. Previously, there had been torchings of the colossal ore trucks that work at the mountaintop mine. It has been reported that the headhunting natives claim that the run-off water containing mine tailings has been flooding their land. They also claim their soil and drinking water have been contaminated with the leaking chemical tailings running down the mountainsides from the gold mine operations. Sketchy first reports have indicated that at least one of the dead was a female visitor to the mine site, having been killed in the skirmish by headhunters armed with kris knives. Several of the tribesmen trespassing upon the mine site have also been killed while others were wounded. This is CBC Indonesia bureau correspondent Sandra Lynn reporting from Jakarta.

Now we are going to go to Australia for… I pursed my lips and shook my head at these revelations as I snapped the radio off. It all seemed so remote being on the other side of the world as it was. And yet one couldn’t ignore it either! I dressed while vivid images flooded my mind.

Wafts of aromatic arabica coffee drew me into the galley. The coffee beans had been sent as a gift to me and had come from a friend’s fertile coffee plantation on the mile-high mountainside of the Orosi valley in Costa Rica.

Pouring myself a cup of this delightful brew, I had a sip then slipped my bare feet into a pair of floppy sandals. I put a Brubeck CD on. It led off with Angel Eyes. I climbed the narrow companionway stairs to the wheelhouse and sat in the captain’s chair. The ancient hardwood wheel gave me comfort; it was the unique patina of the wood from constant use through the years that imbued me with a sense of continuity and order in a chaotic world. Every nick and notch, every scratch and gouge had a story to tell. Some were mine but most were not for I have been the owner of this unique sailing ship for only a few years.

The sleek, two-masted Valhalla had been proudly built by Norwegian master shipwrights-Leehausen & Sons-in Oslo, Norway in 1905. This sailing ship is a ketch, lapstrake-built out of oak and fir. Displacing 65 tons, she has a 17-foot beam and is 65 feet long. The Valhalla, which means Norse heaven, was built as a North Sea fishing vessel. Later, it was commandeered by the Germans during WWII for use as a mine tender in the Baltic Sea then becoming a Norwegian coastal freighter for the Leehausen family based in Bergen after she was retrieved at war’s end. The sturdy Valhalla was eventually brought to Seattle by a newspaper publisher and converted into a private hideaway for his own use. It has many well-hidden compartments. Despite their crafty concealment, I have the luck to occasionally stumble upon a new one.

A few decades later the ship was bought with newfound wealth by an acquaintance of mine who refinished and refurbished it to its converted glory. She held him enraptured for a number of years.

My friend had been in dire straits. He sought me out. I helped him to get out of a terrible situation a few years ago. His daughter had run away to Hollywood as a starry-eyed teenager seeking fame and fortune as an actress. Instead of attaining her goal, like so many others she was caught up in the drug and prostitution underworld. He and his wife couldn’t handle this curve ball in their lives. Distraught, his wife was going to leave him; he was on the verge of suicide. Their daughter was slowly being devoured by the Hollywood wolves who, having had their fill, cast her aside on the garbage dump of life to be picked apart by street pimp slime. He asked me to help. I found and retrieved their only child. She was successfully treated at a clinic in Seattle. The three of them slowly got their lives back together. Wanting to spend more time with his wife and daughter, who were not avid sailors, he readily gave the Valhalla to me as a token of his appreciation. Some token! She is a classic beauty!

Having had my fill of being a pawn in international dealings for the government service, I took a very early retirement. Therefore my finances were limited, too limited to fund the running and maintenance of a ship of this size even if she was to be my home. My wealthy friend realized this fact of life and included a sizable sum of money as part of this token of appreciation so that I could maintain this magnificent mistress of the seas in the style to which she had become accustomed. And the money helped to ease me into a modest measure of financial independence as well.

Coffee mug in hand, I slid off the captain’s chair and went out on deck to sniff the morning air. I drew in a deep breath of air laden with a salty tang and a hint of wood smoke. It promised to be a beautiful day. I walked the sloping deck to check out the rigging and the equipment to reassure myself that all was right with my mistress and the world as I knew it. It was. I sought out a deck chair, brushed aside a remnant of the night’s dew and lowered myself into it. Putting my coffee mug down, I settled back to take in the quiet of this fine morning and to witness Fisherman’s Wharf and the rest of the Inner Harbour come to life.

A slinking river otter surfaced off the starboard bow, its rich brown coat glistening in the sunshine. Curious, it took a look around then swam along on top before arcing back under the glassy surface. I rose to check its progress underwater. It looked sleek and moved swiftly!

I caught sight of a few lazy curls of wood smoke above the float homes on the end of Fisherman’s Wharf. Somebody was up and making breakfast. It looked like it came from Becky’s place but I couldn’t be sure. She had dropped off a bowl of her latest health food for me-a wild rice and organic spinach dish. I have forgotten what else she said was in there. It was something healthy anyway. Tasty too! I’m sure she thinks that I don’t eat right but I do. Well almost always do. She and her current boyfriend are vegetarians. I like a thick juicy steak now and then. Seafood is just fine with me too. I’ll have to remember to return the bowl to her today, I thought.

Looking south onto the shore, I saw the first signs of condo construction-a real estate sales office pitching units not yet built. Oh, they have a fancy brochure showing an artist’s rendition of what they intend to build. Lots of trees and greenery and such-on the upper terraces of the rambling building! The existing surrounding utilitarian buildings are displayed in muted tones. More of our view will be lost to this progress. And their portrayal of Fisherman’s Wharf is all polished up too. It’s going to take some getting used to, the condos, that is. Fisherman’s Wharf, though, is what it is, warts and all. I wonder how long it will take the new inhabitants of the condos in the years to come to begin to complain about the fish smell coming from the wharf. It can get a little ripe up in the wharf parking lot next to the proposed condos after the fishermen have trundled and slopped their catch up the wharf ramp to haul it to the local restaurants. Well, we were here first and this is a working harbour but no doubt there will be some future condo residents who may not see it that way. The most expensive units are tagged at well over one point five million while the cheapest, if you can call them cheap, are as low as around one-fifth of that. I guess that we’ll just have to grin and bear it while rubbing shoulders with our new millionaire neighbours. Maybe some of their good fortune will rub off on us.

A half-dozen colourful Harlequin ducks paddled alongside and floated while they seemingly decided on their next move. Or were they just giving the river otter a wide berth and trying to duck out of sight behind the ship? I reveled in their unique colouration and markings. What a wonderful world this was to have birds like these in it. I had to share this sight. I looked back across the wharf fingers and noticed my friend Logan up on deck on his boat, the Grumpy II. Catching his eye, I waved him over.

Mornin’, Rune! Logan boomed a little later as he greeted me with a whiskery smile from the dock.

Good morning. Look at these guys! I exclaimed as he boarded the Valhalla and came over to the far side where I was.

Whatcha got? Logan asked as he took his chewed-up briar pipe stem out of his mouth.

Some Harlequins came by to visit me.

Ooh! Look at them! he said as he blew out a blue cloud of pungent smoke.

Pretty bunch, huh? I asked as I steadied myself with one foot on the gunwale.

Yeah, you feed them? he asked as he leaned back against the wheelhouse.

No, I don’t want to feed them. Makes them more trusting. Could get them into trouble down the road. I think they’ll be better off in the long run if they stay wary of us humans.

Makes sense. Come to think of it, you can apply that to a lot of situations, he replied. Did you see the river otter swim by?

Yes, he was sure cruising along. Maybe these guys here are trying to stay out of harm’s way.

Could be.

Did you know, I asked, that most sea ducks migrate north to the Arctic tundra to nest but the Harlequin migrates east to nest in the Rocky Mountain areas? To the mountain streams there-Jasper, Banff.

No, I didn’t but I do know that only the males have the colourful markings whereas the females like these two here have plain markings. Each female will have a bunch of males courting her like in this bunch of four males and two females.

And their numbers have been seriously depleted in the last twenty years.

Hmm.

Why don’t I pour you a cup of coffee? I just ground some fresh Costa Rican beans.

Could do with a brew, Logan said as he knocked some ashes out of his pipe into a lidded tin can that I keep on deck just for that purpose.

Just get up?

No, been up for a few hours already, he said while he poked at the residue in the pipe bowl with his tamping tool.

Couldn’t sleep?

No, just keeping track of my stocks on the Internet, he replied as he played with the hot pipe until it cooled then slipped it into his pocket. The New York and Toronto markets open three hours earlier than we do out on the coast here.

Right, forgot about that. Made your killing for the day already? I asked with a backward look and a smile as Logan followed me into the wheelhouse, down the companionway stairs, through the saloon and into the galley.

Naw, just needed a break, that’s all. Market’s not doing much today, he said as I poured him a steaming cup of coffee. Damned Asian economic meltdown is throwing a monkey wrench into a lot of peoples’ portfolios. So I got to be careful that my portfolio doesn’t get caught in the glue as it spreads. It can get nerve wracking at the best of times. All these investors threw money into the market like there’s no tomorrow. Well I got news for them! There may not be a tomorrow if the Asian flu spreads right around the globe. Doesn’t take much these days!

Time to get out of the market? I asked. Knowing that he published a market tip sheet to a select number of paying investors, I was looking for some free advice from my longtime friend.

I would if I were you, that is, if you don’t keep on top of it every day which I know you don’t. But who really knows? It’s just a huge craps shoot at best.

Yeah, but you’re probably a better craps shooter than your average bear.

There’s nobody who calls it right all the time, Logan stated in a matter-of-fact voice then took a cautious sip of the hot brew. That is good coffee! he proclaimed loudly.

A friend in Costa Rica recently sent some coffee beans up to me. Had your breakfast yet? I asked.

No, I was just going to see what I could have after I went topside to clear my head from monitoring the market, he answered.

I was thinking of having pancakes myself. Join me for breakfast? I make a wicked stack of flapjacks! I boasted.

Logan smiled and replied, Sure, sounds good. I’ve been getting tired of my own cooking anyway.

I know what you mean, I said as I got out two cast-iron frying pans and placed them on the stove to heat. Becky brought me a rice dish yesterday. It was delicious. Made a nice change.

Erikson! You lucky dog! Logan groused loudly. You been buttering her up again?

What do you mean again? I asked. She probably thinks that I needed some extra nourishment, that’s all!

Poor boy! Logan said. If I didn’t know any better I’d think she was sweet on you.

It’s just my youthful charm, Old Man.

Youthful? Haw! he scoffed as he gave me a piercing glare with his clear steel-blue eyes. I think it’s those pleading puppy dog eyes of yours that sway her to cook for you like that.

Well, whatever it takes, I laughed. I mixed the pancake batter in a bowl with a wooden spoon. Like some blueberries in your pancakes? I asked as I reached over to the sink and ran some water over my hands.

Sure, I haven’t had blueberry pancakes in a long time, Logan replied.

I flicked my wet fingers at the skillets and heard a nice sizzle indicating that they were hot enough. I poured in a dollop of olive oil. Hope you’ll have some bacon and ham with the pancakes, I said as I laid some strips of lean bacon and slabs of country ham in them.

I can taste them already, Logan declared as he swallowed then ran his tongue over his lips.

Reaching into the freezer, I got out a bag of frozen blueberries. I flipped the bacon and ham over then threw a handful of the berries into the batter and stirred them in. Grabbing a pot holder I slid the bacon and ham onto a warming plate then poured batter into the pans. A few minutes later I had a stack of fluffy pancakes steaming in the galley.

Load up your plate and we’ll sit out on the deck. It’s too nice a morning not to! I said.

Alright.

There’s maple syrup from Quebec and some soft Cowichan Valley farm butter on the counter. Help yourself to whatever you like.

Logan took some rashers of lean bacon and a slab of the country ham, slathered some butter on his pancakes and poured some maple syrup over the stack. Then he lifted his breakfast plate up to his nose, sniffed and declared, Pure ambrosia! Erikson, you are a wizard at making breakfast!

Well, I’ll just have to agree with you, I replied. Don’t forget to bring your coffee up with you.

We carefully made our way topside and set our plates and coffee on the deck table, pulled up a couple deck chairs and sat down to a sumptuous breakfast.

So how is your knee coming along? Logan asked as a hint of concern wrinkled his forehead.

Not too badly, I replied, I think all the bed rest and the extensive physiotherapy is finally paying off. Thank God for our non-profit medical care system in Canada. I shudder to think what this would have cost me in the good old U.S. of A. The medical bills would have bankrupted me!

Yeah, so true! And your leg didn’t look at all well when it got infected, in fact, I was hoping that it wasn’t gangrene setting in there.

No, it wasn’t gangrene. The doctors didn’t let it get that far. In the first days after I caught that bullet in Hawaii, I thought I was on the mend and doing just fine, but… somehow it got infected.

We were all worried when we saw you in the hospital, Logan said as he pierced a slab of ham with his fork, cut off a portion and drew it to his mouth.

Yeah, I was going stir crazy in there. If it hadn’t been for the physiotherapist, I would have gone bonkers, that’s for sure! I said as I popped a wedge of blueberry pancake into my mouth.

He do a good job?

"Actually, she did a great job," I corrected.

Ah, now it makes sense, knowing you! Logan said as he mopped up some maple syrup with a fork full of blueberry pancake.

It’s not what you think. She was very professional, maybe too professional.

Ah, love thwarted!

C’mon, women are nice to just look at and appreciate, I countered.

Uh, huh, he said in a disbelieving tone of voice.

Besides, after I was released from the hospital, I had to have physio at her clinic three times a week for months.

And?

And nothing!

Too bad.

Yeah, it was too bad, I admitted, well, this one especially-she’s a dream girl.

How was the trip? Logan asked as he changed the subject.

"It was fantastic! There wasn’t much wind so the first day I just motored the Valhalla up to Sidney Spit. I had no crew. Stayed there a night before motoring on up to Maple Bay."

Ah, Maple Bay! I love it up there, Logan exclaimed as he took a long sip out of his coffee mug. How are things up in Maple bay?

Great! But there’s been some talk about condo development around the bay.

Too bad.

Yeah.

Progress! Logan spat out the word with distaste.

Some things are still the same. I’ve got a longtime friend by the name of Freddy Longacre who’s got some family property on one of the points, beautiful piece of land… well-treed with an old cottage on it. I anchored out then took the dinghy and rowed in to his dock as I wasn’t sure if there was enough depth for the Valhalla there. Turns out there was.

Was he there?

Actually, he was. He and his charming wife had come up for the weekend to open the place up for the summer, you know, dust the cobwebs, check for mice, see if any bears were around or if the otters did any more damage. You know, that sort of thing.

Everything was okay?

Yeah. Pretty much. Except that the otters got into his boat again and made a holy mess. Oh! And I helped him repair the roof, I said as I finished off my pancake. "A huge branch had come down, probably in that windstorm we had earlier in the year. It had come down butt-first and speared the cedar shakes. Later that evening we got a nice fire going in the fireplace-huge beach stone thing it is. Threw some thick steaks onto a grill right on the embers in the fireplace. Excellent! After supper he pulled out his jug of scotch. I’m not much of a straight scotch and water drinker so I retrieved a flask of Drambuie from aboard the Valhalla. I had a few drams in my coffee that evening. We discussed a lot of the worries of the world and solved a number of its problems."

And a great time was had by all! Logan said knowingly.

You’ve got that right! The next day I went into the store in Maple bay and ran into Marni, can’t remember her last name off-hand, but she used to hang around here some of the time last summer hoping to crew on someone’s sailboat. Cute young gal with the short blonde hair.

Oh, yeah, I think I know who you mean. Kid’s sail-crazy.

"Anyway, she was there with three of her friends. They were wanting to hitch a ride back to Victoria. Well now I couldn’t pass up this opportunity. I had me a crew! She and her friends were kept really busy what with all the different sails on the ship. We ended up sailing the Valhalla all the way back here to Victoria in one day. Got some nice wind, we did. You should have seen her run all the way to Sidney!"

Just then we heard a loud bark from the waters at the side of the Valhalla. We peered over the gunwale. Sammy, the seal, had poked his mottled-gray head out of the water and looked at us with his bewhiskered face. He slid back down, rose a second time, barked again and clapped his flippers together making loud slapping sounds.

I think he wants some breakfast, Logan surmised. Have you been feeding him fish?

You know, come to think of it, I did give him some filleted remains a long time ago, I recalled.

They don’t forget, do they?

Look at the little beggar, I said.

C’mon, go work for your breakfast like the other seals, Logan said to Sammy.

That’s just the thing! The Undersea Gardens with their seal pup rehabilitation program have been feeding the young ones in their pens while Sammy has been hanging around outside the pens cadging a handout at feeding time. Now there are about two or three other harbour seals hanging around when the seal pups get their buckets of fish.

I’ve noticed that! Logan said.

I wonder what the seal pups originally did that was so bad that they had to go into rehab, I joked.

Yeah, a sort of juvy for our salt water denizens, Logan laughed. The thought had crossed my mind but the tourists like that. They draw a good crowd on the causeway walk around feeding time.

Sammy gave up his antics and slipped under the sea, heading toward the middle of the harbour channel.

Say, Rune, where’s your Harley? Logan asked as we sat back down. I haven’t seen it around.

My Fat Boy? It’s still stowed down in the forward starboard hold. Haven’t ridden for a while now, what with my knee and all. One of these days, though, I’ll winch it back out of the hold and tune it up. Then I’ll take it for a nice long ride up The Hat. While I’m up there I’ll stop in and say hi to the guys at Iron Horse near Shawnigan Lake. Maybe let them have a look at it if I run into any problems.

Iron Horse? Logan queried. What’s that?

Bike shop.

Oh! Yeah, I guess it has been a while since you’ve ridden, Logan said as he slowly pushed his deck chair back from the table and looked around. How is the dinghy?

It’s fine but I think I’ll start looking around for a Sea-Doo as well. I know they can be noisy but I plan on using it sensibly.

Where would you put her?

I’ve taken some measurements. I think it should fit quite well in the forward port hold. I’ll just winch it in and out like I do with the bike.

Yeah, that would probably work all right, Logan agreed.

It’ll be my water bike. I think it will work out just fine providing I can find just the right one for me. You know, some of these machines can tow a skier behind without any problem.

Really?

Yes, they work really slick, I replied.

So what have you got planned next, other than looking for a Sea-Doo, that is.

Nothing, just keep on living life, taking it easy and enjoying my bits and pieces of retirement as they come. How about you?

Pretty much the same. I’ve got to keep a sharp eye on the market though. I’ve got to be careful that I don’t get whacked because I didn’t pay close enough attention. And somehow I’ve got to look into my fuzzy crystal ball for my tip sheet that I publish. It’s pure hell when the market has the potential for becoming volatile in the blink of an eye!

Look at the colour of those morning clouds! I suddenly said as I glanced toward downtown. The narrow strip of cloud edging over the horizon to the east was dipped in red and gilded with gold edges.

Isn’t that a sight? Logan exclaimed. He looked at his watch and said, "Where has the time gone? I’ve got to get back to my boat. You never know what the markets will do just when you least expect it. Hey, thanks for breakfast! It was delicious, really and truly delicious!

Drop by later! Gotta go," Logan said with a wave as he steamed down the gangway onto the dock, setting the Valhalla and the dock into a slight stir with his bulk.

Good old Logan. I would kid him about it later… the fact that he got away without helping with the dishes… again.

CHAPTER TWO

A MOUNTAIN LAID BARE

IRIAN JAYA PROVINCE ON THE ISLAND OF NEW GUINEA, INDONESIA. The diminutive Malay pilot of the French-built Alouette Eurocopter manipulated the controls of the chopper with a practiced hand. He mentally ran over his