Page 4 of Wild Temple
Wispy clouds drifted by as we made our final approach. After the layover in Honolulu, the wheels barked against the tarmac at 11:14 AM at Jatala Regional’s FBO. Through the oval windows, the jungle blurred by, encroaching on the faded runway that had seen better days.
“I hope you enjoyed your flight, Mr. Wild,” Mika said, knowing the answer.
“I did, indeed,” I replied with a smile.
We exchanged numbers as we taxied in. With a click, I released my seatbelt and grabbed my bags from the overhead. When I stepped off the plane, the humidity hit like a wet sock. Par for the course in Southeast Asia. It was about 82 degrees, so not an oven, but that midday sun could get intense—especially out in the jungle, hiking through mountainous terrain.
A handler picked me up in a golf cart and shuttled me to customs. There was a private room in the FBO. It wasn’t like the chaos of the commercial terminals. After a brief inspection and a few words, I stepped into the arrivals lounge, where cold beverages and comfy chairs waited.
A jolly dark-haired man held a sign that read:WILD.
I acknowledged him with a nod.
Talia had arranged everything.
He smiled. “My friend, come with me,” he said as he approached. “I take you to Jatala. I know the city #1 best. Rafi take care of you.”
By that time, the slightly pudgy guy had taken my bags. He escorted me through the lounge and down the sidewalk to his light blue van. It was the only reputable company on the island with accurate meters.
He grabbed my door, then popped the back hatch and tossed the bags inside. The hatch slammed with a thunk, and Rafi hustled around and slipped behind the wheel. With a twist, he fired up the engine and pulled away from the curb.
The car was clean, and the AC blew cold.
Rafi’s eyes found me in the rearview. “What brings you to Tanjung Sur? Business or pleasure?”
“Business,” I replied.
He smiled. “If you’re looking for pleasure, Rafi knows where to find it.”
I had no doubt Rafi got kickbacks from certain establishments.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
Rafi handed me his card. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. I can take you to beautiful white sand beaches. I can show you stunning waterfalls. I can lead you to beautiful women. You call Rafi anytime. Day or night. Anything you need.”
“Anything?” I asked, just to egg him on.
“Anything.”
Rafi was one of those guys. He never stopped hustling and had an angle on everything. Not necessarily a bad guy, but he’d sell his own mother for a buck. Let’s say his recommendations didn’t inspire a lot of confidence.
I slipped his card into my pocket. A guy like Rafi might come in handy.
I pulled out my phone and launched a picture of Isabella. It wasn’t exactly recent, but it was the best I had.
Isabella didn’t like to be photographed, even though she was stunning. It was more of an operational security type thing. For those reasons, you’ll understand why I can’t speak in greatdetail about her appearance. By and large, Isabella was a ghost, and she preferred to stay that way. She went to great lengths to scrub her background, and she had the resources to do it. An Internet search for her name provided no results. She had no social media presence. No Instabook or Facegram.
I scrolled through the pics and displayed Isabella’s image. "Do you recognize this girl?”
It was probably a bad idea to show Rafi the image. He took his eyes off the road for a moment and damn near plowed into several cyclists on mopeds as he veered into oncoming traffic.
His eyes bulged from their sockets. "She's good-looking. I'd like to know her.” He smiled. “If you’re looking for girls like that, I know where to take you.”
"I'm not looking for girls like that. I'm looking forher.”
Horns honked, and Rafi’s eyes found the road again. He brought the car back in line.
"No,” Rafi said. “I would remember if I saw someone like that.”
