Lost Tiger

Joseph Grant Dean

Description

A sprawling epic of adventure, crime, love and loss, set in the depths of rural Sumatra and the sparkling superficiality of Sydney; The Lost Tiger follows Lewis Brown's search for meaning in life and his own troubled identity. From enchanting and perilous rain forest missions and the discovery of precarious love, through tragedy and its ensuing breakdown of the soul, to a deadly game of cloak and dagger before culminating in a desperate final gambit in search of justice and peace. We share the passion and the angst, the wonders and the stark realities of two worlds, between which Lewis seemingly cannot find where he belongs.

Sujets

• Adventure (Guyana)
• Adventure

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
• Date de parution: 30 octobre 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528983976
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Lost Tiger
Dean Joseph Grant
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-10-30
The Lost Tiger About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgement Part One The Sumatra Diary Chapter One Monday, 15 April 2013, 8.55pm. Chapter Two Tuesday, 16 April, 3.30pm. Chapter Three Wednesday, 17 April, 9.07pm. Chapter Four Thursday, 18 April, Bedtime. Chapter Five Saturday, 20 April, 4pm. Chapter Six Monday, 22 April, Bedtime. Chapter Seven Thursday, 25 April, Definitely Time for Bed. Chapter Eight Friday, 26 April, Mid-Afternoon. Chapter Nine Wednesday, 1 May. Chapter Ten Saturday, 4 May. Chapter Eleven Monday, 6 May, 5.34pm. Chapter Twelve Tuesday, 7 May, Late. Chapter Thirteen Thursday, 9 May, Pre-Siesta. Chapter Fourteen Thursday, 16 May, Pre-Siesta. Chapter Fifteen Saturday, 1 June, Evening. Chapter Sixteen Saturday, 8 June, 4pm. Chapter Seventeen Monday, 17 June, Evening, Wilda’s House. Chapter Eighteen Tuesday, 18 June, 9.35pm. Part Two The Game Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Saturday, 6 July. Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Eight Chapter Thirty-Nine Chapter Forty Chapter Forty-One Chapter Forty-Two Chapter Forty-Three Chapter Forty-Four Chapter Forty-Five Chapter Forty-Six Chapter Forty-Seven Chapter Forty-Eight Chapter Forty-Nine Chapter Fifty Chapter Fifty-One Chapter Fifty-Two Chapter Fifty-Three Chapter Fifty-Four Chapter Fifty-Five Chapter Fifty-Six Chapter Fifty-Seven Chapter Fifty-Eight Chapter Fifty-Nine Chapter Sixty Part Three The Lost Tiger Chapter Sixty-One Chapter Sixty-Two Chapter Sixty-Three Chapter Sixty-Four Chapter Sixty-Five Part Four Nine Months Later Chapter Sixty-Six
About the Author
The author, Dean Joseph Grant, has lived and worked in diverse environments and cultures, having been an IT consultant, conservation volunteer, charity fundraiser, business development manager, university English teacher and novelist. His passion for tigers and rainforest protection led him on an adventure in Sumatra, Indonesia, which inspired him to write The Lost Tiger .
Dedication
To my long-lost love
Copyright Information ©
Dean Joseph Grant (2020)
The right of Dean Joseph Grant to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528983969 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528983976 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgement
I would like to give my deep and eternal gratitude to Debbie Martyr and the Tiger Conservation and Protection Unit. Without their incredible work and inspiration, this book would never have been written.
Many thanks to Tarun Chichia, Ben Keating, Andrew Waters, Justin Sennitt, Frits Bovill, Amber Pan, Stuart Duncan and Maya Katinchich, who also provided tremendous support.
Part One

The Sumatra Diary
Chapter One

Monday, 15 April 2013, 8.55pm.
Mildly disturbed by first impression of my room, kindly provided by the Tiger Protection and Conservation Unit (TPCU). Might take some getting used to. No desk and chair to write at, I sit on a foam camping mattress, back against a large cardboard box, hitherto unused hardback A4 notebook in my lap, candles burning, their flickering light rendering grotesque fidgety shadows upon the cracked and peeling walls. Rain peppers the corrugated iron roof, leaking from the ceiling into buckets and saucepans. A curious, fusty odour prevails, hardly surprising as my new “bedroom” is essentially a storeroom stuffed with the confiscated bones and pelts of once-doomed megafauna, the grim contents of translucent plastic tubs vaguely discernible through the dust of time while on the walls, shelves strain with boxes and plastic bags of indeterminable remains. A dark corner harbours snares, traps, machetes and other poacher’s paraphernalia. Not an overly cheerful way to start the diary, but I doubt there is any way more appropriate.
Cat (short for Catherine), leader of the TPCU, had warned not to come here. Too wild, too unpredictable and too perilous she’d evinced via email. I’d told her that it was, therefore, perfect for my needs … the much-clichéd life-changing adventure. From a life of nine-to-five office cubicles, suits, computers, analysis and endless data, a cog in the machine of globalisation, to a life of … well, whatever fate awaits me on the other side of this ill-advised trip I suppose. I quite fancy a life richer in words, rather than numbers, to be honest, which makes this diary a segue of sorts. Who knows, perhaps even the beginning of a novel? In any case, should these scribblings fall into unscrupulous hands, nothing good would be on the cards for yours truly, or the TPCU for that matter I’d imagine. So yes, this diary is a risk, possibly a big one. But I feel it is necessary and warranted. A journal of how I changed my life. Or of how life changed me?
*****
I had flown into Padang from KL the day before yesterday. Padang, a hot, stinking transit city. Missed the late morning bus that would have taken me straight here, to the heart of rural Sumatra. Emailed Cat from archaic hotel computer to advise I would arrive a day late. (She’d instructed me not to buy a mobile phone, which I still find odd, insisting instead on brief emails. More cloak and dagger than I had anticipated.)
Spent Saturday afternoon wandering in the heat and clamour of the city centre. Decided to make a few last-minute purchases, lest availability dwindled as I ventured farther from “civilisation”. Is Padang civilised ? Well, it does have a fairly modern shopping mall! Advertising boards outside portrayed beautiful people with effulgent smiles. Must be civilised then! Insidious word, leaves me with a bitter aftertaste. Shopping malls are not my favourite place to hang out, regardless of where in the world they might be. Nonetheless, I bought a thin anorak (waterproof?) for AU$6 and six pairs of Calvin Klein underwear for AU$10. A bargain! Hasten to add I don’t normally buy designer underwear and not least for an expedition of this nature. Then again, they could be the last decent pairs of underwear I will ever buy …
Streets not without some charm, once you adjust. Crowds of people a teeming coral reef. Lurid browns, oranges, purples and pinks in mesmerising floral and check. The Seventies came to mind. Frequent wafts of the sweet clove tobacco synonymous with the region stirred a dormant desire to smoke again. Managed to resist the lure of a shop selling cigarettes.
Myriad eyes always stared, discomforting at first. Beautiful eyes, cataract eyes, friendly eyes, curious eyes, suspicious eyes. One eye. Much different from Sydney these days, where faces are scarcely seen anymore as people only look down into the smartphones that have enslaved them. Smart phone a good marketing word, but ironically users essentially becoming dumbed down and post-human. But they say we are more connected now, like never before. Hundreds and thousands of contacts . Why then have I felt lonelier in recent times than at any time in the past? I’d gladly sacrifice my few hundred contacts to have my best friends by my side, for they are spread far and wide. I must concede though, technology does help us maintain these friendships … Pondered how long it would be before nobody looked up anymore on the streets of Padang. A couple of years at most? Should have felt grateful for the glaring eyes of Pandang, rather than discomfort!
Traffic constipated in places. A cacophony of horns maintained a modicum of order in the seething entropy. Buses belched and scooters farted while the stringy sinews of becak riders strained silently in the unrelenting heat. Incessant chatter and the drama of bargaining accompanied the advertising and sale of a multitude of wares, of which the sizzling aroma of meat (Satay?) most appeals.
Vendors appeared to range from infant to ancient. Women and girls’ appearances also varied in the extreme. Full Jilbab not strictly used here but occasionally noticed one concealing all but a pair of shifty eyes. Most wore conservative clothing. Others dared to reveal latte and mocha skin, swaying on high heels in skin-tight miniskirts or minuscule hot pants.
Some boys sported authentic looking football shirts. Chelsea, Manchester United and Liverpool. Such is the pervasive power of the religion that is football. Second to the smartphone, is the export of English Premier League branding a barometer of developing world civilisation? Used to be cricket in the British colonial days, but not here in Indonesia. The Dutch tried their luck back then with limited success. Spices, rubber and oil. Now Indonesia largely in control of her own fate. Nevertheless, the rape of her land continues … the tragedy of the disappearing rainforest and her precious biodiversity.
What am I doing here? What difference can I honestly make