Tiger's Curse Page 8

  You’d think that I’d be so stressed about the trip and emotional about saying goodbye that I wouldn’t be able to sleep, but it was quite the opposite. I quickly slipped into a deep sleep and dreamed of a handsome Indian prince who happened to have a pet tiger.

  CHAPTER 5

  The next morning, I awoke with great energy and felt positive and enthusiastic about the trip. After showering and a quick breakfast, I grabbed my bag, hugged Sarah again since she was the only one awake, and ran out to the garage. I slid back into the Bentley and found it as delicious as I remembered.

  I pulled into the parking lot and stopped next to a mediumsized cargo truck. The vehicle had a larger than average wind-shield, very big wheels, and smallish doors that required you to climb a step or two up

  to reach them. It looked like a monster truck past its prime, but, instead of being put out to pasture, it had been recruited into the cargo business. Behind the cab was a flatbed with a boxy steel frame draped with gray canvas.

  The ramp was down in the back, and I saw that Mr. Davis was already loading Ren into the cage. Ren wore a thick collar around his neck, which was firmly attached to a long chain that Mr. Davis and Matt were both gripping tightly. The tiger seemed very calm and unruffled despite the chaos going on around him. In fact, he watched me for a moment while waiting patiently for the men to prepare the truck.

  Finally, they were ready, and with a command from Mr. Davis, Ren quickly catapulted up into the crate.

  Mr. Kadam approached me, smiled, took my bag, and slung the strap over his shoulder. He asked,

  “Miss Kelsey, would you like to accompany me in the convertible or would you like to ride in the truck with the driver?”

  I looked at the monster cargo truck and quickly made my decision, “With you. I’d never pick a monster flatbed over a sleek convertible.”

  He laughed in agreement and placed my bag in the trunk of the Bentley. Knowing it was time to go, I waved goodbye to Mr. Davis and Matt, climbed back into the convertible, and buckled my seatbelt.

  Before I knew it, we were cruising along I-5 behind the truck.

  Talking was difficult because of the wind whipping over us in the car, so I just leaned my head back against the soft, warm leather and watched the scenery go by. We were actually driving at a leisurely pace—about ten miles per hour under the speed limit. Curious onlookers slowed their cars to stare at our little convoy. The traffic got heavier near Wilsonville, and we quickly caught up to the morning commuters

  who’d passed us earlier.

  I warned Mr. Kadam, “We’ll be stuck in traffic for a while until we turn off onto the I-205. Most of these cars you see now will be continuing down I-5, headed for downtown Portland. The 205 will be clear, though, and we can speed up again.” He nodded, and I fell silent again. Sure enough, as soon as we got onto the 205 ramp, we began to pick up speed.

  The airport was about twenty miles down the 205, which was a small highway that sat like a teacup handle on I-5. It started in Washington State, then curved through Oregon until it circled back and touched I-5 again. The highway was about thirty miles long—my theory is that it was built to help people

  avoid downtown Portland. The Portland International Airport sat on the Columbia River, which was the official Oregon/Washington border, on the Oregon side, right off I-205.

  The truck in front of us turned onto Airport Drive, then pulled off on a side street and stopped behind some large hangars. Several cargo planes were lined up and being loaded. Mr. Kadam wove between people and equipment and came to a stop near another plane. The name on the side readFlying Tiger Airlines , and it sported the image of a running tiger.

  I turned to Mr. Kadam who had brought the car to a stop, nodded my head toward the plane, and said,

  “Flying Tiger, huh?” He grinned. “It’s a long story, Miss Kelsey, and I will tell you all about it on the plane.”

  He pulled my bag out of the trunk and handed the keys to a man standing by who promptly got into the gorgeous car and drove it off the tarmac. He handed my bag to another attendant, who stowed it in the plane. We both watched Dhiren’s cage get picked up with a pallet jack and moved toward the back of the aircraft. They lifted the cage up to the open cargo door and positioned it to fit flush to the cage built into the jet. When they were in place, they locked the cages together and opened both doors.

  Ren seemed to know what to do and quickly deserted the small traveling cage for the big one. I asked Mr. Kadam, “Why is there another cage built into the plane? I thought Dhiren would be traveling in the smaller one.”

  He smiled. “I wanted the tiger to travel in comfort. It’s a sad fact that many animals in transit are often confined to small compartments, and it’s very uncomfortable for them. My employer wishes for Dhiren to

  feel…unperturbedon his journey to his homeland. That’s why we’ve had this large cage specially installed.”

  The workers moved the pallet jack out and closed up the rear of the plane. Mr. Kadam turned to me.

  “Come, Miss Kelsey, it is time to board. We’ll be leaving soon.”

  “Don’t we have to go through some kind of security?”

  He walked with me to the stairs. “Not on a private jet. It’s different for the wealthy. The policies for private jets are different. Any private jet pilots coming from overseas must give certain information to customs agents within the United States before landing or taking off, unless they are only landing to refuel

  and continue on to another country. Our pilot takes care of contacting the CBP, the Customs and Border Protection, at least an hour prior to departure or arrival. They send an official out to check the plane, which in our case, has already been done. It’s usually much easier to get out of the United States than to get in.”

  “What about our traveling papers?”

  “There’s an inspector who is examining Dhiren’s papers as well as our passports now, even as we speak. He will turn them all over to our staff when he’s finished. We must also provide him a report of the commander’s name, the country of origin, type of aircraft, registration number, foreign point of departure, airport designator code, airport of arrival, number of passengers who are US citizens and number who aren’t, and estimated time of arrival. Of course, an unethical pilot can lie about his passengers, falsify documents, etc. The agent goes through the lists and then gives approval to land or take off. Some airports charge fees for landing, some don’t. Most airportswant the business a private jet brings in.”

  “Business…what do you mean?”

  “Not only is it nice to have wealthy people set up businesses in your city but there are fees to be paid, plus the purchase of fuel for the plane, as well as the cost of renting hangar space.”

  “Doesn’t it seem like it’s a little bit too easy for unethical people to get in and out of the United States?

  It

  almost sounds like rich people don’t have to follow the same rules as everybody else. No offense.”

  We stood outside the plane for another moment, waiting for the all clear to enter.

  He chuckled. “I am not offended, Miss Kelsey. Wealthy people often do have the resources to attain almost anything they desire. As far as it being easy to enter the United States…I’ve found it quite the contrary. Homeland Security has beefed up their policies in the last few years. In the not too distant past, there weren’t many rules at all to govern private airplanes. But, remember, not everyone owns a private jet, and customs agents typically get to know the air traffic for different regions and they are careful to watch out for odd or unusual flights.”

  I followed him up the portable stairs that were connected to the door of the plane, and stepped inside. I was surprised at the luxury of the interior and that Dhiren’s cage took up the entire back half of the plane.

  The inside was decorated in black, white, and chrome, which made it look sleek and modern.

  The black leather seats were exceptionally cozy looking, a far cry from t
he cabin seats on commercial jets…and they fully reclined! An attractive Indian flight attendant with long, dark hair gestured to a chair

  and said with a small smile, “Please, go ahead and take your seat, Miss Kelsey.” She had an accent similar to Mr. Kadam’s.

  I asked, “Are you from India too?”

  She nodded and smiled at me as she fluffed a pillow under my head. Next, she brought me a blanket and

  placed a variety of magazines on the table next to me.

  Mr. Kadam sat in the roomy chair across from me facing Dhiren. He waved away the attendant and strapped himself in, foregoing the offered pillow and blanket.

  I had flown in a plane only a couple of times before on vacations with my family. During the actual flight,

  I was normally relaxed, but the takeoffs and landings left me feeling anxious and tense. The sound of the engines probably bothered me the most—the ominous roar as they came to life, crept down the runway, and sprang into the air like an attacking…tiger, made me nervous. The pushed-back-in-your-chair feeling

  as the plane left the earth always made me queasy. The landings weren’t fun either, but I was usually so excited to get off and move around that I just wanted to be done with it.

  This plane was definitely different. It was luxurious, wide open and had plenty of legroom and comfy leather reclining chairs. Even with Dhiren taking up the back half all to himself, there was still plenty of room. It was so much nicer than flying coach. Comparing this to a regular plane was like comparing a soggy, stale French fry you find under your car seat with a giant baked potato with salt rubbed into the skin, topped with sour cream, crumbled bacon, butter, shredded cheese, and sprinkled with fresh-cracked black pepper. Yep, this plane wasloaded .

  All this luxury, coupled with the beautiful convertible car, made me wonder about Mr. Kadam’s employer. He must be someonevery rich and powerful in India. I tried to think of famous millionaires or actors that might live there, but I couldn’t even fathom a guess as to who it might be.

  Maybe he’s one of those Bollywood actors. I wonder how much money they make. No, that can’t be it.

  Mr. Kadam has been working for him a long time, so he’s probably a very old man now.

  Like many American teenagers, I learned most of my facts about other countries from television, which was mostly inaccurate and grossly perpetuated stereotypes. I read a lot, but I read literature and novels rather than nonfiction books or newspapers. Sadly, I just didn’t know much about other countries, especially India.

  We’d built up speed and taken off while I was pondering this. I hadn’t even noticed! Maybe it was because my chair was so soft that I just sank back into it when the plane ascended, or maybe it was because the pilot did an exceptional job. Perhaps it was a little of both. I looked out the window and watched the Columbia River get smaller and smaller until we passed through the cloud cover and I couldn’t see land anymore.

  After about an hour and a half, I’d readPeople magazine cover to cover and finished the Sudoku as well as the crossword. I set down my magazine and looked at Mr. Kadam. I didn’t want to pester him, but I had a lot of questions. I cleared my throat, and he looked at me over hisTime magazine and smiled. Of course, the first thing that came out of my mouth was the question I cared the least about. “So…Mr.

  Kadam. Tell me all about Flying Tiger Airlines.”

  He folded his magazine and set it down on the table. “Of course…where to begin? My employer used to own, and I used to run, the cargo airline company calledFlying Tiger Airlines Freight and Cargo or Flying Tiger Airlines for short. It was the largest major trans-Atlantic charter company in the 1940s and 1950s. When the company was first established, we used smaller aircraft such as Douglas DC-4s and 6s, but in the ‘70s we purchased our first Boeing 747. Several years later, we surpassed even Pan Am, which was the world’s largest carrier, and we provided service to almost every continent in the world.”

  “Where did the nameFlying Tiger come from? And why did we take off from the cargo terminal instead of from the regular airport?”

  He shifted slightly in his seat. “You already know that my employer has a fondness for tigers, so it was that, coupled with the fact that a few of the original pilots had flown ‘tiger’ planes during WW II. You might remember that they were painted like tiger sharks to look fierce in battle. The nameFlying Tiger Airlines Freight and Cargo was suggested and then agreed upon in a company meeting.

  “In the late ‘80s, my employer made the decision to sell the company and to invest in other business interests. The company was sold toWorldwide Air Cargo Services , who merged all of our operations into their courier business. One stipulation of the sale, however, was that my employer could have unlimited use of their airport runways around the world for the next fifty years. He also kept one plane, this one, for personal use.”

  “You sayyour employer often. Can you tell me what his, or her, name is?”

  He hedged and his expression tightened, closing off slightly, “He would like to introducehimself when you land in India.”

  “You mean I get to meet him?”

  His eyes twinkled. “Most assuredly. I amcertain he would like to converse with you.” He shifted his gaze

  to the back of the plane for a moment and then back to me.

  He smiled at me with an encouraging expression. “Are there any other questions you have for me?”

  “So would you say that you’re his vice president?”

  He laughed. “Suffice it to say, he is a very wealthy man who trusts me completely to handle all of his business dealings.”

  “Ah, so you’re the Mr. Smithers to his Mr. Burns.”

  He quirked an eyebrow at me. “I’m afraid I don’t understand your reference.”

  I blushed and waved a hand. “Never mind. They’re characters onThe Simpsons . You’ve probably never seen the show.”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t. Sorry, Miss Kelsey.”

  He seemed slightly uncomfortable or nervous when talking about his boss, but he enjoyed talking about planes, so I encouraged him to continue. I sat back in my seat and shifted. Kicking off my shoes, I sat cross-legged in the chair and asked, “What kind of cargo did you transport?”

  He visibly relaxed. “Over the years, the company has transported quite a collection of interesting cargo.

  For example, we won the contract to convey SeaWorld’s famous killer whale, as well as the torch from the Statue of Liberty; most of the time, though, the cargo was quite mundane. We transported things like canned goods, textiles, packages, quite a variety of things, really.”

  “How on earth do you fit a whale into an airplane?”

  “One flipper at a time, Miss Kelsey. One flipper at a time.”

  His face was so serious. I laughed…hard.

  Wiping a tear of laughter from the corner of my eye, I continued, “So you ran the company?”

  “Yes, in a way. I oversee all of my employer’s investments. But, the airline company was one that I felt a

  particular fondness for. I spent a lot of my time developingFlying Tiger Airlines . I very much enjoy aviation.”

  He gestured to the aircraft. “What we’re riding in here is called an MD-11, a McDonnell Douglas. It’s a long-range craft, which is something we need when traveling across the ocean. The body is spacious and comfortable, as you might have noticed. It has two engines mounted under the wings, and a third engine is located in the back at the base of the vertical stabilizer. Of course, the interior is built for comfort and relaxation, and we employ the pilot, ground crew, as well as other staff to ensure security.”

  “Hmm, sounds…sturdy.”

  He leaned forward a bit in his seat and spoke enthusiastically, “Though this plane is an older model, it still provides for a very swift journey.” He began numbering its features on his fingers, “It includes a stretched fuselage, a large wingspan, refined airfoil on the wing and tail plane, and brand new engines.

  “The flight deck f
eatures the most modern airline conveniences, like electronic instrument panels, dual flight management, GPS, central fault display, and it also has automatic landing capability for bad-weather

  conditions. Of course, we also kept our original company name and logo on the side, which you identified when we boarded.”

  He had become eagerly spirited during his technical ruminative. I’m sure it all meantsomething , but what

  it meant…I had no idea. The only thing I got out of it was that it was a pretty darn good plane and sounded like it had three engines.

  He must have figured out that I had no idea what he was talking about because he looked at my perplexed face and chuckled.

  “Perhaps we should discuss something else, eh? How about something that might interest you.

  Ah…what if I share with you some tiger myths from my homeland.”

  I nodded enthusiastically, urging him to continue. I drew my legs to the side and tucked them into my chair.Yes…the chairs were that big . Then I pulled my blanket up to my chin and leaned back into my pillow.

  He began speaking, and I heard his intonation change again as he went into storytelling mode. His proper English articulation dropped off, and his accent became more pronounced, the words more melodic. I enjoyed listening to the rhythmic cadence of his voice.

  “The tiger is considered the great protector of the jungle. There are several Indian myths that say the tiger has great powers. He can perform complicated tasks such as combating great dragons or small tasks like helping farmers. One such task is to tow rain clouds with his tail, ending drought for humble villagers.”

  “I’m very interested in mythology. Do the people of India still believe in these tiger myths?”

  “Yes, especially in the rural areas. But, you will find believers in all parts of the country, even among those who consider themselves a part of today’s modern world. Some say that if a tiger purrs it will stop nightmares.”