Tiger's Curse (The Tiger Saga #1)(17)
Mr. Kadam took my bag and slung the strap over his shoulder. He asked, ‘Miss Kelsey, would you like to ride in the truck with the driver or would you like to accompany me in the convert-ible?’
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 before placing my bag in the trunk of the Bentley. Knowing it was time to go, I waved good-bye 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 over the wind, 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 – fifty-five mph, about ten miles per hour under the speed limit. Curious onlookers slowed their cars to stare at our little convoy. The traffic became heavier near Wilsonville where we quickly caught up to the morning commuters who’d passed us earlier.
The airport was about twenty miles farther on Highway 205, a small highway that sat like a teacup handle on I-5. The truck in front of us turned onto Airport Drive and 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 halt near a private plane. The name on the side read Flying Tiger Airlines, and it sported the image of a running tiger.
I turned to Mr. Kadam, 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.’ Pulling my bag out of the trunk, he handed the keys to a man standing by who promptly got into the gorgeous car and drove it off the tarmac.
We both watched as several burly men lifted the tiger’s crate with a motorized pallet jack and expertly transferred him into the plane’s large, custom cage.
Satisfied that the tiger was secure and comfortable, we climbed up the plane’s portable staircase and stepped inside.
I was amazed at the opulence of the interior. The plane 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 the cabin seats on commercial jets, and they fully reclined!
An attractive Indian flight attendant with long, dark hair gestured to a chair and introduced herself. ‘My name is Nilima. 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?’
Nilima nodded and smiled at me as she fluffed a pillow behind my head. Next, she brought me a blanket and a variety of magazines. Mr. Kadam sat in the roomy chair across from me. He waved away the attendant and strapped himself in, foregoing the 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 usually pretty relaxed, but the takeoffs and landings made me anxious and tense. The sound of the engines probably bothered me the most – the ominous roar as they came to life – and 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 the plane 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. 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 a car seat with a giant baked potato with salt rubbed into the skin and topped with sour cream, crumbled bacon, butter, shredded cheese, and sprinkled with fresh-cracked black pepper. Yep, this plane was loaded.
All this luxury, coupled with the beautiful convertible car, made me wonder about Mr. Kadam’s employer. He must be someone very rich and powerful in India. I tried to think of who it might be, but I couldn’t even fathom a guess.
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.
The plane had built up speed and taken off while I was pondering Mr. Kadam’s mystery employer. 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 grow 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 read a puzzle magazine cover to cover and finished the sudoku puzzle 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 tons of questions.
I cleared my throat. He responded by smiling at me over his news magazine. 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 closed his magazine before setting it down on the table. ‘Hmm. Where to begin? My employer used to own, and I used to run, a cargo airline company called Flying 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. We provided service to almost every continent in the world.’
‘Where did the name Flying Tiger come from?’